‘Do you have a favourite song?’ asked Max, after he’d swallowed his embarrassment, fascination and pity.
‘I do, Mr Pretty Lips. Lots. Thousands of them!’ She leaned forward, whispered something to Max, donned her hat again and dipped her brush expectantly in the red paste on her palette.
‘I’m ready,’ she said. ‘And call me Elaia!’
‘Fly Me to the Moon’ struck up soon after. Max played a wonderful jazz rendition of the song while the artist waved her paintbrush about to the stream of music.
‘She’s Javier’s daughter,’ whispered Cuneo to Perdu. ‘She’s been battling cancer since she was a girl. I’m pleased to see she’s obviously still winning.’
‘No way! It can’t be true! You think you can just turn up out of the blue, after all this time?’
A woman of about Jean’s age came running over from the terrace and flew into Cuneo’s arms. Her eyes sparkled with laughter.
‘You bloody pasta twizzler! Look who’s turned up, Javier – the stone stroker!’
A man in threadbare coarse corduroy trousers and a checked shirt emerged from the house, which, as Jean noticed upon closer inspection, was by no means as grand as it appeared from a distance. Its glory days of golden chandeliers and a dozen servants must have lain many decades in the past.
Now the woman with the laughing eyes turned to Perdu.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Welcome to the Flintstones’!’
‘Hello,’ Jean Perdu began, ‘my name’s—’
‘Oh, forget about names. There’s no need for them here. Here we can call ourselves whatever we want. Or by what we’re good at. Are you especially good at anything? Or are you something special?’
Her dark-brown eyes scattered sparks.
‘I’m the stone stroker!’ called Cuneo. He was familiar with this game.
‘I’m …’ began Perdu.
‘Don’t listen to him, Zelda. He’s a soul reader, that’s what he is,’ said Cuneo. ‘And his name’s Jean and he’ll supply you with any book it takes to get you sleeping well again.’
He spun around when Zelda’s husband tapped him on the shoulder.
The lady of the manor studied Perdu more intently.
‘Is that right?’ she asked. ‘Can you do that? That would make you a miracle worker.’
There were marks of sadness around her laughing mouth.
Perdu’s gaze roamed around the garden and settled on Elaia.
Max was now pounding out a tearaway version of ‘Hit the Road, Jack’ for Javier and Zelda’s sick daughter.
Zelda must be tired, thought Perdu, tired of having death share this beautiful house with them for so long.
‘Have you … given it a name?’ he asked.
‘It?’
‘The thing that lives and sleeps in Elaia’s body – or only pretends to sleep.’
Zelda ran her hand over Perdu’s unshaved cheeks.
‘You know all about death, huh?’ She gave a sad smile. ‘It – the cancer – is called Lupo. That’s the name Elaia gave it when she was nine. Lupo, like the cartoon dog. She imagined that they lived together in her body like housemates. She respects the fact that it sometimes demands more attention. That way, she says, she can rest easier than if she imagines it wants to destroy her. What on earth would destroy its own home?’
Zelda smiled lovingly as she gazed at her daughter. ‘Lupo’s been living with us for more than twenty years. I get the impression that he’s starting to feel old and tired too.’
She suddenly turned away from Jean to flash a glance at Cuneo, as though she regretted her candour.
‘Your turn. Where have you been, have you found Vivette, and are you staying the night? Tell me everything. And help me with the cooking,’ she commanded to the Neapolitan, linking arms with him and leading him off to the house. Javier laid his left arm around the Italian’s shoulders, and Elaia’s brother, Leon, followed along behind.
Jean felt superfluous. He wandered idly around the garden. He discovered a weathered stone bench in the deeper shadows under a beech tree in a corner of the garden. No one could see him here, but he could see everything. He could see the house and he watched the lights come on one by one and its inhabitants moving around the rooms. He saw Cuneo at work with Zelda in the large kitchen, and Javier appeared to be asking the occasional question as he and Leon sat smoking at the dining table.
Max had ceased playing the piano. Elaia and he were chatting quietly. And then they kissed.
Shortly afterwards Elaia drew Max after her into the depths of the house. A candle flared in a bay window. Jean could see Elaia’s shadow kneeling over Max, holding his hands to the spot where her heart beat as she bent over him. Jean observed her stealing a night on which Lupo had no claim.