It took almost twenty minutes to reach the top of the hill. There was hardly any shade, and the hot afternoon sun beat down on our heads as we climbed. The last part of the climb was on a steep, narrow footpath with nowhere to stop and rest. When we finally reached the entrance to the park, both of us were puffing, and both of us were trying to pretend that we weren’t. The straps of my sandals had rubbed my blisters raw and I tried to stop myself hobbling in pain.
When we entered the park, we were greeted by two buildings that looked like gingerbread houses. Brightly coloured mosaic walls meandered around the buildings. I couldn’t help but smile. This Gaudí must have been one wacky guy.
‘We should start by going up there.’ Nick pointed at the top of the hill where a stone cross was silhouetted against the fading blue of the sky. ‘It’s the highest point of the park. If he is here, we might be able to see him. We don’t have much time—the park closes at sunset.’
I gave him a surprised look. So far he’d done nothing but criticise my ideas. I couldn’t tell whether he was being helpful or just trying to hurry up the whole process so he could go back to his friends.
We walked along the path that wound upwards around the curve of the hill, dodging running children and overtaking old couples. The stone cross was on the top of a small lookout teeming with tourists clamouring to take in the view of Barcelona under the setting sun.
‘Maybe you should go up by yourself,’ Nick said. ‘You’re more likely to recognise him than me.’
‘Bit worn out from the climb, are we?’
‘Are you kidding me?’
‘Then what are you waiting for? I need you to get a photo if we see him.’
He pursed his lips. It was obvious he thought that was a waste of time.
We picked our way carefully to the top. I tried to focus on the pathways below, but couldn’t help staring out over the beauty of the city. The yellow, brown and white buildings looked like miniature Lego towers from up here, bathed in dusty golden light as the sun dropped towards the horizon. Nick was silent beside me, and I glanced at him. The glow of the sun highlighted the gold flecks in his hazel eyes as he took in the view. A half-smile softened his usually sardonic features.
‘There’s the Sagrada Familia over there.’ He pointed at the multiple spires of what looked like an enormous church in the distance. ‘It’s one of Gaudí’s greatest works, but he never finished it. It’s been under construction for more than one hundred years.’
The building was surrounded with scaffolding, but even from here I could tell it was no ordinary church. Nick had his camera out and was rapidly snapping photographs across the horizon, adjusting the huge lens for every shot. I swallowed as I watched him at work. He wore his passion for photography like a second skin, and I was a fool for a passionate man. Whether he was shooting celebs or landscapes, he gave off an aura of raw sensuality that was irresistibly sexy. It was this that had drawn me to him in the first place. I felt a familiar stirring in my lower belly as I recalled those hands treating my body with the same instinctive skill with which they handled his camera now.
‘I thought you weren’t here to take holiday photos?’ I teased.
He looked up from the viewfinder. ‘Well, it’s not like we’re actually achieving anything here, is it?’
The fantasy shattered. Desire switched back to hatred and I was just about to lash him in great detail with the many different ways I was going to kill him when my attention was arrested by a familiar figure on one of the paths below. I couldn’t see his face, but the messed-up hair was familiar and the cracked leather jacket was out of place on the warm summer afternoon.
‘I think that’s him!’ I grabbed Nick’s elbow and pointed down at the figure below. He immediately trained his camera on the man.
‘Go!’ he said into the viewfinder. ‘Go and find him, I’ll follow in a sec.’
I raced down the stone steps to the path below, dodging the clumps of tourists. But as soon as I got there, I couldn’t work out where I’d seen him. I spun around, but every direction I looked there were only tourists. No lone man, no leather jacket. He was gone.
I swore as Nick caught up with me. ‘Which way did he go?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I lost sight of him behind a tour group, but when they moved on he’d disappeared. You didn’t see him?’
‘No, he was gone by the time I got down here. Did you get a photo of him?’
‘Not of his face,’ Nick said. ‘I got photos, but they’re not useable. Not without proof it’s him.’
‘Fuck,’ I said. ‘It was him, I’m sure it was.’
Nick’s expression didn’t change, but I could tell he thought I’d made a mistake.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s keep looking, but for god’s sake try to look less like a journalist. If he sees you running after him he’s going to take off. If he’s here, he’s here to blend in. We have to as well.’
We continued along the path past a terraced area with colourful, mosaic-encrusted seating that snaked around the hill. The terraces were supported by colonnades with huge, Roman-style columns. The vaulted ceiling was covered in more exquisite mosaic work. The whole area had amazing acoustics, demonstrated by the lone jazz musician playing hauntingly beautiful music in one corner. We walked on past twisting rock pillars which resembled tree trunks and supported the pathways above. The air was filled with the acrid scent of the shrubs and trees that surrounded us. Everything looked strangely organic, as if it had been carved from nature, even as it seemed to be
