Free Maigret's Holiday by Georges Simenon Page A
Authors: Georges Simenon
got
somewhere an illustrated magazine from three weeks ago which has an article about you in
it, with a lovely photo â¦â
Francis had risen to his feet, embarrassed.
It was as if, without his livery, he felt naked in front of Maigret.
âDonât be afraid, silly! â¦
Iâm sure heâs not here about you but about your boss ⦠Am I in the
way, inspector? ⦠Because I can always go into my bedroom ⦠Except that if
itâs information you want, I can probably give you more than Francis ⦠Sit
down ⦠Youâll have a little drink with us, wonât you? ⦠I have
to tell you that Iâve always loved crime stories, so Iâve known about you
for at least fifteen years ⦠When I see a juicy murder, nice and complicated, I
say: âI hope itâs Maigret whoâs handling it â¦â
âAnd in the morning I open my
newspaper before putting the water for the coffee on to boil â¦â
Maigret sat down. He had no
option. And it was cosy, almost family-like. The fishmonger must be proud of her
furniture, her gleaming copper pots, her trinkets, proud of this interior that was so
typically petty bourgeois.
When all was said and done, were her dreams
so different from Madame Maigretâs?
Francis was less at ease and wanted to put
on his jacket. It was the woman who stopped him.
âNo need to feel awkward in front of
the inspector! If everything thatâs written about him is true, he doesnât
mind you being in your shirt-sleeves, quite the opposite. Heâs the one whoâs
going to make himself comfortable â¦â
A door to the left opened into the shop, all
in marble, which exuded a faint smell of fish.
âDo
you
think it was an
accident, Monsieur Maigret?â
It was clearly one of those days. At Doctor
Bellamyâs already, he had been the one who had been interrogated.
âMind you, I donât want to speak
ill of that man ⦠I knew him as a boy ⦠I think Iâm three or four
years older than he is, and Iâm not ashamed to say so â¦â
Even though she was in her fifties, she was
astonishingly youthful, truly delectable still. She had filled Maigretâs glass and
held hers out to clink glasses.
âI knew his father too ⦠He was
the same type of man. Not talkative ⦠and yet you canât say that
theyâre proud ⦠I mean, theyâre gentlemen, but they donât shove
it in your face all the time. But the mother, now sheâs something else â¦
That woman, Monsieur Maigret, let La Popine tell you, sheâs a nasty piece of work
⦠And, if something bad happened, Iâm absolutely certain thatit was her fault ⦠Do you think the doctor will be
arrested?â
âIt is out of the question.â
This was awkward. He was not in charge of
any investigation. He wanted a simple piece of information. And the next day, thanks to
La Popine, the whole town would know that Chief Inspector Maigret was going around
asking questions about Doctor Bellamy.
This could go far, and turn into an
unpleasant business, and yet Maigret couldnât bring himself to regret being there.
He puffed gently on his pipe, warmed the glass in his hands and averted his eyes from
the fat woman who sat with her legs splayed, revealing large expanses of pink thigh
above her black stockings.
He finally managed to get a word in.
âI wanted to ask Francis a question
â¦â
âHow did you know I was
here?â
Maigret was about to give some vague answer,
but La Popine didnât give him the time.
âIf you think, my boy, that the whole
world doesnât know ⦠Mind you, Monsieur Maigret, I want to marry him, I do
⦠He wouldnât be the first ⦠Unfortunately, thereâs already a
wife, and she wonât hear of a divorce â¦â
âTell me, Francis ⦠This
afternoon, when I went to Doctor Bellamyâs, a girl came out of an
somewhere an illustrated magazine from three weeks ago which has an article about you in
it, with a lovely photo â¦â
Francis had risen to his feet, embarrassed.
It was as if, without his livery, he felt naked in front of Maigret.
âDonât be afraid, silly! â¦
Iâm sure heâs not here about you but about your boss ⦠Am I in the
way, inspector? ⦠Because I can always go into my bedroom ⦠Except that if
itâs information you want, I can probably give you more than Francis ⦠Sit
down ⦠Youâll have a little drink with us, wonât you? ⦠I have
to tell you that Iâve always loved crime stories, so Iâve known about you
for at least fifteen years ⦠When I see a juicy murder, nice and complicated, I
say: âI hope itâs Maigret whoâs handling it â¦â
âAnd in the morning I open my
newspaper before putting the water for the coffee on to boil â¦â
Maigret sat down. He had no
option. And it was cosy, almost family-like. The fishmonger must be proud of her
furniture, her gleaming copper pots, her trinkets, proud of this interior that was so
typically petty bourgeois.
When all was said and done, were her dreams
so different from Madame Maigretâs?
Francis was less at ease and wanted to put
on his jacket. It was the woman who stopped him.
âNo need to feel awkward in front of
the inspector! If everything thatâs written about him is true, he doesnât
mind you being in your shirt-sleeves, quite the opposite. Heâs the one whoâs
going to make himself comfortable â¦â
A door to the left opened into the shop, all
in marble, which exuded a faint smell of fish.
âDo
you
think it was an
accident, Monsieur Maigret?â
It was clearly one of those days. At Doctor
Bellamyâs already, he had been the one who had been interrogated.
âMind you, I donât want to speak
ill of that man ⦠I knew him as a boy ⦠I think Iâm three or four
years older than he is, and Iâm not ashamed to say so â¦â
Even though she was in her fifties, she was
astonishingly youthful, truly delectable still. She had filled Maigretâs glass and
held hers out to clink glasses.
âI knew his father too ⦠He was
the same type of man. Not talkative ⦠and yet you canât say that
theyâre proud ⦠I mean, theyâre gentlemen, but they donât shove
it in your face all the time. But the mother, now sheâs something else â¦
That woman, Monsieur Maigret, let La Popine tell you, sheâs a nasty piece of work
⦠And, if something bad happened, Iâm absolutely certain thatit was her fault ⦠Do you think the doctor will be
arrested?â
âIt is out of the question.â
This was awkward. He was not in charge of
any investigation. He wanted a simple piece of information. And the next day, thanks to
La Popine, the whole town would know that Chief Inspector Maigret was going around
asking questions about Doctor Bellamy.
This could go far, and turn into an
unpleasant business, and yet Maigret couldnât bring himself to regret being there.
He puffed gently on his pipe, warmed the glass in his hands and averted his eyes from
the fat woman who sat with her legs splayed, revealing large expanses of pink thigh
above her black stockings.
He finally managed to get a word in.
âI wanted to ask Francis a question
â¦â
âHow did you know I was
here?â
Maigret was about to give some vague answer,
but La Popine didnât give him the time.
âIf you think, my boy, that the whole
world doesnât know ⦠Mind you, Monsieur Maigret, I want to marry him, I do
⦠He wouldnât be the first ⦠Unfortunately, thereâs already a
wife, and she wonât hear of a divorce â¦â
âTell me, Francis ⦠This
afternoon, when I went to Doctor Bellamyâs, a girl came out of an