girl I remember, there’s another life, as it were, a life I’m only beginning to recollect… But I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.’
‘Go on,’ urged Flavières. ‘Go on.’
‘I can recall things I’ve certainly never seen. Not with my own eyes. Often faces; sometimes scenes. And occasionally I have quite definitely the impression I’m an old, old woman.’
She had a deep contralto voice. Flavières sat quite rigid, listening to her.
‘I suppose it’s some kind of an illness,’ she sighed. ‘Yet, if it was, I can’t believe those recollections would be so vivid. They’d be vague and incoherent.’
‘But this afternoon did you give way to a sudden impulse or had you thought it out beforehand?’
‘I suppose it was a deliberate intention. That’s not very clear however… I have increasingly the feeling that I’m a stranger here, that my real life lies behind me. If it does, what’s the point of going on with this one?… For you—and for everyone else, in fact—life’s the exact opposite of death… For me…’
‘You shouldn’t talk like that. Think of your husband.’
‘Poor Paul! If he knew!’
‘He mustn’t. This must remain a secret between us two.’
Flavières couldn’t help putting a note of tenderness into the words, and she smiled at him, suddenly, with a disconcerting vivacity.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘It must be a professional secret. Thanks for reassuring me… It was a stroke of luck for me that you happened to be there on the quay.’
‘It was indeed. I was going to see a client whose works are a little farther on. If it hadn’t been such a lovely day, I should certainly have taken my car.’
‘And I’d have been dead by now.’
The taxi stopped.
‘Here we are,’ said Flavières. ‘You’d better come in. I’m afraid the place is in a bit of a mess. I’m a bachelor, and much too busy to look after myself properly.’
They didn’t meet anybody either in the hall or on the stairs. Flavières was thankful for that. He didn’t want anybody to see him in those clothes. The telephone was ringing as he opened his door and ushered Madeleine in.
‘One of my clients, I expect. Sit down. Excuse me a moment.’
He hurried into his office ahead of her.
‘Hallo!’
It was Gévigne.
‘I’ve already tried twice to get through to you. I suddenly thought of something I didn’t tell you… About Pauline Lagerlac’s suicide. She drowned herself. I don’t know whether it’s any use, but I thought you ought to know… And on your side? Any news?’
‘I’ll tell you when we meet,’ answered Flavières. ‘I must ring off now. I’ve got a client with me.’
FOUR
Flavières looked sulkily at his memorandum book. May 6th. Three appointments—two probates and a divorce. He’d had about enough of this stupid way of earning a living. A shopkeeper could simply put up his shutters and take a day off. Any number of days. For politeness’ sake, he stuck up a little notice: Fermé pour cause de mobilisation, or any other reason he liked to invent, and no one cared two hoots. But clients were different to customers. They had rights—the right to ring you up at any hour of the day. And they would. He’d have to listen attentively, making notes. And the one at Orléans would once again press Flavières to go and see him. Then in the late afternoon, Gévigne would ring up or call round to see him. He was exacting. You couldn’t get rid of the man till you’d told him every single detail.
Sitting at his desk, Flavières opened the Dossier Gévigne and went idly through the diary of the last few days. April 27th. Walk in the Bois de Boulogne. 28th. Paramount Cinema. 29th. Outing. Rambouillet and the Chevreuse valley. 30th. Marignan. Tea on the terrace on top of the Galeries Lafayette. Felt a bit giddy so high up, and we had to come down. She laughed a lot. May 1st. Trip to Versailles. She drives well, and the Simca’s inclined to be capricious.
‘Go on,’ urged Flavières. ‘Go on.’
‘I can recall things I’ve certainly never seen. Not with my own eyes. Often faces; sometimes scenes. And occasionally I have quite definitely the impression I’m an old, old woman.’
She had a deep contralto voice. Flavières sat quite rigid, listening to her.
‘I suppose it’s some kind of an illness,’ she sighed. ‘Yet, if it was, I can’t believe those recollections would be so vivid. They’d be vague and incoherent.’
‘But this afternoon did you give way to a sudden impulse or had you thought it out beforehand?’
‘I suppose it was a deliberate intention. That’s not very clear however… I have increasingly the feeling that I’m a stranger here, that my real life lies behind me. If it does, what’s the point of going on with this one?… For you—and for everyone else, in fact—life’s the exact opposite of death… For me…’
‘You shouldn’t talk like that. Think of your husband.’
‘Poor Paul! If he knew!’
‘He mustn’t. This must remain a secret between us two.’
Flavières couldn’t help putting a note of tenderness into the words, and she smiled at him, suddenly, with a disconcerting vivacity.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘It must be a professional secret. Thanks for reassuring me… It was a stroke of luck for me that you happened to be there on the quay.’
‘It was indeed. I was going to see a client whose works are a little farther on. If it hadn’t been such a lovely day, I should certainly have taken my car.’
‘And I’d have been dead by now.’
The taxi stopped.
‘Here we are,’ said Flavières. ‘You’d better come in. I’m afraid the place is in a bit of a mess. I’m a bachelor, and much too busy to look after myself properly.’
They didn’t meet anybody either in the hall or on the stairs. Flavières was thankful for that. He didn’t want anybody to see him in those clothes. The telephone was ringing as he opened his door and ushered Madeleine in.
‘One of my clients, I expect. Sit down. Excuse me a moment.’
He hurried into his office ahead of her.
‘Hallo!’
It was Gévigne.
‘I’ve already tried twice to get through to you. I suddenly thought of something I didn’t tell you… About Pauline Lagerlac’s suicide. She drowned herself. I don’t know whether it’s any use, but I thought you ought to know… And on your side? Any news?’
‘I’ll tell you when we meet,’ answered Flavières. ‘I must ring off now. I’ve got a client with me.’
FOUR
Flavières looked sulkily at his memorandum book. May 6th. Three appointments—two probates and a divorce. He’d had about enough of this stupid way of earning a living. A shopkeeper could simply put up his shutters and take a day off. Any number of days. For politeness’ sake, he stuck up a little notice: Fermé pour cause de mobilisation, or any other reason he liked to invent, and no one cared two hoots. But clients were different to customers. They had rights—the right to ring you up at any hour of the day. And they would. He’d have to listen attentively, making notes. And the one at Orléans would once again press Flavières to go and see him. Then in the late afternoon, Gévigne would ring up or call round to see him. He was exacting. You couldn’t get rid of the man till you’d told him every single detail.
Sitting at his desk, Flavières opened the Dossier Gévigne and went idly through the diary of the last few days. April 27th. Walk in the Bois de Boulogne. 28th. Paramount Cinema. 29th. Outing. Rambouillet and the Chevreuse valley. 30th. Marignan. Tea on the terrace on top of the Galeries Lafayette. Felt a bit giddy so high up, and we had to come down. She laughed a lot. May 1st. Trip to Versailles. She drives well, and the Simca’s inclined to be capricious.
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