the quiet, I might as well have curled up and died. That’s what you can look forward to! When your paws are covered with callouses from burying folk, it’s you who will be balancing on the edge of the abyss. So, a bit of respect, please!’
Shifting his weight from his right leg to his left, he tore off his hat and angrily scratched his head.
‘You mark my words, you’ll see!’
In the silence that followed, he sat down again. Hunched over his wine, he mumbled to himself, but the names ‘Grouchy’ and ‘Josephine’ could be heard. When he was certain that no one was paying attention to him any more, he felt around in the recesses of his trousers and pulled out some gloves rolled in a ball, some nails, three five-sou pieces, a handkerchief, and then let out an oath. Still cursing through his teeth, he began to rummage feverishly in his other clothes.
Confound it, hell and damnation, where have they got to? I’ve lost them! … No, here they are!
He pulled out the jewels that he had removed that morning from the dead woman and rolled them in the palm of his hand, considering them, confusedly persuading himself that they belonged to ‘Chausette Fine Deux Boyards Ney’.4 He opened the cover of the locket. Bewildered, he looked at a portrait of a smiling young man with a moustache. Narrowing his eyes, he leant over to examine the face more closely and he thought he saw it move.
‘Who are you? Fouché? Grouchy? You’re certainly not the little corporal, that you’re not! You want to make a fool of me, eh? You’re wrong, Hector! I might be a bit fuddled, but if ever I crossed you in the street, I would remember you as if I’d always known you. Your mug is engraved on my memory.’
He drained his glass, stowed away all his odds and ends and, holding the jewels tight in his hand, went out into the street, where rows of hearses were parked.
Just as Joseph was helping Denise out of the cab that had taken them to Rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, a cyclist came screeching to a halt. She was wearing culottes, revealing plump calves, made more so by her tightly laced ankle boots. Her plaited grey hair was tied up on the top of her head, making her look like a little girl dressed up as a middle-aged woman. She was tangled in the pedals and was about to fall off when Joseph rushed over to catch her. The bicycle fell to the ground with a metallic thud.
‘Mademoiselle Becker, you’ll have to learn to control that animal!’
‘Monsieur Joseph! Danke schön, so kind, so kind. Without you I would have fallen flat on my face.’
As she straightened her clothes, a second carriage slowed down on the other side of the street. The curtain was pulled back slightly. Mademoiselle Becker, Denise, Joseph and the bicycle disappeared into the carriage entrance of number 60. The curtain fell back in place and the second carriage moved slowly on.
Out of breath, Joseph put the bicycle down on the mat outside an apartment on the first floor. ‘There, the beast is tethered! Don’t let it escape.’
‘Danke, Monsieur Joseph. Are you going to see Mademoiselle Tasha? I think she’s gone out.’
‘She’s entrusted her key to me; she’s putting up a cousin who’s come to visit Paris.’
‘Have you just arrived from the Ukraine?’ Mademoiselle Becker asked Denise.
Joseph added, ‘One of my cousins. I’m going to act as her guide. See you soon, Mademoiselle Becker.’
They hurried up the stairs, not pausing until they reached the fourth floor.
‘That was the owner,’ explained Joseph. ‘They call her Madame Vulture, because she’s constantly on the watch for tenants trying to scarper without paying their rent. So it’s better if we make her think that you’re my cousin. I hope you’re not too tired – there are still two more floors to go.’
‘I’m used to stairs.’
‘I’m not. I haven’t even been up the Eiffel Tower; heights give me vertigo. Have you been up it?’
‘I would love to,’ murmured Denise, ‘apparently it’s worth it for the view.’
‘It’s also worth coming here for the view!’ exclaimed Joseph who had just opened Tasha’s door.
The garret was full of frames and paintings – views of rooftops and a few male nudes – perched on easels or lying on the floor. Several pairs of gloves were strewn over the hastily made bed. The chairs were covered with clothes and the table was barely visible under a heap of sketches, dirty plates, palettes and paintbrushes.
‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll tidy up – I’m also used to doing that.’
‘Don’t tidy too much, otherwise Mademoiselle Tasha won’t be able to find anything,’ Joseph advised her, as he went into the tiny room that served both as kitchen and bathroom. He fetched a jug of water and two glasses that he wiped with his handkerchief. He went back to the bedroom to find that Denise had put her packages on the bed.
‘What are you hiding in there? Notebooks?’
She opened the package and revealed the chromolithograph of a Madonna praying, her head wreathed in a halo.
‘It’s The Madonna in Blue, she watches over me. There’s a similar one on one of the windows in the Saint-Corentin Cathedral in Quimper. Every Sunday I prayed to her to make my wishes come true.’
‘And you lug it around everywhere with you? It’s a bit of an encumbrance. My mother gives me a rabbit’s foot as a lucky charm each time she cooks a …’
Denise burst into tears.
‘Don’t cry, the rabbit is already dead, of course.’
‘Madame’s going to be furious, because that picture doesn’t belong to me. It’s the one she wanted to take to Monsieur’s funerary chapel, but I switched it for the Archangel Saint Michel. When I ran away, yesterday evening, I took it with me because I like it so much, but it’s not stealing, just borrowing. I’m going to give it back, I swear.’
Not understanding what she was talking about, Joseph awkwardly offered her his handkerchief.
‘The Virgin Mary, Archangel Saint Michel, what’s the difference? Come on, dry your eyes or you’ll have a nose as large as a potato. You’ll like it in this room, you’ll see, everything will work out.’
While he was comforting her, he discreetly turned the nudes to face the wall.
‘I imagine it’s not much fun being all alone in Paris without any family. Especially living with Madame Odette. That woman came several times to the shop acting like the Empress of India. She was not the right kind of woman for Monsieur Legris. Look, tomorrow’s Sunday, why don’t I show you around the neighbourhood? We could stroll as far as the Grands Boulevards where there’s a carnival on and a roller coaster. Afterwards we’ll go to my mother’s house for dinner – she’s the queen of frites! You do like frites, don’t you?’
She nodded yes. ‘You’re very kind.’
‘I’ll read you the first chapter of my book.’
‘You write books? Do you know The Oracle for Ladies and Girls?
‘I specialise in crime stories.’
‘Like the ones that I saw in your shop window? What’s the title?’
Joseph hesitated, it was the first time he had revealed his secret. No one, not even Valentine de Salignac, the love of his life, knew about his literary activity.
‘It’s called Blood and Love.’
‘Love … I prefer love to blood.’
‘Don’t worry, there’s much more love than blood, but,