thing, carried off by yellow fever.’ Taken up with his love for Tasha, a painter he had met at the Universal Exposition, Victor had not found the courage to present his condolences in person to Odette and had made do with sending her a rather impersonal note. Tasha … He could picture her as clearly as if she were before him, with her green eyes and red hair tied back at the nape of her neck. He could even hear the slight lilt of her Russian accent. How he missed her! She had been giving him the cold shoulder for two long weeks. And over something so stupid! He had merely dared to disapprove of her proposal to exhibit her canvases at the Soleil d’Or. ‘That insalubrious dive on the Place Saint-Michel? Why not choose somewhere with a better clientele?’ he had suggested. Of course she had taken offence; she was so touchy! ‘Admit it – you’re just jealous! You can’t stand me living an independent life; you would like to shut me up like a concubine!’ she had retorted, flaring up with anger. Jealous … Yes, she was right, but wasn’t that natural when he saw the familiar way the other artists treated her, especially that Maurice Laumier, whom he loathed and who loathed him back?
‘… know that perhaps I shouldn’t say this to you, Monsieur, but … Monsieur, are you listening?’
Victor came back to earth. ‘Yes?’
‘You understand, Monsieur, I think she was worried that the Good Lord had punished her because … well …’ She lowered her head.
‘Punished? What do you mean?’
‘For her affair with you – I don’t mean to be rude.’
Victor forced himself to smile. ‘Come on, my dear, I wasn’t the only one and, besides, Monsieur de Valois was scarcely a paragon of virtue himself. You worked for them; you must have been aware of that. By the time he died, your mistress and I had long since separated.’
‘I know. But that doesn’t stop her praying several times a day, on her knees, in front of a portrait of Monsieur, framed in black crêpe. I’ve heard her begging him to forgive her. “Armand, I feel your presence, I know you’re here. You see everything. You hear everything. Give your little sugar plum a sign, my duck, I implore you!” Fancy calling a dead man “my duck”! And there’s another thing. She had me close the shutters and pull the curtains on the pretext that Monsieur feared the light, so we live constantly by candlelight. The apartment is like a tomb! And you wouldn’t believe Madame’s bedroom … if you could see how she’s decorated it and what she keeps in her wardrobe … She would have liked a grand funeral with no expense spared on flowers, wreaths and the whole works, but since he was buried amongst the savages, she had a marble plaque engraved, which cost an arm and a leg because of the gold lettering, and she had it placed in the Vallois family chapel in the Pères-Lachaise cemetery. All that frightened me. I’ve tried to convince myself that being widowed has driven her a little mad. She started disappearing every Monday and Thursday afternoon, and when she returned she was … trans … trans …’
‘Transfigured?’
‘Yes, that must be it. You know, like the saints you see on stained-glass windows in churches. The day before yesterday she asked me to go with her. We took a carriage and went to a handsome building in a part of Paris I didn’t know. A lady let us in. I didn’t see her face, she was wearing a veil, but I gathered from the tone of her voice that she was displeased. She took Madame to one side and lectured her because she had not come alone. They shut themselves in a bedroom at the end of a long corridor. I had to wait more than two hours for them to come out. Madame had been crying; she was dabbing her eyes. The lady in the veil said to her: ‘Tomorrow, your mourning will be over on condition that you obey your husband and bring him what he asked for. Then he will be freed from his bonds and you will be able to start a new life.’
‘What did she have to take?’
Denise bit her lip. ‘A picture that Monsieur was very fond of, at least that’s what Madame told me. I went to get it; it was very dark in Monsieur’s bedroom and Madame was in a hurry. We went to Père-Lachaise and that’s where Madame disappeared, I’ve …’
Victor lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke, watching a large brunette woman on the other side of the road. If he had had his camera with him, he would have been able to take a good shot of the light figure against the dark wall. Meanwhile the girl was still prattling on …
‘You have to believe me. I’m not making it up, Monsieur Legris, I swear that it’s true! When I reached the chapel, Madame had disappeared. There was only the scarf that had been wrapped … just the scarf, there on the ground. I went to pick it up, but something struck me, a stone perhaps. But I saw no one. I was terrified and ran as fast as I could to the gatekeeper’s lodge and he advised me to go home. When I got back to Boulevard Haussmann, I looked everywhere, but she wasn’t there. I shut myself in my room and early in the morning someone tried to break in! I sensed an evil presence just as I had in the chapel. If you call up spirits, they appear!’
While the young girl continued her lamentations, Victor, amused, was wondering why Odette had had to think up such a far-fetched strategem just to stay out all night. He found it hard to believe in Odette’s new incarnation as a sorrowing widow desperate to communicate with the spirit of her husband, whom she had betrayed over and over again. Perhaps this time she had two lovers on the go and was trying to fool one of them in order to spend time with the other.
‘Please, Monsieur Legris, I implore you to help me. I don’t want to go back there. I’d rather sleep under the bridges than stay another night in that cursed house!’
‘Don’t worry, my dear, Madame de Valois has no doubt had to go away unexpectedly.’ To be with a loved one, just like Kenji, who is off courting his dear Iris, he thought.
‘But, Monsieur, there really was … a presence outside my door; I didn’t dream it. And Madame hasn’t taken any of her clothes. I would have noticed when I searched …’
While maintaining an air of interest, Victor studied the girl’s lips, but really he was thinking of Tasha. He suddenly had an inspiration. Thanks to this voluble little maid, and to Kenji, he had the opportunity to effect a reconciliation. He stubbed out his cigarette and threw a few coins on to the saucer.
‘It’s all right, my dear. I’ll sort something out.’
Two customers were leafing through some books, one sitting at the big table and the other at the counter where Joseph was standing. Victor beckoned him discreetly.
‘I’m leaving you to look after this young lady. Her name’s Denise – keep an eye on her. I’ll be right back.’
‘But, boss …’
Victor had already gone.
‘Would you believe it! As soon as Monsieur Mori turns his back, Monsieur Legris disappears too! I can’t be everywhere at once,’ grumbled Joseph, giving Denise a black look.
‘Don’t worry about me, Monsieur. I’ll just sit on this stool and wait. If you need any help, please just ask me,’ stammered the girl.
Slightly mollified by this offer and by the girl’s use of ‘Monsieur’, Joseph deigned to smile before turning to help a customer.
In high good humour, Victor set off up Rue Lepic, whistling the opening bars of a waltz by Fauré. He turned into Rue Tholozé and pushed open the doors of Bibulus, a smoky bar with a sign representing a suckling dog. After the dazzlingly bright sunshine, the darkness took him by surprise. He slowly crossed the low-ceilinged room that was furnished with barrels for tables. Two customers, sprawled in front of their glasses of beer, were shuffling greasy cards.
At the counter a large ruddy-faced fellow was drawing pints.
‘Ave, Firmin!’ Victor greeted him.
‘Amen,’ grunted the barman.
Victor went along a narrow corridor and entered a room on the same floor with a glass roof that was kitted out as a painter’s studio. A charcoal stove gave out a powerful heat and the air was heavy with the