Fatale Read Online Free Page B

idiots. Their clinics are a joke.” He spluttered after every sentence. He seemed mean, and pleased with himself.
    â€œThey are all drug addicts, leftists and that sort of thing,” said Tobie.
    â€œNext time they ought to put him in an asylum,” said Mme Tobie.
    â€œBe that as it may,” said Sinistrat, “don’t count on me to have him locked up.”
    â€œBut my dear man,” exclaimed Lindquist, irritated and contemptuous, “you might as well certify him as sane while you’re about it.”
    â€œI’ll consider it.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” asked Aimée.
    Lindquist and the doctor turned towards her, both somewhat at a loss. For a moment neither said a word.
    â€œOh, nothing very interesting,” said Lindquist.
    â€œA little conflict,” said Sinistrat with a slight flick of the hand.
    â€œI love conflicts,” said Aimée, but just then applause erupted, for the town worthy had concluded his speech and everyone was facing the platform.
    Immediately after this, the talk turned to other things, and, leaving the vin d’honneur to the porters and small fry, the big fish repaired to the cocktail party they had arranged.
    [1] The last three were all renowned navigators and explorers.— Trans.

5
    â€œT HAT LITTLE doctor really has his nerve, it’s unconscionable,” said Lindquist as his sea-green Volvo slowly traversed the town with the realtor behind the wheel and Aimée seated at his side. The man shook his head. “Coming to the inauguration like that! And I bet you any money he’ll be at the cocktail party too! He used to work at L and L, you know. The company doctor, or some such. They were obliged to let him go. And now he spews out his nonsense in the newspaper.”
    â€œHe seems like a very rude man,” said Aimée sweetly.
    â€œHe’s a sort of nihilist,” answered Lindquist. “He votes for that Trotskyite Krivine, you know.”
    â€œYou don’t say,” answered Aimée.
    â€œHe’s crazy,” Lindquist explained in a definitive tone.
    He parked the Volvo in a small triangular plaza. There was a fountain in the middle. The building façades on all three sides were cream and brown, with visible beams, or at least with illusory visible beams painted on them, and windows with little panes of thick glass and pots or planters of geraniums on their sills. One of the façades was that of a brasserie operating on two floors with its name, Grand Café de l’Anglais, painted in cream Gothic lettering on a brown background. Another was that of a private house, both halves of whose carriage entrance were open. There was much animation in the lobby, where two servants were relieving guests of their hats and coats. Lindquist and Aimée went through the hall and entered a large reception room crowded with people. A long trestle table had been set up, draped with a white cloth and set with a great many plates full of canapés. A white-jacketed server behind the table with his back to the wall busied himself with the spread.
    There were about thirty people in the reception room. The women outnumbered the men. The Rougneux and the Tobies had already arrived. Just after Aimée and Lindquist, senior manager Moutet appeared with a voluptuous brunette. It was his wife. He introduced Aimée to her. The brunette Christiane Moutet had a vigorous handshake and a carnivorous smile and seemed at ease with herself.
    â€œDo you play bridge?” she asked Aimée, and Aimée said yes. “At long last!” exclaimed the brunette delightedly. “We can never find a fourth who doesn’t screw everything up.”
    â€œOh, come on,” said senior manager Moutet.
    â€œOh phooey!” said the woman. “Pardon my language.”
    Aimée smiled at her. Over the brunette’s shoulder she saw that Dr. Sinistrat had arrived and was standing near the entrance