He sighed in homage to his own ghosts, then raised his glass slowly in Munoz’s direction.

“I still don’t understand,” insisted Julia, “what all this has to do with Alvaro.”

“Not very much, at first,” Cesar acknowledged. “I just wanted a simple little report on the history of the painting. Something for which, as I said, I was prepared to pay well. But things got complicated when you decided to consult him too. That wasn’t a serious problem in principle. For Alvaro, showing a praiseworthy professional discretion, refrained from telling you about my interest in the painting, since I’d specifically asked that it remain top secret.”

“But didn’t he find it odd that you were researching the painting behind my back?”

“Not at all. Or if he did, he didn’t say anything. Perhaps he thought I wanted to give you a surprise, by providing you with some new facts. Or perhaps he thought I was playing a trick on you.” Cesar pondered seriously. “Now I think of it, he would have deserved to be killed just for that.”

“He did try to warn me. He said something about the Van Huys being very fashionable lately.”

“A villain to the end,” remarked Cesar. “By giving you that simple warning, he covered himself as regards you, without upsetting me. He kept us both happy: he took the money and kept open the possibility of reviving tender scenes from yesteryear.” He arched one eyebrow and gave a short laugh. “But I was telling you what happened between Alvaro and mc.” He peered into his glass again. “Two days after my talk with him, you came and told me about the concealed inscription. I tried to hide it as best I could, but the effect on me was like an electric shock. It confirmed my feeling about the existence of some mystery. I knew that it would increase the value of the Van Huys, and I remember telling you as much. That, together with the history of the painting and its characters, would open possibilities that at the time I thought would be marvellous: you and I would share in the research and solve the enigma together. It would be like the old days, you see, like hunting for buried treasure, but a real treasure this time. And it would mean fame for you, Julia. Your name in specialist magazines, in art books. As for me… let’s just say that I was satisfied with that. But involving myself in the game also meant a complex personal challenge. One thing is certain, ambition had nothing to do with it at all. Do you believe me?”

“I believe you.”

“I’m glad. Because only then will you be able to understand what happened next.” Cesar clinked the ice in his glass, and the noise seemed to help him order his memories. “When you left, I phoned Alvaro, and we arranged that I would see him at midday. I went with no evil intentions, and I confess that I was trembling with pure excitement. Alvaro told me what he’d learned. I saw, with satisfaction, that he knew nothing about the hidden inscription. Everything went swimmingly until he started talking about you. Then, Princess, the whole atmosphere changed completely.”

“In what sense?”

“In every sense.”

“I mean what did Alvaro say about me?”

Cesar shifted in his chair, apparently embarrassed, before he gave his reluctant reply.

“Your visit had made a big impression on him. Or at least that’s what he implied. I saw that you’d stirred up old feelings in a most dangerous way, and that Alvaro wouldn’t mind at all if things were to go back to the way they were.” He paused and frowned. “Julia, you simply can’t imagine how that irritated me. Alvaro had ruined two years of your life, and there I was, sitting opposite him, listening to his brazen plans to erupt into your life again. I told him, in no uncertain terms, to leave you in peace. He looked at me as if I were an interfering old queen, and we began to argue. I’ll spare you the details, but it was most unpleasant. He accused me of sticking my nose in where it wasn’t wanted.”

“And he was right.”

“No, he wasn’t. You mattered to me, Julia. You matter to me more than anything in the world.”

“Don’t be absurd. I would never have got together again with Alvaro.”

“I’m not so sure about that. I know how much that wretch meant to you.” He smiled wryly into space, as if Alvaro’s ghost, rendered inoffensive now, were there. “While we were arguing, I felt my old hatred for him well up in me. It went to my head like one of your hot vodka toddies. It was, my dear, a hatred I don’t recall ever having felt before; a good, solid hatred, deliciously ‘Latin’. I stood up, and I think I lost control, because I hurled abuse at him, using the select vocabulary of a fishwife, which I reserve for very special occasions. At first, he seemed surprised by my outburst. Then he lit his pipe and laughed in my face. He said it was my fault that his relationship with you had ended. That I was to blame for your never having grown up. My presence in your life, which he described as unhealthy and obsessive, had clipped your wings. ”And the worst thing,“ he added with an insulting smile, ”is that, deep down, you’re the one Julia’s always been in love with, because you symbolise the father she never knew… And that’s why she’s in the mess she’s in now.“ Having said that, Alvaro put one hand in his pocket, gave a few puffs on his pipe and peered at me through the smoke. ”Your relationship,“ he concluded, ”is nothing more or less than a case of unconsummated incest. It’s just lucky you’re a homosexual.“”

Julia closed her eyes. Cesar left his final words floating in the air and had retreated into silence. When, ashamed and embarrassed, she’d gathered enough courage to look at him again, he gave a dismissive shrug, as if what he was about to say was not his responsibility.

“With those words, Princess, Alvaro signed his death warrant. He went on smoking in the chair opposite me but, in fact, he was already dead. Not because of what he’d said – after all, his opinion was as valid as anyone else’s – but because of what it revealed to me about myself. It was as if he’d pulled back a curtain which, for years, had separated me from reality. Perhaps because it confirmed ideas that I’d kept locked away in the darkest corner of my mind, never allowing myself to cast the light of reason and logic on them.”

He stopped, as if he’d lost the thread of what he was saying and looked hesitantly at Julia and at Munoz. At last, with an ambiguous smile, simultaneously perverse and shy, he raised his glass to his lips to take a sip of gin.

“I had a sudden inspiration. And then, wonder of wonders, a complete plan revealed itself, just the way it happens in fairy tales. Each and every one of the pieces that had been floating randomly about found its exact place, its precise meaning. Alvaro, you, me, the painting. It fitted in too with my shadow side, with all the distant echoes, the forgotten feelings, the dormant passions. In those few seconds everything was laid out before me, like a giant chessboard on which each person, each idea, each situation found its corresponding symbol in a chess piece, found its exact place in time and space. That was a Game with a capital G, the great game of my life. And of yours. Because it was all there, Princess: chess, adventure, love, life and death. And at the end of it, there you stood, free of everything and everyone, beautiful and perfect, reflected in the bright mirror of maturity. You had to play chess, Julia; that much was certain. You had to kill us all in order, at last, to be free.”

“Good God.”

Cesar shook his head.

“God has nothing to do with it. I can assure you that when I went over to Alvaro and struck him on the back of the neck with the obsidian ashtray that was on the table, I no longer hated him. That was nothing but a rather unsavoury part of the plan. Irritating but necessary.”

He studied his right hand with some curiosity. He seemed to be weighing the capacity to inflict death contained in his long, pale fingers with their manicured nails, which at that moment were holding, with elegant indolence, his glass of gin.