breath from climbing the four flights of stairs so quickly, Juliette sat down opposite Vandoosler senior, who listened attentively. She seemed to like the evangelists, but to value even more the advice of the former commissaire. Mathias, leaning against a roofbeam, thought that in reality she was rather attracted by the features of the elderly ex-policeman, and this somewhat annoyed him. The more attentive the old man became, the more handsome he looked.
Lucien, back from Reims where he had been giving a well-paid lecture on ‘The Stalemate on the Western Front’, asked for a summary of the facts. Sophia had not reappeared. Juliette had been to see Pierre Relivaux, who had said not to worry, she would be back. He seemed concerned, but quite confident. Which gave one to think that Sophia had explained where she was going before leaving. But Juliette couldn’t understand why Sophia had not told her. It bothered her. Lucien shrugged. He didn’t want to upset Juliette, but after all Sophia was under no obligation to tell her everything she was doing. Juliette however insisted. Never before had Sophia missed a Thursday lunch without telling her beforehand. She always had a special dish, veal casserole with mushrooms. Lucien pulled a face. As if the veal and mushrooms would matter, if there was some sudden emergency. For Juliette, of course, the veal with mushrooms did matter. And yet Juliette was an intelligent woman. But that was the way of things, wasn’t it? Obsessed with one’s own little preoccupations such as veal with mushrooms, one ends up saying silly things. She was hoping that the old commissaire could get more out of Pierre. Although she had understood that Vandoosler was not exactly above reproach.
‘Still,’ she said, ‘once a policeman always a policeman.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Marc. ‘A flic who has been thrown out of the force might turn anti-flic, or monster.’
‘Doesn’t Sophia get fed up eating veal every Thursday?’ asked Vandoosler.
‘No, not at all,’ replied Juliette. ‘And she even has her own way of eating it. She lines up her little mushrooms, like notes on a stave, and eats her way through them bar by bar.’
‘An orderly woman, then,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Not the sort to vanish without explanation.’
‘If the husband isn’t worried,’ said Lucien, ‘he must have good reasons, and he’s not obliged to tell us about his private life, just because his wifehas walked out and failed to eat her veal and mushrooms. Let it go. A woman has the right to go away for a bit if she wants to. I don’t see why we should be chasing after her.’
‘All the same,’ said Marc. ‘Juliette is thinking about something she’s not telling us. It’s not just the veal that’s bothering you, is it, Juliette?’
‘No, it’s not,’ she replied.
She appeared a pretty woman, as the glancing light from the attic windows fell on her. Having hurried up the stairs, she had taken no thought for her appearance. As she leaned forward, with clasped hands, her dress fell loosely open, and Marc noticed that Mathias had positioned himself in front of her, transfixed. It was worth it, he had to admit, for the glimpses of pale skin, rounded curves and bare shoulders.
‘But if Sophia comes back tomorrow,’ Juliette went on, ‘I’d feel awful to have been gossiping about her with neighbours who hardly know her.’
‘We may hardly know her, but we are her neighbours,’ Lucien pointed out.
‘And then there’s the tree, ‘Vandoosler reminded them gently. ‘The tree makes it more important to say something.’
‘Tree? What tree?’ asked Juliette.
‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Perhaps you could first just tell us what you know?’
It was hard to resist the old flic when he spoke in this tone of voice, and Juliette was no exception.
‘Well,’ Juliette began, ‘she came over from Greece with her boyfriend. He was called Stelios. According to Sophia, he was a
Lucien, back from Reims where he had been giving a well-paid lecture on ‘The Stalemate on the Western Front’, asked for a summary of the facts. Sophia had not reappeared. Juliette had been to see Pierre Relivaux, who had said not to worry, she would be back. He seemed concerned, but quite confident. Which gave one to think that Sophia had explained where she was going before leaving. But Juliette couldn’t understand why Sophia had not told her. It bothered her. Lucien shrugged. He didn’t want to upset Juliette, but after all Sophia was under no obligation to tell her everything she was doing. Juliette however insisted. Never before had Sophia missed a Thursday lunch without telling her beforehand. She always had a special dish, veal casserole with mushrooms. Lucien pulled a face. As if the veal and mushrooms would matter, if there was some sudden emergency. For Juliette, of course, the veal with mushrooms did matter. And yet Juliette was an intelligent woman. But that was the way of things, wasn’t it? Obsessed with one’s own little preoccupations such as veal with mushrooms, one ends up saying silly things. She was hoping that the old commissaire could get more out of Pierre. Although she had understood that Vandoosler was not exactly above reproach.
‘Still,’ she said, ‘once a policeman always a policeman.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Marc. ‘A flic who has been thrown out of the force might turn anti-flic, or monster.’
‘Doesn’t Sophia get fed up eating veal every Thursday?’ asked Vandoosler.
‘No, not at all,’ replied Juliette. ‘And she even has her own way of eating it. She lines up her little mushrooms, like notes on a stave, and eats her way through them bar by bar.’
‘An orderly woman, then,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Not the sort to vanish without explanation.’
‘If the husband isn’t worried,’ said Lucien, ‘he must have good reasons, and he’s not obliged to tell us about his private life, just because his wifehas walked out and failed to eat her veal and mushrooms. Let it go. A woman has the right to go away for a bit if she wants to. I don’t see why we should be chasing after her.’
‘All the same,’ said Marc. ‘Juliette is thinking about something she’s not telling us. It’s not just the veal that’s bothering you, is it, Juliette?’
‘No, it’s not,’ she replied.
She appeared a pretty woman, as the glancing light from the attic windows fell on her. Having hurried up the stairs, she had taken no thought for her appearance. As she leaned forward, with clasped hands, her dress fell loosely open, and Marc noticed that Mathias had positioned himself in front of her, transfixed. It was worth it, he had to admit, for the glimpses of pale skin, rounded curves and bare shoulders.
‘But if Sophia comes back tomorrow,’ Juliette went on, ‘I’d feel awful to have been gossiping about her with neighbours who hardly know her.’
‘We may hardly know her, but we are her neighbours,’ Lucien pointed out.
‘And then there’s the tree, ‘Vandoosler reminded them gently. ‘The tree makes it more important to say something.’
‘Tree? What tree?’ asked Juliette.
‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Perhaps you could first just tell us what you know?’
It was hard to resist the old flic when he spoke in this tone of voice, and Juliette was no exception.
‘Well,’ Juliette began, ‘she came over from Greece with her boyfriend. He was called Stelios. According to Sophia, he was a