Free The Widow by Nicolas Freeling Page A

false ceiling. Not claustrophobic a bit: cosy as a womb, saidArthur admiringly. She whipped into the office and opened the door with a desire to say ‘Next’. This was the first – the very first.
    A pale face that would have been pretty but was both fattish and haggard, but managed to be better than plain.
    â€˜I say, I hope you talk English. I just can’t manage to learn French, sorry.’
    â€˜Take your coat off and be comfortable.’ Dear Berlitz School. Rough, cough, bough and dough. And people say Russian is hard.
    The woman had had nobody to talk to for ages, and spitting it all out was what she wanted more than anything. A listener. If sympathetic, so much the better. If there were any intelligent suggestions, that would be better still. Not that Arlette could think of many. You’re in a mess, my good soul. You got into it out of goodhearted stupidity, and the best way out, indeed the only way out I can see, honest, is to bugger off quickish.
    Her name was Norma and she came from Salford. Her husband could be said to have deserted her. Not technically perhaps; not on such-and-such a date. A sailor, seen at intervals that got longer and longer until one realized one day with only a slight sense of shock that Jackie was gone for good. Leaving her with three children: did that much work at home. Divorced?
    â€˜No. Got me pride, you see.’
    Made any effort to trace Jackie?
    â€˜Not really. Where’s the point in that?’
    Well, to recall him to a sense of his responsibilities.
    â€˜Yah, he hasn’t any. Oh, he was all right. Quite kind, not a bad father really, on the whole. Just slack like.’ She’d managed okay. No real grievances.
    One could see the point; nobody was a whole lot worse off for the lack of such as Jackie. Amiable hedonist. Arlette made a conscientious note: Danish, there must be a Danish consulate somewhere in Strasbourg which could catch up with Master Jackie, though he’d been left in peace a long time, too long she suspected for a court to get excited about conjugalrights. And what good was anyone naturally a bit slack-like, brought back sullenly – by the slack of his trousers? Be off again in five minutes, as Norma said sensibly.
    Some women were born victims, but she liked Norma, who had a certain tough gallantry. One called it dignity, and generosity, and other things quite out of fashion.
    â€˜I’II make a cup of tea, shall I?’ The symbol of solidarity in England, and it touched Norma.
    The trouble with women, Arlette knew well, is that they will insist on making fools of themselves over the same kind of man.
    Robert had been around a couple of years, with a job in the Manchester area. Good job. Spoke good English for a Frenchman, near as good as you. Good chap; quiet, domesticated, liked the children, got on well with everyone. Solid chap, what.
    She could suppose it. Men were infernally plausible. Anyhow, he’d had no bother gliding into bed with Norma.
    Well, the job in Manchester came to an end. Robert, by now accustomed to domestic comforts, proposed bringing her back with him to Strasbourg. Well, what was to hold her? Her sister to be sure had been against it: what, over there, all among the Frogs? But her sister’d always been a wet blanket. What’s different in France? Schools there too, aren’t there? You go where your man is.
    And how had that worked out? Plainly it hadn’t, but apart from getting the necessary details Norma had to be given the chance to pour herself empty.
    Started fine. Strasbourg was lovely. Robert had a nice little flat, quiet, with green spaces round and trees. Hautepierre is fine. The children liked it too. Didn’t speak any French, any more than her, but kids never worry about that. Made friends everywhere; loads of kids in the quarter. They’d gone to school; the woman had been real kind, fixed them with a lot of Vietnamese children that didn’t speak French