‘Monsieur . . .’
He turned and looked down to where she stood.
‘Monsieur,’ she began again, her voice very soft because she was frightened and she didn’t want the others to hear, ‘I overheard you say you wanted someone to come and do some work in your house while the builders are there. I could come and do it for you if you liked.’ She lifted her gaze from the floor and looked into Hartmann’s face.
He was surprised by the pleading he saw in her brown eyes. ‘What a kind offer, mademoiselle. I didn’t think I would find someone so soon. But how would you manage it?’
‘I have Wednesday afternoon off every week.’
Hartmann knew this because she had said so at the tennis court, but he wanted to give himself time to think. What would Christine say when she saw this girl? She was expecting a sturdy peasant, brought up to carry milk churns and chicken feed, well-muscled from baling straw. She would be suspicious when she saw this slender young woman with her tight black skirt and the hair escaping from the scarlet ribbon. Yet he wanted to help her. Something in him stirred; perhaps, he thought, it was a flicker of the same feeling he had felt so unaccountably for Roussel that day when they were gazing at the Manor.
‘It’s very hard work, mademoiselle. We have a maid already to help my wife. What we wanted was someone to do the heaviest cleaning. I’m not sure you’d like it.’
‘I’m sure I could manage,’ said Anne, whose hands gripped the edge of the tray. If he didn’t decide quickly, Mattlin would butt in and ask what they were talking about, or the barman would shout at her with another order.
‘Wouldn’t you be tired after all your work at the hotel? Surely you need your afternoon off?’
‘Oh no, monsieur, I’m not tired. It’s all right, it’s not that hard, the work I do here. And I need a little extra money, for my father, you see.’ She looked at him again. ‘Please let me do it.’
‘All right. Come next Wednesday at two, and we’ll discuss it with my wife.’
‘Thank you, monsieur.’
She rounded the bar as calmly as she could, though inside she felt the bump and swell of elation.
When the barman asked everyone to leave, Mattlin and Jean-Philippe paused to interrupt their anxious questioning of the Government only to say goodnight to Anne. It was easy for them, she thought; their lives were both more elevated and more placid than hers.
Hartmann stopped gesticulating with the others and turned to smile at her. She thought there was a trace of uncertainty in his expression; he almost missed his step in the doorway as he turned. When he disappeared into the darkness she felt the momentary vertigo of desertion.
Up in her room beneath the rafters, Anne felt the anxiety of separation gradually replaced by the pleasures of anticipation.
Later, when she went downstairs to the bathroom, it was with such a lightness of tread that her feet seemed barely to touch the boards.
The sound was loud enough, however, to be heard by one whose ear for such things was sharper even than that of Mme Bouin. And so it was, a few minutes later, as Anne lay in the steaming quietness, that a tense face pressed itself against an open space high in the opposite wall. She would probably not have noticed had Roland demolished the entire partition in his frenzy, such was her preoccupation with her thoughts. For Roland, the urge that drove him to his uncomfortable and dangerous balancing act on top of thin wooden slats and mothballed curtains was so strong that he would willingly have taken apart each tile and brick in the Hotel du Lion d’Or for the sake of half a minute alone there. To his surprise, there was a sound from the bath: the new maid appeared to be singing to herself.
Despite her elation, Anne’s sleep that night was again disturbed. When she awoke from her dream, she lay for some time having an imaginary conversation with Hartmann in which she explained to him the thoughts
He turned and looked down to where she stood.
‘Monsieur,’ she began again, her voice very soft because she was frightened and she didn’t want the others to hear, ‘I overheard you say you wanted someone to come and do some work in your house while the builders are there. I could come and do it for you if you liked.’ She lifted her gaze from the floor and looked into Hartmann’s face.
He was surprised by the pleading he saw in her brown eyes. ‘What a kind offer, mademoiselle. I didn’t think I would find someone so soon. But how would you manage it?’
‘I have Wednesday afternoon off every week.’
Hartmann knew this because she had said so at the tennis court, but he wanted to give himself time to think. What would Christine say when she saw this girl? She was expecting a sturdy peasant, brought up to carry milk churns and chicken feed, well-muscled from baling straw. She would be suspicious when she saw this slender young woman with her tight black skirt and the hair escaping from the scarlet ribbon. Yet he wanted to help her. Something in him stirred; perhaps, he thought, it was a flicker of the same feeling he had felt so unaccountably for Roussel that day when they were gazing at the Manor.
‘It’s very hard work, mademoiselle. We have a maid already to help my wife. What we wanted was someone to do the heaviest cleaning. I’m not sure you’d like it.’
‘I’m sure I could manage,’ said Anne, whose hands gripped the edge of the tray. If he didn’t decide quickly, Mattlin would butt in and ask what they were talking about, or the barman would shout at her with another order.
‘Wouldn’t you be tired after all your work at the hotel? Surely you need your afternoon off?’
‘Oh no, monsieur, I’m not tired. It’s all right, it’s not that hard, the work I do here. And I need a little extra money, for my father, you see.’ She looked at him again. ‘Please let me do it.’
‘All right. Come next Wednesday at two, and we’ll discuss it with my wife.’
‘Thank you, monsieur.’
She rounded the bar as calmly as she could, though inside she felt the bump and swell of elation.
When the barman asked everyone to leave, Mattlin and Jean-Philippe paused to interrupt their anxious questioning of the Government only to say goodnight to Anne. It was easy for them, she thought; their lives were both more elevated and more placid than hers.
Hartmann stopped gesticulating with the others and turned to smile at her. She thought there was a trace of uncertainty in his expression; he almost missed his step in the doorway as he turned. When he disappeared into the darkness she felt the momentary vertigo of desertion.
Up in her room beneath the rafters, Anne felt the anxiety of separation gradually replaced by the pleasures of anticipation.
Later, when she went downstairs to the bathroom, it was with such a lightness of tread that her feet seemed barely to touch the boards.
The sound was loud enough, however, to be heard by one whose ear for such things was sharper even than that of Mme Bouin. And so it was, a few minutes later, as Anne lay in the steaming quietness, that a tense face pressed itself against an open space high in the opposite wall. She would probably not have noticed had Roland demolished the entire partition in his frenzy, such was her preoccupation with her thoughts. For Roland, the urge that drove him to his uncomfortable and dangerous balancing act on top of thin wooden slats and mothballed curtains was so strong that he would willingly have taken apart each tile and brick in the Hotel du Lion d’Or for the sake of half a minute alone there. To his surprise, there was a sound from the bath: the new maid appeared to be singing to herself.
Despite her elation, Anne’s sleep that night was again disturbed. When she awoke from her dream, she lay for some time having an imaginary conversation with Hartmann in which she explained to him the thoughts
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