The Dutch Wife Read Online Free PDF Page A

was going to say something, that he was going to spoil everything. But instead he sighed and held her close.
    In doing so, he set her free.
    DURING THOSE FIRST DAYS, they actually did a lot of talking. To a stranger overhearing, their conversations then would have sounded like the banal talk of people who knew each other too well. But for her, these conversations were utterly exhausting, based on the careful exclusion of anything that would spoil the illusion.
    She left the house only to buy food, and when a week passed she knew a decision had to be made. Sophie, her housemaid, was due back from her holidays. Explanations would be required. There would be gossip. It would be simpler to leave, for a while, at least.
    She packed and they set out together the next morning in the Daimler. They were headed for the house in Camberloo, two hundred miles to the south, where hardly anyone knew her.
    The long drive was uneventful, except that whenever he saw the mangled body of a groundhog or a squirrel on the highway, he’d ask her to pull over. He’d get out and lift the body off the road and lay it gently on the grass verge.
    “What a slaughter,” he’d say, over and over again.
    She would have tried to dissuade him. She would have pointed out that the bodies probably had ticks and fleas and lice, and that he’d get blood on his hands. But he was so upset—“Poor little creatures!” he’d say—that she was ashamed of her fastidiousness and said nothing.
    THE CAMBERLOO HOUSE had been bought by her father when he’d presided on the bench of the circuit courts, in the ten years before his death. They had lived there for six weeks each summer, but she barely knew anyone in the town.
    Now, as she brought the Daimler to a stop in the driveway, the front door opened and a man and woman came out to meet them, with three very young children trailing behind.
    “The Zeljats,” Rachel said. “They keep an eye on the place.” She took a very deep breath. “Well, let’s see what happens.”
    Zeljat opened the car door for her. He was a slight man with a black beard and black eyes with a glint in them. His wife was a small, brisk woman with a hook nose. The children clustered around her. A black-and-white collie came bounding from behind the house towards the car as Rachel stepped out.
    “Maxie!” she said to the dog, which was wagging its tail violently. “I haven’t seen you in years!” She looked at Zeljat. “How long has it been?”
    “Not since your father died,” he said. “Three years.” He was staring inquisitively now at her passenger, who had got out of the car and was standing in the driveway.
    “You remember Rowland, don’t you?” she said offhandedly.
    If Zeljat was surprised, it was hard to tell. He just narrowed those black eyes a little, said nothing and gathered the baggage. Maxie came over and sniffed at the newcomer cautiously. He bent over and petted the dog, till it relaxed and licked his hand.
    Rachel Vanderlinden smiled at that. “Good, Maxie!” she said with delight.
    As though the dog had settled everything.
    THEY WERE HAPPY IN CAMBERLOO, even though, after the first week, the weather turned wet, for the Fall was advancing. The nights were marvellous. In the mornings, they’d go for long walks in their rain-gear, and in the afternoons they’d sit in the living room beside the fire, reading. Or, at least, Rachel would read. He treated books as objects of veneration, but preferred picture books of birds and animals, even shopping catalogues. After an hour or so, he’d become restless. Often, he’d watch for Zeljat, who lived in a row house about a half hour’s walk away, to arrive. Then he’d put on rubber boots and go into the garden to help with pruning and preparing the ground for winter.
    “Does Zeljat ever ask any questions?” she asked once.
    “No, not really.” He shook his head. “He said I never used to be interested in the garden. That was all.”
    “Good,” she