it, and I don’t have the right to tell you any more. And then, after the cellar, well, they’re real princesses. Alongside them, me? Well, I might as well not exist.’
‘Not much fun, eh?’ said Louis.
‘One gets used to it. Does that bit go there?’
‘Yes. It fits on to that one. And you’re not offended?’
‘At first, yes, I was. But perhaps you would know, it’s worse than a weakness, it’s a real obsession. When I realised he couldn’t do without it, I decided to settle for living with it. I even tried to understand, but to be honest, I don’t know what he sees in them, they’re all the same really, big lumbering creatures, like cows. But if it keeps him happy. He says I don’t understand the first thing about beauty. Maybe I don’t.’
She shrugged. Louis wanted to get off the subject, this woman made him ill at ease. She seemed to have lost all her warmth through being forced to live beyond the limits of revolt and lassitude. They went on working on the London sky.
‘Getting on,’ he said.
‘Ah, now we’ve got some action.’
‘This piece?’
‘No, it’s Lionel, he’s coming back up. Must be over for tonight.’
Lionel Sevran came into the room, looking pleased with himself and wiping his hands on a towel. Introductions were made; Mathias had been right, this guy looked healthy and just at that moment like a teenager, delighted with some novelty.
His wife stood up, moved the tray aside. Louis had the feeling that she was not so detached now. But there was something in the air nevertheless. She watched as her husband served himself a drink. The presence of Louis in his house did not seem to surprise him, any more than it had his wife an hour earlier.
‘I’ve told you to leave the towels down there,’ she said. ‘I don’t want them in the kitchen.’
‘Sorry, my dear. I’ll try to remember.’
‘Not bringing her up?’
Sevran frowned. ‘Not yet, she isn’t ready. But you’ll like this one, I promise, very cute, nice shape, curves in the right places, sturdy but manageable. I’ve locked her in for the night, that’s safer.’
‘It’s damp down there at the moment,’ his wife said in a low voice.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve given her a nice warm cover.’
He laughed, rubbed his hands, then ran them several times through his hair, like a man waking from sleep, and turned to Louis. Yes, a good head: open, honest-looking face, he looked relaxed as he sat down, one finely shaped hand holding a glass, the opposite of his wife, it seemed hard to believe this business in the cellar. But he did have a rather receding chin and his lips had something a bit thin, determined, economical about them, nothing very sensual at any rate. Yes, he liked the look of the guy, lips excepted, but this cellar business, no, not at all. And the gloomy abandonment of his wife even less.
‘So,’ asked Lional Sevran, ‘you’ve brought me something?’
‘Brought you something? No, it’s about your dog.’
Sevran frowned.
‘Really? You’re not here on business?’
‘Business? No, not at all.’
Both Sevran and his wife looked equally surprised at this. They had obviously thought he was a business contact, a salesman perhaps. That was why he had been so casually allowed in.
‘My
dog
?’ said Sevran again.
‘You do have a dog? Medium-sized, short-hair, light-coloured . . . I saw it coming in here, and I took the liberty of calling on you.’
‘Yes, that’s the one. What’s happened? He hasn’t been up to his tricks again, has he? Lina, has the dog been up to something? Where is he anyway?’
‘In the kitchen, shut in.’
So, she was called Lina. Very dark, matt skin, brown eyes, could be from the south of France.
‘If he’s done something, I’ll pay up,’ Lionel Sevran, went on. ‘I do keep tabs on him, but this dog is a terrible bolter. Take your eyes off him for a second, leave the door open and he’s off. One day I’ll find him under a car.’
‘With
‘Not much fun, eh?’ said Louis.
‘One gets used to it. Does that bit go there?’
‘Yes. It fits on to that one. And you’re not offended?’
‘At first, yes, I was. But perhaps you would know, it’s worse than a weakness, it’s a real obsession. When I realised he couldn’t do without it, I decided to settle for living with it. I even tried to understand, but to be honest, I don’t know what he sees in them, they’re all the same really, big lumbering creatures, like cows. But if it keeps him happy. He says I don’t understand the first thing about beauty. Maybe I don’t.’
She shrugged. Louis wanted to get off the subject, this woman made him ill at ease. She seemed to have lost all her warmth through being forced to live beyond the limits of revolt and lassitude. They went on working on the London sky.
‘Getting on,’ he said.
‘Ah, now we’ve got some action.’
‘This piece?’
‘No, it’s Lionel, he’s coming back up. Must be over for tonight.’
Lionel Sevran came into the room, looking pleased with himself and wiping his hands on a towel. Introductions were made; Mathias had been right, this guy looked healthy and just at that moment like a teenager, delighted with some novelty.
His wife stood up, moved the tray aside. Louis had the feeling that she was not so detached now. But there was something in the air nevertheless. She watched as her husband served himself a drink. The presence of Louis in his house did not seem to surprise him, any more than it had his wife an hour earlier.
‘I’ve told you to leave the towels down there,’ she said. ‘I don’t want them in the kitchen.’
‘Sorry, my dear. I’ll try to remember.’
‘Not bringing her up?’
Sevran frowned. ‘Not yet, she isn’t ready. But you’ll like this one, I promise, very cute, nice shape, curves in the right places, sturdy but manageable. I’ve locked her in for the night, that’s safer.’
‘It’s damp down there at the moment,’ his wife said in a low voice.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve given her a nice warm cover.’
He laughed, rubbed his hands, then ran them several times through his hair, like a man waking from sleep, and turned to Louis. Yes, a good head: open, honest-looking face, he looked relaxed as he sat down, one finely shaped hand holding a glass, the opposite of his wife, it seemed hard to believe this business in the cellar. But he did have a rather receding chin and his lips had something a bit thin, determined, economical about them, nothing very sensual at any rate. Yes, he liked the look of the guy, lips excepted, but this cellar business, no, not at all. And the gloomy abandonment of his wife even less.
‘So,’ asked Lional Sevran, ‘you’ve brought me something?’
‘Brought you something? No, it’s about your dog.’
Sevran frowned.
‘Really? You’re not here on business?’
‘Business? No, not at all.’
Both Sevran and his wife looked equally surprised at this. They had obviously thought he was a business contact, a salesman perhaps. That was why he had been so casually allowed in.
‘My
dog
?’ said Sevran again.
‘You do have a dog? Medium-sized, short-hair, light-coloured . . . I saw it coming in here, and I took the liberty of calling on you.’
‘Yes, that’s the one. What’s happened? He hasn’t been up to his tricks again, has he? Lina, has the dog been up to something? Where is he anyway?’
‘In the kitchen, shut in.’
So, she was called Lina. Very dark, matt skin, brown eyes, could be from the south of France.
‘If he’s done something, I’ll pay up,’ Lionel Sevran, went on. ‘I do keep tabs on him, but this dog is a terrible bolter. Take your eyes off him for a second, leave the door open and he’s off. One day I’ll find him under a car.’
‘With
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