‘What is it?’
‘Oh, nothing.’
He had almost confessed:
‘I’m frightened.’
Never had he wished so much to be ill. Why shouldn’t he go to Mass with her? That might let him think of something else.
‘You’ll keep an eye on the fire, won’t you? And don’t put the potatoes on until half past eleven. Can you pin this on for me? Try not to pinch me …’
Then he was all alone. He didn’t know where the old man was. He pushed open the dining-room door, but not to steal the money in the soup tureen. It was just for the pleasure of entering this room where they never set foot. Already, the door, as you opened it, sounded a bit like a bottle being uncorked. The air, never disturbed, now suddenly moved, being more dense than anywhere else, and he could feel it on his cheek. The very objects, like the tureen, fixed in stillness and silence, seemed to shiver.
Who had given that wedding present, long ago, the dish made of wafer-thin pewter sitting on a runner in the middle of the table?
He had not registered the sound of a car. He had heard it, but without thinking it might have anything to do with him. Now he gave a start, as he heard steps on the kitchen tiles and a woman’s voice calling:
‘Is anyone here?’
The blinds, in the museum-like dining-room, were still drawn. That was why Jean was dazzled and had to blink, as he left its half-darkness to enter the kitchen, flooded with bright sunlight from the open door.
He had on the blue canvas trousers, a white open-necked shirt and espadrilles. As Tati had remarked, his hair was long enough to touch his collar.
He saw a young woman standing there, wearing a summer dress and a gaily coloured hat, holding a little handbag. He was about to ask her something, anything, when he recognized her, at the very moment she put a handkerchief to her eyes.
‘Billie!’
She shook her head, to make him understand that she couldn’t speak. She gave a mournful sniff. He pushed forward one of the cane-seated kitchen chairs and she sat down automatically, with the polite dignity that people assume in moments of great sadness.
He was unmoved. He found himself saying things that he would never have imagined saying on seeing his sister after so many years. For instance, he admired her shoes, very expensive ones that she must have ordered hand-made. And her stockings were very sheer and well adjusted. His sister Billie had always been elegant.
Still snivelling a little, she shook her head one last time, and risked peeping at him.
‘I can’t tell you how this makes me feel …’
She was saying to herself that it might be appropriate to kiss him but at the same time came the thought that he was a murderer. And that changed everything. He was not a man like any other. He impressed her. He had become someone bigger.
‘I should have expected it. People had written to me. But seeing you here, suddenly, in this kitchen …’
‘The last time we saw each other …’
She must have remembered, since she blushed.
‘It was in your bedroom.’
A pretty bedroom, belonging to a rich girl, blue and white, with fur rugs on the ground instead of carpets.
‘You didn’t want to look me in the face, because you had a spot on your nose. I’d come to ask you for a bit of money.’
She had been only seventeen then, and their father gave her as much money as she wanted. It was easier than giving her anything else. The prettiest dresses. The smartest hats. Holidays at fashionable beach resorts, in the best hotels. Their house was the grandest in Montluçon.
‘Why remind me of that, Jean? I never imagined …’
‘That I really needed it? You’ve changed, you know. You were rather chubby; you had a big bosom and that made you very upset. Now you’re slim.’
‘I’ve got two children.’
‘Ah!’
She was about to put her handbag on the table but hesitated.
‘It’s clean,’ he said. ‘Wait a minute.’
He took a cloth from the cupboard and wiped the scrubbed wooden table.
‘Would you like anything to drink? A cup of coffee? Or a glass of something?’
‘Jean!’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know what to say to you.’
She was taking in his coarse canvas trousers, his espadrilles, his long hair, through which he ran his fingers when a lock fell over his face. He looked so perfectly at ease, so at home in this kitchen.
‘So, you’re married, then.’
She smiled nervously.
