The Flemish House by Georges Simenon, Georges Simenon; Translated by Shaun Whiteside Page A
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Probably not! If she had, she would have been upset.
âWeâve been here for thirty
years, inspector â¦â said Madame Peeters. âMy husband set up as a
basket-maker, in this very house; we added a second storey later on â¦â
Maigret was thinking about something
else, about Anna, five years younger, going with Gérard Piedboeuf to the Rochefort
caves.
What had driven her into her
companionâs arms? Why had she given herself? What had she thought afterwards?
â¦â
He had a sense that it was the only
affair in her life, that she would never have any others â¦
The rhythm of life in this house was
like a magic spell. The genever put a dull heat in Maigretâs skull. He noticed
the slightest little noises, the creaks of the armchair, the old manâs snores,
the drops of rain on a window-sill â¦
âYou should play me that piece you
played to me this morning again â¦â he said to Anna.
And as she hesitated, her mother pressed
her:
âYes indeed! ⦠She plays well,
doesnât she? ⦠She had lessons for six years, three times a week, with the
best teacher in Givet â¦â
The girl left the kitchen. The two doors
remained open between her and the rest of the family. The piano lid banged open.
A few lazy notes with the right hand.
âShe should sing â¦â murmured
Madame Peeters. âMarguerite sings better ⦠There was even talk of her taking
lessons at the Conservatoire â¦â
The notes filled the empty, echoing
house. The old man didnât wake up, and his wife, worried that he might drop
his pipe, delicately took it from his hands and hung it on a nail in the wall.
What was Maigret still doing there? He
had nothing to find out. Madame Peeters listened, looking at her newspaper without
daring to pick it up. Anna gradually accompanied herself with her left hand. Maigret
guessed that it was at this table that Maria usually corrected her pupilsâ
homework.
And that was all!
Except that the whole town was accusing
the Peeters of killing Germaine Piedboeuf, on an evening just like this one!
Maigret gave a start at the sound of the
shop bell. For a moment he felt as though he were three weeks younger, that
Josephâs mistress was going to come in and claim the money for her keep, the
hundred francs that she was paid each month to look after the child.
It was a sailor in an oilskin, who held
out a small bottle to Madame Peeters, and she filled it with genever.
âEight francs!â
âBelgian?â
âFrench! Ten Belgian francs
â¦â
Maigret got up and walked across the
shop.
âAre you leaving
already?â
âIâll come back
tomorrow.â
Outside, he saw the sailor returning to
his boat. He turned towards the house. With its big, illuminated window it looked
like a stage set, particularly because of the music it exhaled, sweet and
sentimental.
Wasnât Annaâs voice mingled
with it?
⦠But you will return to me,
O my handsome betrothed â¦
Maigret waded about in the mud, and the
rain fell so heavily that his pipe went out.
Now the whole of Givet seemed like a
stage set. Now that the sailor was back on his boat, there wasnât a soul
outside.
Nothing but the filtered lights at a few
windows. And the noise of the Meuse in spate that gradually drowned out the song of
the piano.
When he had walked 200 metres, he was
able to see, at the end of the stage, both the Flemish house and, in the foreground,
the other house, the one where the Piedboeufs lived.
There was no light upstairs. But the
corridor was lit. The midwife must have been alone with the child.
Maigret was in a bad mood. He
didnât often feel the pointlessness of his efforts to such an extent.
What had he come to do here, in the end?
He wasnât on duty! People were accusing the Flemings of
âWeâve been here for thirty
years, inspector â¦â said Madame Peeters. âMy husband set up as a
basket-maker, in this very house; we added a second storey later on â¦â
Maigret was thinking about something
else, about Anna, five years younger, going with Gérard Piedboeuf to the Rochefort
caves.
What had driven her into her
companionâs arms? Why had she given herself? What had she thought afterwards?
â¦â
He had a sense that it was the only
affair in her life, that she would never have any others â¦
The rhythm of life in this house was
like a magic spell. The genever put a dull heat in Maigretâs skull. He noticed
the slightest little noises, the creaks of the armchair, the old manâs snores,
the drops of rain on a window-sill â¦
âYou should play me that piece you
played to me this morning again â¦â he said to Anna.
And as she hesitated, her mother pressed
her:
âYes indeed! ⦠She plays well,
doesnât she? ⦠She had lessons for six years, three times a week, with the
best teacher in Givet â¦â
The girl left the kitchen. The two doors
remained open between her and the rest of the family. The piano lid banged open.
A few lazy notes with the right hand.
âShe should sing â¦â murmured
Madame Peeters. âMarguerite sings better ⦠There was even talk of her taking
lessons at the Conservatoire â¦â
The notes filled the empty, echoing
house. The old man didnât wake up, and his wife, worried that he might drop
his pipe, delicately took it from his hands and hung it on a nail in the wall.
What was Maigret still doing there? He
had nothing to find out. Madame Peeters listened, looking at her newspaper without
daring to pick it up. Anna gradually accompanied herself with her left hand. Maigret
guessed that it was at this table that Maria usually corrected her pupilsâ
homework.
And that was all!
Except that the whole town was accusing
the Peeters of killing Germaine Piedboeuf, on an evening just like this one!
Maigret gave a start at the sound of the
shop bell. For a moment he felt as though he were three weeks younger, that
Josephâs mistress was going to come in and claim the money for her keep, the
hundred francs that she was paid each month to look after the child.
It was a sailor in an oilskin, who held
out a small bottle to Madame Peeters, and she filled it with genever.
âEight francs!â
âBelgian?â
âFrench! Ten Belgian francs
â¦â
Maigret got up and walked across the
shop.
âAre you leaving
already?â
âIâll come back
tomorrow.â
Outside, he saw the sailor returning to
his boat. He turned towards the house. With its big, illuminated window it looked
like a stage set, particularly because of the music it exhaled, sweet and
sentimental.
Wasnât Annaâs voice mingled
with it?
⦠But you will return to me,
O my handsome betrothed â¦
Maigret waded about in the mud, and the
rain fell so heavily that his pipe went out.
Now the whole of Givet seemed like a
stage set. Now that the sailor was back on his boat, there wasnât a soul
outside.
Nothing but the filtered lights at a few
windows. And the noise of the Meuse in spate that gradually drowned out the song of
the piano.
When he had walked 200 metres, he was
able to see, at the end of the stage, both the Flemish house and, in the foreground,
the other house, the one where the Piedboeufs lived.
There was no light upstairs. But the
corridor was lit. The midwife must have been alone with the child.
Maigret was in a bad mood. He
didnât often feel the pointlessness of his efforts to such an extent.
What had he come to do here, in the end?
He wasnât on duty! People were accusing the Flemings of
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