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Back The Woman on the Stairs Save as PDF
Chapters (83)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Bernhard Schlink
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Part One
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. Part Two
  33. 1
  34. 2
  35. 3
  36. 4
  37. 5
  38. 6
  39. 7
  40. 8
  41. 9
  42. 10
  43. 11
  44. 12
  45. 13
  46. 14
  47. 15
  48. 16
  49. 17
  50. 18
  51. 19
  52. 20
  53. 21
  54. 22
  55. 23
  56. 24
  57. 25
  58. Part Three
  59. 1
  60. 2
  61. 3
  62. 4
  63. 5
  64. 6
  65. 7
  66. 8
  67. 9
  68. 10
  69. 11
  70. 12
  71. 13
  72. 14
  73. 15
  74. 16
  75. 17
  76. 18
  77. 19
  78. 20
  79. 21
  80. 22
  81. Author’s Note
  82. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  83. What’s next onyour reading list?

“What are we still doing here? Let’s go, the boat is waiting. We can have breakfast in Rock Harbour, then take the night flight from Sydney to New York. I’ve spoken with the gallery. One word from you, and they’ll send the painting to New York in time for the retrospective. Remember how we dreamed of that? An exhibition in the MoMA?”

Irene nodded.

“We dreamed of the opening, the toasts, the admiration of the guests, the praise of the critics. We dreamed of the walk through Central Park back to the hotel, the champagne, the huge bathtub, the king-sized bed with the view of the city. It’s finally happening.”

Irene’s smile was friendly, amused, distant. “Sounds nice.”

Gundlach couldn’t take any more. “Nonsense! You had your first big exhibition in New York years ago. You might have dreamed about that once. But you don’t dream about the retrospective that already showed in Berlin and Tokyo and now comes to New York! Do you even have dreams any more? A colleague described you as a calculating mind that manipulates the public, the market, your own prices. I’m a businessman, I have no problem with that. But don’t tell Irene fairy tales!”

Schwind saw only Irene. He looked at her with the childlike, confident gaze I recognized. “You’ve never been to an exhibition of mine – not the painting, not you. New York next week – it would be the first exhibition where everything is as it should be.”

“It would be the first exhibition where everything is as it should be,” Gundlach parroted. “All you want is the painting.”

“What is he talking about?” Schwind looked at Irene as if they were listening to an idiot blather. “I’ve talked to the curator and explained that you’ve watched over my painting for a long time, and that I understand that he can’t send it to New York without your say-so. What does that have to do with him?” He nodded in Gundlach’s direction.

Before Gundlach could explain, Irene reminded everyone about breakfast. “The coffee’s hot, the bacon’s getting cold, the eggs need to go in the pan.” She said to me: “Can you fetch the pilot? And can you ask Mark if he’ll come up for a coffee?”

17

By the time I came back with the two of them, a ceasefire was in effect. Gundlach did not interrupt Schwind while he told Irene about his abstract works, and Schwind didn’t interrupt Gundlach while he talked about business succession planning. Irene reigned over them like a queen, and over us: the pilot, Mark, and me as we talked of the first and last cigarettes in our lives. I hadn’t seen her so lively, so effervescent, so beautiful since I had arrived. How long could a cocaine high last?