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minutes has been you – there’ve been no other customers.”
    I stared at him for a few seconds then took my paper and left.
    *
    Despite the familiarity between us, I excluded the possibility that Fausto could actually be pulling my leg. But in that case, what had happened? Had I had a hallucination brought on by the memory of a dream? I shrugged and forgot about it until I reached the garage where, putting a hand in my pocket for the car keys, I found a small piece of crumpled paper.
    I opened it out and read it.
    Riviera Café, 11:30. Come alone and don’t speak to anyone about this note.
    I could not understand what it meant and particularly how it had ended up in my pocket.
    â€œOf course! The girl! So it
wasn’t
a hallucination.”
    But who was she, and what did she want from me?
    I arrived at the Églantine – my antique shop – with that question echoing around my brain and with such a frown on my face that Bruno, my partner, gave me a perplexed look while he was in the middle of negotiations for the sale of a valuable Louis XVI console table.
    After about fifteen minutes, Bruno ambled into the small office that we had in the back of the gallery with a dazzling smile.
    â€œGood morning Lorenzo. Apparently I’ve just set a new record for sales. I only opened half an hour ago, and I’ve already sold Doctor Ciliento that console. Look – the first cheque!”
    â€œWell done, congratulations.”
    â€œWhat’s the matter with you? When you came in you looked thoughtful. Is everything all right?”
    â€œYes… Well, actually, something very strange happened to me.”
    I told Bruno about the incident but without mentioning the note. I didn’t want to give too much importance to the story and something told me that it was better for me to keep that detail to myself.
    My partner assumed a serious and worried air, then, with a little laugh, shrugged. “Lorenzo, you must have seen that girl somewhere, maybe around the neighbourhood, and you just dreamed about her.”
    â€œOk, but how do you explain the behaviour of the newsagent?”
    â€œWell… he can’t have seen the girl because he was busy getting your newspaper. Come on, there’s nothing mysterious about the matter! In fact, let’s talk about something serious. Let’s do a cross-check of the pieces we’ve sold, bought, and are interested in.”
    I spread my arms in despair, groaning, “But we did it yesterday.”
    â€œYesterday, we had not sold the Riesener.”
    *
    Bruno’s umpteenth cross-check – as he called them – lasted longer than expected, while I grew gradually more and more agitated as the hour of the appointment approached. I hadn’t yet decided whether to go or not when at some point the phone rang and Bruno answered immediately, as always.
    Something clicked inside me. I don’t know why I did it, but I got mechanically to my feet and headed for the exit. A surprised Bruno followed me with his eyes and I brought my thumb and forefinger up to my lips to indicate that I was going to get a coffee. I grabbed my coat and left hurriedly to pre-empt him asking me too many questions.
    I walked to the Cafe Riviera which was about a kilometre from the Églantine. When I was about thirty metres from the entrance, I recognized the slim figure of the girl in the doorway. She was tall – very tall. Her blonde hair was once again in a ponytail, and she had the same black hat pulled down over eyes still hidden by the same sunglasses.
    Upon seeing me, she stiffened and, unexpectedly, walked quickly towards me, then, without stopping put a finger to her lips and walked past me, nodding toward the alley adjacent to the bar towards which she was heading
    . I stood there for a moment, dazed, then set off after her. This little game was starting to get on my nerves, but at that point I was determined to go through with it.
    I