A Darkening Stain Read Online Free PDF

of them were hawkers from the traffic lights, looking to break up the boredom of their day with a bit of blood-letting. I got into my car and crawled across the bridge, pedestrians pounded on the roof.
    La Côte Oueste Sari wasn’t difficult to find. The
gardien
let me in through a gate that could handle plenty of trouble should it come along. He pointed me up to some offices flanking the warehouse where I could see a bottling plant not in use. Most of the offices had their blinds down, but I found one with a glass door and beyond it a white woman in a short, tight red skirt, black vest and red high heels with little leather bows on the back. She had her back to the door and was spraying a huge umbrella plant. She was stretching up with one leg bent at the knee as if she was hoping that there was somebody else in the office to take notice. The air was freeze-dried inside and I didn’t disturb the woman’s work by
coining in.
She persisted with the disapproving atomizer—tsk, tsk—tsk, tsk.
    â€˜Bonjour,’
I said.
    She span round faster than if she’d been caught with her hands in the till and went over on one of her high heels. She fell back into a plump black leather chair which swallowed her with a gasp. The atomizer, which I could now see was a water pistol, was pointing at me.
    â€˜You don’t frighten me with that,’ I said to her in French.
    She laughed badly, as if there was plenty needed tightening up in the nerves department.
    â€˜You scared me,’ she said, putting the pistol down. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
    â€˜You don’t look as if you’ve got a weak heart.’
    â€˜I don’t,’ she said, and went behind the desk.
    To keep herself in that trim she must have had the heart of a steeplechaser. Her body had a fat percentage in the single figures and it looked as if it was monitored that way. She must have had a set of scales with the grams marked off and a red line for anything over fifty kilos.
    Her face was as taut as a jockey’s, the muscles evident under the stretched skin. She had a small mouth, very small. It couldn’t have used up more than an inch. It looked as if it was going to be very economical. She put a set of long red talons through her short bleach-blonde hair and kicked herself away from the desk on a castered chair. She crossed her legs, keeping her eyes on mine, seeing where they went, and leaned back, showing me the workings of her abdominals under the spray-on vest.
    â€˜I’ve come to see Jean-Luc. Is he here?’
    â€˜You should have called,’ she said.
    â€˜Does that mean he isn’t?’
    She blinked once, slowly, and breathed in through her nose as if that was some kind of a reply.
    â€˜Does that mean I need an appointment?’ I asked.
    A little tongue came out of the little mouth and nipped back in again.
    â€˜I’m doing all the work here,’ I said, ‘and you’re the one behind the desk.’
    â€˜What do you want to see him about?’
    â€˜Veg oil.’
    â€˜You don’t need to see him to buy veg oil. I can sell you that.’
    â€˜I’m not buying, I’m selling.’
    â€˜He’s not buying,’ she said. ‘I know.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t mind hearing that from him.’
    â€˜I speak with his voice.’
    â€˜Since the operation,’ I said.
    She frowned.
    â€˜Une petite blague,’
I said.
    â€˜Très petite,’
she confirmed.
    â€˜Are you his managing director, then?’ I asked. ‘You didn’t give me your card or tell me your name.’
    â€˜Carole,’ she said, and as an afterthought, ‘Marnier.’
    â€˜You must be his wife.’
    â€˜I could be his sister, his half sister or his sister-in-law.’
    â€˜If he had a brother ... which he doesn’t,’ I guessed.
    The knot of muscle at the back of her neck keeping her shoulders braced loosened about a