‘No, I’m waiting for it to be eleven-thirty to put the potatoes on the stove.’
‘Were you hurt as much as that?’
‘When? When I found our father with Lucette?’
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Nothing. A scene that comes back to me, I’ve often remembered it. I think it made a difference to a lot of things. It was when our mother first fell ill.’
‘But you were only about nine then.’
‘That’s right. There was a bathroom next to her bedroom, then a dressing room where clothes were kept hanging up. The doctor had just left the house, five minutes before. Maman – and how he’d made her suffer – was dozing off. I wanted to go to the dressing room for something and I surprised Papa with Lucette. Do you want to know what they were wearing?’
‘Oh, be quiet!’
‘Well, tell me why you’re here, then.’
‘Very well. We don’t see Papa any more. There was a scene a few days after his wedding. When I found out you were here, I thought you’d be going to Montluçon.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, don’t pretend to be stupid, Jean. Papa will be expecting you. You’re not going to make me believe …’
As he was putting the potatoes on to boil, after stoking the stove, she jumped up suddenly, in an excess of nerves.
‘Oh, can’t you stop doing that! Stop all this play-acting!’
‘What play-acting?’
‘You want me to believe you really mean to stay in this house? What is it you do here?’
‘I’m the help.’
‘The help! Exactly!’
‘Want to see my chickens? In a few days now there’ll be sixty little chicks hatching out in the incubator.’
‘And you’re not going to see our father? You’re not going to ask him for your share of our mother’s estate?’
‘No, I hadn’t thought of doing that.’
‘Don’t try to be clever, Jean, you know that won’t wash with me. I know you too well.’
‘Do you?’
She stamped her foot with impatience.
‘What are you doing in that cupboard?’
‘I’m taking out a bottle and some glasses. I’m thirsty. Would you like some blackcurrant liqueur?’
‘I’m serious. If you want to do things your own way, on your own head be it. You’ll tell me a different story when you’ve seen Papa.’
‘You’ve been to see him?’
‘I’ve written to him.’
‘To claim your share of the estate?’
‘We have a perfect right to it. Philippe has a lot of expenses for his clinic. And do you know how Papa reacted?’
‘No.’
‘He replied by telephone. I knew it would get him going. But he declared that, as long as he lived, we wouldn’t get a penny. He says when he married our mother, she didn’t have any money and everything he owns he’s earned by his own efforts.’
‘Well, that’s true.’
‘How can you say that?’
‘Look, Maman was always unwell. How could she have …?’
‘That’s not a reason to do us out of our inheritance. So I thought that since you’d go to see him …’
‘No.’
‘What do you mean, no?’
‘I mean I won’t go.’
