Jackdaws by Ken Follett Read Free Book Online Page A

I can." He sighed.
    She held his hand. "How are you
feeling?"
    "Foolish. It's an undignified
place for a bullet wound."
    "But physically?"
    "A little giddy."
    "You need something to drink. I
wonder what she has."
    "Scotch would be nice."
Flick's friends in London had taught Michel to like whisky, before the war.
    "That's a little strong."
The kitchen was in a corner of the living room. Flick opened a cupboard. To her
surprise, she saw a bottle of Dewar's White Label. Agents from Britain often
brought whisky with them, for their own use or for their comrades-in-arms, but
it seemed an unlikely drink for a French girl. There was also an opened bottle
of red wine, much more suitable for a wounded man. She poured half a glass and
topped it up with water from the tap. Michel drank greedily: loss of blood had
made him thirsty. He emptied the glass, then leaned back and closed his eyes.
    Flick would have liked some of the
scotch, but it seemed unkind to deny it to Michel, then drink it herself.
Besides, she still needed her wits about her. She would have a drink when she
was back on British soil.
    She looked around the room. There
were a couple of sentimental pictures on the wall, a stack of old fashion
magazines, no books. She poked her nose into the bedroom. Michel said sharply,
"Where are you going?"
    "Just looking around."
    "Don't you think it's a little
rude, when she's not here?"
    Flick shrugged. "Not really.
Anyway, I need the bathroom."
    "It's outside. Down the stairs
and along the corridor to the end. If I remember rightly."
    She followed his instructions. While
she was in the bathroom she realized that something was bothering her,
something about Gilberte's apartment. She thought hard. She never ignored her
instincts: they had saved her life more than once. When she returned, she said
to Michel, "Something's wrong here. What is it?"
    He shrugged, looking uncomfortable.
"I don't know."
    "You seem edgy."
    "Perhaps it's because I've just
been wounded in a gunfight."
    "No, it's not that. It's the
apartment." It had something to do with Gilberte's unease, something to do
with Michel's knowing where the bathroom was, something to do with the whisky.
She went into the bedroom, exploring. This time Michel did not reprove her. She
looked around. On the bedside table stood a photograph of a man with Gilberte's
big eyes and black eyebrows, perhaps her father. There was a doll on the
counterpane. In the corner was a washbasin with a mirrored cabinet over. Flick
opened the cabinet door. Inside was a man's razor, bowl, and shaving brush.
Gilberte was not so innocent: some man stayed overnight often enough to leave
his shaving tackle here.
    Flick looked more closely. The razor
and brush were a set, with polished bone handles. She recognized them. She had
given the set to Michel for his thirty-second birthday.
    So that was it.
    She was so shocked that for a moment
she could not move.
    She had suspected him of being interested
in someone else, but she had not imagined it had gone this far. Yet here was
the proof, in front of her eyes.
    Shock turned to hurt. How could he
cuddle up to another woman when Flick was lying in bed alone in London? She
turned and looked at the bed. They had done it right here, in this room. It was
unbearable.
    Then she became angry. She had been
loyal and faithful, she had borne the loneliness—but he had not. He had
cheated. She was so furious she felt she would explode.
    She strode into the other room and
stood in front of him. "You bastard," she said in English. "You
lousy rotten bastard."
    Michel replied in the same language.
"Don't angry yourself at me."
    He knew that she found his fractured
English endearing, but it was not going to work this time. She switched to
French. "How could you betray me for a nineteen-year-old nitwit?"
    "It doesn't mean anything,
she's just a pretty girl."
    "Do you think that makes it
better?" Flick knew she had originally attracted Michel's attention, back
in the days when she was