With a rudeness too deliberate to be natural, Joseph examined the dandy before him from head to toe, in his grey flannel suit, blue shirt and English-style old school tie.
The disdainful scrutiny left Palfy unruffled, and he simply said, ‘What are you training for? Coxed pairs?’
‘Yes. Do you know about rowing?’
‘Sadly I know nothing at all about coxed pairs. I rowed in an eight for Oxford, the last time in 1926.’
Joseph was visibly flustered, Jean embarrassed. It was probably untrue, but you had to know Palfy to guess that he was lying whenever he pretended modesty.
‘And who won?’
‘Cambridge. By a slim margin.’
‘Where are you two having lunch? It’s on me.’
‘No, it’s my shout,’ Palfy said. ‘You choose …’
They drove to an auberge in the Arques valley, where Palfy displayed one of his better qualities: he listened. Joseph began to shed his prejudices. Certainly he had a low opinion of such a well-dressed man; he could only be an imbecile. But Palfy had rowed for Oxford and although Oxford was, to his mind, a breeding ground for crashing snobs, that fabulous university town was also a place where incontrovertible sporting qualities were nurtured. To be more certain of what he was hearing, Joseph tossed out two or three writers’ names, which were received with a blank stare. Palfy confessed his ignorance. Cars were his only interest. Jean was annoyed with Joseph for showing off and making no attempt to hide his amused condescension to his friend, not doubting for an instant that Palfy was of sufficient stature to be worth ten Joseph Outens. He began to wish Palfy would wake up and wrong-foot him. But Palfy continued to play the ingénu who was only too happy to attend to the pearls cast by a real intellectual.
‘And you, Jean, what are you going to do?’ Joseph asked.
‘Look for work.’
‘You’ll be lucky. There’s no work, except in the armaments factories.’
‘Well, there’s no armaments factory at Dieppe and I want to stay near my parents. They’ve aged so quickly.’
‘I know. They’ve been appallingly tricked. That’s what happens when you believe in the so-called goodwill of a paternalistic employer.’
‘Don’t say anything bad about Antoine du Courseau.’
‘Why not? He’s shoved off and left your parents in the soup. His bitch of a wife is worse, I agree.’
‘I’ll sort things out without anyone’s help.’
‘It’s a shame you aren’t able to come to England with me,’ Palfy said. ‘I would have found you something very easily in London. I have a lot of friends there.’
Jean did not react. It was the first time Palfy had mentioned leaving for England: a lie doubtless triggered by the Newhaven packet’s appearance at Dieppe port two hours earlier. ‘What on earth is that old tub?’ he had asked. The answer had made him thoughtful. In the meantime the idea had taken root.
Palfy signed a cheque for more than the bill and pocketed the difference with a rueful smile. They drove back to Dieppe, where Joseph left them at Le Pollet.13 He shook Palfy’s hand and said to Jean, ‘The film club is showing King Vidor’s Hallelujah! at six. Do you want to come? It’s a classic.’
‘I thought you despised the cinema.’
‘Not the classics.’
Joseph had begun his ‘cinema’ period in the wake of his ‘sporting writers’ period and was throwing himself into it with the same passion, trying to create a circle of young cinephiles in a town where Georges Milton and saucy innuendo were rather more popular with public taste than Charlie Chaplin and Greta Garbo. Jean agreed to meet him after Palfy had left. They parked the car on the Place du Marché.
‘Is it true that you’ve decided to go to England? I thought you were saying it for effect, to impress Joseph.’
‘I said it for effect, and now I’ve decided. What time does the ferry leave?’
‘At five.’
‘Plenty of time to buy a couple of tickets.’
‘I can’t come.’
‘Jean, you disappoint me … but I understand. If you change your mind, here’s my address in London: the Governor Club, 22 Hamilton Street. I drop in there around lunchtime to pick up my post. My post and a glass of something. It’s full of Oxford men.’
‘So is it true you were at Oxford?’
‘Absolutely.’
Palfy lifted his suitcase from the boot and left the keys on the dashboard.
‘Tomorrow you might do something kind: an anonymous phone call to the police to report a stolen car on the Place du Marché. They’ll let the owner know. He’ll be getting anxious.’
‘You are a credit to your profession.’
‘Am I not? Have you got any money? I didn’t make much at the restaurant, and at Newhaven I’ll need to pay for my train ticket in cash.’
‘I’ve got a hundred francs left.’
‘Well, that’ll have to do.’
At least Palfy was not the kind of conman who promises to pay you back. He borrowed without scruples or pretence, and doubtless lent the same way if he happened to be flush. They walked the length of the quayside and found the ticket office. Palfy bought a first-class ticket and asked what time dinner was served and when the first fast train to London was. Jean reflected a little gloomily that he was going to have to walk back to Grangeville on foot, since he no longer had even the two francs necessary for the evening bus.
‘Jean, your film’s at six. We’ve got time for a quick stroll before the boat leaves. This is not an adieu, it’s an au revoir. You’ve been the most delightful companion, and right from the off I liked you, I can’t think why. Possibly because I can be myself. Anyway, you’ve understood that caution demands one doesn’t do the same with everybody. One day I’ll tell you more, and we’ll go for another wonderful spin together. Now I need to be serious: I’ve almost reached the bottom of the barrel, and if I don’t want to end up in jail very soon I need to set up some pretty big ventures. Take note … Only small-timers end up in prison. Never those of us with stature and ambition. For your immediate future I don’t know what to suggest, except that it would be better for you not to hide yourself away at Grangeville. The countryside’s all very pretty, but it doesn’t lead anywhere.’
‘My parents—’
‘Yes, you’re a good son. Wait a while, and things will soon become clearer. Reflect, observe, learn to judge your fellow human beings and see through them.’
‘You were really cruel to my friend Joseph.’
‘Cruel? You must be mad. He was delighted with his lunch, and thinking that he was shining at my expense. He’s a charming boy, without a single original thought in his head: he borrows from everywhere and has no idea how to be selective. I have the impression that you know already how to be selective …’
They walked along the pebble beach whipped by the wind. Above them gulls hovered, motionless, then plummeted like stones into the trough of the swell.
‘I’d love to go to England again,’ Jean said, ‘come with you on the ferry, have a drink in the pub at Newhaven where Mrs Pickett gets drunk every night, then go to London and meet my friend Salah, see the prince and perhaps Mademoiselle Geneviève … At the same time I’m happy to be back here in my shell, now that you’re going … There are reasons.’
‘Have you left your love affair behind?’
‘No, not really. But Grangeville’s the only place where I’ll get rid of it for good. You can’t imagine how disgusted with myself I feel when I think of Mireille.’
‘Then you’re getting better … Come on, come and see me off, and don’t forget my address. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing one another quite soon.’
From the dockside Jean made out Palfy’s outline as he handed his suitcase to a steward and stood at the rail until the packet cast off. They exchanged a discreet wave. As the boat moved into the Channel they lost sight of each other, and Jean felt at once a gap in his life from Palfy’s absence, though he had only known him for a few days. From now on things were going to feel very unexciting, and Joseph Outen would not be able to distract him from the bitter realities he found himself faced with.