Our Man In Havana Read Online Free PDF Page A

sheep’s wool for the high-gloss finishing on his car. He had been a plausible impostor, but no one could be a less likely purchaser of a vacuum cleaner than this man. Tall and elegant, in his stone-coloured tropical suit, and wearing an exclusive tie, he carried with him the breath of beaches and the leathery smell of a good club: you expected him to say, ‘The Ambassador will see you in a minute.’ His cleaning would always be arranged for him – by an ocean or a valet.
    ‘Don’t speak the lingo, I’m afraid,’ the stranger answered. The slang word was a blemish on his suit, like an egg-stain after breakfast. ‘You are British, aren’t you?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I mean – really British. British passport and all that.’
    ‘Yes. Why?’
    ‘One likes to do business with a British firm. One knows where one is, if you see what I mean.’
    ‘What can I do for you?’
    ‘Well, first, I just wanted to look around.’ He spoke as though he were in a bookshop. ‘I couldn’t make your chap understand that.’
    ‘You are looking for a vacuum cleaner?’
    ‘Well, not exactly looking.’
    ‘I mean, you are thinking of buying one?’
    ‘That’s it, old man, you’ve hit it on the nail.’ Wormold had the impression that the man had chosen his tone because he felt it matched the store – a protective colouring in Lamparilla Street; the breeziness certainly didn’t match his clothes. One can’t successfully follow St Paul’s technique of being all things to all men without a change of suit.
    Wormold said briskly, ‘You couldn’t do better than the Atomic Pile.’
    ‘I notice one here called the Turbo.’
    ‘That too is a very good cleaner. Have you a big apartment?’
    ‘Well, not exactly big.’
    ‘Here, you see, you get two sets of brushes – this one for waxing and this for polishing – oh no, I think it’s the other way round. The Turbo is air-powered.’
    ‘What does that mean?’
    ‘Well, of course, it’s … well, it’s what it says, air-powered.’
    ‘This funny little bit here – what’s that for?’
    ‘That’s a two-way carpet nozzle.’
    ‘You don’t say so? Isn’t that interesting? Why two-way?’
    ‘You push and you pull.’
    ‘The things they think up,’ the stranger said. ‘I suppose you sell a lot of these?’
    ‘I’m the only agent here.’
    ‘All the important people, I suppose, have to have an Atomic Pile?’
    ‘Or a Turbo Jet.’
    ‘Government offices?’
    ‘Of course. Why?’
    ‘What’s good enough for a government office should be good enough for me.’
    ‘You might prefer our Midget Make-Easy.’
    ‘Make what easy?’
    ‘The full title is Midget Make-Easy Air-Powered Suction Small Home Cleaner.’
    ‘That word air-powered again.’
    ‘I’m not responsible for it.’
    ‘Don’t get riled, old man.’
    ‘Personally I hate the words Atomic Pile,’ Wormold said with sudden passion. He was deeply disturbed. It occurred to him that this stranger might be an inspector sent from the head office in London or New York. In that case they should hear nothing but the truth.
    ‘I see what you mean. It’s not a happy choice. Tell me, do you service these things?’
    ‘Quarterly. Free of charge during the period of guarantee.’
    ‘I meant yourself.’
    ‘I send Lopez.’
    ‘The sullen chap?’
    ‘I’m not much of a mechanic. When I touch one of these things it somehow seems to give up working.’
    ‘Don’t you drive a car?’
    ‘Yes, but if there’s anything wrong, my daughter sees to it.’
    ‘Oh yes, your daughter. Where’s she?’
    ‘At school. Now let me show you this snap-action coupling,’ but of course, when he tried to demonstrate, it wouldn’t couple. He pushed and screwed. ‘Faulty part,’ he said desperately.
    ‘Let me try,’ the stranger said, and in the coupling went as smooth as you could wish.
    ‘How old is your daughter?’
    ‘Sixteen,’ he said and was angry with himself for answering.
    ‘Well,’ the stranger said, ‘I must