‘I must go. Good evening, Monsieur.’
Jean hoped that she had guessed everything and loathed him, not because of the way he looked, but because he was upsetting Claude’s life. Cyrille hardly paid attention to his grandmother’s departure and ran to fetch a building set Jean had brought him. Anna Petrovna swung a sealskin coat across her shoulders that looked tired, very tired despite suiting her very well. She drew Claude out onto the landing and Cyrille whispered, ‘Jean, Maman cried when you didn’t come three days in a row.’
‘You mustn’t let her cry. You have to make her laugh.’
‘What were you doing?’
‘I was working.’
The lie instantly weighed on him. You didn’t lie to a child. Claude came back.
‘We missed you,’ she said.
‘Spare me your reproaches.’
‘I have no right to reproach you.’
‘No. None at all.’
‘Are you talking or playing?’ Cyrille asked.
‘I’m playing.’
Claude crossed the room.
‘Are you eating with us?’ she asked. ‘I’m afraid it won’t be much of a dinner.’
‘I’m taking you both out to dinner.’
‘Everything’s so stale in restaurants these days. Let’s stay here.’
‘No, I insist.’
Cyrille clapped his hands.
‘Let’s go to the restaurant, I really want to!’
‘You see!’ Jean said.
Claude stood in front of him. He was tempted to jump up, take her in his arms and wipe everything out in an embrace.
‘Are you playing then?’ Cyrille repeated in an exasperated voice.
They played, then had dinner in an oriental restaurant at La Huchette. Cyrille was asleep in Jean’s arms by the time they climbed the stairs at Quai Saint-Michel and Claude put him straight to bed. Jean tidied the building set away.
‘You’re too nice to him!’ she said. ‘By the time you’ve finished spoiling him there’ll be nothing left for me to do.’
He stopped and took her hands.
‘If we have to talk as if we don’t mean anything to each other, it’s better we never see each other again.’
‘Never?’
‘At least let me cure myself.’
‘Cure’s not the word you’re looking for. Actually it’s a ridiculous word, all right for an injury or for a bout of flu, but not for love. Love’s not a sickness, love’s a very healthy thing, despite what you say in its name or the qualities you give it. It’s our own anaemia that makes it dangerous: I mean that when we feel defenceless or depressed and lonely, we’re more vulnerable. Truly, cure is not a word for a man of twenty-one …’
‘Twenty-two!’
She smiled, losing her seriousness.
‘I do beg your pardon … yes, you’re very young, you’ve got luck on your side, and Paris is a city where you can happily lose yourself. Where I can change my address tonight and you won’t ever find me again.’
‘I’ll post Madame Michette’s girls at every crossroads. They’ll track you down.’
‘At Clermont-Ferrand, perhaps, not here …’
He took her in his arms and kissed her without letting her finish. Was that Nelly’s fault? Was it she who had got him used to such an easy manner so quickly? He was being more direct than he had ever been. Claude gave a little moan and slipped to the floor.
‘No,’ she said, ‘no. You promised me.’
‘I didn’t promise anything.’
‘You know that I promised.’
‘Who to?’
She shook her head and he took it between his hands to draw towards him her open, confused, almost innocent face … almost, because if Nelly’s innocence was powerful in its attraction, he found Claude’s paralysing.
‘You’re my only friend,’ she murmured.
He crouched next to her and they sank to the carpet together, hand in hand, mute, so filled by a desire that was rising in both of them in waves that they found themselves in each other’s arms, their faces damp with tears.
‘I love you,’ he said.
‘I love you too. I’d like you so much to take me far away from here, with Cyrille, the way you did to Saint-Tropez.’
‘Let’s go back there.’
‘No. Marie-Dévote and Toinette don’t like me.’
‘You’re talking nonsense.’
‘It’s something men don’t see. They think I make you unhappy.’
‘It’s true.’
Claude sighed.
‘It’s true and it’s false. They want you for themselves.’
‘I’ve never been as happy as I was there. You used to walk round our bedroom with no clothes on.’
‘I shouldn’t have.’
‘When we came back I was unkind. I lost interest for a while. I was annoyed.’
‘I know …’
Jean would have liked to admit everything, but could not find the words. If he had been able to, perhaps he could have freed himself from Nelly that evening. Concealed, she continued to exist, and her power was great. Named, she would have been diminished, reduced to what she was: someone who had seduced a still weak young man who does not know how to say no. But the happiness that Claude represented had returned, with her anxiety, her demands, her moments of euphoria and the immense burning unhappiness he felt at not possessing this beautiful, luscious body that had no secrets for him. He spent the night at Quai Saint-Michel and returned to Rue de Presbourg at dawn. Palfy was furious.
‘Your bitch of a girlfriend phoned ten times in the night to check whether you’d come home. Call her.’
Jean did not have to dial the number. Nelly rang for the eleventh time.
‘Is that you, Jules-who? Where were you, you pig? I was worried sick. I phoned all the hospitals to find out if you’d been run over. I even called the Gestapo. They weren’t very nice … Where were you?’
‘With some friends.’
‘Listen, Jules-who … You’re a sweet boy and I like you a lot, but you’re not allowed not to be there when I need you …’
‘And when you don’t need me?’
‘You can do what you like. Come now.’
‘I can’t, I have meetings at the office.’
‘Then when you’ve finished, come and pick me up at the studio. Tonight you’re mine. Big kiss.’
She hung up. Palfy was drinking tea in his dressing gown.
‘Jean, three-quarters of your life is taken up with women.’
‘Once, at least, that suited you.’
‘When?’
‘In London.’
‘That’s true; I’d forgotten. What a terrific scheme that was! Do you remember?’
‘It was a complete cock-up.’
‘The best-laid plans of mice and men … This time I’ve got it all worked out.’
‘Like you did at Cannes?’
‘No, you fond foolish boy. At Cannes I was just playing games.’
‘You lost everything.’
‘I picked up a barony.’
‘Yet another theft.’
‘You steal what belongs to someone else. Not what belongs to everybody. In any case you can’t overlook the way your friend the prince and his faithful chauffeur ruined my plans … Speaking of which, now would be a good moment to open the famous letter.’
‘I promised not to use it unless I absolutely needed to.’
Palfy made a careless gesture.
‘Oh, let’s not wait for absolute need. We’ll call it a random act. Anyhow, it’s a little late for that.’
‘Why?’
Palfy pulled the letter from his dressing-gown pocket. The envelope was open.