Madrid, on a cold January morning. I come out of my hotel, superbly located in the fashionable Salamanca quarter. I cross the street and enter the coffee shop. Sitting at table in a corner I see my friend Bea and her husband, Arturo Fuentes the writer, whom I’m meeting today for the first time even if I’m already his reader and follower on Facebook. An unexpected writer Bea and I have been friends for years. We met professionally but …
