The Melting Man by Victor Canning

Author:Victor Canning
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canelo Digital Publishing Ltd
Published: 2021-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

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I had a great night, ten hours of dreamless sleep with the poodle at the foot of the bed and the cat on the spare pillow. The cat woke me by kneading determinedly on my chest, and when I blinked at it said it was time to let him out to forage for his breakfast which I could hear singing in the nearby scrub. The poodle slept on, knowing there was no point in moving until I was down slaving away in the kitchen at his and my breakfast.

After that it was a matter of waiting and taking what precautions I could. The moment my letter arrived in Turin I was sure that Mimi and Tony would open it. Tony would come, as fast as he could, to make sure that Max never got anywhere near grassing on him to any Aristide. If the letter arrived by first post, it meant Tony could be at the chalet by the evening. If by the afternoon post, then he could make it by midnight or early morning. Whenever he came I just couldn’t afford to be sleeping and not give him a welcome.

I spent the morning making a reconnaissance of the surroundings of the chalet. At the back, which I had not noticed on my first visit, well up in the pines, was a wooden shack which held a small Volkswagen saloon, Max’s. I ran it down to the front of the chalet and put my Mercedes in its place. I didn’t want Tony arriving and being confused by the sight of the Mercedes. Then I went down to St Bonnet and bought some supplies, but I had to cuff the poodle out of the car – my car – because someone in the place might recognise it.

When I got back the telephone was ringing. But instead of Wilkins it was some French woman asking for Max. It took me a little while to put over to her that Max was away in Cannes on a property deal and had lent me the chalet for a few days.

We all three had lunch together, sharing everything except a bottle of Clos-du-Layon vin rosé. After that we took a long siesta, very long, until it was gin-and-Campari time, strictly one, because there was soon to be business ahead. Then I shut the animals in the kitchen, found a warm hunting coat of Max’s, borrowed his twelve-bore and a handful of shells, and went and sat in the Mercedes where I could catch the lights of any car coming up the road to the chalet. I didn’t want to be inside when Tony arrived. It wasn’t going to give me any points as a host, but I felt that for this visit protocol could be dropped.

By midnight nothing had happened, except that I was colder than I thought I would be and wished I’d brought some brandy out. I sat there, thinking about a quick nip and how it was only a few yards away.

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