“So did I.”
“Then let me offer you a glass of wine and we’ll drink a toast to our errors.”
I followed him to a large room with wide French windows overlooking the city. Corelli pointed to an armchair and then filled two glasses from a decanter on a table. He handed me a glass and sat on the armchair opposite mine.
I tasted the wine. It was excellent. I almost downed it in one and soon felt the warmth sliding down my throat, calming my nerves. Corelli sniffed at his and watched me with a friendly, relaxed smile.
“You were right,” I said.
“I usually am,” Corelli replied. “It’s a habit that rarely gives me any satisfaction. Sometimes I think that few things would give me more pleasure than being sure I had made a mistake.”
“That’s easy to resolve. Ask me. I’m always wrong.”
“No, you’re not wrong. I think you see things as clearly as I do and it doesn’t give you any satisfaction either.”
Listening to him it occurred to me that the only thing that could give me some satisfaction at that precise moment was to set fire to the whole world and burn along with it. As if he’d read my thoughts, Corelli smiled and nodded, baring his teeth.
“I can help you, my friend.”
To my surprise, I found myself avoiding his eyes, concentrating instead on that small brooch with the silver angel on his lapel.
“Pretty brooch,” I said, pointing at it.
“A family heirloom,” Corelli replied.
I thought we’d exchanged enough pleasantries to last the whole evening.
“Señor Corelli, what am I doing here?”
Corelli’s eyes shone the same color as the wine he was gently swilling in his glass.
“It’s very simple. You’re here because at last you’ve realized that this is the place you should be. You’re here because I made you an offer a year ago. An offer that at the time you were not ready to accept but that you have not forgotten. And I’m here because I still think that you’re the person I’m looking for and that is why I preferred to wait twelve months rather than let you go.”
“An offer you never got round to explaining in detail.”
“In fact, the only thing I gave you was the details.”
“One hundred thousand francs in exchange for working for you for a whole year, writing a book.”
“Exactly. Many people would think that was the essential information. But not you.”
“You told me that when you described the sort of book you wanted me to write for you, I’d do it even if you didn’t pay me.”
Corelli nodded.
“You have a good memory.”
“I have an excellent memory, Señor Corelli, so much so that I don’t recall having seen, read, or heard about any book you’ve published.”
“Do you doubt my solvency?”
I shook my head, trying not to let him notice my longing and greed that gnawed at my insides. The less interest I showed, the more tempted I felt by the publisher’s promises.
“I’m simply curious about your motives,” I said.
“As you should be.”
“Anyhow, may I remind you that I have an exclusive contract with Barrido & Escobillas for five more years. The other day I received a very revealing visit from them, and from a litigious-looking lawyer. Still, I suppose it doesn’t really matter, because five years is too long, and if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that I have very little time.”