Diego Santos remembered that I could not stand the smell of the coffee from the second-floor machine.
I had mentioned it once, in passing, on my third day at Estrella Co when the smell hit me coming up the stairs and I had stopped on the landing and pressed my hand briefly to my mouth before I could stop myself. I had not explained it. I had not made a thing of it. I had simply continued up the stairs and into the office and sat at my desk and opened my folder and gotten on with the day.
The next morning there was a cup of tea on my desk when I arrived.
Not from the machine. From the small kettle in the supply room that no one used because it took twelve minutes to boil and the coffee machine was faster. Ginger tea, the same kind Rosie made, in a plain white mug with a Post-it note stuc
