Levkas Man Read Online Free Page A

Warsaw. The East German edition carried his name in recognizable print—Dr P. H. Van der Voort. I could find no sign of an English, or even a Dutch edition. He had always disliked the English, but that did not explain why his work only seemed to be recognized by the Iron Curtain countries.
    I went to bed then. The wind had died, the rain had stopped. The house was very still as I lay thinking of the last time I had slept in that room, the urgent desire I had had to get away, the wild plans I had made. Now, once again, I had plans to make and it was a long time before I could get to sleep.
    The sun was shining when I woke next morning. It was late and by the time I had been out for coffee it was almost eleven. I got back to the house only a few minutes before they arrived. Dr Gilmore was small, neat and very alert for his age. ‘So you’re Pieter Van der Voort’s son.’ His hand was dry and barely touched mine, but his eyes and his smile had extraordinary warmth.
    â€˜Dr Gilmore is a palæontologist also,’ the girl said.
    â€˜Which means what exactly?’ It was a word I had never really understood.
    Dr Gilmore smiled. ‘Put crudely, I’m a bone man—an expert on all types of fossils. It derives from the Greek: palaios—old; ontologia—the study of being. I like to think it was because he studied under me that your father specialized in palæontology.’
    â€˜I always thought of him as an anthropologist.’
    â€˜Anthropology is a broad term covering the whole study of man.’
    â€˜Dr Gilmore is a leading authority on Stone Age Man,’ the girl said. ‘He is the author of Neolithic Settlements of Eastern Europe.’
    I took them up to the study and the old man paused in the doorway, his eyes travelling over the room. ‘I take it that this is where Pieter worked. I often wondered …’ His gaze went unerringly to the bureau and he walked over to it and stood for a moment, peering closely at the skull and the artefacts. He was like a bird, his eyes bright, his movements quick. But age showed in the stoop of his shoulders and in the dry, parchment texture of his skin, which was slightly chapped with the winter’s cold. ‘There you are, Miss Winters,’ he said, turning to the girl. ‘That’s what all the trouble was about.’ His voice, his whole manner, was extraordinarily boyish. He shook his head. ‘Too clever. Too clever by half, you see.’
    I sat him down at the desk and offered him a cigarette. He hesitated, smiling quietly to himself. ‘I have been told to cut down.’ But he took one all the same and I lit it for him.
    â€˜You wanted to see me,’ I said.
    He nodded and leaned back in the swivel chair, holding the cigarette between thumb and forefinger, puffing at it quickly, drawing the smoke into his lungs. ‘But I don’t know whether it will help. I was hoping to find you—’ he hesitated—‘a more academic type. Now I’m not certain that it will do any good, particularly as I gather you haven’t seen your father for some time.’
    â€˜Not for eight years,’ I said.
    â€˜It’s as long as that, is it?’
    â€˜We didn’t get on very, well …’
    â€˜No, no—I understand. Miss Winters has told me something of your relationship. A very difficult man. Very brilliant. Too brilliant in some ways. I would go further—a genius. Men of that calibre are never easy to live with.’ He waved his hand at me. ‘Sit down, my dear fellow, sit down.’
    I hesitated. As long as I was standing I felt I could cut the interview short. I didn’t see what he wanted, why the girl had brought him here. And I didn’t want to get involved. ‘I know nothing about his world—’
    â€˜Of course. I understand. And that makes it very difficult for me—to explain my sense of uneasiness.’ He looked at me, a long,