The Widow Read Online Free PDF Page B

this ass Albert playing at now? Trying again to make himself interesting by playing hard to get, with his act of knowing deep secrets that he could not divulge? Why the pretence? Did he genuinely think there was someone listening to him in the office or tapping his telephone? Well, he was only due at six; there was nothing to rearrange. Not going to worry about him now. A mythomaniac, grunted Arthur, and he was almost certainly right. Go and find somebody else to mystify, Albert.
    Don’t bother changing – the slightly dishevelled look is all right for
Mauricette
, not to speak of that pig of a butcher. She slapped on a bit of lipstick and whipped out. The phone went as she closed the flat door, the way it always did. She wasn’t going to turn back – the recorder would register it.
    Chez Mauricette
, a few hundred metres up the Boulevard de la Victoire, past that gloomy dungeon of the ZoologyInstitute full of coelacanths and suchlike cattle – forbidding it all did sound – was exactly as she expected, an old-fashioned, small pub, rather pleasant. Crowded in the front, narrowing to a bottleneck between the bar and a big stove that overheated the atmosphere, it broadened out at the back, and, as expected, was full of students. Character was given by a huge number of climbing plants going up a trellis, swinging in baskets, in a brass pot on chains – everywhere there was space. The brasswork and the big old stove gave a comfortable Belgian feel.
    And there was Mauricette herself, presiding at the bar, making loud jokes and forcing the accent a good deal: it is thought funny, and creates popularity – a small dark woman with an unnaturally black shiny fringe and harsh lined skin, and a smile full of gold teeth.
    â€˜I only want to leave a line for one of the girls – Marie-Line; big tall blonde girl, perhaps you know her?’
    â€˜Sure, no problem. Not seen her today – they drop in after class as a rule.’ Mauricette turned to stick the envelope in the corner of the big mirror. ‘Hey,’ facing round again, ‘you’re not called Arlette by any chance? Note for you too then, from her I dare say.’
    She ripped it open. A big scrawl with a felt pen.
    â€˜Arlette I can’t get out and I’m desperate – unless you find a way to help me I see nothing else for it – I’ll cut my veins. I’m getting Françoise to post this – you can rely on her –
    Marie-Line.’
    Oh, curse the silly girl.
    â€˜Sorry, I’ll have to ask for the other one back – the date’s fallen through.’
    â€˜No problem,’ indifferently.
    Merde – how to word this? Damn, wasn’t a table free? Have to push a few armfuls of tropical foliage out of the way and do it on the corner of the bar.
    â€˜I will have a drink after all – got any jenever?’ In this postoffice lark, no harm in letting Mauricette see one was of the right blood!
    â€˜You bet. Straight as she comes?’ The tiny tulip glass brimming with the colourless schnapps – there was the smell she had missed. Wrapped lump of sugar on the saucer from Beghin-Say – one might almost be back in Holland! She tore a page from her notebook and scribbled.
    â€˜Marie-Line, for heaven’s sake calm down and do nothing that only plays into the hands of whoever thinks you behave irresponsibly –’ She got an idea, sipped from the brimming glass; Mauricette was hanging about with curiosity. ‘The girl who left this – it must have been just a short time ago?’
    â€˜Françoise!’ in a screech. ‘Here a sec.’ This was all getting too public as well as too dramatic …
    â€˜Marie-Line gave you this note for me? – wait, would you like a drink or something, I’d like to sit down a minute, just to know what all this is about.’ A small girl with an urchin face and an urchin-cut, behind those enormous silly