25
I left Casa Marlasca in low spirits and wandered aimlessly through the maze of lonely streets that led to Pedralbes. The sky was covered with a mesh of clouds that barely allowed the sun to filter through. Needles of light perforated the grey shroud and swept across the hillside. I followed these lines of light with my eyes and saw how, in the distance, they caressed the enamelled roof of Villa Helius. The windows shone in the distance. Ignoring common sense, I set off in that direction. As I drew near, the sky darkened and a cutting wind lifted the fallen leaves into spirals. I stopped when I reached Calle Panamá. Villa Helius rose before me. I didn’t dare cross the road and approach the wall surrounding the garden. Instead, I stood there for God knows how long, unable to leave or to go over to the door and knock. Then I saw her, walking across one of the large windows on the second floor. An intense cold invaded me. I was about to leave when she turned and stopped. She went up to the windowpane and I felt her eyes resting on mine. She raised her hand as if she were about to greet me, but didn’t spread out her fingers. I didn’t have the courage to hold her gaze; I turned round and walked off down the street. My hands were shaking and I thrust them into my pockets. Before turning the corner I looked back again and saw that she was still there, watching me. I tried to hate her but I couldn’t find the strength.
I arrived home feeling chilled to the bone. As I walked through the front door I noticed the top of an envelope peeping out of the letter box. Parchment and sealing wax. News from the boss. I opened it while I dragged myself up the stairs. His elegant handwriting summoned me to a meeting the following day. When I reached the landing, the door was already ajar and Isabella was waiting for me with a smile.
‘I was in the study and saw you coming,’ she said.
I tried to smile back at her, but can’t have been very convincing. She looked me in the eye and her face took on a worried expression.
‘Are you all right?’
‘It’s nothing. I think I’ve caught a bit of a chill.’
‘I have some broth on the stove. It’ll work wonders. Come in.’
Isabella took my arm and led me to the gallery.
‘I’m not an invalid, Isabella.’
She let go of me and looked down.
‘I’m sorry.’
I didn’t feel like a confrontation with anybody, still less my obstinate assistant, so I allowed her to guide me to one of the gallery armchairs into which I fell like a sack of bones. Isabella sat opposite me and looked at me with alarm.
‘What happened?’
I smiled reassuringly.
‘Nothing. Nothing has happened. Weren’t you going to give me a bowl of soup?’
‘Right away.’
She shot off towards the kitchen and I heard her rushing about. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes until I heard her footsteps approaching.
She handed me a steaming bowl of exaggerated dimensions.
‘It looks like a chamber pot,’ I said.
‘Drink it and don’t be so rude.’
I sniffed at the broth. It smelled good, but I didn’t want to seem too docile.
‘It smells odd,’ I said. ‘What’s in it?’
‘It smells of chicken because it’s made of chicken, salt and a dash of sherry. Drink it.’
I took a sip and gave the bowl back to Isabella. She shook her head.
‘All of it.’
I sighed and took another sip. It was good, whether I wanted to admit it or not.
‘So, how was your day?’ Isabella asked.
‘It had its moments. How did you get on?’
‘You’re looking at the new star shop assistant of Sempere & Sons.’
‘Excellent.’
‘By five o’clock I’d already sold two copies of The Picture of Dorian Gray and a set of the complete works of Kipling to a very distinguished gentleman from Madrid who gave me a tip. Don’t look at me like that; I put the tip in the till.’
‘What about Sempere’s son? What did he say?’
‘He didn’t actually say very much. He was like a stuffed dummy the whole time pretending he wasn’t looking, but he couldn’t take his eyes off me. I can hardly sit down my bum’s so sore from him staring at it every time I went up the ladder to bring down a book. Happy?’
I smiled and nodded.
‘Thanks, Isabella.’
She looked straight into my eyes.
‘Say that again.’
‘Thank you, Isabella. From the bottom of my heart.’
She blushed and looked away. We sat for a while in a placid silence, enjoying that camaraderie which doesn’t even require words. I drank my broth until I could barely swallow another drop, and then showed her the empty bowl. She nodded.
‘You’ve been to see her, haven’t you? That woman, Cristina,’ said Isabella, trying not to meet my eyes.
‘Isabella, the reader of faces . . .’
‘Tell me the truth.’
‘I only saw her from a distance.’
Isabella looked at me cautiously, as if she were debating whether or not to say something that was stuck in her conscience.
‘Do you love her?’ she finally asked.
For a moment there was silence.
‘I don’t know how to love anybody. You know that. I’m a selfish person and all that. Let’s talk about something else.’
Isabella’s eyes settled on the envelope sticking out of my pocket.
‘News from the boss?’
‘The monthly call. His Excellency Se?or Andreas Corelli is pleased to ask me to attend a meeting tomorrow at seven o’clock in the morning by the entrance to the Pueblo Nuevo Cemetery. He couldn’t have chosen a better place.’
‘And you plan to go?’
‘What else can I do?’
‘You could take a train this very evening and disappear forever.’
‘You’re the second person to suggest that to me today. To disappear from here.’
‘There must be a reason.’
‘And who would be your guide through the disasters of literature?’
‘I’d go with you.’
I smiled and took her hand in mine.
‘With you to the ends of the earth and back, Isabella.’
Isabella withdrew her hand suddenly and looked offended.
‘You’re making fun of me.’
‘Isabella, if I ever decide to make fun of you, I’ll shoot myself.’
‘Don’t say that. I don’t like it when you talk like that.’
‘I’m sorry.’
My assistant turned to her desk and sank into a deep silence. I watched her going over her day’s pages, making corrections and crossing out whole paragraphs with the pen set I had given her.
‘I can’t concentrate with you looking at me.’
I stood up and went past her desk.
‘Then I’ll leave you to work, and after dinner you can show me what you’ve written.’
‘It’s not ready. I have to correct it all and rewrite it and—’
‘It’s never ready, Isabella. Get used to it. We’ll read it together after dinner.’
‘Tomorrow.’
I gave in.
‘Tomorrow.’
I walked away, leaving her alone with her words. I was just closing the door when I heard her voice calling me.
‘David?’
I stopped on the other side of the door, but didn’t say anything. ‘It’s not true. It’s not true that you don’t know how to love anyone.’
I took refuge in my bedroom and closed the door. I lay down on the bed, curled up, and closed my eyes.