The Fear Index

– very proud.’ He made a concentrated effort to put Walton out of his mind and to think of something appropriate to say to Gabrielle. ‘Have you sold anything yet?’
    Gabrielle said, ‘Thanks, Alex – it isn’t all about money, you know.’
    ‘Yes, okay, I know it isn’t. I was just asking.’
    ‘We have plenty of time yet,’ said Bertrand. His mobile emitted an alert, playing two bars of Mozart. He blinked at the message in surprise, muttered, ‘Excuse me,’ and hurried away.
    Hoffmann was still half-blinded by the camera flash. When he tried to look at the portraits, the centres were voids. Nevertheless, he struggled to make appreciative comments. ‘It’s fantastic to see them all together, isn’t it? You really get a sense of another way of looking at the world. What’s hidden beneath the surface.’
    Gabrielle said, ‘How’s your head?’
    ‘Good. I hadn’t even thought about it till you just mentioned it. I like that one very much.’ He pointed to a nearby cube.
    ‘That’s of you, isn’t it?’
    It had taken her a day simply to sit for it, he remembered, squatting in the scanner like a victim of Pompeii with her knees drawn up to her chest, her head clasped in her hands, her mouth opened wide as if frozen in mid-scream. When she had first shown it to him at home, he had been almost as shocked by it as he had been by the foetus, of which it was a conscious echo.
    She said, ‘Leclerc was here earlier. You just missed him.’
    ‘Don’t tell me they’ve found the guy?’
    ‘Oh no, that wasn’t it.’
    Her tone put Hoffmann on his guard. ‘So what did he want?’
    ‘He wanted to ask me about the nervous breakdown you apparently had when you worked at CERN.’
    Hoffmann wasn’t sure he had heard properly. The noise of all the people talking, bouncing off the whitewashed walls, reminded him of the racket in the computer room. ‘He’s talked to CERN?’
    ‘About the nervous breakdown,’ she repeated more loudly. ‘The one you’ve never mentioned before.’
    He felt winded, as if someone had punched him. ‘I wouldn’t exactly call it a nervous breakdown. I don’t know why he has to drag CERN into this.’
    ‘What would you call it, then?’
    ‘Do we really have to do this now?’ Her expression told him they did. He wondered how many glasses of champagne she had drunk. ‘Okay, I guess we do. I got depressed. I took time off. I saw a shrink. I got better.’
    ‘You saw a psychiatrist? You were treated for depression? And you’ve never mentioned it in eight years ?’
    A couple standing nearby turned to stare.
    ‘You’re making something out of nothing,’ he said irritably. ‘You’re being ridiculous. It was before I even met you, for God’s sake.’ And then, more softly: ‘Come on, Gabby, we shouldn’t spoil this.’
    For a moment he thought she was going to argue. Her chin was raised and pointing at him, always a storm signal. Her eyes were glassy, bloodshot – she had not got much sleep either, he realised. But then came a sound of metal rapping on glass.
    ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ called Bertrand. He was holding up a champagne flute and hitting it with a fork. ‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ It was surprisingly effective. A silence quickly fell on the crowded room. He put down the glass. ‘Don’t be alarmed, friends. I’m not going to make a speech. Besides, for artists, symbols are more eloquent than words.’
    He had something in his hand. Hoffmann could not quite see what it was. He walked over to the self-portrait – the one in which Gabrielle was silently screaming – peeled a red spot from the roll of tape concealed in his palm and stuck it firmly against the label. A delighted, knowing murmur spread around the gallery.
    ‘Gabrielle,’ he said, turning to her with a smile, ‘allow me to congratulate you. You are now, officially, a professional artist.’
    There was a round of applause and a general hoisting of champagne glasses in salute. All the tension left Gabrielle’s face. She looked transfigured, and Hoffmann seized the moment to take her wrist and raise her hand above her head, as if she were a boxing champion. There were renewed cheers. The camera flashed again, but this time he managed to make sure his own smile stayed fixed. ‘Well done, Gabby,’ he whispered out of the side of his mouth. ‘You so deserve this.’
    She smiled at him happily. ‘Thank you.’ She toasted the room. ‘Thank you all. And thank you especially whoever