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

“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 placidly for a while, 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 Señor 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?”