The Montmartre Investigation (26 page)

‘Of course, I…Bother! Listen, there are customers. Wait a little bit before you come up,' murmured Joseph.

She touched his hand. He recoiled as if she had burned him, hurried to the door, flew up the stairs then froze when he reached the shop. Those voices! If only the ground could swallow him up…

This is the last straw, he told himself wandering along the shelves, filled with the absurd hope that he was invisible.

He spotted Kenji and guessed from his unctuous manner that he was struggling valiantly to remain courteous. Opposite him, in the manner of Juno reigning at Jupiter's right hand, stood the Comtesse Olympe de Salignac flanked by Raphaëlle de Gouveline and the Maltese lap dog that was her constant companion. As for Monsieur Legris, he seemed to be fascinated by Molière's thin moustache.

‘Delighted, Madame, it's such a long time since we've seen you.'

‘I've been otherwise engaged, Monsieur Mori. I'm going to be a great-aunt. My niece Valentine is awaiting a happy event, due in the summer.'

‘Splendid, splendid, we can no longer say that France is failing to populate itself. And how is Madame de Brix?' enquired Kenji, clearing his throat discreetly.

‘She couldn't be doing better; she has almost recovered. Do you know that she has found a fourth suitor? She met him at Lamalou-les-Bains, a retired colonel. They are to be wed in February. Naturally it will be a very simple ceremony, at her age…No maids of honour or veil. We have chosen a dress of silver grey and a white lace hat embellished with a very delicate sprig of orange blossom.'

‘Splendid, splendid,' repeated Kenji, beating a strategic retreat behind the counter.

‘Indeed, Monsieur Mori. She has charged me with ordering the complete works of Claire de Chandeneux. I hope you have them,' she concluded in a tone that brooked no refusal.

‘Claire de Chandeneux…Claire de Chandeneux…Uh…I…' stammered Kenji, throwing a desperate look at Joseph, who stepped valiantly into the breech.

‘That's lucky, Boss. I put all her books aside in the bilge section when we were doing the stock take. They're in the stockroom. I'll run down and fetch them.'

Relieved, Kenji gave a sigh of relief and deigned to smile at Joseph, who had just won himself an ally.

Raphaëlle de Gouveline had nonchalantly gone over to Victor.

‘Monsieur Legris,' she murmured out of the corner of her mouth, ‘would you by any chance have a copy of
The Damned
? I like keep up to date, and everyone is carping about that book! And, while you're at it, could you add in
Nana
and
The Kill
? I'm behind with my reading. Could you make me up a gift parcel, but out of sight of Olympe?' She pointed her chin meaningfully in the direction of the Comtesse de Salignac. ‘Oh, I almost forgot, I would also like
Madame Bovary
and
The Vatard Sisters
³³
– I've heard it's a very interesting novel of manners, if you understand what I mean.'

‘Perfectly, Madame de Gouveline, perfectly.'

‘We have identical views on the spice of life, don't we, Monsieur Legris?'

She gave him a conspiratorial wink and rejoined the Comtesse, who was examining the books brought by Joseph.

‘Have them all delivered to me,' ordered the Comtesse. ‘Claire de Chandeneux departed this world too early, depriving Catholic literature of its most ardent exponent.'

‘Oh yes! Claire de Chandeneux!' agreed Raphaëlle de Gouveline. ‘You finally have her complete works, dear Olympe! I adore her chaste, sentimental stories; they have none of the vulgarity of masculine writing. Monsieur Mori, I shall immediately buy
The Brambles on the Road
and
Val-Régis the Great
for my long winter evenings. And it's lucky there are two of them; I'll be able to lend them to Mathilde de Flavignol and her friend Helga Becker who are both still immobilised after their terrible bicycle collision.'

Monday 21 December

‘Madame Pignot, I have one! I was lucky – they're fighting over them!' yelled Madame Ballu, brandishing
Le Passe-partout
. ‘But have you lost your mind? You shouldn't have got up with that knee of yours; it's bigger than an ostrich egg! Dr Reynaud's going to tick you off and, as for your son, he'll tick me off. Does it hurt?'

‘My dear Madame Ballu, it's like having a piston thumping away in my leg.'

‘You must get back into bed under the warmth of your eiderdown and take your soothing remedy, otherwise I won't read to you. Do you remember where we were?'

‘Yes, Baroness de Saint-Pourçain left in a hurry, begging Dr Rambuteau not to frighten her poor husband, lest he have a fit right there in the drawing room.'

‘Right, time for Bedfordshire. Prop yourself against the pillow, there, that's good. I'll pour us some juice, settle myself down and reread you the last sentence, because it's so beautiful:'

‘That's exactly like me, I didn't deserve that my Ballu should rise to heaven because…'

‘Read!'

‘All right, all right.'

 

‘Very well observed, don't you think? Just like my Ballu, when he had been reading his newspaper too long and he…'

‘Continue reading!'

‘Oh, you, you're hooked!'

‘That's just like my Joseph; he has a good appetite, you know,' remarked Euphrosine.

Madame Ballu's face softened. She continued:

‘To be continued…Oh, misery. We'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out what happens. It's so well written you can really believe in it. Apparently Felix Charenton is based on an actual person, and he's had a relapse. It's not surprising, he was pushed over the edge, poor man. He was sent to the asylum because he completely lost his mind! All those cold showers would be enough to addle anyone's brain!'

‘Well, yes, but it wouldn't do Joseph any harm to shave once in a while; it's a question of cleanliness. He's letting himself go. Don't you think there's a strange smell in here? Good Lord, what's that stink?'

A strange, rangy fellow stood at the door to the bedroom, a bowl in his hands.

‘Excuse me, are you Madame Pignot?'

‘Yes, that's me, but what do you want? It's normal to knock before entering.'

‘Your son sent me, a nice young man. I went to see him at the bookshop to discuss the death of my cousin, Basile Popêche. Monsieur Pignot told me you were suffering with your joints, so I didn't hang about. I went straight off to find Pulchérie.'

‘Pulchérie? Who on earth's that?'

‘A lovely little goat who's just had a kid and who I nourish on rosemary, so that her milk is healing for rheumatics. I've brought you a bowl. You have to drink it all down right to the last drop. I'll bring you some every day. It will sort you out in no time at all.'

‘I'd like some too!' cried Madame Ballu.

 

At lunchtime Victor did not want to annoy Germaine, so he forced himself to sit down with Kenji and Iris and eat the goose sweetbreads with turnip. Conversation was limited to the sales made that morning and the drop in temperature, and other subjects less sensitive than the sudden increase in the size of the family. Then Victor took his leave, and went through the apartment to exit by the outside staircase. He came across Madame Ballu and stopped to speak to her, struck by her worried expression.

‘Oh, it's nothing, Monsieur Legris, it's just that I'm worried about Euphrosine. I've just come from her and her knee is very painful – her old rheumatism playing up again; she won't be able to pull her cart any more. She's lucky to have such a devoted son. Joseph goes home each lunchtime to prepare her a meal. When I'm old and decrepit there'll be no one to look after me, seeing as how that imbecile Ballu kicked the bucket before we'd had time to make an heir…'

‘You've got plenty of time to work it out – you're the youngest of all of us!' said Victor, continuing down the stairs.

‘You say that, you say that, but I have my aches and pains and they're not all in the mind!'

 

Tasha's wrist was becoming stiff, so she laid her paintbrush to one side and stepped back to study Nicolas Poussin's
Moses Saved from the Waters
, hanging in the Louvre, which she was trying to reproduce. She pressed her finger on a yellow drape of her painting to accentuate a fold. She was quite pleased with her work. Thanks to Victor she was now associated with the Natanson brothers and had visited La Revue Blanche to attend the first exhibition of a very young artist, Édouard Vuillard. Through him she had met a painter from Bordeaux, Odile Redon, whose strange compositions she had admired and whose advice she thought about constantly. According to him, art should be the servant of the unconscious mind, should strive to reproduce the interior world of the artist, putting the logic of the visible to the service of the invisible. Redon had encouraged her to distance herself from the impressionists, whom he reproached for simply letting nature speak for itself, and to study the old masters, whose work was continued by Ingres, Delacroix, then Gustave Moreau and even Degas. She had spent time in the halls of the Louvre dedicated to French painting and had discovered an affinity with the severe charm and tempered gravity of Poussin.

Inspired by
The Childhood of Bacchus
she had sketched a female nude, which had much impressed Victor by the modernity of the pose, and was now launched on an entire canvas.

‘That figure of the women bent over the baby in its basket is very touching. Could you not undress her a little?'

Victor was standing behind Tasha, leaning eagerly towards the easel. She threatened him with her paintbrush.

‘I forebade you to come!'

‘What were you afraid of? That I would encounter one of your many admirers? Is the abominable Laumier anywhere near?'

‘No need to worry about him. Since Gauguin left for Tahiti in April, Laumier is inconsolable and never leaves his studio.'

‘No doubt he's churning out another pictorial theory. So what was it you were afraid of?'

‘That you would distract me. For once I am half-satisfied with what I have done…I think I'm on to something. I think I've opened the door to one of those secret chambers of the mind Kenji is so keen on. That woman, that child in the water, I'm going to transpose them to modern times, to a wash-house perhaps, and paint them in my own way. No doubt it's a little too impressionistic for Redon…'

‘Redon? Who's that?'

‘…but too bad; I'm sensitive to the interplay of light. I'll reduce the depth, that will make it more dreamlike and symbolic than my previous works, while at the same time remaining true to life. A blend of styles. What do you think?'

‘I'm happy that you have found your own way. I think I have also found mine and that gives me confidence. I'm going to dedicate my photographs to children at work, not for the aesthetic effect, but to bear witness to a reality that amongst many other things will contribute to a deeper understanding of the society in which we live.'

‘That's wonderful, Victor! We must celebrate that!'

‘I've already planned it. My furniture has been delivered. This evening I am moving in officially to my bachelor apartment. I am inviting you to dinner at Le Grand Hôtel. Afterwards if you have nothing better in mind, we can spend a chaste evening by the fire discussing painting and photography…'

‘And you can also tell me all about the thrilling investigation you have been involved in, unintentionally, I am sure…'

The caretaker in charge of guarding the new gallery of French artists in the Denon Pavilion turned away as he passed a couple whose loving embrace was really rather shocking. The nudity displayed on the canvases surrounding him prompted him to hurry into the next gallery, where the sight of Charles Le Brun's
Battles of Alexander the Great
restored his equilibrium.