The Widow (12 page)

‘Coffee,' said Arthur's voice. ‘And aluminium foil. It occurred to me, if you're going to Hautepierre, you might stop at the Italian grocer.' In the little Italian car, right. Sausage. Ham. Forty thousand types of sausage in Strasbourg and none that's eatable. Arthur was good at housekeeping. Remember Piet, very old-fashioned and male, not to say old-woman Dutch fusspot. Couldn't scramble an egg, but fond now and then of ‘pulling the women up about their household accounts'. Meaning complaints about the quantities of lavatory paper used for jobs like wiping out the omelette pan. Do I have to type it all out in triplicate?

While Arthur would thread a needle and sew his buttons back on. Sighing, sucking the thread heavily, holding it all up to the light to get it through the blasted loop. He took his glasses off for this job; she put hers on. Otherwise there was not much difference.

That wash-basin takes a long time emptying: must be hair blocking it. If Arthur can thread a needle I can unscrew a siphon. Need big pincers and where are the big pincers? Not in the broom cupboard where they ought to be. She found them in the electricity cupboard and thought herself a good detective. Wrote down light bulbs, 75 watt, screw and bayonet. Left some instructions on the tape for the cleaning woman. Whip out smartish to the Italian grocer.

‘Do you mean you leave your cleaning woman the KEYS!' marvelled a silly bourgeois woman. ‘You'll get everything pinched.'

‘There's nothing worth pinching,' said Arthur comfortably. They all worried so about burglars. Life was too short.

She walked as far as the Italian grocer. Not a hope of finding anywhere to park around here. The more roads they built the more they needed.

One could think, while cooking. Consommé is a long job. She got the bones out of the oven, drained the fat off, deglazed the pot and set it to simmer, turned the fan on to get rid of the smell of blackened onions, put in one clove and a quarter of a bay leaf. When it boiled she would turn the gas down, skim for ten minutes, add the onions and their skins, a carrot, a bit of celery, a few parsley stalks. Put the lid on and let it simmer till tonight. Tomorrow it would be cold; one would peel the fat off, strain the stock, and put it on again to clarify with minced beef and an eggwhite. Result, after another hour or so – consommé. If only her other jobs were that simple.

Norma was fixed, more or less. As long as she stuck to it, and really made a clean break. She'd made her own decision; Arlette hadn't made it for her.

No problem then, there. Albert Demazis … That was several different kinds of problem and one had no idea what, nor how many. She didn't intend to let it bother her. Whatever loony notion he'd had in his mind ringing her up, going through all the rigmarole, and then going back on it all – she probably would never set eyes on him again, and if she did she'd be rather cold and curt. The mystifications are not appreciated, and I'm not interested in the money either.

Marie-Line. Had worked herself up into a great stew, and quite likely that pop-eyed Françoise, enjoying all this rather, was making the most of it. A dose of cold water was needed, and perhaps a dose of castor oil too. She'd go see the parents. This evening; better waste no more time.

The pot with the bones, Arthur's chicken carcase, some odds and ends found in the fridge had quietened to a gentle simmer, and so had she. Dinner was going to be simple; she'd bought big bicycle-tyre macaronis from the Italian shop, as well as ham that was not soaked in water to make it weigh heavier…

She went into the office, peaceful with the light beginning to fade and the big seascape looking kindly at her, its smoky blues getting deeper and smokier as the afternoon wore on. There was nothing on her tape.

Two days of work and it seemed to have frittered away again into the incoherent nonsenses that had been on the tape for a week. Nothing to show. No penny either. But no, she was not in the least discouraged. This was the way it went. You sat in the office. If anybody came it would be small and unimportant people with small unimportant stories. Like Norma. But that was exactly what she was here for.

There was a tremendous peal at the front-door buzzer, startling in the hermitage atmosphere of meditation. It could only be a telegraph boy or the gas-meter man. An unnecessary double ring at her own door confirmed this: she pressed the release and prepared to be leisurely and reproving. Opening she found herself face to face with Marie-Line.

‘Heavens.'

‘What's the matter?'

‘Nothing. You seem a bit windblown and stormtossed. Come on in then; I've nobody.'

‘Thanks, no. Sorry to have troubled you.'

‘Don't be absurd.'

‘I can tell when I'm unwelcome.'

‘My dear girl, I thought you were the gas man, pealing like that, so I'd put on a telling-off expression. I'd no idea it was you: didn't you get my note?'

‘Yes, Franςoise brought it round. That's why I came. If you were out I was going to wait
Chez Mauricette.'

‘Sit down then. But is this a good idea? – I thought you were supposed to stay put.'

‘Everybody tells me to stay put. Till I can be shot in the arm and put in the car without protest. They're coming for me this evening. I thought of Germany and I thought of Switzerland, but there are so many cops with an eye out for terrorists I'd be asked for my papers at once, and I felt sure if I made for Paris they'd have notified the police before I got there. And hitchhiking on one's own…'

‘None of those things would have done at all. I'm glad you came to me. Though …' Arlette realized she was still standing. This wouldn't do: the ‘office' atmosphere was wrong. ‘Come on into the flat'. She looked at her watch; nearly half past five. ‘There was a man coming but he rang to put it off.'

‘Arlette – can I stay with you?'

‘You could do with a drink, I think. Yes you can.' It was decidedly “I'm a big girl but I promise I don't take up much room in the bed”. But what else could one answer? ‘Do sit down and unwind.'

‘I just want to pick up …' She scuttled out on to the landing and returned with a leather sack of sorts.

‘Oh I see,' said Arlette a bit dry. ‘I was just wondering whether my pyjamas would fit you.'

‘I've nowhere to go,' apologetically. ‘Michel or any of the boys – that would just be asking for trouble. Franςoise or any other girl I know, their parents would be quacking down the telephone before you could say knife.'

‘Nonsense. It's what I'm here for,' reflecting ruefully that yes, it was, and wondering in the same breath whether there was enough ham. Arthur would have to go without a second helping: we must all learn to make sacrifices. Be touchy, possibly, at being asked to cook again. But plainly there was no time to lose. She needed a drink herself; tinkling among the ice-cubes gave her time to think.

‘What time does your father get home. And Cathy?'

‘Cathy any time, unless she went on somewhere. Pa not till six-thirty counting rush hour. I see what you mean.'

‘People don't go ringing up the police and stuff in that much of a hurry. But he's due for an explanation and he has to be given one. Above all we mustn't have you put further in the wrong. Don't worry, my husband will be here.'

At this moment indeed through the open living-room door a clatter of keys could be heard and an English voice upraised in melody.

‘It's only me from over the sea.

Said Bollocky Bill the Sailor … oh, I beg your pardon.'

‘Arthur this is Marie-Line Siegel: my husband Doctor Davidson. I mentioned her name, you might recall. She's in some trouble at home and is staying for supper and the night, okay?'

‘Very much okay, by the look of things,' not too offensively flirtatious. ‘Do you play chess? Splendid. Do these explanations have to be given to anyone else?'

‘Well yes; I have to go and see Marie-Line's parents. I'll be back for supper if you'll very kindly cope.'

‘Delighted as long as it doesn't involve chopping parsley which I admit bores me.'

‘I can chop parsley,' said Marie-Line with a little too much vivacity. Really, thought Arlette, he's only exacting a small mild vengeance and watching to see do I get indignant and make some spiteful remark about four-handed piano playing.

‘There's macaroni, and that nice Italian ham, and any sort of sauce you like except tomato. Smitane maybe, and there are endives ready. There's soup but it won't be ready till tomorrow; leave it ticking.'

‘It shall be done,' said Arthur helping himself to ice-cubes.

She went into the bedroom to change. Passing back along the hallway she heard, ‘I have the greatest possible dislike of parting with even the wretchedest of pawns, but what must be will at least leave me a scrap less constipated.' Right my lad: force her to concentrate.

Despite rush hour, she was in the Meinau before half past six. Either the Jaguar wasn't home yet, or put away already in the garage. No sign of the little Fiat. She wasn't going to hang about.

The gate clicked open to her ring; the porch light went on. She had a sensation of being examined on the step before the door opened and an elderly female in a white apron said, ‘You want?' with abruptness and a strong Alsatian accent.

‘Doctor Siegel, if he's home yet. My business is personal, you could say, and concerns his daughter.'

‘This way.' The hall was an impression of solid mahogany and grandfather clocks. She was shown into a room chill with heating turned off, diamond-paned bookcases full of forbidding volumes and a stuffy atmosphere of the windows not having been opened that day. There was the sort of desk at which a man does cheques for the insurance, and old dark green curtains with a lot of cords and tassels. No time for more; a slight cough and she turned. Doctor Siegel in a brown suit and an air of cold rage. To show how controlled he was he shut the door quietly and advanced as far as the hearthrug, where he put his hands together behind his back, bowed slightly and said, ‘I'm told you have some information as to the whereabouts of my daughter? I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you before?'

‘No. Madame Van der Valk. Marie-Line's quite all right. She came to me in a nervous distraught state, so I asked her to stay to supper. I left her playing chess with my husband, which should have a calming effect,' smiling. ‘I thought it right to come and see you instead of telephoning – less needless explaining to do.'

Doctor Siegel made another stiffish little bow but did not smile.

‘That was kind of you – and your husband. I don't I'm afraid altogether understand. My daughter is a friend of yours?'

‘She confided in me. Girls that age, with a lot on their chest – they want, and it's natural, to be able to talk to someone, not
necessarily family.' Arlette felt at once that it could have been worded better.

‘I have not yet grasped,' his tone was quite polite, ‘how you come to be – acquainted – with my daughter.' There was certainly no point in disguising it. Just the little flick of inexperience that hindered, however slightly, the smoothly worked form of wording.

‘I run an advice bureau. Any member of the public is free to consult me. What is said is in confidence.'

‘An advice bureau,' handling the word delicately, with little dentistry tweezers. But something corrupt, that if one got any closer would not smell very nice. ‘I see,' putting it down on a glass table to be referred to in a minute. The probe: we'll just make sure there's no area of infection. ‘Then I can take it that this uncontrolled spasm once calmed, you'll advise her to return home, promptly.'

‘Is that wise, do you think, so soon? I think perhaps she might be given a day or so to get over the upset. It's only emotional but –'

‘You'll allow me, perhaps, to be the judge of that.'

‘You haven't asked me to sit down,' said Arlette amiably.

‘I beg your pardon. There's a chair behind you.'

‘There's a bit more to be said, isn't there.'

‘May I ask just what my daughter has been telling you? I didn't, I'm afraid, realize that there was any call for discussion of this matter. I'm not sure I do now.'

‘Doctor Siegel, I wished to say only that having been myself a doctor's wife for twenty years I've had a lot of people on my doorstep who needed or thought they needed medical care. I've some experience in the matter.'

He unbent slightly, as though in courtesy between members of the confraternity, but not that it removed the prickles.

‘You'll excuse me. I thought I knew at least by name …'

‘No: he practised in Holland.'

‘But you're not yourself qualified? I feel justified in saying that within the family there are those who are, most adequately
as I can assure you. My relation, Doctor Frederic Ulrich, is you might not be aware.'

‘Marie-Line mentioned her uncle. I don't want you to think I'm in any way hostile. She feels in conflict with her family, and she has real or imagined terrors.'

Doctor Siegel gave this ten seconds' consideration, his eyes examining Arlette.

‘Madame, I must thank you for your good offices, but I must tell you that I am the sole judge of what concerns my daughter, and also that I feel a distaste for discussing family affairs. To put you to no further trouble, I think I had better come and fetch her home.'

‘Isn't that going back to square one, rather? She came to me and asked counsel: wasn't that sensible? Next time, she might do something sillier and more damaging.'

‘Apparently I haven't made myself clear,' said Siegel from a lipless mouth. ‘If you have encouraged this child in an attitude of direct disobedience I cannot congratulate you. It goes without saying that I permit no interference by well-meaning persons in my affairs.'