The Manuscript I the Secret by Blanca Miosi, Gretchen Abernathy Read Free Book Online Page A

would have tackled her and taken her to bed. But not tonight. He was too afraid to let the manuscript go.
    He sat on the armchair in front of her and tried to concoct a story coherent enough to satisfy her curiosity, though he doubted she actually wanted to know what he had supposedly been writing.
    “There’s this guy who, when his uncle dies—the uncle is a bigshot Italian millionaire—gets a chest that holds a secret. A priest, who’s the uncle’s friend, gives it to him, and the priest also helps him figure out the chest’s power. The chest was discovered in the catacombs of an ancient monastery in Armenia, along with some documents that came from a Nazi scientist.”
    “That sounds amazing.” Linda actually seemed interested. Her response calmed Nicholas down a bit. She was perched on the edge of her chair, elbows on her knees and hands cupping her chin, clearly waiting for him to go on.
    “You really think so?”
    “Yeah, of course. It doesn’t sound like your other novels. Where’d you get the idea?”
    “Maybe solitude is good company,” he responded without thinking.
    “So who was the Nazi scientist?” she asked, overlooking the remark.
    “A doctor who did a lot of experiments.”
    “Wait, don’t tell me: Mengele? ‘Josef Mengele, Angel of Death,’” she added in a theatrical doomsday voice.
    “Well, yeah...that’s him,” Nicholas answered, annoyed. He was not going to let on that he had no idea who it was. It seemed odd that Linda would know about a German scientist. “What do you know about Mengele?”
    “I saw a documentary about him. He sewed a set of twins together to see what would happen. He was the scum of the earth. What was the secret inside the chest?”
    “The secret to eternal youth,” Nicholas answered quickly. He did not know what compelled him to say that, but it was not a bad idea. Later he would figure out how to dodge Linda’s curiosity, which was altogether atypical. She had never been very interested in his writing.
    “This might be your best novel yet.”
    “I think so, too.”
    “I’m going to take a shower. I ordered Chinese. It should be here soon. Can you get it?” With a deft tug, Linda pulled off her shirt and headed for the bathroom, naked from the waist up.
    Nicholas took the opportunity to glance back at the manuscript. Everything was just as he had left it. He folded it back again and took it to his room. Making sure to keep the last page he had read open as the cover, he hid it in the bottom desk drawer. The doorbell rang, and he went to get the Chinese food. He pulled out a bill and told the delivery boy to keep the change. What a luxury! But the day deserved it. Nicholas was euphoric. It was a good novel, and it would be his, all his. The author was deader than Claudio Contini-Massera, Nicholas mused. He set the table and waited for Linda. She emerged from the bathroom in his robe, as was her custom. He had never understood why she preferred to wear his clothes. At first he had liked it, but now it was just annoying. He held his tongue, though. He had to find the right moment to tell her it was over.
    Dinner was too quiet. Linda seemed to be waiting for him to ask questions or start a conversation, and he had zero inclination to do so. The initial excitement had worn off, and the air grew heavy around them.
    “I’ve been thinking...” they both said at the same time.
    “Oh, you go.”
    “No, you go first.”
    “Ok, I’ve been thinking—it’s not going to work for us to stay together,” Nicholas began.
    “Are you seeing someone else?”
    “No!” Her question took him off guard.
    “Then, why?”
    “You seem to have forgotten that you’re the one who left. I got used to living alone; that’s all. I have more time to spend on my writing. See? I’ve already finished a book and am polishing it up...”
    “Nicholas, I know it was really selfish of me to go off to Boston like that; I recognize that. But in these last few months of being