Read The Last Girl for Free Online Page B

few moments she tossed the menu aside and said, ‘I’ll just have a salad.’
    â€˜You’re not hungry? ‘ I asked.
    â€˜Just watching my figure,’ she said.
    When the waiter arrived I ordered her salad and cepelinai for myself. I ordered a bottle of wine too.
    The waiter took the menus. Her young face was turned aside, she was casting her eyes about the room. Her fingers were on the table in front of her. They did not tap, just rested gracefully on the polished wood.
    After a few moments of silence she turned her eyes on me.
    I felt a thrill run up my spine. Nervously I cleared my throat.
    â€˜You said you wanted my help.’
    She paused for a moment and then nodded.
    â€˜Yes.’ She paused again and stared at me intently. ‘You said that you were a writer.’
    I nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right. I used to be. I find it hard now. The words don’t seem to come any more. They have deserted me.’ I smiled. ‘I assume you haven’t read my writing? You wouldn’t have. It was quite popular once. Not enough to live off, but then who can write for a living in Lithuanian.’
    â€˜What did you write?’
    â€˜Historical fiction, mainly. The Last Pagans . The Iron Wolf? No?‘
    She shook her head, looking apologetic. She bent down and rummaged in the bag she had been carrying. For a moment I thought she was going to dig out the Conrad again. But she didn’t. She pulled out a thick sheaf of papers and laid them carefully on the table. I looked at the paper questioningly. She smoothed the top sheet down and nudged them into order. She hesitated before speaking.
    As she was about to speak the waiter emerged with the bottle of wine and she was forced to wait. He upturned two glasses on our table and proceeded to uncork the bottle. Carefully he poured a small amount of wine into my glass, taking care not to spill it, and waited for me to taste it. I nodded at him impatiently. He poured the two glasses with equal care, pedantically making sure they were level. Putting the bottle on the table he straightened up.
    â€˜Would there be anything else?’
    I shook my head, irritated. ‘No,’ I said quite unpleasantly.
    As he left Jolanta giggled. ‘You shouldn’t be impatient,’ she said. ‘He was trying very hard.’ She took a sip of wine and then slowly pushed the papers towards me. I took them up and turned over the sheets. At the top of the second page I read ‘Chapter One’. I looked at her inquisitively.
    â€˜It’s my husband’s, he’s a writer,’ she said quickly.
    â€˜Your husband is a writer?’
    â€˜Well, my husband is a student. He has almost finished his doctorate. But he has been working on this novel.’
    I turned the pages slowly, casting my eyes across the lines. I was bemused. I had not imagined what help she had wanted from me, but still, this surprised me.
    â€˜Oh, don’t read it now,’ she said, leaning over the table slightly and placing her fingers onto the top of my hand. I let them rest there. She did not take them away. When I looked up she was smiling nervously. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you to read it now,’ she explained.
    â€˜But you would like me to read it?’ I asked.
    She nodded. ‘When you told me you were a writer, I got so excited,’ she said. ‘Kestutis hasn’t shown it to anybody. He was working on it for over two years. Every night he would be sat up late in our room. I thought that he would drive me mad, typing away on an old typewriter, tap, tap, tap, all through the night.’
    â€˜Kestutis?’ I interrupted her.
    â€˜My husband,’ she said. ‘He was obsessed. He wouldn’t listen to me. He just sat there with a small light on, typing. But now he’s finished he seems to have completely lost interest. He is a little ill, sometimes. I told him he should get it published, it might