My mother had an idea. 'Basil, she said, 'you speak of Spain. You long to steep yourself in local colour. You sigh for hidalgos, sombreros, carbonados, and carboncillos, why not combine business with pleasure? 'Why not take the Alhambra? This was an idea! Where could we be safer than under the old Moorish flag? Philippa readily fell in with my mother's proposal.