“At last one morning I managed to pull myself together and recover my momentum, my self-respect. I began dictating one of the most cruel scenes of the novel-the first methodical slaughter by the Cainite assassins-and I found myself being carried along by my words. They seemed to be dictated by another voice inside me, a free, savage, powerful voice. I, who had so often mocked myths of inspiration, the romantic posing of writers who boasted that their characters dictated orders to them. I, who had always written just one sentence at a time, wavering, regretting my choice of words, making minute corrections, was now swept along by a wave of vociferous primitive violence that left no time or room for doubt, that spoke for me in a fierce but welcome outpouring. I dictated at unprecedented speed, the sentences rushing, tumbling out one after another, but Luciana kept up and never interrupted. She seemed to be possessed by the same facility, as if she were a virtuoso pianist only now allowed to show off her skill. It lasted maybe a couple of hours, though it seemed time no longer existed and I was in a trance beyond human measure. I glanced over Luciana’s shoulder and saw that we’d advanced by ten pages-more than I usually wrote in a week. I was overcome by good humour and saw her differently for the first time in days. Maybe I’d exaggerated and jumped to conclusions. Maybe she just wanted to wound me, and mentioning you was an adolescent tactic to make me jealous. I made a couple of jokes and she laughed in the same relaxed way as before. In my enthusiasm, my sudden euphoria, I misread the signs. I asked her to make coffee. She straightened in the chair, arched her back, and then rubbed her neck and made that cracking sound I’d waited for for so long. I was standing very close to her and thought it was her way of sending me a sign, of checking that her secret signal still worked. A second chance. I placed my hands on her shoulders and drew her towards me so as to kiss her. I’d made a fatal mistake. She struggled and pushed me away. I let go of her immediately but she screamed, as if she really thought I was going to attack her. We stood for a moment in silence. She was shaking and looked distraught. I couldn’t understand what had happened. I hadn’t even touched her lips.

“My daughter came to the door. I suddenly realised that my wife might also have heard the scream. I managed to reassure Pauli and when she closed the door Luciana and I were alone again. She went to pick up her bag and looked at me with horror and disgust, as if I’d committed an unforgivable crime. With barely contained fury she said she’d never set foot in my house again. I found her tone of moral outrage infuriating, but I managed to control myself. I simply said that she’d given me all the signals. This made her even angrier. She kept saying, “What signals? What signals?” getting louder and louder. She stumbled over her words and seemed on the verge of tears. I was completely taken aback-her reaction seemed so sudden and excessive, but in the confusion of accusations I heard her say she’d sue me and slowly it all seemed to acquire a different meaning. A sordid, repellent meaning. I remembered that a few days earlier she’d seen me sign several contracts for translation rights. She could easily have seen the sums involved. And in emails I’d sometimes discussed my earnings. I’d always been particularly generous to her. It was my way of showing I was pleased with her work. She saw me taking trips and accepting invitations from different countries. She must have thought I was a millionaire.”

“She told me that at the time she wasn’t really thinking of suing you, it was just an empty threat. It was her mother who persuaded her. Surely you don’t believe it was all part of a plan? That she could have been so calculating?”

“I’ve just read the fairy tale she told you,” he said coldly. “Don’t you find it odd that she left out so much? You can ask her about everything I’ve just said. Or do you believe that I would jump on a woman out of the blue? Nothing like that had ever happened to me: I couldn’t understand it. I don’t mean the rejection, but her extreme reaction. The only thing that made sense of it was her threat to sue me. I couldn’t believe it at first. After she’d left I wondered endlessly if I had really done something so bad. I’d only tried to kiss her. Once. I dismissed it as an empty threat, but then the solicitor’s letter arrived. No doubt about it, two days later there it was. I was alone in my study when I opened it. I saw her handwriting and the absurd sum she was suing me for and still thought it was something she’d done in the heat of the moment after she left that day. The first line, with the accusation of sexual harassment, made me boil with indignation. But it seemed so crazy that I didn’t even consider replying. I simply tore it up so that my wife couldn’t read it. I’d told Mercedes that Luciana would no longer be coming because she’d got a full-time job. She was surprised Luciana hadn’t said goodbye to Pauli but left it at that. Pauli, on the other hand, wouldn’t stop asking for her.

“A month passed and nothing more happened so I thought things must have blown over. But then the postman rang the bell again one morning. I was in my study and, not wanting to disturb me, my wife went down to sign for me. By the time she knocked at the door to hand me the letter, she’d read the name of the sender. She placed it on my desk and stood behind me, arms crossed, waiting for me to open it. I think she read the first line at the same time as I did. It was a repeat of the first letter, demanding more money. My wife saw those two words, the despicable accusation, and tore it from my hands. By the time she’d finished reading it, Mercedes was shaking with hatred and joy. It was the opportunity she’d been waiting for for a long time-the chance to leave and take Pauli away from me for ever. She screamed insults, waving the letter, saying she was going to keep it, so that when Pauli grew up she’d know what kind of person her beloved daddy really was. Of course she wouldn’t let me explain. She wouldn’t listen to anything I said and I don’t think I would have had the strength to explain at the time anyway. I’d lied to her the day Luciana left and in her eyes this could only mean I was guilty. I was stunned, reduced to silence. I felt a disastrous sequence of events had been set in motion and all I could do was wait for the consequences. In fact our marriage had been over for a long time. But before I tell you about Mercedes, to be fair to her there’s something I must show you,” he said suddenly, and stood up. “If I can find it. Or better still, come with me.”

I got to my feet, and he indicated an archway leading to another part of the house.

Seven

I followed him down a wide corridor with an oak floor. There were several doors leading off it, all closed. He opened the end door and we went into his study. The first thing I noticed was the large window looking on to an unexpected sunken garden, with several trees, and climbing plants covering the walls. In the fading light I could see an immense desk covered in books and papers, with two rows of drawers, and a swivel chair in front of it. A laptop occupied a small space in the middle, between piles. A chaotic jumble of yet more papers and books seemed to have accumulated at different times on a table in the centre of the room. Kloster motioned me to the only other chair, miraculously clear, and started searching through desk drawers. At last he seemed to find what he was looking for, pulling from the bottom of a drawer an old, slightly creased TV listings magazine with an actress I didn’t recall on the cover.

“This is the only photo of Mercedes I’ve kept. Here she is, as she was when I met her,” he said, handing me the magazine. I realised it was his way of explaining why he’d married her, of showing me the only, misguided but excusable, reason. Across the years the hairstyle looked slightly ridiculous, but the face and eyes were captivating. The sensual pout still achieved the desired effect, and there was something resolute in the full curves of the body, displayed with studied nonchalance. I thought to myself that it must have been difficult to take your eyes off her. Kloster switched on a lamp and went to the window. He stood with his back to me, looking out at the deepening gloom of the garden, as if he wanted to keep away from the photo.