She Who Was No More Read Free Page A

behind his back. Mireille was certainly on the other side of it by now, listening intently. Ravinel coughed, made a noise with the bottle as he poured out some more wine, and rustled the sheets of paper. Was she listening for the sound of kisses?
    She threw open the door. He swung round.
    ‘Mireille!’
    Her coat was open, revealing a navy blue suit in which she looked as slim as a boy. Tucked under her arm was her bag, the big black one with her initials, M.R. With her thin hand she pulled up her gloves. She wasn’t looking at her husband, but inspecting the room—the sideboard, the chairs, the closed window, the table, the orange standing on the box of Camembert, the carafe. Advancing a couple of steps, she lifted her little veil, in which raindrops had been caught as in a spider’s web.
    ‘Where is she? Tell me where she is.’
    Ravinel got up slowly, looking puzzled.
    ‘Who do you mean?’
    ‘That woman—I know all about it… It’s no use lying to me.’
    Mechanically he pushed his chair under the table. With a slight stoop, his forehead puckered, his hands hanging open at his sides, he faced her. He heard himself laugh.
    ‘My dear Mireille! What are you talking about? What on earth’s come over you?’
    At that she sank onto a chair, buried her head in her arm, and burst into sobs, her hair straggling over his plate of ham. Ravinel was taken aback. He couldn’t help being touched, and he stood over her, patting her shoulder.
    ‘Come on, Mireille. Calm yourself. Then you can tell me all about it… So you thought I was carrying on with another woman, did you? My poor child! You’d better see for yourself whether there’s any sign of one. Yes, you must. I insist. You can explain things afterwards.’
    He lifted her, holding her up, led her away, while she clung to him, weeping on his chest.
    ‘We’ll have a good look round. You needn’t be afraid.’
    He kicked open the bedroom door and switched on the light. He spoke loudly, with affectionate roughness.
    ‘Look! Just the bed and the wardrobe. Nobody under the bed. Nobody in the wardrobe. And can you smell anything? Take a good sniff. Just a little stale tobacco smoke, because I always have a pipe before going to sleep. As for any scent, not a trace! Now for the bathroom. After that we’ll do the kitchen. Oh yes, we will.’
    He showed her everything, even opening the refrigerator.Mireille dabbed her eyes and began to smile through her tears. He drew her back into the dining room.
    ‘Well? Convinced? What a silly girl! Not that I mind your being jealous. It’s rather sweet. But to come on a journey like this! And in November. Somebody must have been telling you some dreadful stories.’
    He sat down, but instantly jumped up again.
    ‘There! I’d forgotten the garage.’
    ‘No, Fernand. You mustn’t joke about it.’
    ‘All right. Now tell me all about it. Here, take this chair. I’ll switch on the heater. Tired?… But I don’t need to ask. You look washed out. Now sit back and relax.’
    He brought the heater close to her, relieved her of her hat, and sat down on the arm of her chair.
    ‘An anonymous letter, I suppose?’
    ‘If it had only been that. It was Lucienne who wrote.’
    ‘Lucienne! Have you got the letter with you?’
    ‘I should think I have.’
    She opened her bag and produced an envelope. He snatched it out of her hand.
    ‘Good heavens! That’s her writing all right.’
    ‘What’s more she made no bones about signing it.’
    He pretended to read the letter he knew by heart, the three pages which Lucienne had written the day before, sitting in front of him.
    She’s a little red-haired thing hardly out of her teens, a typist who works at the Crédit Lyonnais. She comes to see him every evening. I hesitated for a long time before making up my mind to write to you, but in the end…
    Ravinel was on his feet now, pacing up and down the room with his fist clenched.
    ‘It’s past all belief. Lucienne must have gone clean out