3
ANNE, LIKE MOST people,
cared little about politics. She was aware that the Germans were
once more a threat, but had read in the newspaper that they would
find it impossible to breach the line of fortifications erected by
M. Maginot. She was grateful that the new government had introduced
the idea of paid holidays, but otherwise could see little to
distinguish it from the other governments which had succeeded one
another with such bewildering rapidity throughout her life. What
did it matter who was in power when the same people seemed to be in
each government anyway? She had a certain admiration for Marshal
Pétain, the hero of Verdun, because he had been so warmly spoken of
when she was a child, but had now done her best to forget about
this since Hartmann had spoken so dismissively of him.
There were other, far more important things to be
considered. The first of these was the visit Hartmann had proposed
by telegram for that evening. As she swept the corridor between the
kitchen and the back stairs of the hotel she wondered what he would
have planned. She would not be free to go till ten o’clock, at
which time Pierre had said that he would either shut the bar or
take over the service himself. She had arranged to meet Hartmann in
the rue des Ecoles at ten-fifteen rather than walk all the way back
to her rooms. She wondered if she would have time to change before
meeting him. He had once expressed a liking for her waitress’s
skirt, but she couldn’t be sure if he was sincere or merely being
polite.
Since she had told him the story of her childhood
Anne had felt an increasing sense of relief. She had, at first,
been frightened that he wouldn’t want to know her any more; but as
every day passed and he showed none of the cruelty or revulsion she
had found in others, her trust in him grew. To the people who had
written anonymous letters to her mother and thrown stones at her,
she had seemed tarnished; but his attitude seemed unchanged, except
for the increase in concern he showed when he reassured her of his
feelings.
As her trust in him grew firmer, the frustration of
being separated from him became correspondingly more acute. She
wanted him to hold her and put his arms around her in a way that
would take the world away from her, and would deliver her into his
orbit of strength and security where the loneliness and pain and
deceit which had made up so much of her life could no longer touch
her. In the meantime, she could only wait.
Hartmann was glad to be back at the Manor after
what he had heard and felt in Paris. After greeting Christine, he
went for a walk by the lake, breathing in the salty air that blew
from the headland. It was Saturday afternoon, and the pleasure of
being home again was increased by the prospect of seeing Anne in
the evening. He thought of her slight figure with its hint of
undisclosed fullness, the light-filled eyes and gentle girlish
trust. This picture alone was not enough to obliterate the memory
of the anxious forebodings he had felt in Paris, though it seemed,
temporarily at least, to soothe them.
On his return to the house he went to find
Christine and discovered her in the morning-room, looking over some
household accounts.
‘How’s the building going?’ he asked.
‘Going? I’d say it’s gone. The man Roussel hasn’t
been here for three days, and you know how much the others
do.’
‘It looks as though we made a bad choice. Still, it
hasn’t been too expensive. And they’ve done most of it now.’
‘Most of it!’ Christine stood up and two specks of
colour came into her cheeks. ‘They’ve done about half the work and
you’ve paid them the entire amount of money. It’s no wonder that
stupid little man hasn’t been back.’
‘I haven’t paid all of it, my dear. There’s still
the completion payment to be made.’
‘Yes, but you’ve paid them for all four stages of
the work and they’ve only completed two!’ Christine was angrier
than Hartmann had expected. He couldn’t see that it mattered so
much if he had been hasty with the schedule of payments to the
builder; the amount of money involved, if not negligible, was not
large. He didn’t see that Christine had other reasons for her
anger.
‘I’m sorry, my love. But these things are always
happening. Roussel isn’t a rich man. He has no capital, he was
desperate for work, he –’
‘He’s an employer, he’s a businessman. He should
know better.’
‘No, he isn’t. He’s a workman. These days it makes
no difference if you have two other workmen with you on a day
rate.’
‘Then we shouldn’t have employed him.’
‘Obviously. But you said Marie-Thérèse recommended
him and –’
‘That reminds me,’ said Christine, who knew when an
argument was slipping away from her, ‘Marie-Thérèse tells me your
friend Mattlin has invited her and Albert to dinner. Rather
strange, don’t you think?’
‘Why?’
‘Does he give a great deal of dinner parties, your
bachelor friend?’
‘I haven’t a clue. But why shouldn’t he?’
‘I just think it’s odd, that’s all,’ said
Christine.
‘Perhaps,’ said Hartmann. He was still too taken
aback by the heat of Christine’s response to the trifling matter of
Roussel’s payments to be bothered by speculation into Mattlin’s
continuous plotting.
‘I’m sorry,’ gasped Anne, as she opened the door of
Hartmann’s car, ‘I couldn’t get away. Mme Bouin insisted I polish
all the tables in the dining-room before I left. And then I had to
sweep the floor.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Hartmann put the engine into
gear and moved off up the rue des Ecoles.
‘Where are we going?’
Hartmann knew of a café which stayed open late
where they wouldn’t be seen. Anne chattered on in her excitement,
and it was not until they were nearly there that she realised she
hadn’t stopped talking since getting into the car.
She fell silent abruptly, ashamed of her
girlishness. She said, ‘I missed you.’
‘I missed you too,’ said Hartmann. ‘But you
wouldn’t have liked it in Paris. It looked awful. Grey and
dismal.’
‘Even the Seine?’
‘Especially the Seine.’ He was thinking of
Vaugirard.
The café had high-sided wooden stalls, so the
people in each table were invisible to the others. A wireless was
playing at the bar.
A waitress brought a candle and some drinks. They
raised their glasses. Hartmann couldn’t remember when Anne had
looked as beautiful as this before, her eyes shining with
excitement in the half-lit darkness.
‘You’re so pretty,’ he said almost in
disbelief.
Anne laughed. ‘And what did you do? Did you see old
friends? I wish I could have come.’
‘I saw Antoine, who was the same as ever, acting
the cynic but thoroughly enjoying the exercise of power. And I saw
the editor of the paper I used to advise.’
‘Was that fun?’
‘It was difficult. I was trying to stop him from
printing something, but I didn’t know how much he knew. I had to
find out without giving away how much we in our turn knew.’
‘And did you succeed?’
‘For the time being.’
‘So you’ll be all right? They won’t print the
story?’
‘We may be all right. It’s better than I
thought in that respect. But then again they may find the people
involved or they may simply invent them. They may even bribe people
to testify. That’s what Gringoire is doing with the Salengro
case. Claiming to have witnesses to something that never
happened.’
‘How awful! And will this editor do that?’
Hartmann stroked his chin as he weighed the
possibility. Anne glanced at his hands. ‘On balance, I think
perhaps not. But I wouldn’t bet a sou on it.’
‘And then did you go out with your friend in the
evening?’
‘No. Antoine had to go to a dinner at the Treasury.
I went for a long walk and ended up going to the pictures.’
‘What did you see?’
‘It was about some people who win a lottery and
–’
‘I know. Mathilde and I have seen that.’
‘Did you like it?’
‘I didn’t like it at the end. I didn’t see why it
had to be so sad.’
‘But there were lovely things in it, weren’t
there?’
‘Oh yes.’ Anne paused for a moment. ‘And then what
did you do?’
‘I went back to the hotel and went to bed. I was
tired.’
Anne wanted to find out if he had seen another
woman but didn’t dare ask him directly. She looked down at the
table.
‘And what have you been doing?’ he asked.
‘Oh, the usual things. I went to the pictures one
evening with Mathilde. I’ve listened to my gramophone. I’ve read
some more books.’
Hartmann liked listening to Anne talk, and kept
asking her questions just for the pleasure of hearing her voice,
indignant or excited, as she told him about her day.
Eventually he called for the bill and drove her
back to her rooms. He didn’t try to pretend that he should not come
in with her. Once in the sitting-room, neither of them could finish
the unwanted coffee Anne felt she should offer for decency’s sake.
They put down the cups and fell on each other, she moaning
endearments to him which saved her from the embarrassment of her
physical passion.
Afterwards, Hartmann looked down at Anne, who lay
with her head on his chest. He hated it now when he had to leave
her; he hated it in fact even if Anne left the room for some
reason, feeling agitated until her return. Yet he was not satisfied
with what he felt. When he stroked her hair he tried once more to
force his imagination to help his failed understanding of her life.
Because the effort always came to nothing, it left him with a sense
of anguish that had no proper outlet. It blended with the
tenderness he felt for her, but it was not the same feeling.
Anne turned her head so that she was looking up at
him.
‘Don’t frown so much,’ she said, running her
forefinger down the furrowed skin between his eyes.
When Hartmannn left her rooms that night Anne
discovered the cat sitting in the courtyard. After she had heard
the street door close, she took the animal upstairs in her arms and
lay down on the bed. ‘What am I going to do, Zozo?’ she said. ‘What
am I going to do?’