The Travelling Companion Read Online Free PDF Page A

pulling himself together, the better to roll another joint.
    Though I was stoned, I agreed to take over from Tessa while she headed out for food. Mike and Maryse—she had eventually told me her name—decided to go with her. They had the decency to ask if I wanted anything, but I shook my head. I gulped some water from the tap and took up position. A few customers came and went. One or two regulars got comfortable with books they would never buy. Later, a writing group would hold its weekly meeting upstairs. And there she was again. Not just a glimpse this time, but a solidity in the open doorway, in the same floral dress. A willowy figure topped with long blond hair. Her eyes were on mine, but when I signaled for her to approach, she shook her head, so I walked towards her.
    â€œI’ve seen you before,” I said.
    â€œYou’re Ronald,” she stated.
    â€œHow do you know my name?”
    â€œBen told me.”
    â€œYou know Benjamin Turk?”
    She nodded slowly. “You mustn’t trust him. He likes playing games with people.”
    â€œI’ve only met him twice.”
    â€œYet he’s already got beneath your skin—don’t try to deny it.”
    â€œWho are you?”
    â€œI’m Alice.”
    â€œHow do you know Mr. Turk?”
    â€œServices rendered.”
    â€œI’m not sure I follow.”
    â€œI run errands for him sometimes. I copied those pages he gave you.”
    â€œYou know about those?”
    â€œYou’ve already read them, I suppose?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œAnd you need to read more, meaning you’ll visit him again?”
    â€œI think so.”
    She had lifted her hand and was running the tips of her fingers down my cheek, as if human contact was something new and strange. I leaned back a little, but she took a step forward and pressed her lips against mine, kissing me, her eyes squeezed shut. When she opened them again, I sensed a vast lake of sadness behind them. Tears were forming as she turned and fled down the street. I stood like a statue, shocked to my very core, wondering if I should go after her, but one of the loiterers had decided to break the habit of a lifetime and pay for the book in his hands, so I shrugged off the incident and headed back to the till, not in the least surprised to find that the book being purchased was the copy of Heart of Darkness I’d taken with me to the cous-cous restaurant …
    It was almost eleven by the time I found myself standing outside Benjamin Turk’s building. I stared up towards the top floor. A few lights were burning, but I couldn’t be sure which rooms were his. I pushed open the heavy door and began to climb the stairs. I could smell the aftermath of various dinners, and hear conversations—mostly, I guessed, from TV sets. There was a dog behind one door, scratching and complaining softly. Having reached the top floor, and while pausing to catch my breath, I saw a note pinned to Turk’s door.
    Still out. Come in.
    I tried the door. It was unlocked. The overhead light was on in the hallway, but as with most Parisian lighting it seemed woefully underpowered. I called out but received no reply. There was something lying on the floor a few yards into the apartment—further sheets of manuscript, again photocopied. I lifted them and carried them into the living room, where I settled on the same chair as before. A fresh decanter of wine had been laid out, alongside two crystal glasses.
    â€œIn for a centime,” I muttered to myself, pouring some. Then, having rolled up my shirt-sleeves, I began to read.
    The two extracts did not follow on from their predecessors. They were from deeper into both books. I soon saw why Turk had chosen them, however—both recounted very similar incidents, vicious attacks on women whose bodies were for sale. In The Travelling Companion , it was the courtesan of the title who was brutalized by an unnamed stranger