The Flanders Panel by Arturo Pérez-Reverte

Author:Arturo Pérez-Reverte
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Suspense, Fiction, General
ISBN: 9780156029582
Publisher: Harcourt
Published: 2004-06-07T04:00:00+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." César 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 Muñoz, as if seeking the support of a voice of reason. "It's enough to give anyone a nasty turn."

Muñoz stopped playing with the ball 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." César reached for his glass of rosé 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 César 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." César 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 César 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 Muñoz.

"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 Álvaro would turn up with his neck broken, but he did."

César 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."

César looked at Muñoz, but the latter, utterly inscrutable, was still kneading his ball of bread. César 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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