The Angel's Game (The Cemetery of Forgotten 2)

“Aren’t you going to invite me for a snack?”

“I’m a streetwalker and I’m not free for another two hours.”

“Well then, let me invite you. How much do you charge for accompanying a lady for an hour?”

I followed her reluctantly to a chocolate shop on Calle Petritxol. We ordered two cups of hot chocolate and sat facing each other, seeing who would break the silence first. For once, I won.

“I didn’t mean to offend you yesterday, David, I don’t know what Don Pedro told you, but I’ve never said such a thing.”

“Maybe you only thought it, which is why he would have told me.”

“You have no idea what I think,” she replied harshly. “Nor does Don Pedro.”

I shrugged.

“Fine.”

“What I said was very different. I said that I didn’t think you were doing what you felt inside.”

I smiled and nodded. The only thing I felt at that moment was the need to kiss her. Cristina held my gaze defiantly. She didn’t turn her face when I stretched out my hand and touched her lips, sliding my fingers down her chin and neck.

“Not like this,” she said at last.

By the time the waiter brought the steaming cups of cocoa she had left. Months went by before I even heard her name again.

…

One day toward the end of September when I had just finished a new installment of City of the Damned, I decided to take a night off. I could feel the approach of one of those storms of nausea and burning stabs in my brain. I gulped down a handful of codeine pills and lay on my bed in the darkness waiting for the cold sweat and the trembling of my hands to stop. I was on the point of falling asleep when I heard the doorbell. I dragged myself to the hall and opened the door. Vidal, in one of his impeccable Italian silk suits, was lighting a cigarette under a beam of light that seemed painted for him by Vermeer himself.

“Are you alive, or am I speaking to an apparition?” he asked.

“Don’t tell me you’ve come all the way from Villa Helius just to throw that at me.”

“No. I’ve come because I haven’t heard from you in two months and I’m worried about you. Why don’t you get a telephone installed in this mausoleum, like normal people would?”

“I don’t like telephones. I like to see people’s faces when they speak and for them to see mine.”

“In your case I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror recently?”

“That’s your department.”

“There are bodies in the mortuary at the Clínico hospital with a rosier face than yours. Go on, get dressed.”

“Why?”

“Because I say so. We’re going out for a stroll.”

Vidal would not take no for an answer. He dragged me to the car that was waiting in Paseo del Borne and told Manuel to start the engine.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Surprise.”

We crossed the whole of Barcelona until we reached Avenida Pedralbes and started to climb up the hillside. A few minutes later we glimpsed Villa Helius, with all its windows lit up, projecting a bubble of bright gold across the twilight. Giving nothing away, Vidal smiled mysteriously at me. When we reached the mansion he told me to follow him and led me to the large sitting room. A group of people were waiting for me there and as soon as they saw me, they started to clap. I recognized Don Basilio, Cristina, Sempere—both father and son—my old schoolteacher Doña Mariana, some of the authors who, like me, published their work with Barrido & Escobillas and with whom I had established a friendship, Manuel, who had joined the group, and a few of Vidal’s conquests. Vidal offered me a glass of champagne and smiled.

“Happy twenty-eighth birthday, David.”