I mumbled my welcome, and stepped forward toward the empty chair that Bécquer indicated with his hand. Before I reached it, I sensed a movement to my left and turned just in time to see Richard stand.
“You remember Richard?” Bécquer asked.
“Of course.”
I had been so intent on keeping my feelings blocked from Bécquer’s mind, I’d failed to notice the man who held my future in his hands. But Richard seemed undaunted by my omission, if anything he seemed nervous, for his voice was louder than necessary, his smile brighter than meeting me, an almost unknown author, would warrant.
“We just finished discussing the last points of your contract,” Bécquer said to me after we were all seated. “Do you want me to read it to you now?”
I shook my head. “Actually I’d rather read it on my own.”
Bécquer started.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to insult you in any way. But I find it difficult to follow when someone reads aloud.” Especially if it’s you, I thought but didn’t say.
“I understand.”
He didn’t carry his arm in a sling anymore, but as he handed me the document over his desk, I noticed several scars on his hand just before his fingers touched mine. I shivered.
“You can move closer to the fire,” Bécquer said, “if you are cold.”
I noticed then there were, indeed, some logs burning in the fireplace, which surprised me for I had assumed immortals didn’t feel hot or cold. Maybe I was wrong. Or maybe Bécquer had lit it for us.
I shook my head. “I’m fine,” I said, although I wasn’t. But it wasn’t the fire I wanted to get closer to. And I wasn’t cold either.
The contract was typed this time and simply written. It covered all the points I wanted covered and some I had not considered. I handed it back to him when I was finished and thanked him for his hard work for the contract was clearly in my favor.
“Shall we proceed then?” There was a hint of relief in his voice.
As I nodded, he produced a black fountain pen and signed first, above his printed name. Then Richard got up and, coming to the table, added his signature below.
“I hope our partnership continues,” Richard said handing me the pen, “after these two books are done and sold. And I hope — ”
What he hoped for I never knew, because just then, Bécquer reached forward to take the contract I had already signed, and as he did his pen rolled out of his reach. Richard jumped forward and grabbed it as it fell. His eyes on Bécquer, he set it on the table. Bécquer glowered at him.
Before any of them spoke, there was a knock at the door. Following Bécquer’s invitation, Rachel came in and, taking the contract from the table, moved to the copying machine by the farther wall.
Soon she was done and, after handing a copy to each of us in a black folder, she left as silently as she had come.
Richard looked at his watch. “I better go,” he said, getting up, “if I want to catch the five-thirty train.”
He bent over the desk as he spoke and shook Bécquer’s hand — with both of his — for a long time and with an eagerness that betrayed his deep affection for him and made their previous silent confrontation even more puzzling.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Richard said.
Bécquer nodded, his face unreadable, but when Richard asked me if I could give him a ride to the train station and I said yes, Bécquer’s eyes, once more, flared with anger.
“That won’t be necessary,” he told Richard. “Rachel will take you, as agreed.”
“I really don’t mind,” I said. Both because I had time to do so and because it was obvious to me that Rachel was too upset to drive. She had not uttered a word while she was in the room, and her hands had shaken when handing us the copies.
“But I do,” Bécquer said. And as I looked at him, nonplussed, he added, “I need you to stay a moment longer so we may discuss the termination of our contract.”
“Another time, then,” Richard said brightly, shaking my hand. He had turned his back to Bécquer so Bécquer couldn’t see his face, and, as he spoke, his eyes sent me a message I failed to understand. I frowned; Richard sighed in frustration, and turning toward Bécquer, repeated his goodbyes.
“Please, sit,” Bécquer told me as the door closed behind Richard.
“My job as your agent is done,” Bécquer continued after I complied. “I sold your manuscript. Our contract is now finished, and so according to your wishes I have prepared a termination clause to end our partnership. Just take your time to read it and let me know what you think.”
I swallowed hard and took the paper he offered. The clause was short and simple and took only two minutes to read. I looked up.
“Is everything as you expected it?” Bécquer’s eyes held mine, challenging me to argue. A challenge I didn’t take for there was nothing to argue.
“Yes,” I said, my mouth so dry that saying that single word hurt.
He handed me a golden pen. “Would you sign then?”
I didn’t move. Bécquer was right. It had been my wish to terminate the contract. And the reasons for my request were still as valid now as they had been a week past. Being around immortals will always pose a threat to my children. Yet, if I signed Bécquer would disappear from my life as though he had never existed. And I was not ready for that.
“Carla!”
I blinked and averted my eyes for I realized I had been staring at him.
“I’ve already signed,” he added.
Forcing myself to move, I took his pen and signed my name beside his.
“Great,” Bécquer said. Then he smiled sheepishly. “Would it be too much to ask that you make a copy for your records? Rachel is not here at the moment and I’m afraid modern technology eludes me.”
“My pleasure,” I said, trying hard not to roll my eyes in disbelief. I was by no means a technological genius, but being unable to make a copy sounded lame even by my standards.
“I took the liberty of contacting Sarah,” Bécquer said while I set the paper on the glass and pressed start.
“Sarah?”
“Sarah Lindberg,” Bécquer said. “She interned with me some years back. She runs her own agency, now. You may have met her at the party.”
I grabbed the original and the copy still warm from the printing and walked back to his desk.
“She was quite pregnant,” Bécquer continued, and when I nodded, he continued, “I thought she would be a good match for you and she agreed. If you want, I’ll give you her phone number so you may contact her at your convenience.”
Once more, I was having trouble concentrating under his stare and, again, I failed to answer.
Bécquer frowned. “Unless you have another agent already, of course.”
“Of course,” I repeated, then, realizing how little sense I was making, I quickly added. “No, I don’t. And thank you for talking to Ms. Lindberg on my behalf.”
Bécquer nodded. “Sarah will be on maternity leave for several months starting soon. If that is a problem I could suggest somebody else.”
I smiled. The idea I could finish another book in a couple of months was quite laughable considering I was still struggling with the sequel I had just agreed to produce for Richard, because my outline kept changing between the happy ending I had planned when I started and a darker apocalyptic one that fit my somber mood of late. As for the hypothetical novel Ms. Lindberg would be representing, I had not even started it.
“No, that won’t be necessary. I can wait.”
I grabbed my purse, readying myself to leave, but Bécquer didn’t move.
“One more thing,” he added, motioning me to sit again. “I would appreciate if you don’t mention to Sarah the real reasons for our parting.”
“Of course. I couldn’t possibly tell her that — ”