The Other Side of Silence Read Online Free PDF

first editions and I would dearlylike him to sign them all before—before he dies. He is very old. Which of course would make them worth a lot more. I suppose there’s that.”
    â€œWe’re getting warmer,” I said. “But I’ll bet that’s still not the real reason. You don’t look like a book dealer. Not in those pants.”
    Anne French bridled a little.
    â€œAll right then, it’s because I have an offer from an American publisher called Victor Weybright to write his biography,” she said. “Fifty thousand dollars, to be precise.”
    â€œThat’s a much better reason. Or to be more accurate, fifty thousand of them.”
    â€œI’d really like to meet him, but as you’ve observed I’m the wrong sex.”
    â€œWhy don’t you just write to him and tell him about the book?”
    â€œBecause that would get me nowhere. Somerset Maugham is notoriously private. He hates the idea of being written about and, so far, has resisted all biographers. Which is one reason why the money is so good. Nobody has managed to do it. I was thinking that if I learned to play bridge I might inveigle my way into his circle and pick up some conversation and some color. He’d never agree to meet me if he knew I was writing a book about him. No, the only way is to give him a reason to invite me. By all accounts he used to play with Dorothy Parker. And rather more recently with the Queen of Spain and Lady Doverdale.”
    â€œBridge isn’t the kind of card game you can just pick up andplay, Mrs. French. It takes time to become good. From what I hear, Somerset Maugham’s been playing all his life. I’m not sure even I’d be in his league.”
    â€œI’d still like to try. And I’d be willing to pay you to come here and teach me. How does a hundred francs a lesson sound?”
    â€œI’ve got a better idea. What kind of cook are you, Mrs. French?”
    â€œIf it’s just me, I tend to go to the hotel. But I can cook. Why?”
    â€œSo I’ll make you a deal. My wife left me a while ago. I miss a cooked meal. Make me dinner twice a week and I’ll teach you how to play bridge. How’s that?”
    She nodded. “Agreed.”
    So that was my deal. And in bridge the dealer is entitled to make the first call.

FOUR
    F or a couple of weeks my arrangement with Anne French worked well. She was a quick study and took to the game like a new deck and a dealer’s shoe. She wasn’t a bad cook and I even managed to put on a few extra pounds. Best of all, she made a hell of a gimlet, the kind you can taste and feel for hours afterward. This might even be why, once or twice, I got the idea she wanted me to kiss her, but I managed to resist the temptation, which is unusual for me. Temptation is not something I can easily avoid when it comes wearing Mystikum behind its rose petal ears and you can see its smaller washing still hanging on the line outside the kitchen door. It wasn’t that I didn’t find her attractive,or that I couldn’t have used a little affection—or that I didn’t like her underwear—but I’ve been bitten so many times that I’m as twice shy as the wild pigs that came into the trees at the bottom of her garden after dark and truffled around for something to eat. Shy and apt to think that someone might have a rifle pointed at my ear. Meanwhile, I continued going to La Voile d’Or for my biweekly game and my life continued along the same monotonous path as before. Life can be appreciated best when you have a regular job and a goodish salary and you can avoid thinking about anything more important than what’s happening in Egypt. At least, that’s what I told myself. But one night Spinola was drunk—too drunk to play bridge—and I was actually pleased because it gave me an excuse to call Anne to see if she wanted to take the Italian’s place at the table.