The Cutting Room by Louise Welsh Read Free Book Online

kept them in a locked attic inaccessible to the rest of the household?
     
    I levelled my hands on the table. `It seems a reasonable
    hypothesis.’
     
    `It does, doesn’t it? Dispose of them.’
    At first her meaning eluded me.
     
    `I was going to suggest that you might want to enter them
    for a specialist book sale. They could realise an impressive sum if there was the right interest in the room. It would mean Bowery storing them for a month or two but I think you
    might be impressed by the return and’
    She levelled her gaze. `I want them burnt.’
    I spoke before I thought. `Miss McKindless, this is a significant collection. I know the nature of the material may offend, but some of these books are worth a great deal of money.’
    Her pen scratched across the paper.
    `I am an old lady. I have as much money as I need.’
    `They are worth a lot of money because they are rare
    editions of significant texts. Many of these books were
    produced in extremely short print runs. There are editions
    there that you come across once in a lifetime. Once in a
    lifetime if you’re lucky.’
    `Look at your right hand, Mr Rilke. It’s shaking. Is it the
    thought of the money or the books??
    ‘Both.’ That and the hangover. `You don’t destroy this kind of material. If you don’t want to profit by the library, gift it. I can make arrangements. No one need ever know where it
    came from.’
    `I want it gone. Burnt and no trace left. If you need this sale as much as I think you do, you’ll do it for me before the week is out. If you’re too squeamish, there are other auction
    houses, other auctioneers.’
    `Apart from anything else, clearing the attic would involve
    a considerable amount of work. Books are heavy, Miss
    McKindless.’
    `I’ve already told you. I’m an old lady with too much
    money and no one to leave it to. Bill me. I’ll make the
    cheque out to yourself or Bowery Auctions, whatever you
     
    prefer. Or perhaps cash would be better. “Cash is king.”
    Isn’t that what they say, Mr Rilke?’
     
    `They say a lot of things, Miss McKindless. It isn’t the
    money.
    `No? Okay, let’s accept that you are a man with your own
    code of honour.’ She drew a final cross. The once white page had been transformed into a graveyard. `I’m sorry if I’m
    compromising you, but nevertheless, if you want to hold this sale I’m afraid you must render me this service. I prefer to pay, rather than simply trust you. Experience has taught me
    that is the best way.’ She met my gaze. `I intend no slur on your integrity. I want you to do it, Mr Rilke. By all means get help removing the contents of the attic, but I want it to be you who lights the fire, your hands that put the books, and any
    associated material, into the flames.’
    `I could prepare an inventory. You wouldn’t be required to
    see or handle any of the material, just to sign a release.’
    `I want to know nothing, see nothing. Not a single
    title. Not a scrap of paper. Render me this service, Mr
    Rilke. Were I a young woman I would do it myself, but
    time has caught up with me.’
    I looked perplexed, then gave her a sad smile and nodded.
    In my head I agreed to nothing. I can smile and smile and be a villain still.
     
    `Can I trust you, Mr Rilke?’
    I thought of the guilty stash of photographs beneath my
    floorboards. To reveal them would be to lose the sale.
    `As you say, Bowery Auctions are very keen to secure your
    custom.’
    `I’d prefer a yes or no.’
    `Yes. Yes, you can trust me.’ Beneath the table I crossed
    my fingers like a deceitful child.
     
    `Well, then, let us both get on.’ Her voice was brisker, as if she regretted revealing a weakness. `We’ve both got things to do and time is of the essence.’
    She nodded dismissal and returned to her work.
    In the hallway four of the crew were maneuvering a lacquered Japanese cabinet down the staircase. I paused, admiring the black gleam of the uncrackled glaze, the tiny figures traversing the Bridge of