Read Online Lime's Photograph by Leif Davidsen - Free Book Online Page B

I needed to get physically tired, and maybe I should think about going to a meeting again soon. I had hoped that it wouldn’t be necessary any longer.
    “Peter can’t,” said Oscar. “What about now?” he suggested.
    I shook my head again. Oscar was holding the photograph in both his hands, the receiver clamped under his chin. I had a sitting in half an hour, with a 56-year-old diva from the Royal Spanish Theatre who had decided to give her latest lover a portrait, which I had promised would make her look as enigmatically beautiful as the Mona Lisa.
    “Six?” said Oscar. He looked at the back of the print before puttingit on the desk again. I nodded and he blew kisses down the telephone. They were a couple, those two. Either in love or living separate lives. He turned round so that his backside was resting on the table, and lit a cigarette.
    “Who’s the mystery woman?” he said, pointing at the photograph.
    “I’m not entirely sure.” Actually I was, but I couldn’t be bothered to explain. I wasn’t surprised that he asked. Oscar had been born nosy, which was one of the many reasons that he was so good at his job.
    “What’s it doing here?”
    I told him about the woman from the National Security Service in Copenhagen.
    “Have you got the negatives then?” he asked.
    “Why are you so interested in an old photograph? Do you know her?”
    “No. But she’s beautiful. In an enigmatic, mysterious sort of way. As if she’s saying ‘I have many secrets. Only a strong man will be able to find the key to them. It’s difficult to unlock me, but if you do the reward will be considerable.’”
    I laughed. It was typical of Oscar. That’s how he viewed women. He conquered them, discovered their secrets, and as soon as he thought he knew their bodies and souls, they began to bore him. Only the unpredictable, astute, sexy Gloria had held onto him long enough for a separation to be too inconvenient. Besides, he loved her in his own peculiar way, and periodically he would be madly in love with her, as if they had only just met and there were still secrets to be revealed. That usually happened when he had been away on business for a while.
    “Have you?” he repeated.
    I pointed at the fireproof steel cabinets along one wall.
    “You know I never throw a negative out. They’ll be here somewhere or other. The photograph doesn’t ring any bells, but I dare say it’s around. Maybe up in the attic.”
    “So you’re going to dig it out?”
    I shrugged.
    “It’s not at the top of my list,” I said.
    “It’s a real Lime photograph,” he said. “It’s got everything: proportion, tension, mystery, disquiet, danger, joy. You were good right from the start.”
    “Goodbye, Oscar,” I said.
    He gathered up the photographs of the Minister and the Italian actress and put them in an envelope, patted my cheek and left.
    I switched on my mobile phone. When I wasn’t out on an assignment I often let its answering machine act as my secretary. There was a message from Clara Hoffmann asking if I would ring her. I decided I wouldn’t just then. Instead I walked over to the steel cabinets and opened the first one. It contained a huge part of my life in small squares packed in grey, soft negative paper. The negatives were arranged by year. I had written the date and subject of the shots on each roll. There were thousands. I had travelled around a lot during my life, but had always been systematic about organising my photographs. Even during the most chaotic periods, when I had teetered on the brink of an abyss, I had kept my negatives in good order. It was as if I knew that once my pictures got into a mess there would be no going back and I would be dragged down into a pit, which would be impossible to climb out of. In the first few years, when I didn’t really have a permanent address, they were stored in cardboard boxes in the basement of my parents’ house. Later, when I moved into my first little flat, which was now