Night Without Stars Read Online Free PDF Page B

bitterness, or resentment or grief, I couldn’t tell quite what. It was like wandering through flowery fields and stubbing your toe on a stone.
    For the first time for months my own interest was drawn out and away. I wanted to know about her. The change from a week ago was enormous.
    We sat on through the coffee and the cognac and the cigarettes, getting more friendly all the time, till quite suddenly she stiffened in her chair and then went on talking one per cent faster than before. I took no notice until a man stopped at our table and she looked up as if seeing him for the first time.
    â€œGood evening, Alix.”
    â€œOh, good evening, Pierre.”
    â€œStrange, our meeting like this.”
    â€œYes, isn’t it. M. Gordon, may I introduce M, Pierre Grognard.”
    We shook hands. He was a biggish man, plump and fairly young. His hands were manicured and had never done hard work. His grip was just a contact, as if he’d passed you something over a counter.
    â€œI hope you didn’t feel tired after last night,” he said to her.
    â€œNo, of course not. It was fun.”
    â€œIf we’d come away when you said, I should have been fifty thousand francs richer.”
    â€œOh, well … that’s the way of things.”
    â€œNext time I’ll respect your judgment, Alix.”
    â€œIt wasn’t really judgment. I always like to seize my winnings when they’re there.”
    â€œGood principle. I shall take it to heart. You are visiting Nice, monsieur?”
    â€œYes, I’ve been here since February.”
    â€œI hope you find it agreeable.”
    â€œVery pleasant, thanks.”
    â€œIn the summer, of course, it gets too hot.”
    â€œI like the heat.”
    â€œDo you? I always try to get up into the mountains. One can breathe there. Well, I must go. Au ’voir, Alix. Tuesday?”
    She hesitated a second. “Yes, Tuesday.”
    â€œGood. Au voir, monsieur.
    â€œAu voir.”
    As I sat down I thought it wasn’t only a husband who might resent my being about.
    She fidgeted a minute rather uncomfortably, digging in her handbag for something and generally trying to be busy. I waited.
    At length she said: ‘I think soon we should go.”
    â€œWhy? I said gently.“ D’you feel in need of an early night?”
    â€œThat” she said, “is presuming a little, M. Gordon.”
    â€œâ€¦ Would it also be presuming a little to suggest that you call me Giles?”
    Knowing the continental preference for formality, I thought she might jib at this, but after a minute she said: “Very well— if you wish it.”
    There was another silence.
    â€œYou must agree,” I said, “that it’s a bit unusual to meet someone who works in a shoe-shop during the day and at night goes to the Casino and wins—and loses—fifty thousand francs. It—”
    â€œOh, no, don’t make that mistake. It was Pierre who gambled. It is his money. I stood and watched.”
    â€œAnd advised him.”
    â€œAnd advised him.”
    â€œAnd you are going to do the same next Tuesday?”
    â€œOh, if he wants to go I shall go with him, I suppose.”
    â€œWho is he? May I ask that?”
    â€œI don’t think I want to discuss him, please.”
    â€œFair enough.” I thought the thing out. “All right,” I said.
    â€œI’ll tell you. Pierre Grognard’s about thirty-three or four. He’s come up in the world. Began life as a school teacher or—no-more likely a lawyer’s clerk, somewhere in the north. Don’t think he’s in law at present, but knows enough about it to get round it when he wants. He’s in commerce some way, probably owns a big shop or hotel. Thoroughly respectable now. Knows how to do things at the right time with the right people. Fond of women, and conceited about his successes. Smokes Havana cigars and very fond of garlic and probably