From the reading chair beside the bedroom window Michael watched Lucian’s eyes gradually close. It had been the same every day for the past two weeks, ever since Lucian had insisted he wanted nothing more than to stay in bed and listen to Michael read aloud from the notes he had written. Lucian said he had forgotten almost everything about his life. The places he had been. The people he had known. He wanted to be told what he had done with his time. And asked questions about the books with his name printed on them. Who were the women he had married? Had he been a good husband? And why were there no pictures of his children and grandchildren for him to look at? To Michael it felt as if their roles had been reversed. Instead of interviewing Lucian about his life, Lucian was interviewing him. And Michael was surprised at how many questions he could answer with authority. He realised that this was the moment for which he had been hired. The task he had spent months preparing for. To recount to Lucian the story of his life. The remarkable things he had achieved. And every day, at almost the same hour, Michael watched Lucian fall asleep with an expression of satisfaction on his face.