“Don’t interrupt. You tell him all that and also tell him that what I pay you to be my assistant is a pittance.”
“But you don’t pay me a penny.”
I sighed. This required patience.
“When he says he’s sorry to hear it, and he will, make yourself look like a damsel in distress and confess, if possible with a tear or two, that your father has disinherited you and wants to send you to a nunnery. Tell him you thought that perhaps you could work in his shop for a few hours a day, for a trial period, in exchange for a 3 percent commission on what you sell. That way, you can carve out a future for yourself far from the convent, as a liberated woman devoted to the dissemination of literature.”
Isabella grimaced.
“Three percent? Do you want to help Sempere or fleece him?”
“I want you to put on a dress like the one you wore the other night, get yourself all dolled up, as only you know how, and pay him a visit while his son is in the shop, which is usually in the afternoons.”
“Are we talking about the handsome one?”
“How many sons does Señor Sempere have?”
Isabella made her calculations and, when she began to understand what was going on, she looked annoyed.
“If my father knew the kind of perverse mind you have, he’d buy himself that shotgun.”
“All I’m saying is that the son must see you. And the father must see the son seeing you.”
“You’re even worse than I imagined. Now you’re devoting yourself to the white slave trade.”
“It’s pure Christian charity. Besides, you were the first to admit that Sempere’s son is good-looking.”
“Good-looking and a bit slow.”
“Don’t exaggerate. Sempere junior is just shy in the presence of females, which does him credit. He’s a model citizen who, despite being aware of his enticing appearance, exercises extreme self-control out of respect for and devotion to the immaculate purity of Barcelona’s womenfolk. Don’t tell me this doesn’t bestow an aura of nobility that appeals to your instincts, both maternal and the rest.”
“Sometimes I think I hate you, Señor Martín.”
“Hold on to that feeling but don’t blame poor young Sempere for my deficiencies as a human being because, strictly speaking, he’s a saint.”
“We agreed that you wouldn’t try to find me a boyfriend.”
“I’ve said nothing about a boyfriend. If you’ll let me finish, I’ll tell you the rest.”
“Go on, Rasputin.”
“When the older Sempere says yes to you, and he will, I want you to spend two or three hours a day at the counter in the bookshop.”
“Dressed like what? Mata Hari?”
“Dressed with the decorum and good taste that is characteristic of you. Pretty, suggestive, but without standing out. As I’ve said, if necessary you can rescue one of Irene Sabino’s dresses, but it must be modest.”
“Two or three of them look fantastic on me,” Isabella said eagerly.
“Then wear whichever one covers you the most.”
“You’re a reactionary. What about my literary education?”
“What better classroom than Sempere & Sons? You’ll be surrounded by masterpieces from which you can learn in bulk.”
“And what should I do? Take a deep breath to see if something sticks?”
“It’s just for a few hours a day. After that you can continue your work here, as you have until now, receiving my advice, which is always priceless and will turn you into a new Jane Austen.”