Casanova Read Online Free PDF

I told you. Although the computer did most of the selecting, I just clicked the mouse.’
    ‘Has anyone done the job before me?’
    Charlotte thought before she answered, but before she could speak, a waiter appeared and placed our starters the wrong way round. He left and we swapped them over. I stared at her waiting for an answer.
    ‘Yes, there has been one before you.’
    ‘What happened to him?’
    ‘He was killed.’
    ‘How was he killed?’
    ‘Does it matter?’ Charlotte sipped her claret. ‘You know how dangerous the job is. You could have been killed in Tenerife—you very nearly were.’
    I remembered Geoffrey, and abruptly I didn’t feel like asking any more questions. I made a mental note not to bother saving for a pension.
    We ate our starters in silence. I caught Charlotte looking at me several times and I could tell she knew I was remembering Geoffrey and Tenerife. She waited for me to speak first. The waiter removed our empty plates and when he was gone I said, ‘How long have you been in the intelligence service?’
    She didn’t pause. ‘I’ve always been in the intelligence service.’
    ‘You’re higher up than Bradshaw. How high is that?’
    ‘The higher you are the more secrets you know. Once you know their secrets they never let you leave.’
    ‘Has Meriwether really left?’
    ‘Yes, but no one ever really leaves.’ Charlotte sipped at her claret glass and then asked, ‘What do you think has happened to Casanova?’
    ‘I don’t know, but I don’t think we’re going to have to wait long to find out.’
    ‘What makes you say that?’
    ‘He’s too important to be missing for long. We’ll hear something soon, one way or another.’
    We fell into a silence. Charlotte broke it. She held my eyes and asked, ‘Do you think my grandfather is connected in some way?’
    ‘I hope not, but you might want to prepare yourself in case he is.’
    Charlotte nodded and said, ‘I already have.’

 
     
    3
    SUNDAY, 08:55—09:10
     
    The following day, before breakfast, Bradshaw appeared. It was the first time I’d seen him since that last night in Tenerife. I walked out of the bakery next to the newsagents, conveniently located around the corner from my apartment building, and he was standing on the opposite side of the road reading a newspaper and smoking. I spotted him immediately and he looked up, waited a few seconds, folded his newspaper and then crossed the road to join me.
    ‘Do you mind if I walk with you?’ he asked.
    Stephen Bradshaw’s haircut still didn’t look as if he paid for it and one end of his scarf flapped in the breeze like a flag at half-mast.
    ‘Do you want a croissant?’
    For a moment, he looked at me as if I’d asked him to hand over his life savings and then his face lifted and he shook his head. ‘I’ve already eaten breakfast,’ he said.
    His face was pink from the cold. Frosted snow still covered the rooftops and the air temperature hovered close to zero.
    ‘How’s your throat?’ I asked.
    ‘How’s my throat? Oh, yes, it’s fine.’
    In Tenerife, I’d chopped him across the throat and bruised his windpipe. He’d given me good cause, really he had.
    ‘How’s your heart?’
    ‘The bruising has faded thanks.’
    ‘That’s good,’ he said.
    We were walking slowly. Ahead, an early morning December sun lighted the street. It threw shadows that stretched out over the ground, and caused car windscreens to glint brightly.
    ‘I’ve got a job for you,’ Bradshaw said. He didn’t bother with any preamble. From the moment I saw him standing across the road, I wondered what he wanted and now I knew. I wasn’t sure how I felt.
    ‘What kind of job?’
    ‘The kind I give out, the kind I’m responsible for, you know.’
    Unfortunately, I did know. ‘I’m not on your roster, am I?’
    ‘Well you are sought of. Your name went on for Tenerife and it hasn’t been removed, not officially anyway.’
    ‘Why do you want me?’
    ‘It’s politically