I waited for her to say something smart, but she stopped massaging me, uncurled her legs and got to her feet.
I drew the robe closer and asked, 'Have you anything stronger?'
Dix’s voice was final.
'Stick to coffee for a while.'
And at last Sylvie smiled.
'Watch out, he could become your uncle too.'
She gave my arm a last squeeze then went out, shutting the door after her. We sat in silence for a while then Dix asked, 'Still cold?'
'A bit.'
He reached to the back of his chair and threw a blan ket towards me.
'Maybe shock too.'
'Thanks.' I pulled the blanket around my shoulders. 'Aren’t you going to ask what it was all about?'
'I told you before.' Dix’s face was unreadable. 'I mind my own business.'
Sylvie came through with three mugs and set them on the table in front of us.
'I don’t.'
Dix took his coffee without thanking her.
'But you don’t like to tell everything either.'
'Who does?' Sylvie’s voice was pointed. 'Not you, that’s for sure.'
I sensed that they were going back to some earlier argument that had nothing to do with me and pulled out the line I’d prepared.
'Let’s just say I owe some money. A lot of money.'
Sylvie put her cup to her lips and looked at me over its rim, raising her eyebrows.
'Your friend said it had sentimental attachments for him.'
Dix pulled back the piece of gaffer tape. 'A man can get sentimental about money.' He smoothed it down again and turned to me. 'There may be a solution to your problem. A way to make some money.'
Sylvie put her hand on my knee and opened her eyes wide as she stared deep into mine and said, 'An awful lot of money.'
Dix leaned forward, the strain in his eyes intensified by a spark of something else: excitement.
'Do you remember the night we were all together in the Nachtreview?' I nodded. There was little chance I would forget. 'That evening I said there were men who would be willing to pay a lot of money to see you play your Russian roulette with a live woman.'
'It’s not Russian roulette. Roulette is a game of chance. What I do is a well-constructed illusion.'
'Sure.' Dix nodded impatiently. 'We know that, but we lead them to think otherwise.'
'And how would you manage that?'
Dix smiled.
'There are ways. In a business like this everyone has their role. You squeeze the trigger, Sylvie is the target and I convince them that they are seeing what they want to see.'
It was a philosophy I understood, the basis of every illusion and every successful con, but I held back.
'I don’t know, it’s too weird. Who are these people?'
'Weirder than what you do normally?' Dix’s voice was soft, coaxing and I realised that I believed he would be able to sell the trick. 'What does it matter who they are? Sometimes it’s better not to know these things. It’s a lot of money. It could solve all your problems.
Sylvie and I have discussed it. She’s in and so am I, but we need you if it’s going to work.'
He looked me in the eye and smiled. 'What do you say, William?'
The bathroom was cold, the towel the same shade of grey as when I’d seen it last, but the water was hot and foamed with scented bubbles. I eased myself slowly into the water, wincing as it made contact with my bruises, then shut my eyes and put my head beneath the surface. A whoosh of silence filled my ears, then above it the sound of the door opening.
I surfaced, pushing my hair out of my eyes just as Sylvie stepped into the bathroom with a bundle of clothes over her arm.
'Dix said you could use these.'
'That’s good of him.'
'Well,' Sylvie pressed the clothes to her chest and smiled sadly, 'he does need something from you.'
She placed the bundle on top of the toilet then sat on the edge of the bath and dipped her hand in the water, testing the temperature.
'Need?'
