‘Your friend is a gentleman,’ Estel said.
I gave her a tight smile and started up the staircase after Nick. ‘Yeah, a real gentleman,’ I muttered.
By the time I reached the fourth floor, Nick had already checked out both rooms and dumped my suitcase on the bed in one of them.
‘I suppose you picked the best room for yourself?’ I said.
‘Actually, I gave you the biggest one,’ he retorted. ‘You’ll need it to fit that monstrosity in there.’
‘Sure you don’t need the bigger room to fit your head in? And since when have you been able to speak Spanish, anyway?’
‘It’s called Google Translate, beauty girl. But since you’re obviously a complete ignoramus when it comes to modern technology, I’m guessing you might need this.’ He threw a small book at me and I managed to catch it just before it hit me in the face. It was a European phrasebook.
‘Thanks,’ I said begrudgingly, slipping it into the back pocket of my jeans. ‘Anyway, I’m not an ignoramus. I just like the feeling of paper in my hands. It’s never out of range and the battery never goes flat.’
Nick shrugged. ‘Hey, what do I care if you want to turn your back on a bottomless source of info? At least now you’ll be able to tell me to fuck off in six different languages.’
‘I’m sure the book doesn’t actually have swear words in it…’ I began, but he was grinning at me as if I were the idiot here. ‘Oh, fuck off.’
He laughed out loud, and I only just managed to stop myself joining in. Sometimes he was annoyingly funny, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. It struck me that this was the first time we’d been alone together since he’d walked out of my bedroom on that morning long ago. Awkward.
‘Anything else, Einstein?’ I said before he had the chance to remember it too.
‘I’m waiting with bated breath to hear what your plan is to find your boyfriend.’
‘I’m having a shower first,’ I shot back. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs in the foyer at three thirty.’
He saluted me and marched out of the room, leaving me to drag my shattered body into the shower. Washing away thirty-five hours of travel was sheer bliss, but my mind wouldn’t stop racing. As tired as I was, Katrina was expecting an update tomorrow, and if I didn’t have anything to report she wasn’t going to be happy.
I pulled on a pair of jeans and a black singlet and lay on the bed with my guidebook trying to work out what to do. My first priority was to find out where Ford’s apartment was. I knew it was situated in the Gothic Quarter, but had no idea how I was going to find it. I flipped through the pages to Barri Gòtic, hoping for some clue that might pinpoint a more specific location.
The old city of Barcelona is centred around Barri Gòtic, I read. I skimmed the next two pages without any inspiration until a paragraph jumped out at me:
The Plaça Reial is situated next to La Rambla and is famous for its uniform architecture, fountains and palm trees. Antoni Gaudí, the famous architect, designed the lampposts, which are still there.
I knew Ford was a self-proclaimed Gaudí enthusiast, but Barcelona was full of Gaudí architecture. His flat could be on just about any street in the district. And yet, something about the lampposts resonated with me. According to the book, they were one of Gaudí’s first commissions and I had a feeling Ford would appreciate this fact that would go unnoticed by most tourists.
It was the longest of long shots, but it was all I had right now. I dropped the guidebook and Nick’s phrasebook into my bag and was about to shove my feet into my sneakers when I stopped. What had seemed like the most practical choice at home now seemed daggy in this city of effortless chic. My gaze fell on my suitcase. I had packed one spare set of shoes: a strappy pair of brown sandals with a low heel. I’d only worn them once to a barbecue last summer, but they’d certainly look more at home on the streets of Barcelona than the others. I strapped them on and, after further consideration, knotted a green scarf around my neck, then headed out.
There was no answer when I knocked on Nick’s door, so I went downstairs to do some research in the internet cafe while I waited for him. Unaccustomed to walking in heels, I descended the stairs slowly, holding onto the rail for support.
Estel’s laughter filtered up the staircase. Ah. Nick must have gone down ahead of me, because that was the laugh of a chick who was considering sleeping with a guy she’d probably never see again.
Sure enough, when I rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, there they were, sitting side by side on a table against the wall. He was showing her photos on his DSLR camera. Their arms were touching, and she kept looking up into his eyes, her white smile dazzling in her golden face. She grinned at me as I approached.
‘Your friend was showing me his photos of Nicole Kidman,’ she said. ‘Your job must be so exciting, talking to famous people and telling their stories.’
I could have laughed at her, but really I’d just be laughing at myself. If only stalking celebrities were as glamorous as it sounded. What Nick had most likely not told Estel was that Nicole Kidman had given him an earful for ruining her family lunch right after he’d shot those photos.
‘No rest for the wicked,’ I said with a forced smile. ‘Nick, let’s go.’
Nick flashed Estel a look that clearly said I’d better follow the old
