Incidents in the Rue Laugier (14 page)

Behind her façade of decorum, inculcated at her convent school, she had nourished other ideas. And even now she marvelled that she had had her own way, had met the mysterious stranger, had succumbed, had exulted, and in so doing had triumphed over her mother’s vigilance, her mother’s fantasies. She could now regard with genuine pity Julie’s surprise parties, at which she had always been awkward and more often than not unpartnered, the young men thinking her disdainful, and not noticing, or if noticing rejecting, her loneliness. Her triumph was still absolute, for the memory of Tyler’s lovemaking still had precedence over the fact that he was absent, and that his absence was unexplained. In fact she drew strength from the fact that it was unexplained, for it was like Tyler to act on impulse. He was a free man: she would not impede him. All she had to do was wait for him. He had taken a bag, but not all of his clothes. These she kept in view as confirmation of his return.

Except that without his urgent active presence there would be such a lot of time to kill, and she could think of nothing to do but walk, for if she did not get physically tired she would not be able to sleep, and if she did not sleep she would become plain and lose that golden burnish that was her greatest asset. She needed no cosmetics, was not tempted by adornments: these she left to her mother to plan. The rough, densely waved, and curled gold-brown hair, which fitted her head like a helmet, had never needed the ministrations of a hairdresser, and her dark eyebrows arched naturally and disdainfully over her slightly slanting brown eyes. She was grateful for her good figure, her full bosom, which now threatened to become fuller, for her small dry hands with the oval nails which she manicured so carefully. One memory of her mother would always be her instructions in that respect; when engaged with nail-file and orange stick in the dusk of a Sunday evening, after their visit to the cinema, they had been momentarily at one. Also the lessons on the importance of hairbrushing, of hygiene, of fastidious presentation: these were acknowledged, credit being given where credit was due. But it was due from a distance, as if the relationship were now at an end, as if Dijon were a place she had once visited and now need never visit again, except as a married woman. She would give her mother that satisfaction, she reckoned, but until then she would keep the satisfaction to herself. For despite a residual uneasiness, caused, she thought, by Tyler’s absence, she was quite confident. Except that the Ardèche was a long way away, a day’s journey from Paris. And he would need to stay two or three days, at least. And there was the day’s journey back. So that he might be absent for four of five days, more if he were enjoying himself … But he would surely telephone, as he had promised, so that she really ought to stay in the flat as much as possible, so as not to miss his call. Alternatively, there was
this equally pressing need for strenuous physical exercise, so that certain matters might naturally resolve themselves. Dejected, still wearing Mme Vermeulen’s raincoat, she sank down on to the bed. That was another problem: the sheets would have to be taken to the laundry, and the flat put to rights. Even if she were to entrust matters to the concierge she had no money with which to pay her. In fact she had no money at all: her only asset was the return half of her ticket to Dijon. All the more pressing need, therefore, to await Tyler’s return.

When the doorbell rang she caught her foot in the valance of the bed, stumbled, thought briefly that this might work to her advantage, and then ran effortfully down the corridor in her haste to welcome Tyler. She was not quite sufficiently aware of her change of expression when she opened the door to Harrison; in any event she was too indifferent to Harrison’s presence to make the effort to be pleasant.

‘I thought it was Tyler,’ she explained, when at last she made sense of his disappointed face.

‘Tyler would use the key, surely,’ he said.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘He didn’t take the key. I found the key in the bedroom, where he usually leaves it.’

‘Then it sounds as if he’s not planning to come back.’

‘That’s ridiculous. He’s left some of his things.’ She indicated a discarded shirt and a tin of talcum powder. ‘Anyway, he said he would telephone.’

‘We need to discuss this, Maud. Perhaps you could make some coffee. Here, I brought you these.’ He handed over his bag of croissants. ‘I want to make a couple of telephone calls myself.’

She went to the kitchen and filled a kettle. She could hear him saying, ‘Mother? How are you? How’s Dad?’ His voice sounded eager, enthusiastic. ‘I’ll be home at the end of the week,’ she heard. ‘Yes, really home. Then I’ll make a start on
the shop. Or at least decide what to do with it.’ There was a silence, which she imagined to be filled with sage advice. Then, ‘I know, I know. But I haven’t really decided yet. I might try it out, I suppose. OK, we’ll talk about it. Love to you both. Bibi still in Italy? Very good, yes, but I’m ready to leave now. See you at the weekend. ‘Bye.’

How pleasant he sounded when he spoke to his mother, she thought, arranging cups on a tray. She felt his impatience to leave this place, whose point seemed suddenly lost. She was aware of the crumpled sheets on the bed, of the dust that had settled since their arrival, of the smell of Tyler’s cigarettes in the salon. The smell of the coffee made her feel slightly sick, a feeling which she hastily ascribed to her all but sleepless night. In the hall Harrison, who seemed newly energised by the thought of going home, was dialling other numbers.

‘Cook? Harrison here. Just to let you know that I’ll be with you next Friday. Everything all right? You have? That’s great, thank you very much. Well, I’ll see you on Friday and we’ll decide how to proceed. Excellent, thanks, but the weather’s broken. I’ll be quite glad to get home. OK then, until next week. Goodbye.’

He shook his head in admiration as he took his cup from her. ‘The willingness of that man to consider himself my employee never ceases to astound me. I guess it’s because I’m young. He probably wouldn’t work for anyone older, anyone with authority. He’s satisfied himself that I won’t presume. I’ll have to start thinking what to do with him. Aren’t you having one?’ he asked, waving a croissant at her. She noticed his strong white teeth, his decisive way with food. When his upper lip lifted like that he looked quite different, she thought, less ingenuous. In time he might be quite an attractive man, but only if he did not have to stand comparison with other more prestigious men. Whatever looks and charm he possessed
were perhaps on the modest side, but he seemed kindly; to judge from what she had heard of his telephone conversations he was straightforward. But then, she reminded herself, he only appears to his best advantage in the absence of Tyler. If Tyler were here he would instantly fade into the background, as he had done ever since they had come together.

‘… think about going home,’ she heard him say, though her thoughts were sad and her attention intermittent.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I said you must think about going home. Don’t you want to telephone your mother?’

‘Later. I’ll ring her later. When I know how long I’ll be staying here.’

He stared at her. ‘Maud, you can’t be serious. You don’t really think Tyler’s coming back, do you?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘My dear girl. I hate to say this, but he may not. Tyler is quite unpredictable. At least he is to women. Men tend not to trust him anyway. I’ve seen him around women: they fall for him, and he treats them badly by way of return. I have to say they don’t seem to mind. But it’s usually a bad business all round …’

‘You don’t like him, do you?’

‘I like him less than I did. I wonder now if I ever liked him. I was always impressed by him—who wouldn’t be? But after three years in the same college I still didn’t feel I knew him. After this holiday I feel I know him better. It’s just that I don’t find his exploits quite so amusing. He’s a spoiler, you know.’

‘You’re jealous.’

He considered this. ‘Yes, perhaps I am. But that doesn’t alter the fact that I don’t think much of the way he carries on. If you knew him as well—or as little—as I do, you might put less faith in his return.’ He knew he was being unkind, and resented
the fact that Tyler had left this task to him. But that was part of Tyler’s mythical status, that he left the explanations of his behaviour to others, he reflected, and once again sighed with a mixture of admiration and resentment. To be so free of earthly ties! Again the shop loomed into consciousness, only to be dismissed. Clearly he was not to be allowed to get on with his life until this tiresome girl had been dealt with.

‘Tyler loves me, you know.’

‘Has he said so?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well, that is the easy part. If he loves you he can follow you to Dijon, can’t he?’

‘I’m staying here. You can leave if you want to. Don’t let me keep you,’ she added politely.

‘Forgive me for being blunt, but did he leave you any money?’

She turned away, but before she did he saw her sudden pallor.

‘I’ll stay with you, of course,’ he said. ‘But on one condition. If he’s not back by the end of the week we’ll both go home. And I’ll see to it even if I have to put you on the train myself. Now, what would you like to do today?’ he asked, more gently than he had intended.

‘I’d like to walk.’ Her head was high, her expression once more disdainful. ‘You don’t have to come with me.’

He was suddenly aware of her extreme youth, and of his own. But instead of panic came a certain wry sympathy, not only for the girl but for himself.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said. ‘We’ll do as many districts of Paris as we’ve got time for. Just walk in a certain direction each day and explore. Until we get tired. Would you like that?’

‘Thank you,’ she said. It was as much as she could manage in the way of a concession. She strode past him to the door,
her head held high. He caught a drift of alien perfume from her raincoat. He felt, in addition to his underlying annoyance, a twinge of pity. The perfume had done that. He began to see her as just one more in a line of fallible women, Tyler’s women, all of whom seemed to progress, in a state of discontent, to the dubious pleasures of experience, once they had recovered from the fact of his dereliction. This one, he thought, would be more difficult. Yet if there were to be a contest of wills he was determined that his own should carry the day. With Tyler out of the way this seemed entirely possible.

For the next two days they followed the pattern they had set themselves, or that he had set for them. He brought the croissants for breakfast, she made the coffee; then she donned her raincoat, and they set out on an apparently aimless walk, during which each was absorbed in thought. They saw little of their surroundings, were aware only of late drops of rain falling from overhead leaves, and of the damp striking through the soles of their shoes. Harrison was acutely aware of Maud’s shoes, which were now stained and shapeless. He felt under unwelcome duress, yet could not consider abandoning her. She strode along silently beside him; once he attempted to take her hand, but after a moment she withdrew it. She had nothing to say to him, although she was glad of his presence. She began to think seriously of her position, shying away yet again from its implications. When Tyler comes back, she thought, I will put it to him. Yet in the rue Saint-Antoine, at the very end of that main artery of Paris which they had traversed almost without noticing how far they had come, a cold fear settled on her, and would not be dispelled by her anticipation of Tyler’s return. She allowed Harrison to pay for their meals. She knew that without him she would have to subsist on whatever she could find in the Vermeulens’ kitchen. She felt alternatively sick and full as she swallowed hastily, anxious
to eat as much as was allowed. Watching her, Harrison ate with less than his usual appetite.

On the third day they got no further than the Tuileries. The excursions seemed to have been halted, or come to an end. Around them the day was gray, inert. Tourists, of whom Edward had been one, had disappeared indoors, into the Louvre, where he had previously spent his time longing for company. Now he longed for solitude, and for home. He had no idea what to do with the girl, yet his eye was drawn to her, as she stood with her back to him, surrounded by a maze of unwaveringly geometrical flowerbeds. In her straight back he perceived a solitude far greater than he, perhaps mistakenly, aspired to, a revelation that was unwelcome to him. He watched as she slowly turned to face him, and in the downcast face at last had an intimation of what kept her here, a prisoner, apparently in his power.

‘Maud,’ he said, guiding her to a seat. ‘Is there something you want to tell me?’

She shook her head.

‘I mean, forgive me for asking, but you are on the Pill, aren’t you?’

She shook her head again.

‘But why ever not?’

‘It would have meant going to the doctor. Our doctor is old, he looked after my father. He would never have dreamed … It’s not easy in France, you see. And anyway, I didn’t know … I hadn’t met Tyler then, you see.’

‘And now?’

‘Well, of course when I tell him …’

There was a silence while he digested this. Then, ‘How late are you?’

‘Twelve days.’

‘Does he know?’

‘Of course not. And you mustn’t say anything. I’ll explain when he comes back. Promise me you won’t say anything.’

‘I doubt if I shall have an opportunity,’ he said, as drily as he could manage. He felt rather than saw the afternoon darken around them, but in reality the darkness only presaged another shower of rain.

‘He should have asked you,’ he said.

‘Oh, no. That would have spoilt everything.’

He understood her, understood her need to meet her lover unthinkingly, without calculation. Calculation would have made her another kind of woman, a practised practical sort of woman, rather than the dazzled girl she had turned out to be. Behind her haughty face swarmed the usual fantasies, in which the desire to be mastered, to be taken over, was paramount. He had thought her superior, whereas in reality she was even less experienced than he was. And even his uncomplicated liaisons, his slender hoard of sexual knowledge, had made him aware of his status as a man, and of his responsibilities. While she, he thought, knew nothing, and was paying the price of knowing nothing, however desirable that ignorance may have been.