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It will be a short journey; there’s not much traffic and she doesn’t have far to go, just fifteen or twenty minutes, then she’ll get off at the junction of Calle 21 de Setiembre and Ellauri, walk a few yards to Vázquez Ledesma, the street that runs alongside the park, and then a couple of blocks south towards the waterfront, but on the side with the buildings. Then she’ll cross over to Villa Biarritz Park, sit on a bench neither too far from nor too close to her target, inhale the fragrance of the vegetation – eucalyptus, carpet grass, oak, maritime pine, monkey puzzle trees, earth, dog shit – and she’ll wait until it’s time, until the main door opens and the woman comes out.

The woman she’s waiting for will come out of her house, an apartment block almost in the “luxury” category, stepping through the door with its polished bronze frame and out onto the waxed marble beyond, before which she will have greeted the uniformed doorman in a tone somewhere between indifference and sarcasm, that slightly overbearing tone that comes from when she still lived in Carrasco, in a house with a swimming pool and a cook and a maid, and a big garden with exotic trees and two gardeners.