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‘And with blue covers too,’ I added.

He ignored the impertinence of my irony.

‘No, thank you. This is the one I want. I don’t care about the price.’

I agreed reluctantly and walked over to the cabinet. As I pulled out the key and opened the glass door, I could feel the stranger’s eyes piercing my back.

‘Good things are always under lock and key,’ he muttered under his breath.

I took the book and sighed.

‘Is the gentleman a collector?’

‘I suppose you could call me that. But not of books.’

I turned round with the book in my hand.

‘And what do you collect, sir?’

Once again, the stranger ignored my question and stretched a hand out for the book. I had to resist the urge to put the volume back in the cabinet and turn the key. My father would never forgive me if I let such a sale go by when business was so bad.

‘The price is three hundred and fifty pesetas,’ I said before handing it to him, hoping the figure would make him change his mind.

He nodded without batting an eyelid and pulled out a one-thousand-peseta note from the pocket of a suit that cannot have been worth a duro. I wondered whether the note was forged.

‘I’m afraid I don’t have change for such a large note, sir.’

I would have asked him to wait a moment while I ran down to the nearest bank for change and, at the same time, to make sure it wasn’t a fake, but I didn’t want to leave him alone in the bookshop.

‘Don’t worry. It’s genuine. Do you know how you can tell?’

The stranger raised the note against the light.

‘Look at the watermarks. And these lines. The texture …’

‘Is the gentleman an expert in forgeries?’

‘In this world, everything is a fake, young man. Everything except money.’

He placed the note in my hand and closed my fist over it, patting my knuckles.

‘Keep the change for my next visit,’ he said. ‘On account.’

‘It’s a lot of money, sir. Six hundred and fifty pesetas …’

‘Loose change.’

‘Let me give you a receipt then.’

‘I trust you.’

The stranger examined the book without interest.

‘By the way, it’s a gift. I’m going to ask you to deliver it in person.’

For a moment, I hesitated.

‘We don’t normally do deliveries, but in this case we’ll be happy to take care of your package, free of charge. May I ask whether the address is in Barcelona itself or …?’


Tags: Carlos Ruiz Zafón The Cemetery of Forgotten Mystery