The Man in the Window Read Online Free PDF

instead. Then he stooped and took a dark bottle from the space under the table, but stopped all of a sudden and angled his head again, as though listening. There was a knock at the door. 'Come in,' he said, spreading out his arm in a gesture of greeting as a woman appeared in the doorway. She was in her twenties, tall, slim and wearing a long, red dress. Leaning against the doorframe, she was in shadow, out of breath.
        'Don't be embarrassed,' he said to reassure her.
        As he said the last word, the woman raised her chin and looked him in the eyes. He liked the way she fell so easily into the role, liked the self-assurance she displayed, and perhaps this was the moment he liked best of all - when she came into the light from the desk lamp.
        'Nice to see you again!' she said, almost in a whisper.
        'After far too long,' he answered, feeling his windpipe constrict with self-pity. He stared at the ceiling, swallowed the lump in his throat and, in a dream, repeated: 'Far too long.' He collected himself and went round the table where he sat down on the swivel chair and fixed his eyes on her.
        They eyed each other in silence.
        At last she coughed and said: 'Coming here is like returning to a secret place.'
        He was quiet.
        'It's with me all the time, everywhere.'
        'What is?'
        She considered and said at last: 'Longing.'
        'When you're here, I forget what it means to wait,' he said and nodded towards the bottle. 'Sherry?'
        'Yes, please.'
        He was about to take the bottle, but hesitated and looked up at her. 'Perhaps you would pour?'
        She strode across the floor, took the bottle and poured a glass for each of them. Then she raised her glass, swirled the liquid around and inhaled the aroma before gazing dreamily at a point in the distance. She sipped at the sherry and put the glass down. Bit by bit she began to roll down the long glove reaching up over her elbow. 'It was the driver,' she said. 'He wouldn't let me go.'
        She articulated every word, with slow emphasis, as though she were worried about how the message would go down. Reidar had closed his eyes, as if in meditation. In the end, he inclined his head, opened his eyes and said' in measured tones: 'Well? Why not?' His eyes had taken on a curious yet also caring expression.
        'He wanted to have me,' she said, dropping the glove on the floor. Her fingers were long, her nails sharp and painted red. She took off the other glove too - protracted movements, finger by finger, until she had released her forearm from the tight-fitting material. 'He was brutal.'
        'Was he a stranger, or did you already know him?'
        She lowered her gaze and deliberated. At length, she looked up and said: 'Ask me again later.'
        Reidar acknowledged this clever response with a smile, drew the glass to his lips, sipped the sherry, swallowed and put it down. With a look of satisfaction he studied the hand resting calmly on the glass. 'There's something I have to talk to you about,' he said in a light tone of voice. 'Something important.'
        She took a few paces to the left, walked past the large grandfather clock and stopped in front of the mirror. She gazed at herself. 'I was concerned that you had to wait,' she said, turning back to him. 'But, on the other hand, it appeals to me that a young man shows such obvious interest.'
        He reached out and removed the ashtray from the cloth. He put it on the window sill, beside a small cassette player which he switched on. Low, tinny violin tones poured forth from the player's small loudspeaker.
        She stood stock still, listening with closed eyes. 'Schubert?'
        He nodded as she undid the zip on the waist of her dress. Then she began to undo the row of small, white buttons running down the front of her dress. When she was finished, she freed her shoulders. The dress fell in a bundle around her ankles. She