‘Since I said I’ve got two children …’
‘That doesn’t mean a thing. And your husband’s not with you?’
He went to the door and saw an expensive car about a hundred metres from the house, in the shade of the hazel bushes.
‘He’s taking the opportunity to visit a colleague in Saint-Amand.’
She twisted her handkerchief nervously.
‘I have to pick Philippe up on my way home.’
‘Well, of course.’
‘Why do you say of course?’
‘No reason. Are you still in touch with our father?’
‘Have people been saying anything?’
‘What would they be saying? You were his little pet. You could have anything you wanted. Has he married again?’
Well, he was recognizing his sister at last. She was eyeing him suspiciously, sure that his words hid something, and that made him smile. He preferred that to her tears.
‘Listen, Jean …’
‘What must I listen to?’
‘Oh, don’t be like that. You know you’re not being yourself. You sound like a machine.’
‘I swear to you, Billie, that I’m not a machine. You’ve come to see me. That must mean you’ve got something to say. Is it so difficult?’
She patted her eyes again, to avoid having to reply at once.
Then, glancing at the door:
‘There’s no one else here?’
‘Tati’s gone to Mass. The old goat is I don’t know where.’
‘The old goat?’
‘That’s what we call him. Never mind. So you were saying that our father …’
And he went to fetch Couderc’s old pipe, the one he had disinfected with alcohol the previous Sunday.
6
‘If you think I’m here as an enemy, I’d better just go away. It’s not my fault if seeing you in this place …’
‘Something wrong with this place …?’
She must be living in a house of the same kind as their father’s. A new, modern villa, on the side of a hill. The estate agent had taken colour photographs of it from every angle to put it in his brochure, since it corresponded so exactly to people’s idea of happiness.
Bright and airy. Light entered the house through large bay windows which opened with well-oiled handles made of metal as fine as silver. Huge clumps of flowers bordered the stone steps, and coffee and liqueurs were served on a veranda.
People passing on the road would glance over the gate. They would see a three-car garage, a chauffeur always busy polishing the vehicles, lawns, a sprinkler, and a gardener tending the beds.
In the distance, under the large red gabled roof, on a shady terrace, people dressed in light-coloured clothes, lounging in cane chairs, would be sipping fancy drinks.
A squeaking sound came from outside. Billie cocked her head and Jean reassured her.
‘It’s just the bridge going up. It must be for a motorboat, because the barges don’t work on Sundays.’
‘Tell me the truth, Jean. Was it because of our father that you came back here? Have you been to see him?’
‘No.’
She didn’t believe him yet. She looked distrustful.
‘So you don’t know that he’s married? To a girl, two years younger than me … She used to work in a cake shop.’
‘Well, it was bound to happen one day.’
‘What are you going to do about it?’
‘What about you?’
‘What do you mean? Jean, I swear I don’t understand you. You’re not making sense. You’re not taking part in this conversation. Are you expecting someone?’
