The Girl on Paper by Guillaume Musso Read Free Book Online

spiral, and seeing only prison or death in his future, he owed hiseventual salvation entirely to Tom’s intelligence and Carole’s tenderness. They had managed to get him out of his personal hell, and he was living proof of the fact that it was possible to leave the Mara alive.
    The last rays of the setting sun glittered on the sand. Milo blinked, both to protect his eyes from the glare and to chase away the past.
    ‘Can I take you out for some seafood?’ he asked, jumping to his feet.
    ‘I think, considering the state of your bank balance, it’s me that should be taking you out for dinner,’ Carole pointed out.
    ‘Come on, it’s to celebrate your promotion,’ he said, holding out his hand to help her up.
    They left the beach in pensive silence and walked along the cycle path that linked Santa Monica to Venice Beach. They then turned onto Third Street Promenade, a wide palm-lined street that contained several art galleries and fashionable restaurants.
    They sat down at a table outside Anisette, whose menu was written in French and filled with exotic-sounding dishes such as frisée aux lardons, entrecôte aux échalotes and pommes dauphinoises .
    Milo insisted that they have an aperitif of pastis served ‘California style’ in a tall glass filled with ice cubes.
    Despite the jugglers, buskers and fire-eaters that enlivened the street with light and music, the dinner was a serious, gloomy affair. Carole seemed sad and Milo was crippled with guilt. The conversation soon turned back to Tom and Aurore.
    ‘Do you know why he writes?’ Milo asked abruptly, as he realised he had no idea how this part of his friend’s mind worked.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I know Tom’s always liked reading, but writing is a differentmatter. And you knew him better than I did when we were teenagers. What drove him back then to write his first story?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Carole was quick to reply.
    But she was lying.
    *
Malibu
8 p.m.
    After I had driven around town for a while, I parked the Bugatti outside the house that I now knew no longer belonged to me. A few hours earlier, I had been at rock bottom but with tens of millions of dollars. Now, I was just at rock bottom.
    I felt exhausted and out of breath, as though I had been running, and flopped down onto the couch, staring absently at the tangle of beams holding up the sloping ceiling.
    I had a splitting headache, my back was killing me, my hands were clammy and my stomach was tied up in knots. I had violent palpitations that shook my chest. Inside I was empty, consumed by a terrible pain that had finally managed to defeat me.
    For years I had spent my evenings writing. That was where all my emotion, all my energy had always gone. Then I started giving lectures and countless book readings all over the world. I had set up a charity that gave kids from my neighbourhood the chance to study art. I had even played a few gigs on drums with my idols: the Rock Bottom Remainders.
    But now I couldn’t be bothered with anything: people, books, music and even the rays of the sun as it set over the ocean, it was all meaningless.
    I got up gingerly and went outside onto the terrace. Further down the beach, an old Chrysler with faded yellow paintwork, a hangover from the Beach Boy era, proudly displayed thetown’s motto on its back window: Malibu, where the mountain meets the sea.
    I stared at the flaming border of light just above the horizon until it dazzled my eyes, and then it was swallowed up by the waves. This phenomenon, which had once fascinated me, now left me with no sense of wonder. I felt totally numb, as though all my emotional reserves had been used up.
    There was only one thing that could save me: being with Aurore again – her supple body, her smooth ivory skin, her eyes that sparkled with golden lights and the way she smelt of sand. But I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I knew I had lost the fight and that now there was nothing left for me to do but dull my senses