All Our Wordly Goods Read Free

side of the beach hut. She was feeling rather melancholy. The forthcoming marriage between Pierre and Simone aroused strong emotions in both mothers: one of them felt the sweet satisfaction of having the rich dowry of an orphaned child come into the family; the other felt frustrated. Not that she held out any hope for Agnès. The Hardelots had made it abundantly clear that they considered such a marriage undesirable. But it was upsetting to see other people getting married and not Agnès, upsetting and unfair. Obviously, her mother thought, she couldn’t compete with Simone when it came to money, but there was no comparison as far as her good looks, her figure, her hair were concerned —
my
good looks,
my
figure,
my
hair, when I was young. Those things count, after all. She looks like a cow, that Simone. And then, following this train of thought, she said outloud, ‘Your future daughter-in-law really has a delightful nature. So calm … docile even. What a valuable quality in a wife! I do admire it. I’m exactly the opposite. I live off my nerves. And her lovely skin and beautiful hair!’
    ‘Yes, she’s a good girl,’ said Madame Hardelot, instinctively adopting the modest, satisfied tone of someone with the upper hand. Nevertheless, she couldn’t praise Simone without having some reservations: it wasn’t proper to appear overly happy about having arranged this marriage. Simone would do, of course, but wasn’t her son better?
    ‘I find her rather shy,’ Madame Hardelot continued after a moment’s silence, ‘and her personality isn’t perhaps exactly as you think …’
    She lowered her voice, even though she could only be overheard by the sky, the air and the waves. ‘She likes to seem easy-going. She’s not always so willing.’
    ‘She’s never had the calming influence of a mother,’ said Madame Florent sympathetically. ‘She lost hers when she was very young, didn’t she?’
    ‘Yes, very young,’ Madame Hardelot said quickly, wishing, as they say in the theatre, not to miss a cue, sensing some disagreeable remark in the air.
    But Madame Florent insisted on taking advantage of the opportunity. ‘Yes, it’s odd that she died so young …’ she said. ‘And yet, Simone seems to be in excellent health, doesn’t she?’
    ‘Her mother died of a broken heart, after she was widowed,’ Madame Hardelot said curtly, addingtriumphantly, ‘As for her father, he died in a car accident.’
    Madame Florent fell silent. And anyway, Simone looked so robust that it wasn’t really possible to insinuate anything about her physical condition.
    So all she said was, ‘Simone bears a remarkable resemblance to one of my friends, who married young. The poor girl … she never had any children. That sometimes happens, you know, with these chubby, rosy-cheeked women.’
    ‘Shall we stop the horse?’ asked Madame Hardelot, looking anxiously at the rising waves; they were as high as the running board of the caravan. ‘Are you ready?’
    ‘Yes, just coming.’
    They stepped outside, both wearing black wool swimming suits consisting of a tunic pulled in tightly at the waist with wide, billowing pantaloons. The wind coming in from the sea made their tunics flutter in every direction and got under their canvas swimming hats, making them swell up like balloons. Madame Hardelot’s was bright green; Madame Florent’s was orange.
    Just as they were about to get into the water, the ladies hesitated; Madame Florent dipped her little toe in. ‘It’s so cold!’ she exclaimed.
    They stood at the doorway of the hut; every now and then they leaned forward to test the water; they both wore gold wedding bands.
    ‘You’ll have so much to do, so much to think aboutthis winter, my dear Madame Hardelot … with a wedding to organise at home. But such joy as well!’
    Madame Hardelot shaded her eyes from the sun and smiled. The obvious displeasure of Madame Florent allowed her to feel her own happiness. And so, sitting