Black Ice (19 page)

Scholten was home soon after ten. Hilde was in bed, with the bedroom door open and the bedside lamp switched on. She said she didn't know if she'd be able to stand up to the drive. She'd been feeling very ill all day.

On Friday afternoon Scholten left the office at a quarter to three. Herr Büttgenbach looked at him askance but said nothing. Kurowski called: “Mind how you go, Herr Scholten, know what I mean? Don't do anything I wouldn't do!”

“You must be joking,” said Scholten. “I'm taking my wife with me.”

“Have fun, then,” said Rothgerber.

Rosa shook her head. “Do mind out, Herr Scholten.”

“Mind out for what?”

“Mind you don't fall in the water.”

“Not me.”

When he got home Hilde was waiting in the corridor with her hat and coat already on. He carried the suitcase and travelling bag downstairs. Then he came up again, put the cat in the cat basket and took it to the car. He put the basket on the back seat, between the travelling bag and the back of Hilde's seat. Hilde said: “That's too much of a crush. Can't you put the basket behind your seat?” He put the basket behind his seat.

He drove very fast. Hilde said he ought to drive more slowly; it was making her feel all hot. He went not very much more slowly. Once off the motorway he drove jerkily, letting the car skid on bends. He said it was because of the road. “The whole surface needs
renewing, it's dangerous. But they just come with a bucket of tar in spring and paint it over the holes. Another botched job.”

They reached the house at a quarter past five. He unlocked, and Hilde lay down on the living-room sofa at once. He emptied the car and unpacked the case and the bag.

He was going to light the fire on the hearth, but Hilde said: “Don't. We're not having that fire lit.”

He stood there, matchbox in hand. “Why not?”

“It makes such a stink. My eyes won't stand the smoke. You know they won't.”

“The fire doesn't smoke. It'll warm the place up and do you good.”

“The central heating's warm enough. It's far too hot in here anyway.” She threw off the rug she had spread over her feet. “If it's too cold for you, you can put your cardigan on.”

He stood there undecided for a moment, then put the matches away. “Well, I'll go to the garage now and down to the boat after that,” he said. “The boy's bringing up the meat from Grandmontagne's at quarter to seven. I ordered beef for steak tartare for this evening.”

“Are you going to stay on the boat that long? It's getting dark, you won't be able to see a thing.”

“There's electric light on the boat.”

“That's right, let Herr Wallmann impose on you! Not that that's anything new. You're nothing but Herr Wallmann's odd-job man.”

He stopped, stood in the doorway, looked at her. Then he turned and went out.

He looked in the freezer. The ice on the planks was hard and smooth as glass. He took the long-armed spanner off the workbench and went down to the
steps. Leaving the spanner on the landing, he went on down to the boat. He opened up the cabin and switched on the interior light.

The battery would be run down when he came back, but there was nothing to be done about that. Herr Wallmann wouldn't say a thing. He'd keep his mouth shut all right.

Scholten had the icy steps in place just before six-thirty. The strips of wood he had knocked away from the planks were underneath the other spare strips. He had hidden the lengths of insulating tape in a cardboard carton among other small items. He had put the substitute planks back in their corner in the garage, had taken the frozen food out of the coolbags and put it back in the freezer.

Every time he made another journey to or from the steps, hurrying, stumbling, gasping under the weight he carried, he had stolen up to the corner of the living-room window and looked in, his heart beating fast. Hilde was lying on the sofa with her eyes closed. She had wrapped the rug firmly round her legs and pulled it up to her chin.

Scholten looked round the garage. All in order. He brushed the dust off his pullover and trousers, looked at his hands. They were so cold they hurt. He had scratched the skin in a couple of places. He licked the scratches. He looked at his watch. High time.

He went into the living room. Hilde opened her eyes. “I'm going to put the car away in the garage now and then go down to the boat,” he said.

“You told me so already. Haven't you finished yet?”

“Another half an hour. I'll be back when you have the steak tartare ready.”

He put the cat in the cat basket. It stuck its paw out of the top before he closed the lid.

“What are you putting the cat in the basket for?”

“Taking it down to the boat. It'll be a bit of company.”

“Are you mad? You can't take the cat on the boat with you! It won't like the rocking. It'll be sick.”

“Oh, come off it!” He stood in the doorway with the basket in his hand. He looked at her.

She said: “Oh, yes, of course you know best as usual. The fact is you don't know anything.” She closed her eyes. “A know-all, that's you, nothing but a know-all.”

He turned away and closed the door.

Carefully, he opened the fridge and took out a carton of milk. He took one of the old cups out of the kitchen cupboard. Without a sound, he removed his jacket and coat from the coat-rack and put them over his arm. He closed the front door and looked through the living-room window once more. Hilde was lying on the sofa with her eyes closed.

His hands began to shake. He stood there for ten or twenty seconds. Suddenly he looked at his watch. Damn it, time to get moving. He threw his coat and jacket into the car, stowed the cat basket in front of the passenger seat. He put the carton of milk and the cup in the glove compartment. He looked round once again. A strip of reddish light fell from the living-room window on the ground in front of the garage.

He started the engine and drove not into the garage but down the track leading to the road. A little way from the house he stopped, ran back, pushed the garage door down and made sure that it engaged in the lock with a loud slam. He stole back to the living-room window once more. Hilde was still lying there motionless. He passed both hands over his face then went back to his car.

He took off the handbrake and let the car coast
down the path. The bodywork shook and creaked. Only just before reaching the road did he start the engine. He drove towards the village, turned into the dark square by the little transformer station, switched off the engine and the lights. He wound down the window and breathed deeply to calm his thudding heart.

He didn't have to wait long. Headlights were approaching from the village. Scholten saw Grandmontagne's delivery van drive past. He started the car again at once and drove into the village, parking outside Grandmontagne's long, low house. He took the basket out of the car and went into the pub.

Two men were sitting at the corner table. Grandmontagne was behind the bar. He wiped his hands down and said: “Hey, what's up? I thought you was here with your wife. The boy's just gone over with your meat.”

“I know.” Scholten put the basket down on the bar. “He passed me on the way. Let's have a beer, Sheng.”

Grandmontagne drew the beer. He looked up from the glass, glanced at Scholten. “This means trouble, mate.”

Scholten made a dismissive gesture. “Who cares? I can't be in more trouble than I'm in already. I can tell you, Sheng, it's sheer hell with that woman. The fuss she's just been kicking up again – you wouldn't believe it. She makes my life hell, she really does. I've had it, Sheng, I've had it up to here!”

Grandmontagne nodded.

Scholten said: “I'd like to drop it all and just walk out. Get in the car and go anywhere. Somewhere peaceful. To Holland. Somewhere by the sea, where I wouldn't see or hear any more of her.”

Grandmontagne put the beer down in front of
Scholten. He said: “Well, you just do that. Why not, eh? Your old lady will be okay. Got everything up there she could need. Even the meat and the sausage now. You take off – that won't half shake her up!”

Scholten emptied his glass. He put it down violently on the bar. “You carry on like that much longer and I swear I really
will
do it.”

Grandmontagne took the glass and refilled it. He looked at the head on the beer. “Like I said, you just do that,” he said. “You got to show a woman you're your own master, Jupp. Or you've had it. For good.”

One of the two men in the corner said: “Let's have the telly on, Sheng. Take a look at the news.”

“What for? It ain't as if you understood it.” But Grandmontagne went over to the corner and switched the TV set on. He came back, gave Scholten his beer and pointed to the basket. “What you got in there? Packed a picnic for the journey already?”

“I should have done. No, it's my cat in there.” Scholten opened the lid, and the cat looked out. It rose and looked as if it was about to jump up on the bar. “No, Manny.” Scholten tickled the cat's neck, and it began to purr.

“Why drag that animal round with you?”

Scholten stroked the cat. He held a finger in front of its nose. The cat raised a paw, put its head on one side and snapped at the finger. Scholten said: “She hit it with a shoe, that's why.”

“What, your wife did?”

Scholten nodded.

“I don't believe it!” Grandmontagne shook his head. “Didn't know she were violent too. Poor dumb animal. Can't help nothing, can it?”

Scholten said: “Do you have a drop of milk?”

Grandmontagne went to the kitchen door and
called: “Marlene, let's have a saucer of milk here. No, a cupful.”

Marlene's voice came from the kitchen. “What for?”

“Jupp's got his cat with him.”

Marlene Grandmontagne appeared in the kitchen doorway, hands on her hips. “What's all this, then? I thought you was here with your wife.”

“Never mind gabbing.” Grandmontagne flapped his hand. “Fetch that milk.”

When Marlene brought the milk Scholten put the cat down on the floor. Marlene, hands on her hips again, looked at the cat, looked at Scholten. “What're you taking the cat around for, then?”

The boy came in through the door out to the street, empty butcher's basket over his arm. “Oh, Herr Scholten!” he said. “Your wife thought you was on the boat. She were going to call you in for supper.”

A wave of heat passed through Scholten. He opened his mouth, gasped for air.

Grandmontagne said: “You mind your own business.” He waved the boy away. “Off you go.”

Marlene looked from Grandmontagne to Scholten. “What's going on around here? Taken off without a word to the wife, eh?”

Grandmontagne said: “It's nowt to do with you neither. You let Jupp be. He's having a hard enough time anyway.”

“Ho, yes, I'm sure you'll back him up!” The indignant Marlene left them.

“Cheers, Jupp.” Grandmontagne gave Scholten another beer, raised his own glass. He drank, wiped his mouth, leaned over the bar. “Hey, can't you take me to Holland too? That'd be good, eh?” He laughed, looked at Scholten. “Where'll we go, then?”

Scholten nodded absently.

Grandmontagne slapped him on the arm, shook him. “Hey, what's up? Pull yourself together! Take that cat and go! Just get out! See what she says then!”

Scholten nodded. He said: “Do you know Heemswijk?”

“No, where is it?”

“By the seaside. There are woods. Woods all over the dunes. You can walk there for hours. On the beach if you'd rather, or in the woods if you like.”

“They got good beer there too?” Grandmontagne leaned forward. “And nice little girlies?”

Scholten waved a hand. “Any number. Amsterdam's not far off.”

“Amsterdam? Hey, that'd be the place for me. What are we waiting for, Jupp?”

Scholten nodded. “We always used to go there with the bowling club. Every year. I can tell you, we had a good time.” He nodded. “Yes, and then the women went on and on at us, and in the end the club closed.”

Grandmontagne took his shoulder, shook him. “Don't let 'em get you down, Jupp, you hear me?”

Scholten nodded. “Yes, sure.” He looked around. The cat was rubbing round the two men in the corner. “Manny, come here! Leave them alone. Good boy, come on.” He bent down, snapped his fingers. The cat came over and rubbed its head on his hand. Scholten asked: “What's the time, Sheng?”

“Twenty past seven exactly. Like another?”

“No, thanks.” Scholten picked up the cat and put it in the basket.

“Feeling nervous?”

Scholten nodded. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow, his mouth and the back of his neck.

“I guess you do,” said Grandmontagne.

Scholten took out his wallet, but Grandmontagne waved it aside. “Forget it, Jupp. On the house.”

Scholten nodded. “My turn next time.”

“Yeah, that's okay. Look out for yourself.”

Scholten picked the cup up from the floor, put it on the bar. He closed the basket and started off.

As he opened the door he turned back and nodded.

“Give my regards to Holland!” said Grandmontagne. He laughed, dried his hands. When the door had closed behind Scholten he leaned on the bar, shaking his head.

Scholten put the basket back in front of the passenger seat. He stared through the windscreen. Suddenly a sob shook him. He swallowed, rubbed both hands hard over his face. He stared through the windscreen again.