The first thing I noticed when I met Maria Duval were her eyes. Cats eyes. Not the blue eyes of a Siamese cat with the shade of Delft blue porcelain china. Not the eyes of a Persian cat with the shade of molten gold. The eyes of a street cat. Mysterious green, with the sea blue shades of a swamp. Lights with the sparkle of golden coins, glow worms and star particles.
We stood opposite each other. Maria looked straight into my eyes. A mutual friend took the trouble to try and introduce us to each other. But I wasn't listening. I wasn't paying attention to anything, didn't care about anything, except those eyes that looked into mine, with their small, almost slit oval pupils. Just like cats eyes. People say that a cheetah hypnotises its prey before he strikes. That is what I had in front of me. A cheetah. A captivating catlike woman who held me in the grip of her emerald green eyes