The Flanders Panel by Arturo Perez-Reverte & Margaret Jull Costa

Author:Arturo Perez-Reverte & Margaret Jull Costa [Perez-Reverte, Arturo & Costa, Margaret Jull]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: detective
ISBN: 0156029588
Amazon: B001TODOEA
Publisher: Harvest Books
Published: 1990-01-01T18:30:00+00:00

IX The Moat at the East Gate

ACHILLES: What happens if you then find a picture

inside the picture which you have already entered…?

TORTOISE: Just what you would expect: you wind up

inside that picture-in-a-picture.

Douglas R. Hofstadter

“That really was a bit over the top, my dear.” Cesar was winding his spaghetti round his fork. “Can you imagine it? A worthy citizen happens to stop at a traffic light, at the wheel of his car, which just happens to be blue, when a pretty young woman transformed into a basilisk appears, quite without warning, and tries to shoot him.” He turned to Munoz, as if seeking the support of a voice of reason. “It’s enough to give anyone a nasty turn.”

Munoz stopped playing with the bail of bread he was rolling about on the tablecloth, but he didn’t look up.

“She didn’t actually get that far. I mean, she didn’t shoot him,” he said in a calm, low voice. “The car drove off first.”

“Of course it did.” Cesar reached for his glass of rose wine. “The light had changed to green.”

Julia dropped her knife and fork on her barely touched plate of lasagne, making a noise that earned her a pained look from Cesar over the top of his wine glass.

“Listen, stupid. The car was already parked there before the light turned red, when the street was empty… Right opposite the gallery.”

“There are hundreds of cars like that.” Cesar put his glass gently down on the table, dabbed at his lips and composed a sweet smile before adding, in a voice lowered to a sibylline whisper, “It might well have been one of your virtuous friend Menchu’s admirers. Some heavily muscled would-be pimp, hoping to oust Max.”

Julia felt a profound sense of irritation. At moments of crisis Cesar always slid into his vicious viper mode, aggressively slanderous. But she didn’t want to give way to her ill humour by arguing with him, least of all in front of Munoz.

“It might also,” she replied, feigning patience after mentally counting to ten, “have been someone who, on seeing me come out of the gallery, decided to make himself scarce.”

“It seems very unlikely to me, my dear. Really it does.”

“You probably would have thought it unlikely that Alvaro would turn up with his neck broken, but he did.”

Cesar pursed his lips as if he found the allusion an unfortunate one, at the same time indicating Julia’s plate.

“Your lasagne is getting cold.”

“I don’t give a damn about the lasagne. I want to know what you think. And I want the truth.”

Cesar looked at Munoz, but the latter, utterly inscrutable, was still kneading his ball of bread. Cesar rested his wrists symmetrically on either side of his plate, and stared at the vase containing two carnations, one white, one red, that adorned the centre of the tablecloth.

“Maybe you’re right.” He arched his eyebrows as if the sincerity demanded of him and the affection he felt for Julia were waging a hard-fought battle. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Well, there you are; I’ve said it.

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