A Thing of Blood Read Online Free PDF Page B

the seam at one of the shoulders had begun to come away — she was, somehow, diminished. She now seemed merely pretty. When I’d first seen her I had thought her beautiful. I wondered which incarnation the obsessively neat Paul Clutterbuck preferred. Perhaps ungroomed women were a violation of his ordered life which he found exciting. The few seconds it took for these thoughts to race through my mind were sufficient to stir in me sensations of delightful lust.
    ‘Will I see you at the show tonight?’ she asked Paul.
    ‘Yes,’ he said, and turning to me he added, ‘Will you come, Will? To hear Gretel sing?’
    ‘Of course,’ I replied, and knew even as I did so that I should be spending the evening with Brian, supporting my brother in his anxious wait for news of Darlene. Looking at Gretel Beech, however, familial obligation evaporated, and I found myself hoping that my evening would not be ruined by the inconvenient discovery of Darlene’s corpse and the ensuing necessity of being on hand to offer condolences.
    ‘Of course,’ I reiterated. ‘I’d love to hear you sing.’
    ‘Paul says you’re an actor,’ she said. ‘I hope you won’t think I’m an amateur.’
    She kissed Paul lightly on the cheek and he crassly cupped one of her breasts in his hand. She seemed unconcerned by this public intimacy.
    ‘I’ll see you tonight then,’ she said.
    When she had gone, Paul Clutterbuck sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs and indicated that I should do the same.
    ‘Is your room OK?’
    ‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘It’s a generous size.’
    ‘And you can manage three pounds?’
    ‘Oh, yes,’ I lied.
    ‘You’ll like Mrs Castleton. She works miracles with tired shirts and trousers. What do you think of Gretel?’
    ‘She’s lovely,’ I said. ‘She’s a singer. Is that what she does for a living?’
    ‘Oh, she does a bit of this, a bit of that, and a bit of the other, you know.’
    ‘Is she any good?’
    ‘She’s OK at this, better at that, and superb at the other.’ He laughed and stood up suddenly. ‘What do you think?’ he asked and smoothed down the front of his dark green army shirt. ‘Gretel says women can’t take their eyes off the Yanks’ groins. It’s the zipper, see. No chunky buttons. She says you can’t beat the zipper for ease of access. And, I have to say, she’s right.’
    ‘I’ve never had a pair of trousers with a zipper,’ I said.
    ‘As a private inquiry agent, aren’t you wondering why I’m wearing the uniform of our over-paid allies? It’s not exactly legal to impersonate a soldier.’
    I seized the opportunity to demonstrate my natural, instinctive skills in this area.
    ‘Asking obvious questions almost always leads to hearing obvious lies,’ I said. ‘The truth has a tendency to leak rather than spill.’
    He considered that for a moment and sat down.
    ‘I’m glad I hired you,’ he said.
    ‘Have you hired me?’ I asked.
    ‘Two week’s rent,’ he said. ‘Six pounds to do the job. It’s straightforward and it’s not dangerous.’
    I nodded acceptance, relieved that I’d been given a stay with regard to my precarious finances.
    ‘But first,’ I said. ‘Why are you wearing that uniform?’
    ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘It’s ridiculously simple. I’m afraid I’ve become addicted to tinned cream and coffee, and both of those are found only in the American PX. Australian soldiers, and certainly civilians, are not allowed into those G.I. canteens. I do a passable Yank accent — sort of mid-Atlantic rather than regional — and the PX at Camp Pell is just around the corner. I haven’t been challenged yet. Do you smoke?’
    ‘No,’ I said.
    ‘Pity. A packet of twenty is only sixpence. That’s less than half what you’d pay normally. It’s enough to make you want to take it up, isn’t it? The uniform is good for sex, too. Shop girls love it. You’ll find them any night of the week at the Australia Hotel. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel, as the