Van Der Valk 01 Love in Amsterdam aka Death in Amsterdam by Nicolas Freeling

Author:Nicolas Freeling [Freeling, Nicolas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

It was a month or two later, with a cold wet autumn sliding into a cold wet winter, that Martin, who had been caught out and drenched without an overcoat and then had to wait half an hour for a bus, got a touch of ’flu. He stayed in, wound in sweaters, drinking cognac and eating codeines. When he put a pen to a sheet of paper his handwriting was clumsy and childish; unnerving.

‘I feel full of ’flu,’ he told Elsa.

‘Poor darling; that’s rotten. I hope I don’t catch it all the same; I badly want to stay clear-headed just now. In a way you’re to blame, though; you don’t get enough fresh air, and when you do go out you overdo it and take silly risks.’

‘I’m going to make my bed up in the other room. I’ll probably be restless and plunge about a great deal.’

‘Yes, that’s a good idea. I’m sorry to sound unsympathetic, but I’m trying to persuade those people at the fabriek to paint and glaze a figure for me. They aren’t interested of course; bloody Dutch. Ten thousand hideous delft windmills a year. Mrs Ter Laan has thought of some people in Germany who might help…’ She was gone, after an agonized hunt for a pair of stockings without ladders.

Martin sat by the stove, feeling ghastly. When the buzzer went, and he heard Sophia’s voice on the speakbox, he felt like a shipwrecked sailor seeing the posse arrive — he was at the point where one does not care how badly the metaphors get mixed.

She came in happily, but looked concerned when she took a look at him.

‘Hey, hey; what’s up with you?’

‘I just don’t feel too gay. ’Flu pains. Just a bad cold, I think.’

‘Nonsense, I’m going to look at you. You certainly have ’flu my boy; you’re a vile sight — why aren’t you in bed?’

‘Bed nothing — except with you, perhaps.’

‘You reassure me. Ill, but evidently not all that ill. First bed. I take it you sleep with Elsa?’

‘No, I’m sleeping in the other room.’

Sophia surveyed the bedroom with the sarcastic smile he knew; virgin faced with adultery. With professional, rather brutal hands she undressed and pushed him into bed.

‘Too superior to wear pyjamas, I see. Pity I haven’t a pair of mine by me. Now stay quiet. Is there a thermometer anywhere in this house? Of course not; we’ll see first about making you comfortable. I can see you’ve a temperature; how high it is doesn’t matter much.’

He submitted with the passive enjoyment of all men who feel a little ill, imagine they are dying, and like to have a loving, fussing woman preside at the deathbed.

‘I must say I don’t like the sound of your breathing a bit. Lie flat; I’m going to listen to you.’

‘Can you tell?’ He watched the absorbed face with one ear laid against his bare chest, and felt affection as well as desire.

‘I’m a doctor’s child; we used to do this when we were small. You’ve pleurisy, my boy.

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