The Marshal and the Madwoman by Magdalen Nabb Read Free Book Online Page B

should have been there—or a candle when the lights fused, last year's Christmas cards for the children to cut up or a pair of gloves that some visitor had left and never reclaimed. There were always keys in it that no longer fitted any lock, lost receipts for gas bills, spare plugs and tiny coils of wire. It was a drawer that was never difficult to find and the Marshal found it now at the first try by lifting the plastic cloth on the table, since there was no other piece of furniture with drawers in the room. He soon discovered a bit of candle and two or three postcards sent to her from the seaside, one of them from Franco, dated the previous summer. He rummaged further and found a few remnants of knitting wool, an empty chocolate box, a few screws and nails, the handle of something and a sheet of yellowed newspaper which had probably once lined the drawer but had got pushed to the back. But he didn't find what he was looking for. It was true that women sometimes had another drawer of this type in their bedrooms, where broken bits of cheap jewellery, unused presents of scent and old headscarfs accumulated along with precious letters and childhood prayerbooks. But he had already been through Clementina's bedroom drawers and found nothing.
    'Odd,' he muttered.
    The doorbell rang and he went to open it.
    'We understood you'd finished here . . .' said the first of the porters to appear.
    'We have. You can take her.'
    They went about their business. When they were struggling down again, the Marshal heard one of them shout crossly, 'Upright! Keep her upright or you'll not get round this corner, blast these old stairs!'
    He went on waiting patiently until someone turned up to affix the seals, then he put the house keys in his pocket and made his way down the gloomy staircase to go and pay a visit to Franco.

CHAPTER 3
    The diffused yellow light of the street lamps and the sweaty warmth of the August night gave an indoor atmosphere to the tiny square which, as the Marshal's wife had said, was little more than a widening of the road. At the tables outside Franco's bar the men were gossiping or playing cards. Above their heads their wives leaned out of lighted windows, fanning themselves with handkerchiefs, smoking, exchanging bits of news or complaining about the humidity. Every television in every house was blaring out the same film soundtrack. Franco himself was standing in his doorway, unshaven, hands resting comfortably on his paunch. The Marshal squeezed between the tables.
    'I thought you'd be coming,' the big barman said. 'Come inside and sit down.'
    His television was on the loudest of all since it was turned to face the street so that the men could watch it from outside.
    The Marshal sat himself down at the table where he had once nursed his black eye and Franco went behind the bar to get two glasses and a cold bottle from the fridge under the counter. He held the bottle up and said something the Marshal couldn't possibly hear over the film music which was now giving way to gunfire. However, seeing the label on the bottle, Pinot Grigio, he nodded. It was fortunate that once the bottle was open and on the table Franco smiled and said, 'I'll turn the sound down a bit so we can talk.'
    A howl of protest went up outside as the sound diminished but Franco went out and raised a hand.
    'Just be patient a minute, I have to talk to the Marshal.' The protests died down. He ran the square as though it were a school. The Marshal couldn't help admiring him for it, but at the same time he realized that he was only going to find out what Franco decided he should find out, and that if the big barman should take it into his head to protect someone there'd be little or nothing he could do about it. It remained to be seen whether Franco was disposed to be helpful.
    'I'd turn it off altogether,' the barman remarked, sitting down and filling their glasses, 'but it's better to let them go on watching the film. We want to hear each other but we