A Love Like Blood Read Online Free PDF Page B

animated way, using her hands a lot, something that again made her very different from the few women I knew in Cambridge. Her gestures were quick and vivacious; I could see she was at ease, thinking quickly, moving ahead with her thoughts. She wore a black blouse and a bright red skirt, and low black heels.
    I looked from the girl back to her companion. He bent down to one side, brushing something off the hem of his trouser leg, and as he straightened again I was given the same view of his face I’d seen seven years before, three hundred yards away, in a hole in the ground.
    It was him.
    Those eyes, that dark brow, and yes, his hair was a little different, and he had grown a thin moustache, but it was him.
    Who was he? What was he doing here, so close, as I put it in my head, to the scene of his crime?
    He was dressed well, very well in fact, better than any other man in the place. He wore a dark grey wool suit with a waistcoat. Silver cufflinks gleamed when he reached to pour the girl another glass of wine. His shoes were expensive, spotlessly clean despite the weather.
    I tried to judge his age, studied the small lines around his eyes, possibly a grey hair or two in the temples of his slick black hair, and guessed he might be ten years older than me, maybe less. His hands were somehow both elegant and strong; he appeared to be tall.
    He was very different from the girl; where she was all movement, he was very still, and when he moved, he moved slowly and with great deliberation. He spoke deliberately too, with the occasional firm gesture of his hand, or just the flick of a fingertip, as if he did everything with great precision.
    Then, without warning, he stood and walked right towards me. As before, I froze as he met my gaze, but then he looked right through me and walked on to the Gents, somewhere behind me.
    I breathed again, realising he didn’t know who I was, which was confirmed to me when he returned from the lavatory without so much as a backward glance.
    He rejoined the girl and they renewed their conversation. Their waiter served them coffee and I noticed the extra deference he paid to the man, and the girl by extension, going so far as to give a slight bow as he left them.
    My food arrived. I ate almost nothing, but I must have drunk a little too much wine, because when they stood, having finished their coffee, and got ready to leave, I decided to follow them.
    I called my waiter over quickly and left far too many francs as a tip in order to avoid waiting for change.
    They were at the door, the man almost a full foot taller than her, and I loitered for a moment putting on my coat, giving them a slight head start, and then pushed out through the heavy doors into a light drizzle.
    I hesitated again, feeling light-headed, then, pulling the collar of my raincoat up around my ears, I walked as casually as I could after them, keeping to the opposite side of the street.
    I must have looked pretty stupid; it was a wet Thursday afternoon, Saint-Germain was empty save for them, and me, but they were too occupied with each other to pay any attention to whoever might be behind them, and anyway, I didn’t follow them for long.
    In the very next street they stopped at a doorway, and the man pulled a key on a chain from his pocket. They disappeared inside, leaving me in the rain. I crossed the street to pass by the door, and saw there were several brass plaques fixed to the stone, and though I didn’t want to linger I had time to read a couple of them. They were professional nameplates.
    Cabinet de Chirurgie , read one. Salon de Psychothérapie , another.
    I knew the kind of thing; a private address with one or more private physicians of various kinds and dubious qualities, no doubt helping rich women overcome an array of troubles during a course of expensive and frequently unexpectedly prolonged treatment.
    London had the same addresses.
    But which nameplate belonged to him?
    I felt I’d paused too long at the door and I