Long Lies the Shadow Read Online Free PDF Page A

quiet woman who sits in the chair near the window, possibly asleep, but just as possibly not.
    Nick has seen Gin sleep.
    He had sat for a while in the small white room and waited for her to wake. He had watched her eyes move restlessly beneath closed lids. Eventually he had decided he would wake her, especially as she seemed to gain no repose from sleep. Then she had stirred, as if awake, and murmured. Her hand had clenched, unclenched, and stretched out across the thin blanket. And he had the sense of intruding upon a moment so intimate, so private, he had felt obliged to leave.
    “More wine, Mr Retief?” asks Viv, and he is surprised to find he has drained his glass.
    “My name’s Nick,” he says.
    She swirls the neck expertly as she pours generously.
    Suddenly, from the darkness, Gin asks, “Why are you here, Mr Retief? I’ve told you all I can remember.” Her tone, if not for its fragility, would be hostile.
    “Well, Miss McMann,” he starts, and then, glancing at the woman alongside, “Mrs Kassan…” He stops. He wants to acknowledge this woman, to include her, elicit her help even, in the hope she will draw out lucid details from her recalcitrant friend. He remembers noting Kassan as an Indian surname, noticing that the address Virginia McMann had given him was in Kenwyn, in the predominantly mixed-race area of Cape Town. But this woman is white. For a moment he wonders if she really is Mrs Kassan. Then he finds himself wondering where her husband is. Viv is leaning against the sideboard, glass of wine in one hand, a cigarette in the other. Watching him.
    “I go by my maiden name now,” she says, “Weetman. But call me Vivienne, please.” She waves her cigarette at him, a dismissive gesture.
    Again the hidden laugh in her brown eyes. Again he feels in some way mocked.
    “Vivienne…” he says, turning back to talk into the lounge. He likes the sound of it. And he likes the fact that she uses her maiden name. He can no longer even make out Gin’s silhouette in the gloom. “Miss McMann,” he starts again, louder, assertively.
    But Virginia McMann interrupts him. “Mr Retief, what happened to the other car, the other driver?”
    “Well,
ja
, that’s the thing,” says Nick, slightly frustrated. “The other driver fled the scene. We have a couple of witnesses, you see.”
    “Do you mean two, Mr Retief, as they do in England, or a few, as is the colloquialism here?”
    If Gin is mocking him also, he does not know. Her voice is without emotion. He ignores the question and continues, “Apparently the car came out of one of the side roads then headed straightfor your vehicle.” Nick stops and clears his throat. “And another witness says the other driver may have been a woman.” He takes a sip of wine. “Your car swerved,” he continues, “but glanced off the other car. Your car rolled. Caught fire.” He stops, glances at Viv, then back to the dark interior where Gin sits. “The other car, according to the witness, stopped for a moment. Then it sped off again, turned down into Oranjezicht.”
    Viv breaks the silence that follows. “You mean it was a hit-and-run?”
    “Well,
ja
, Mrs… Vivienne.” Her slight frown does not mar her beauty. He turns back towards Gin. “There’s another thing. What was Doctor Gold’s state of mind?”
    Gin’s voice sounds strained. “Simon? What do you mean?”
    “How was he? Did you know he was seeing a psychiatrist? That he took antidepressants for some years?”
    “Simon?” she says again. After a slight pause, her voice flat, she says quietly, “Simon was Simon. He was…”
    He waits.
    “Greyer,” says Gin finally. Then she is silent.
    Viv moves closer to him. Her voice is quiet, meant for him alone. “Are you suggesting it wasn’t an accident?”
    Nick turns to her, takes another sip of wine. “It’s possible, yes.”

7. GIN
    Doctor Oldman, who is neither old nor a man, peers at her through thick-lensed spectacles. “You’re