The Club Dumas

“You don’t know how furious a spurned author can become. My remonstrations were to no avail. He threw me out. Later I learned from Liana that he’d called that bookseller, La Ponte, to offer him the manuscript. He must have thought himself very clever and devious, like Edmond Dantes. He wanted to create a scandal without being directly implicated; he wanted to keep his reputation intact. That’s how you became involved. You can understand my surprise when you came to see me with The Anjou Wine.’“

“You certainly didn’t show it.”

“I had my reasons. With Enrique dead, Liana and I had assumed that the manuscript was lost.”

I saw Corso search his coat for one of his crumpled cigarettes. He put it in his mouth but didn’t light it. He paced the terrace. “Your story’s ridiculous,” he said at last. “No Edmond Dantes would commit suicide before savoring his revenge.”

I nodded, although he had his back to me and couldn’t see my gesture.

“Well, more than that happened,” I admitted. “The day after our conversation, Enrique came to my house in a final attempt to persuade me. I’d had enough. And I won’t put up with black­mail. So, not quite realizing what I was doing, I dealt him the death blow. His serial was not only very bad, it felt familiar. I went to my library, searched for an old edition of The Popular Illustrated Novel, a little-known late-nineteenth-century publi­cation, and opened it at the first page of a story written by a certain Amaury de Verona and titled ‘Angeline de Gravaillac, or Unsullied Virtue.’ Well, you can imagine the sort of thing. As I read the first paragraph aloud, Enrique went pale, as if the ghost of Angeline had risen from the grave. Which it more or less had. Assuming nobody would remember the story, he had plagiarized it, copied it almost word for word, except for one chapter he took whole from Fernandez y Gonzalez, in fact the best part of the story. I was sorry I didn’t have my camera to take a picture of Enrique. He put his hand to his forehead as if to exclaim, ‘Curses!’ but couldn’t actually get the word out. He just made a kind of gurgling sound, as if he was suffocating.

Then he turned, went home, and hanged himself from the light fixture.”

Corso was listening. The forgotten cigarette was still in his mouth, unlit.

“Then things became complicated,” I went on, sure that he was now starting to believe me. “You already had the manu­script, and your friend La Ponte wasn’t willing, at first, to part with it. I couldn’t go around playing Arsene Lupin, I have a reputation to protect. That’s why I gave Liana the task of re­trieving the chapter. The date of the annual meeting was ap­proaching, and we had to find a new member to replace Enrique. I admit, Liana did make a few mistakes. First, she went to see you....” I cleared my throat, embarrassed. I didn’t want to go into details. “Then she tried to enlist La Ponte, to have him get ‘The Anjou Wine’ back. But I didn’t know how tenacious you could be.... The problem is that Liana had al­ways dreamed of an adventure like her heroine’s, full of de­ception, amorous trysts, and persecution. And this episode, based on the stuff of her dreams, gave such an opportunity. So she went after you enthusiastically. Til bring you the manuscript bound in the skin of that Corso,’ she promised. I told her not to get carried away. I realize now that the mistake was mine: I encouraged her in her fantasy, releasing the Milady that had been inside her ever since she first read The Three Musketeers.”

“I wish she’d read something else. Like Gone with the Wind. She could have identified with Scarlett O’Hara and pestered Clark Gable instead of me.”

“Yes, she went a bit over the top. It’s a pity you took it so seriously.”

Corso rubbed a spot behind his ear. I could imagine what he was thinking: the one who really took it seriously was the man with the scar.

“Who’s Rochefort?”

“His name is Laszlo Nicolavic. He’s a character actor who specializes in villains. He played Rochefort in the series Andreas Frey made for British television a couple of years ago. He’s played Gonzaga in Lagardere, Levasseur in Captain Blood, La Tour d’Azyr in Scaramouche, Rupert de Hentzau in The Pris­oner of Zenda. He’s fascinated by the genre, and has applied to join the Club Dumas. Liana was quite taken with him and insisted he work with her.”

“Laszlo certainly took his part seriously.”

“I’m afraid he did. I suspect he’s trying to gain points so his admission is approved quickly. I also suspect that he serves as her occasional lover.” I smiled like a man of the world, hoping it was convincing. “Liana is young, beautiful, and passionate. Let’s say I stimulate her intellectual side and that Laszlo takes care of her impetuous nature’s more down-to-earth needs.”

“What else?”