It is almost five-thirty when they make their way across the Praca da Quintana and walk up the steps and around the back of the cathedral to the Rúa Azabacaira. The pilgrims come down the hill, alone, in twos and threes, sometimes in larger groups, all of them in the uniform of rucksack, large floppy cap or hat, a stave. The click-clacking of the staves and sticks on the road is eerie, almost sinister; it reminds Eamon of Black Pugh in the film of Treasure Island. Some shout and cheer, others are silent, and a few stop by the side door of the cathedral to bow their heads in silent prayer. Eamon walks down the steps, past the bagpipes playing an air that could be Irish, but he does not recognise it. He turns suddenly when he reaches the Praza do Obradoiro, and sees a second one, a young woman pilgrim, but he knows her, as he knew the guy in the Celtic cap.
        'Wee Pádraig,' Mary muses, as they make for the hotel. 'I suppose it fits that he's here.'
        'That's what I thought, it could be nothing. I know Pádraig comes over here a lot. Easy enough for Iggy to use him. But he has that young girl, Aileen, also.'
        'It could just be he's keeping an eye on us, or it maybe is more complicated than Davin told you.'
        Eamon laughs bitterly. 'You can be sure of that. Even if it is as he claims, he wouldn't leave us to get on with it. Trouble is young Pádraig is well known, has a bit of form. If he's here, who else is about? Anyway, let's see what the man has to say about the car.'
        The foyer of the Hotel dos Rios Católicos is a tourist attraction. People wander in off the Plaza do Obradoiro, look around the foyer and peek through the roodscreen at the cloisters and courtyards before returning by the lounge and bar and leaving that way. Eamon sits in a high-backed chair and watches the entrance. Mary strolls around reading the notices and flyers on the roodscreen and around the door of the hotel shop. Eamon admires her style, how she seems to concentrate on the notices, but he knows she will not miss anything.
        A young couple come in; they seem absorbed in the surroundings, they stare at the dark oil painting on one wall, at the rich tapestry on another. He slips an arm around her waist. She already has her arm around him, now she hooks her fingers inside the waistband of his jeans. Without the Celtic cap, it takes Eamon a moment to recognise Pádraig Hanraghan again, to register that Aileen has changed from her hiker's shorts to jeans, and has shed her floppy sun hat. Pádraig does not look at Eamon. They continue their amble around, go past the roodscreen, then return and head off through the lounge, where they sit on one of the deep settees and watch the foyer. In between, they lean across to kiss, their arms entwined about each other. Eamon is trying to remember if Pádraig has been seeing Aileen, but he can't ever recall him with a girl, which makes this performance as the besotted young lover very believable.
        Eamon sits and listens trying to understand a Spanish word. The rapid speech remains incomprehensible to him, increasing his sense of alienation. He thinks, I am lonely and apart from Mary, I am alone, and I am afraid. He tries to analyse what has brought this sense of dread, puts it down to the low spirits that accompany an attack of IBS, that and the uncertainty of their trip. He hears an American woman query something before her voice fades away. Still he watches the entrance and notices Mary has now moved to the hotel shop, where she is examining the rack of post cards. He wonders who buys anything from such places and supposes businessmen needing a last-minute gift to take home use it.

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