The Grand Banks Café (11 page)

It was one of those situations which crop
up spontaneously from which it is difficult to get free. Marie Léonnec, alone in
Fécamp, had been placed under the wing of the Maigrets by a friend and had been
taking her meals with them.

But now her fiancé was there. All four
of them were together on the beach when the hotel bell announced that it was time
for lunch.

Pierre Le Clinche hesitated for a moment
and looked at the others in embarrassment.

‘Come on!' said Maigret,
‘we'll get them to lay another place.'

He took his wife's arm as they
crossed the breakwater. The young couple followed, not speaking. Or rather, only
Marie spoke and did so in a firm voice.

‘Any idea what she's telling
him?' the inspector asked his wife.

‘Yes. She told me a dozen times
this morning, to see if I thought it was all right. She's telling him
she's not cross with him about anything,
whatever it was that
happened
. You see? She's not going to say anything about a woman.
She's pretending she doesn't know, but she did say she'd be
stressing the words
whatever it was that happened
. Poor girl! She'd
go to the ends of the earth for him!'

‘Alas!' sighed Maigret.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Nothing … Is this our
table?'

Lunch passed off quietly, too quietly.
The tables were set very closely together so that speaking in a normal voice was not
really possible.

Maigret avoided watching Le Clinche, to
put him at his ease, but the wireless operator's attitude gave him cause for
concern, and it also worried Marie Léonnec, whose face had a pinched look to it.

Her young man looked grim and depressed.
He ate. He drank. He spoke when spoken to. But his thoughts were elsewhere. And more
than once, hearing footsteps behind him, he jumped as if he sensed danger.

The bay windows of the dining room were
wide open, and through them could be seen the sun-flecked sea. It was hot. Le
Clinche had his back to the view and from time to time, with a jerk of the head,
would turn round quickly and scour the horizon.

It was left to Madame Maigret to keep
the conversation going, mainly by talking to the young woman about nothing in
particular, to keep the silence at bay.

Here they were far removed from
unpleasant events. The setting was a family hotel. A reassuring clatter of plates
and glasses. A half-bottle of Bordeaux on the table next to a bottle of mineral
water.

But then the manager made a mistake. He
came up as they were finishing dessert and asked:

‘Would you like a room to be made
up for this gentleman?'

He was looking at Le Clinche: he had spotted a fiancé.
And no doubt he took the Maigrets for the girl's parents.

Two or three times the wireless operator
made the same gesture as he had that morning during the confrontation. A rapid
movement of his hand across his forehead, a very boneless, weary gesture.

‘What shall we do now?'

The other guests were getting up and
leaving. The group of four were standing on the terrace.

‘Shall we sit down for a
while?' suggested Madame Maigret.

Their folding chairs were waiting for
them, on the shingle. The Maigrets sat down. The two young people remained standing
for a moment, uncertain of what they should do.

‘I think we'll go for a
little walk, shall we?' Marie Léonnec finally brought herself to say with a
vague smile meant for Madame Maigret.

The inspector lit his pipe and, once he
was alone with his wife, he muttered:

‘Tell me: do I really look like
the father-in-law!'

‘They don't know what to do.
Their position is very delicate,' remarked his wife as she watched them go.
‘Look at them. They're so awkward. I may be wrong but I think Marie has
more backbone than her fiancé.'

He certainly made a sorry sight as he
strolled listlessly along, a slight figure who paid no attention to the girl at his
side and, you would have sworn even from a distance, did not say anything.

But the girl gave the impression that
she was doing her
level best, that she was
talking as a way of distracting him, that she was even trying to appear as if she
was having a good time.

There were other groups of people on the
beach. But Le Clinche was the only man not wearing white trousers. He was wearing a
dark suit, which made him look even more pitiful.

‘How old is he?' asked
Madame Maigret.

Her husband, lying back in his deckchair
with eyes half-closed, said:

‘Nineteen. Just a boy. I'm
very afraid that he'll be easy meat for anybody now.'

‘Why? Isn't he
innocent?'

‘He probably never killed anybody.
No. I'd stake my life on it. But all the same, I'm afraid he's had
it … Just look at him! And look at her!'

‘Nonsense. Leave the pair of them
alone for a moment and they'll be kissing.'

‘Perhaps.'

Maigret was pessimistic.

‘She isn't much older than
him. She really loves him. She is quite ready to become a model little
wife.'

‘Why do you think …'

‘That it won't ever happen?
Just an impression. Have you ever looked at photos of people who died young?
I've always been struck by the fact that those pictures, which were taken when
the subjects were fit and healthy, always have something of the graveyard about
them. It's as if those who are doomed to be the victims of some awful
experience already have a death sentence written on their faces.'

‘And do you think that boy …'

‘He's a sad case. Always
was! He was born poor. He suffered from being poor. He worked like a slave, put his
head down, like a man swimming upstream. Then he managed to persuade a nice girl
from a higher social class than his to say yes … But I don't believe
it'll happen. Just look at them. They're groping in the dark.
They're trying to believe in happy endings. They want to believe in their star
…'

Maigret spoke quietly, in a
half-whisper, as he stared at the two outlines, which stood out against the
sparkling sea.

‘Who is officially in charge of
the investigation?'

‘Girard, a chief inspector at Le
Havre. You don't know him. An intelligent man.'

‘Does he think he's
guilty?'

‘No. In any case, he's got
nothing solid on him, not even any real circumstantial evidence.'

‘What do you think?'

Maigret turned round, as if to get a
glimpse of the trawler, though it was hidden from him by a row of houses.

‘I think that the voyage was, for
two men at least, tragic. Tragic enough that Captain Fallut
couldn't go on
living any longer
and the wireless operator
couldn't go back to
living his old, normal life
.'

‘All because of a
woman?'

He did not answer the question directly
but went on:

‘And the rest of them, the men who
had no part in events, all of them including the stokers, were, if they did but know
it, deeply marked by it too. They came back angry and
scared. For three months, two men and a woman raised the
tension around the deck-house in the stern. A few black walls with portholes … But
it was enough.'

‘I've hardly ever seen you
get so worked up about a case … You said three people were involved. What on earth
did they do out there in the middle of the ocean?'

‘Yes, what did they do exactly?
Something which was serious enough to kill Captain Fallut! And also bad enough to
leave those two young people not knowing which way to turn. Look at them out there,
trying to find what's left of their dreams in the shingle.'

The young people were coming back, arms
swinging, uncertain whether courtesy required them to rejoin the Maigrets or whether
it would be more tactful to leave them to themselves.

During their walk, Marie Léonnec had
lost much of her vivaciousness. She gave Madame Maigret a dejected look. It was as
if all her efforts, all her high spirits had run up against a wall of despair or
inertia.

It was Madame Maigret's custom to
take some light refreshment of an afternoon. So at around four o'clock, all
four of them sat down on the hotel terrace under the striped umbrellas, which exuded
the customary festive air.

Hot chocolate steamed in two cups.
Maigret had ordered a beer and Le Clinche a brandy and soda.

They talked about Jorissen, the teacher
from Quimper who had written to Maigret on behalf of the wireless operator and had
brought Marie Léonnec with him. They said the usual things:

‘You won't find a better man anywhere
…'

They embroidered on this theme, not out
of conviction, but because they had to say something. Suddenly, Maigret blinked,
then focused on a couple now walking towards them along the breakwater.

It was Adèle and Gaston Buzier. He
slouched, hands in pockets, his boater tilted on the back of his head, seemingly
unconcerned, while she was as animated and as eye-catching as ever.

‘As long as she doesn't spot
us …!' the inspector thought.

But at that very moment, Adèle's
eye caught his. She stopped and said something to her companion, who tried to
dissuade her.

Too late! She was already crossing the
road. She looked around at all the tables in turn, chose the one nearest to the
Maigrets, then sat down so that she was facing Marie Léonnec.

Her boyfriend followed with a shrug,
touched the brim of his boater as he passed in front of the inspector and sat
astride a chair.

‘What are you having?'

‘Not hot chocolate, that's
for sure. A kümmel.'

What was that if not a declaration of
war? When she mentioned chocolate, she was staring at Marie Léonnec's cup.
Maigret saw the girl flinch.

She had never seen Adèle. But surely the
penny had dropped? She glanced across at Le Clinche, who looked away.

Madame Maigret's foot nudged her
husband's twice.

‘What say the four of us walk over
to the Casino.'

She too had worked it out. But no one answered. Only
Adèle at the next table said anything.

‘It's so hot!' she
sighed. ‘Take my jacket, Gaston.'

She removed her suit jacket and was
revealed in pink silk, opulently sensual and bare-armed. She did not take her eyes
off the girl for an instant.

‘Do you like grey? Don't you
think they should ban people from wearing miserable colours on the beach?'

It was so obvious. Marie Léonnec was
wearing grey. But Adèle was demonstrating her intention to go on the attack, by any
means and without wasting any time.

‘Waiter! Shift yourself! I
can't wait all day.'

Her voice was shrill. And it sounded as
if she was deliberately exaggerating its coarseness.

Gaston Buzier scented danger. He knew
Adèle of old. He muttered a few words to her. But she replied in a very loud
voice:

‘So what? They can't stop
anyone sitting on this terrace. It's a free country!'

Madame Maigret was the only one with her
back to her. Maigret and the wireless operator sat sideways on but Marie Léonnec
faced her directly.

‘We're all as good as
everybody else, isn't that right? Only there's some people who trail
round after you when you're too busy to see them and then won't give you
the time of day when they're in company.'

And she laughed. Such an unpleasant
laugh! She stared at the girl, whose face flushed bright red.

‘Waiter! What do I owe you?'
asked Buzier, who was anxious to put a stop to this.

‘We've got plenty of time! Same again,
waiter. And bring me some peanuts.'

‘We don't have
any.'

‘Well go and get some!
That's what you're paid for, isn't it?'

There were people at two other tables.
They all stared at the new couple, who could not go unnoticed. Maigret began to
worry. He wanted of course to put an end to a scene which might turn nasty.

On the other hand, the wireless operator
was trapped opposite him: he could see him sit there and sweat.

It was fascinating, like being present
at a dissection. Le Clinche did not move a muscle. He was not facing the woman, but
he must surely have been able to see her, however vaguely, on his left, at the very
least to make out the pink cloud of her blouse.

His eyes, grey and lacklustre, were
fixed and staring. One hand lay on the table and was closing slowly, as slowly as
the tentacles of some undersea creature.

There was no telling yet how it would
all turn out. Would he get up and run away? Would he turn on the woman who talked
and talked? Would he …?