Odd Girl Out Read Online Free Page A

alternative? She felt old and used-up. Remarkably little could
happen to one, it seemed, excepting squalid, day-to-day mishaps. She betted that smarmy little Rumanian doctor didn’tn’t know what Christ had said on the Cross. But at least He’d
been on the Cross – feeling, or perhaps knowing, that the whole death was worth a billion candles. This recent little death, if you could call it that, had been worth a hundred and
fifty pounds. He had insisted on half the money beforehand, and would doubtless be waiting for the other half now. She had cashed the money this morning in fivers – she hated counting money
and almost never did, but on this occasion she had needed more than this episode had cost her. Supposing he had cheated, and hadn’t done it? But she was bleeding; he must have done something. And I don’t much care what, she thought.
    When she emerged from the lavatory, he was waiting for the money, which she gave him by putting the fivers on the table. When she reached the end – seventy-five pounds – he patted
her shoulder, put the money in his white overall pocket and told her that she would be quite all right now, but must go home and rest. He had a reddish moustache and very dark eyes: for a moment
she wondered what the rest of his life was like. He must be stinking rich.
    Outside, the sun seemed so strong that she fumbled about in her bag for her dark glasses. Home, she thought, ha ha. A strange house somewhere that she had never been in in her life. But there
was something familiar about that , as a prospect, when she came to think about it. She saw a cab and stopped and got into it just as her knees began to turn into melting wax.
    Edmund sat in his handsome and dignified office, the comfort of which was temporarily, but lengthily being destroyed by pile-drivers and pneumatic drills. They were building an
underground car park in the square outside, an operation that seemed to have been going on for months, and that showed no signs whatever of completion, or even of progress. In consequence of this,
the windows had to be shut, and even with the Venetian blinds half drawn (making irritating bars of light and shade all over his papers) the place was far too hot.
    ‘… I am afraid that planning permission for rebuilding on a more convenient part of the site having been refused comma substantially detracts from the present value of the property
full stop. We can comma of course comma appeal against the Council’s decision comma but this would comma I am afraid comma take at least six months full stop. Perhaps you would care to
consider what you would like done in this matter comma and if I can help you with any further advice will let me know comma otherwise I shall await your further instructions full stop. I am et
cetera.’
    Miss Hathaway looked up from her pad: her blonde but visible moustache was beaded with sweat. ‘Shall I send this to Brown’s Hotel, or to the Malta address?’
    Edmund consulted the spidery writing on dark-blue paper. ‘It’s quite unclear where she is at present. The paper is from her old house, and she has simply put Tuesday at the head of the
letter. Better ring Brown’s and see whether she is still there, and if she isn’t airmail it to Malta.’
    The telephone rang. Miss Hathaway picked it up: her hands were nearly always moist – even in winter or when the windows were open – so that Edmund knew that the receiver would be
clammy by the time it reached him.
    After some delay, Miss Hathaway announced, ‘It is a personal call for you from Princess Radamacz.’
    ‘Thank you, that will be all, for the moment: I’ll buzz if I want you.’
    He took the receiver, and when she had left the room, carefully wiped it with the dark-blue silk handkerchief that Anne had not chosen for him that morning. A feeling of worldly excitement
touched him: it was interesting to be somebody who calmly got calls of this nature.
    ‘Clara?’
    ‘Darling!’
    ‘Where are