I am not saying that I am more intelligent. I just take more care. That is why I know exactly what she is going to do. She will toy with the thought of running away—maybe think of going travelling. But then she will tell herself that she is not the kind to run away and she will stay after all. She will tell herself she is too intelligent to go to the Prater. She will resolve to stay at home. But she will come—as inevitable as the tide.

44

The spirits of the night had crawled back into their hidey-holes, sighing and whispering. The pressure that had been weighing on Norah’s chest hadn’t exactly gone, but it had lifted a little. How different things looked by daylight. All right, so there was still something menacing about the situation. But even if she was right and someone was trying to get her to kill Arthur Grimm (and it was a pretty wild hunch), what did she have to be afraid of? She was not a murderer, and nothing and nobody could make her kill anyone.

She had dreamt of him again. She was lying on the ground beneath him, gasping for breath, his hands at her throat, and however much she thrashed around, she couldn’t free herself. Then the gun appeared. She hadn’t known she had a gun, but suddenly it was there, in her hand. Dream logic. Norah shot and Grimm’s face exploded in hers. She could still feel the blood and gore on her skin, warm and sticky.

Norah took a deep breath. All right, so February 11 was fast approaching, she had a reason to wish Grimm dead, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be easy to bring him to justice through official channels. But that was no reason to kill him.

Still, it’s what you want.

No. There was no reason to be scared. No one could thrust a gun into her hand and force her to shoot a man. And she wasn’t going to do it of her own free will—she had enough trust in herself to know that.

Are you sure?

‘Norah?’

She jumped like a schoolgirl caught sleeping in a lesson. Everyone looked at her. She hadn’t expected to be addressed. Most editorial meetings simply went on until the boss had come to the end of his monologue.

She looked at him.

‘If you could stay behind a moment,’ Berger said.

Norah nodded, bewildered.

‘I wish the rest of you a productive week,’ Berger said and everyone went off, talking in low voices, until only he and Norah were left in the cold conference room.

He turned to her, an inscrutable look on his soft face.

‘How are you liking it with us?’

‘Fine,’ she said dully. ‘I’m happy here.’

‘That’s good to hear,’ Berger replied. ‘You’re doing a great job. I liked your last interview. And I’m to send you warm regards from Mira.’

‘That’s nice,’ said Norah. ‘Thank you.’

And then, when Berger said nothing, ‘I love interviews.’