Double-Barrel Read Online Free PDF Page A

apparently, in a kind of pit at waist-level – a masterpiece of plumbing that would rouse an incredulous guffaw even at the sources of the Amazon.
    By the third day she was settling in; moving furniture with zest, as though determined to leave her individual stamp on even this borrowed anonymous shoe-box of a house. But she was still acid at meals.
    â€˜Milk here’s undrinkable.’
    Aha, it was one of my items of knowledge, which I brought out of my rag-bag of Drentse lore. ‘Seems they like it like that. Call it High-Pasteurized.’
    â€˜Which to me means scorched. Butter – rendered cowhide. And the butchers! People live here, I think, on fat salt pork and mince.’
    Mince is nearly the dirtiest word in Arlette’s vocabulary.
    â€˜But what I find worst of all is the way they stare. Stare, stare, blatantly, openly, uncaring. Stand there transfixed, with great dull eyes, gaping.’
    It was true. Even at me – one would say a harmless-looking object. Here an Amsterdammer, it seemed, was an Indian from the Peruvian uplands, plus blanket and llama. The peasants did stare consumedly; little girls poked at each other and dissolved in giggles. Poor Arlette, with her accent that becomes strong in shops, and she still says ‘in a box’when she means tinned. And her hair in a fringe, with a beret on top … The women here wore scarves over hair like an O-Cedar mop, and the ‘ladies’ wonderful hairy hats. They asked for a pound of mince, and took obediently what they were given. I felt a little sorry for the butcher. Arlette’s butcher has been accustomed for years to her poking, coming behind the counter, even pursuing the poor fellow into his own cold-room. He is used by now to ‘Too fresh again’, and keeps her steak a week longer than anyone else’s …
    â€˜Be discreet,’ I told her. ‘Disguise yourself. Still, I trundle about all day in a grey suit, clutching a brief-case of crudely imitated pigskin, and even I am stared at. They look, and guess immediately that your name is neither Unk nor Flook and that you don’t belong to the clan.’
    â€˜I am discreet. I shall burst myself with discretion. I found Beaujolais, so-called, but in Albert Heijn, so it might well be drinkable. Dear Albert, his shop is a home from home to me.’
    Leek soup for supper, and chicory salad – not a very Drente meal, despite the presence of undoubtedly Drente butter. I settled down for a good go at the letters. Arlette had been much reconciled by discovering that here one could get German television; I had hired a set for her that morning and she was busy with the new toy. The letters were very boring; I found myself staring entranced at the delightful hair-styles of the German announcer-girls. But we must be resolute.
    The longest file was the first suicide. She had been the wife, poor girl, of the technical director – second in command – of the little electronics factory; the man who, with the owner, made up the inventive team. What did we know about him, first? Reinders, Will, forty-three. Came from Dordrecht. Impressive engineering qualifications: evidently a brilliant chap. Religion Reformed. Well regarded in his profession. Locally spoken of as calm and steady. Mixesvery little with Zwinderen notables, but said to be friendly and easy to get on with. Very dedicated, takes profession very seriously; certainly coming man. Alone or with the boss (who lives in Baarn but comes up at least twice a week) makes frequent trips all over Holland and abroad. Point is that wife was often alone. Absolutely no police record – what a blameless individual!
    Wife’s name Betty; thirty-six, born in Groningen, religion Reformed, first marriage. No children. Church-goer, whereas husband was not, but thought of as a little flighty, even frivolous. Active however in various do-good social activities. There had been a rumour that she had got too