Free Deon Meyer by Dead Before Dying (html)

and attractive, covered in a pink-and- blue floral. In the center a coffee table held six magazines, the latest editions of De Kat, Time, Car, Cosmopolitan, Sarie, and ADA magazine. Against a white-painted door, which presumably led to the consulting room, there was a neat sign that read DR. NORTIER WILL WELCOME YOU SOON. PLEASE MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME AND ENJOY THE COFFEE. THANK YOU. The same sign was repeated in Afrikaans. There were watercolors on the other walls— one of cosmos, another of the fishermen’s cottages at Paternoster. In one corner there was a table with a coffee machine. Next to it stood porcelain coffee cups and saucers, teaspoons, a jar of powdered milk, and a bowl of sugar.
     
     
He poured himself a cup and the filter coffee smelled good. Was the man a psychiatrist? Psychologists were “mister,” not “doctor.” Was he so batty that he needed a psychiatrist?
     
     
He sat down on the couch, put the cup on the coffee table, and took out his Winstons. He looked for an ashtray. There were none in the room. Irritation overcame him. How was it possible for a psychologist not to have an ashtray in his waiting room? He returned the pack to his pocket.
     
     
He looked at De Kat ’s cover. A man wearing makeup adorned it. The front page teaser read NATANIEL— THE MAN BEHIND THE MASK.
     
     
He wanted to smoke. He paged through the magazine. Nothing in it interested him. The woman on the cover of Cosmopolitan had big boobs and a big mouth. He picked up the magazine and flipped through it. He saw a headline. WHAT HE THINKS ABOUT AT WORK. He flattened the pages there but realized the doctor could open the door at any moment. He closed the magazine.
     
     
He was dying for a smoke. After all, cigarettes couldn’t harm the mind.
     
     
He took out the packet and put a cigarette between his lips. He took out the lighter and stood up. There must be a can somewhere he could use.
     
     
The white door opened. Joubert looked up. A woman came in. She was small. She smiled and put out her hand.
     
     
“Captain Joubert?”
     
     
He put out his hand. The lighter was still in it. He drew back his hand and shifted the lighter to his left hand. “That’s right,” he wanted to say but the cigarette was still in his mouth. He blushed, pulled his hand back, and removed the cigarette from his mouth, putting it into his left hand. He put out his hand again and shook hers.
     
     
“There’s no ashtray here,” he mumbled, blushing, and felt her hand, small and warm and dry.
     
     
She was still smiling. “It must be the cleaning service. Come in and smoke here,” she said and dropped his hand. She held the white door for him.
     
     
“No, please,” he said, indicating that she had to walk in first, self-conscious and uncomfortable after his meaningless remark about the ashtray.
     
     
“Thank you.” She went in and he closed the door behind them, aware of her long brown skirt, her white blouse buttoned up to the throat, her brown brooch, a wooden elephant pinned above one of the small breasts. He caught a hint of feminine odor, perfume or her own, noticed her grace, her fragility, and an odd beauty that he couldn’t identify as yet.
     
     
“Do sit down,” she said and walked around the white desk. A tall, slender vase with three pink carnations stood on it. And a white telephone, an A-4 notebook, a small penholder containing a few red and black pencils, a large glass ashtray, and a green file. He wondered whether it was his file. Behind her there was a white bookcase that almost filled the wall. It was full of books— paperbacks and hardcovers, a neat, colorful, cheerful panel of knowledge and enjoyment.
     
     
There was another door in the corner, next to the bookcase. Did the previous patient leave through it?
     
     
He sat down on one of the two chairs in front of the desk. They were television chairs, the adjustable kind, covered in black leather. He wondered whether he should’ve waited for her to sit down first.