Strike Out Where Not Applicable by Nicolas Freeling Page B

I’m only saying that you need to unwind. I’ll give you a really nice hot bath and then you’ll already feel miles better – you’ll see. You can be lovely and lazy – you don’t have to do a thing. And this evening I’ll bring you your supper up and you can have it nice and quietly.’
    â€˜You don’t think he’ll ask the girls questions, do you, and that they’ll blurt out heaven knows what?’
    â€˜The girls don’t have a clue,’ firmly.
    Van der Valk had got bored with peregrinations round the back yard. He had seen things for himself. Any person not a total stranger would melt into the landscape around here. You could be seen by twenty people, noticed by three and remembered by none. You could be somebody arriving in a car, promenading on a horse, having a stroll across the fields, or you could just as easily be living right here in the house.
    And of course Bernhard could very well have been killed by a small boy with a catapult …
    What was it that Maartens had fixed in his head? What hadmade him so uneasy that he stuck his neck out? It wasn’t just the physical appearance of the wound, nor was it Fischer’s level of general health. Something a lot more than that, to make a country doctor do something that – if he were wrong – would mean the end of his practice in that whole area of Holland …
    Stupe – he was not walking round the back yard any more, but he hadn’t stopped peregrinating inside his own skull yet! He jerked at himself: the sit-down had done his leg, which was beginning to warn him that fatigue led to pain, some good, and in front of him there was a cup of coffee that had gone cold, which hadn’t improved it, and heaven knew it was in no further need of disimprovement. The jerk was completed by his wife’s name suddenly penetrating his mind.
    â€˜ … haven’t seen her all afternoon.’ A woman’s voice, speaking in French too, so that he knew immediately that this must be the famous Janine. He was turning round for a cautious eyeful – wasn’t she supposed to be very pretty? – when a jovial smack landed on his shoulder and Francis’ voice said, ‘Ha – we have a surprise for you.’ Well – it was certainly as stupid to pretend he was not there – everyone here knew who he was – as to draw attention to him. He got to his feet.
    â€˜But I saw her little car outside.’
    â€˜She stayed home to gather grass for her rabbits – let me present her husband.’
    He turned round with an amiably polite face and had to adjust his eyes to something that only came up to his shoulder – a pretty woman, yes, but one of the miniature ones, a tiny bit of thistledown. Without knowing why, he was surprised – Arlette had never said she was a tiny one, had she? The beautifully cut breeches, amusing as they were, did not really suit her type: a cashmere sweater showed off elegant breasts as well as splendid hair. The all-black get-up was fetching but she was the kind of woman that would not look her best in sports clothes. He wondered why she was looking astonished.
    â€˜Enchanté, Madame,’ kissing the hand, though it was a long way down.
    â€˜Oh – you talk French.’
    â€˜Learned from my wife.’
    â€˜I was just asking – isn’t she here with you?’
    â€˜I’m afraid not – I borrowed her car.’
    â€˜You – you ride too?’ Francis, who obviously found her a good joke, was enjoying the scene.
    â€˜ ’Fraid not. I happened to be here – I have the pleasure of knowing Francis here slightly and was having a look at his domain.’
    â€˜The Inspector Calls.’ Francis guffawed at his own pleasantry.
    â€˜You’re the Commissaire de Police – Arlette – I’m sorry, I mean your wife – told me, I remember.’ She seemed very shy and