window in the entrance, I thought I recognized, somewhere among the milling crowd of tourists and schoolchildren in the main hall, Ben Smidane's profile. I lost no time in crossing the hall, threading my way between the visitors, and I emerged in a big corner room in which one could admire Marshal Lyautey's study. Someone, behind me, placed his hand on my shoulder:
"Well, Jean, so we're visiting museums?"
I turned round. Ben Smidane. He smiled at me, with an embarrassed smile. He was wearing a very elegant beige summer suit and a sky-blue polo neck.
"What a strange coincidence," I said, urbanely. "I didn't expect to meet you here."
"Nor did I. I thought you'd gone to Rio de Janeiro."
"Well, believe it or not, no."
I hadn't spoken to anyone for something like ten days, and it had taken a considerable effort to utter this one phrase. I wondered whether I would be capable of uttering another. The saliva was drying up in my mouth.
"I knew very well that you weren't in Rio."
He was clearly trying to put me at my ease, and I was grateful to him. No need now to go into any long explanations. I concentrated, and managed to come out with:
"You get tired of everything, even Rio."
"I understand," Ben Smidane said.
But I had a feeling that he didn't understand a thing. "Jean, I have to talk to you."
He made as if to take me by the arm and lead me away gently, as if he mistrusted my reactions.
"You don't look very confident, Ben. Are you afraid I'll misbehave in Lyautey's study?"
"Not in the least, Jean …"
He glanced around him, and then looked at me again. It was as if he was working out the quickest way of tackling me in the middle of the mass of visitors if I suddenly went raving mad.
"Do you like it at the Dodds Hotel?"
He had winked at me. No doubt he was trying to mollify me. But how did he know I was living at the Dodds Hotel? "Come on, Jean. We absolutely have to talk."
We found ourselves in the square with the fountains. "Shall we have a drink?" I suggested. "At the zoo cafeteria?" "Do you go to the zoo?"
I could read his thoughts. For him, I was not in my normal state.
The sun was beating down, and I no longer felt up to walking as far as the zoo.
"I know a café that's nearer, at the corner of the boule vard. There's never anyone in it, and it's very, very cool …"
We were the only customers. He ordered an espresso. So did I.
"Annette sent me," he said.
"Oh yes? How is she?"
I had pretended to be indifferent.
"You must be wondering how I managed to find you? Here."
He held out a crumpled bit of paper on which I read:
Hôtel Gouin? Hôtel de la Jonquière? Quietud's (Rue Berzélius).
Hôtel Fieve.
Hôtel du Point du Jour.
Hôtel Dodds? Hôtel des Begonias (Rue de Picpus).
"You left it in your study, at the Cité Véron. Annette found it the other evening. And she understood at once."
I had indeed scribbled down these names before my false departure for Rio.
"And you found me right away?"
"No. I've been hanging round the other hotels for four days."
"I feel for you."
"Annette told me she knew all these hotels."
"Yes. We often stayed in them, twenty years ago."
"She asked me to give you this."
On the envelope was written: FOR JEAN , and I recognized one of the qualities I most admired in my wife: the beautiful big handwriting of the illiterate that she was.
Darling,
I miss you. Cavanaugh never leaves me for a second and I have to send you this letter without him knowing. You can trust Smidane and give him a message for me. I want to see you. I'll try to be at the Cité Véron every day at about seven. Phone me. Otherwise, I'll phone you, when I know which hotel you're staying in. I could come and meet you there, like we used to a long time ago. I'll do that without Cavanaugh knowing. I'm not telling anyone that you're still alive. I love you, darling.
Annette
I put the letter in my pocket.
"Have you got a message for her?" Ben Smidane asked me anxiously.
"No."
Ben Smidane's brow
"Well, Jean, so we're visiting museums?"
I turned round. Ben Smidane. He smiled at me, with an embarrassed smile. He was wearing a very elegant beige summer suit and a sky-blue polo neck.
"What a strange coincidence," I said, urbanely. "I didn't expect to meet you here."
"Nor did I. I thought you'd gone to Rio de Janeiro."
"Well, believe it or not, no."
I hadn't spoken to anyone for something like ten days, and it had taken a considerable effort to utter this one phrase. I wondered whether I would be capable of uttering another. The saliva was drying up in my mouth.
"I knew very well that you weren't in Rio."
He was clearly trying to put me at my ease, and I was grateful to him. No need now to go into any long explanations. I concentrated, and managed to come out with:
"You get tired of everything, even Rio."
"I understand," Ben Smidane said.
But I had a feeling that he didn't understand a thing. "Jean, I have to talk to you."
He made as if to take me by the arm and lead me away gently, as if he mistrusted my reactions.
"You don't look very confident, Ben. Are you afraid I'll misbehave in Lyautey's study?"
"Not in the least, Jean …"
He glanced around him, and then looked at me again. It was as if he was working out the quickest way of tackling me in the middle of the mass of visitors if I suddenly went raving mad.
"Do you like it at the Dodds Hotel?"
He had winked at me. No doubt he was trying to mollify me. But how did he know I was living at the Dodds Hotel? "Come on, Jean. We absolutely have to talk."
We found ourselves in the square with the fountains. "Shall we have a drink?" I suggested. "At the zoo cafeteria?" "Do you go to the zoo?"
I could read his thoughts. For him, I was not in my normal state.
The sun was beating down, and I no longer felt up to walking as far as the zoo.
"I know a café that's nearer, at the corner of the boule vard. There's never anyone in it, and it's very, very cool …"
We were the only customers. He ordered an espresso. So did I.
"Annette sent me," he said.
"Oh yes? How is she?"
I had pretended to be indifferent.
"You must be wondering how I managed to find you? Here."
He held out a crumpled bit of paper on which I read:
Hôtel Gouin? Hôtel de la Jonquière? Quietud's (Rue Berzélius).
Hôtel Fieve.
Hôtel du Point du Jour.
Hôtel Dodds? Hôtel des Begonias (Rue de Picpus).
"You left it in your study, at the Cité Véron. Annette found it the other evening. And she understood at once."
I had indeed scribbled down these names before my false departure for Rio.
"And you found me right away?"
"No. I've been hanging round the other hotels for four days."
"I feel for you."
"Annette told me she knew all these hotels."
"Yes. We often stayed in them, twenty years ago."
"She asked me to give you this."
On the envelope was written: FOR JEAN , and I recognized one of the qualities I most admired in my wife: the beautiful big handwriting of the illiterate that she was.
Darling,
I miss you. Cavanaugh never leaves me for a second and I have to send you this letter without him knowing. You can trust Smidane and give him a message for me. I want to see you. I'll try to be at the Cité Véron every day at about seven. Phone me. Otherwise, I'll phone you, when I know which hotel you're staying in. I could come and meet you there, like we used to a long time ago. I'll do that without Cavanaugh knowing. I'm not telling anyone that you're still alive. I love you, darling.
Annette
I put the letter in my pocket.
"Have you got a message for her?" Ben Smidane asked me anxiously.
"No."
Ben Smidane's brow
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