Free One Damn Thing After Another by Nicolas Freeling Page A

aim, but court-wise it’s a Pyrrhic victory and largely symbolic damages. Think about it some more. I’m strongly averse to litigation.”
    She avoided the subject of Argentina: not a place, she thought, likely to interest Paul Friedmann much. She said nothing either about peculiar Germans outside the door. They were there again, hovering at no great distance when Paul dropped her and said no, he wouldn’t come in for a drink but love to Arthur. They made no attempt to accost her. She felt obscurely grateful for his unwitting protection.
    This though was absurd. These Germans weren’t a threat. She should go perhaps and have it out with them.
    There was nothing on her phone tape, but while she was checking it the phone rang in the livingroom.
    â€œBrigitte Buckenburg here from
Graphik
.” She’d forgotten about this but wouldn’t you know it … The combination ofTher Press, and the type of German womanhood that would work for this kind of press …
    â€œYes, well, my German isn’t too brilliant. I got your proposal. Very kind of you and thanks, but no, thanks. I mean, I don’t much want to be interviewed.”
    â€œReally – why?”
    â€œNow ja – I don’t feel obliged to give reasons, you know.”
    â€œBut do, though.”
    â€œLet’s say that I see no need for it.”
    â€œBut of course there is need for it. Very valuable for you. And most interesting to us, and our readership.”
    â€œDoubtless: I’ve simply decided against it.”
    â€œOh, I seeee,” knowingly. “I don’t believe you really mean that. I’m sure you’ll change your mind.”
    â€œBetter not count on that. And good day,” ringing off firmly. Let those people once get their teeth into you! … And the tone had been patronizing, as of ‘Oh yes, the old hard-to-get act; we’re used to that’. Why could people never accept simple truths?
    And those people outside … but that must be sheer coincidence.
Graphik
probably was capable of anything, but wouldn’t use so roundabout an approach, and people seeming unbalanced: that was not their style. The dog started making a noise, keys clattered in the hallway; that was Arthur.
    â€œI was just thinking of taking the dog out, and seeing once and for all what these stupid people want.”
    â€œWait a moment,” said Arthur. “It’s not going to be quite so easy. When I went out this afternoon they started bawling after me.”
    â€œYes, I heard that, and I’m not putting up with it.”
    â€œIt was all about Jacky Karstens. So I stopped, and said I knew all about him, and wasn’t in the least interested. They kept on yelling about the SS, so I got a bit cross and told them to shove off, sharpish, and went upon my way.”
    â€œI’ll have them cleared off by the police. Let me handle this.”
    â€œWhen I came back just now, they started waving in a pally way and shouting Hallo, Karstens, hallo, old chap.” This wasa little ambiguous since he was going hallo-old-chap at Dog, but she got it disentangled.
    â€œOh dear,” she said. But at least the cat, in the tree, had shown what colour it was.

Chapter 8
A putative father
    Karstens had been the name of Arthur’s first wife. A woman she viewed – whose memory she viewed – with small sympathy, indeed none at all. After leading him a fearful dance, including divorcing him, thinking better of it, proposing to come back, and abandoning him again – among numerous other engaging tricks – the woman had killed herself in the end, which should have been the end, save that for years she had managed to persuade Arthur that this was somehow his fault. He had, hoped Arlette, forgotten as well as forgiven Nathalie Karstens, but she had left a lot of scar tissue.
    Flemish. Arlette had plenty of friends in both Belgium and Holland, but in this case had seen the