‘Yes, and it was the best dinner I have eaten in all my life. I don’t remember what we ate, but I do remember every single word we said and every single look you gave me. A magical evening with twinkling stars and a twinkling Astra.’
Evita laughs at Eddie’s romantic torrent of words. As usual with Eddie, it never feels ridiculous, just feels heartfelt and delicate. Evita really thinks he means what he says. She looks at Astra.
Astra is seized by the giggles. In the course of a minute she has been transformed from a businesslike publisher to a crooning maiden.
Titus wonders what on earth is happening. If this isn’t a question of intellectual espionage then I’ll eat my hat, he thinks. Is he really so terribly cunning that he is going to seduce Astra and try to pump her for information about the project? How much has he found out already?
He must warn Astra in some way, and demand an oath of confidentiality. At the same time, he is convinced that he would risk everything if he revealed that Eddie knows about the book idea. Both Astra and Evita could feel cheated. Who knows, they might be furious and cancel the whole thing.
Besides, there is no reason to show Eddie how smart and alert he is now. Rather the opposite, he ought to act like the old Titus. In Eddie’s world, Titus is a pathetic specimen. Let sleeping dogs lie!
He slides down a little lower on the sofa and tries to look tired and a bit the worse for wear.
‘You seem to be having a good time,’ says Eddie jovially.
‘Yes, indeed,’ says Evita, ‘We’re sitting here discussing the future. The idea is to publish a paperback trilogy with Storm Clouds, Treacherous Charades and Baroque in Their Blood. Completely black covers with dark grey typography in relief on the front, perhaps with Titus’ eyes looking straight through the reader. It feels rather exciting to do all three together, don’t you think?’
Wow, that woman knows what she is doing, thinks Titus, and feels a little less concerned. He can evidently rely on her. But what about Astra?
‘An excellent idea,’ says Eddie the full-blooded diplomat. ‘I love everything Titus has done, and everything he’s going to do. Titus is a piece of Swedish literary history.’
Titus pretends to hiccup. At least that is easier than trying to say something. Eddie looks at him.
‘How are you doing, Titus?’
‘Comme ci, comme ça. I am fairly tired,’ he says, trying to rasp.
‘What a coincidence that you are here! I’ve been thinking of asking if you can come and do a reading at Södra Teatern on 6 September. They’re arranging the Spoken Word Festival there and it would be a wonderful bonus if you could come, people love it when you read. I shall be the MC and will be doing some of my own things between the acts.’
Titus starts to perspire. How can be wriggle out of this? No way is he going to humiliate himself and read nonsense in front of a guffawing crowd. Not now that he has sorted his head out.
‘Err, well, I don’t know…’
‘Come on, it’d be really great, Titus. And the fee is four thousand kronor, too.’
Four thousand! Titus hasn’t got much in his bank account. A reading would actually mean a considerable improvement in his situation. Four thousand? How does that work? He gets four thousand to read nonsense, about one month’s worth of his annual royalties, and that for books that have taken several years to write. It is just daft.
‘Yeah… well… I suppose I could do it.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Great!’
The small talk goes on for a little while and Eddie continues to dominate the room. He lists the names of the international guests who will be coming to the Poetry Slam Festival, he speaks of all the emails he has received since the Summer programme, and he reveals that the entire programme will be issued as a double CD with extra material ready for the Christmas shopping season. Evita wonders how clever it is to release a summer CD in the winter. Astra says that it might work because it’s a sort of ‘opposite approach’. ‘Exactly!’ Eddie shouts. Evita hums and haws. Titus sits and nods, trying to look tired and a bit tipsy. No way is he going to reveal that he is a viable human being in front of Eddie X.
Astra and Evita don’t notice how weirdly Titus is behaving since all their attention is focused on Eddie and what he says.
‘But I haven’t come to talk about myself,’ says Eddie suddenly, and looks solemnly at Astra. ‘It’s such a lovely day that I thought I’d ask you if you want to come for an evening sail in my boat. I have a little Neptun cruising yacht called Come Aboard Amour. It’s moored by the Blockhus promontory out on Djurgården. I thought we could go round the islands in the sunset and then I’d serve you dinner in the cockpit. What do you say, Astra?’
Astra looks in open-eyed wonder at Eddie X. What sort of guy rushes into somebody else’s business meeting and invites them to a romantic dinner? You can’t help but admire his self-confidence. And you can’t help but love him.
‘That sounds super, Eddie. Of course I’ll come!’
‘Great, then I’ll pick you up at six. Is that okay?’
‘Absolutely. Aye, aye, captain!’ Astra giggles.
Eddie gets up to leave. When he passes Astra he lets his hand caress her shoulders. He says he can find his own way out. Both Evita and Titus stare openly at Eddie when he goes out through the room. If a resurrected Jesus had gone through the room at the same time, nobody would have seen anyone but Eddie.
Astra, Evita and Titus sit in silence for a few moments after the romantic wind has blown the outer door shut.
Titus can’t restrain himself any longer. He must give expression to his worry.
‘Do you think that he… I mean, why did he come just now? Was it just a coincidence or…’
Astra looks surprised. She has no idea what he is getting at.
‘What? No, but, well of course he knows where I live. I told him that when we were out eating.’
Evita is equally unable to grasp what Titus is worried about.
‘He’s just delightful! Entirely governed by impulse. He must have been nearby, the sun was shining, and he felt that he wanted to sail this evening. No sooner said than arranged. And now he has a date.’
There is a vacant look on Titus’ face. He is absolutely convinced that Eddie X is more interested in getting hold of book ideas than in getting hold of sailors. Besides, he knows how men function. The hunt comes before romance.
‘Please Astra, you must promise me not to mention The Best Book in the World. Not to a soul, and especially not to Eddie.’
‘But of course, Titus! Why ever would I do that? You can trust me. The Best Book in the World stays between the three of us.’
Titus gives a wry smile. He is by no means convinced.
CHAPTER 27
The Evening Breeze Blows up
Titus totters out onto the street outside Astra’s flat. Astra’s coffee was not at all satisfying. The coffee is good of course, and the milk hot and frothy. But where are the cakes and biscuits? Not a bun to be seen! No cakes, no sandwiches, no Danish pastries, no croissants, nothing. The only thing on the table was an enormous fruit bowclass="underline" organic fairtrade bananas, apples and plums. Sure, fruit can be tasty, but it isn’t what you expect when you go for a coffee. If you have fruit with coffee it ends up as something quite different to a coffee break – a damned fruit break, like in a children’s nursery. A jolly little fruit break. Kumbaya, my lord. Titus gets the shivers when he thinks about himself as a little boy at nursery school. It was on the whole quite unusual for kids to go to nursery when he was little, most stayed at home with their mothers, playing in the yard with nice new toys from the new Co-op department store. Miniature mechanical diggers. Footballs made of real leather. But not Titus. His mum cleaned offices instead of looking after him, and since he was delicate and a bit different, he always got to sit next to teacher when they assembled for a sing-song in the afternoon after the outdoor break. They all sat in a circle on the grey-beige linoleum floor and held each other’s hands. Miss Leaf (Titus had never heard her first name) had cold sweaty hands and fluttering but kind eyes with little lumps of that black stuff on her eyelashes. A shrill voice: Kumbaya my lord, Kumbayaaaah! Morgan sat on the other side of Titus. Meany Morgan. He had tough paws and he used to mangle Titus’ hand so that his fingers sort of rolled up inside Morgan’s dirty fist, back and forth until his little hand was round as a cigar. Morgan’s victory cigar. Scornful milk-teeth pegs. And then – fruit break. Brown-spotted bananas. Soft apples. Morgan’s teeth-marks. Swedish nursery schools in the shadow of the expanding welfare state in the early 1970s.