Read Online Dear Vincent by Mandy Hager - Free Book Online

face.
    ‘Opa! It’s me. Did you give someone your key?’ His gaze holds mine as he listens, his eyes an unusual gentian blue. The line between them relaxes as the Professor explains. The place is so quiet I can hear the buzz of the old man’s voice. ‘You’re sure? Okay. I’ll see you later … yes, okay. Sure.’
    He ends the call and pockets his phone, then lets out a long breath and nods. ‘Sorry. He forgot to warn me. When I saw the back door open I thought someone had broken in.’
    ‘No worries. I don’t blame you.’ He’s so tall he fills the whole doorway. ‘I promise I’ll be really careful. I’ll just be here to sleep and feed the cat.’ I should offer to leave but I don’t want to risk it.
    Now he leans the bat against the wall and enters the lounge. Spinoza oozes himself onto the floor, then waddles over to rub himself against Johannes’ feet. He meows as if to say he’s not been fed for years. ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Johannes croons. ‘I’ve heard those lies before.’
    I’m not sure what to do. It’s hardly my place to offer hospitality. But if we’re going to be neighbours, I guess I need to make an effort. ‘Cup of tea? I was just going to make one, then I have to be off.’
    ‘Yeah, sure.’
    He follows as I make my way through to the kitchen, then leans against the door frame and watches as I fill the jug. I don’t want to rummage in the Professor’s cupboards in front of him, so I shrug and make a gesture of defeat. ‘I don’t know where anything is.’
    ‘Here,’ he says. He reaches over top of me and opens a wall-hung cupboard. ‘Cups are here. Plates and dishesunder the bench. Cutlery’s over in that top drawer. Coffee, tea and sugar in those canisters by the jug.’ He opens the fridge. ‘A miracle! There’s even milk!’
    Spinoza stretches his front legs up mine and peers imploringly into my face with a high-pitched pleading purr. ‘Oh, so you think I’m a softer touch, do you?’ I reach down and scratch between his ears, all the while aware of Johannes’ searching gaze.
I will not blush.
He’s handsome, no doubt of that, but not in a plastic boy-band way. His nose is just a little long, his mouth too wide. He exudes the same fierce intelligence as his grandfather. ‘Did you know cats have a special high-pitched purr they use when they want something? On the same frequency as a crying human baby, apparently — that’s why it’s so hard to resist,’ I say.
    He grins. ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised. I think if there’s such a thing as reincarnation I’d come back as a cat. They have a pretty laid-back life.’
    ‘Only if they’re loved.’ I’m surprised by the bitterness in my voice. Now I
do
blush, heat searing up my cheeks and pulsing through my scalp.
Get a grip.
‘I hear your mother is overseas.’ The kettle has boiled and I get busy making tea.
    ‘Yeah. She’s gone across to Europe to work on a book.’
    ‘Wow! So she’s a writer?’
Stupid, stupid question.
My blush intensifies, something I didn’t think possible. I’m crap with boys.
    ‘Kind of. She’s a psychologist. She’s doing some research into Jung and Freud.’
    ‘Does she practise what they preach?’
    He laughs. ‘God, yes! You’ve no idea how annoyingit is having every word you say analysed for hidden meaning. Every single thing I do she labels as some kind of new phase!’
    I have to smile. ‘Bummer.’
    ‘Yeah. Though I guess she only does it because she cares.’ He hands me the carton of milk. ‘Here. None for me.’
    ‘Sugar?’
    ‘No, thanks.’ He takes his tea and leads the way back to the lounge.
    We sit down at the dining table — mahogany, I think — and use coasters under the cups. ‘This place is beautiful,’ I say. ‘Your grandfather is very generous to let me stay.’
    ‘So what’s the story? Why are you here?’ He takes a sip of his tea. His hand is shaking as he lifts the cup.
Is he as nervous as me?
    I’m not sure what the Professor told him