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.‘I promise you,’ she had kept telling him, ‘everything will go according to plan.Trust me.We’ll live the good life.No more money worries.We’ll go away – just the two of us!’Day in day out, week after week, she did not let up until he had agreed.He would play a very small part.She had a brilliant imagination and a formidable talent for acting.A talent so great, she had taken him in too.He knew her farewell letter by heart:Don’t try to come after me.I wouldn’t hurt a fly as you know, but if you talk I’ll swear it was you who dreamt up the whole scheme and forced me to go along with it by threatening my daughter.To the devil with you and your soppy sentimentality, just hold your tongue or else…He knew what it was to be heartbroken.The hardest part had not been her running off with the money, but that she had played with his feelings, that she did not love him, she had never loved him.The poison of humiliation, despair, anger and hatred had taken him over, dulling his mind.One night in a drunken rage he had attacked a police officer.During his detention he had elaborated his plan for revenge.And yet this dish best eaten cold had lost all flavour now.He wandered until he came to a halt, surprised to find himself at the end of his street.The air in his unheated bedroom was chilly and damp.He sat beside the only window, watching the mist swirl among the branches of the chestnut trees.He liked to sit up until dawn giving free rein to his thoughts, one or two of which would linger in his mind.The next stage of his plan would require complete self-control.The die was cast.He decided not to sleep.The wild life Victor was leading did not agree with him.He was tired and his sole wish was to laze in bed.‘On my own or with Tasha?’ He put the question to himself as he crossed the boulevard.What were all those people doing beside the entrance to Passage des Panoramas?A little baker’s boy, his dish of pies balanced on his head, was trying to push his way through to the front of the crowd.‘Has there been an accident?’ enquired Victor.‘A murder,’ whispered the boy.Victor made a beeline for the nearest officer, a police sergeant, and pretended to be a reporter.‘A woman’s been strangled.The maid found her this morning.Some of your colleagues are already there.How do you lot manage to sniff these things out? Like a pack of dogs trailing a meat cart you are!’ said the officer, twirling the ends of his moustache.‘Where did the murder take place?’‘At number 1.Move along now, please.’‘What times we live in!’ cried a stooped old woman.‘When you think that only last week another one was bumped off just round the corner!’A man joined in:‘In any event, burglary clearly wasn’t the motive.It appears the lock was intact which means she knew her killer – she must have if she allowed him in.’‘And you were there, I suppose?’ remarked the police sergeant.‘You ought to read the newspapers.The statistics are all in there.I’m an accountant and I can assure you figures don’t lie.In sixty percent of cases, the killers are known to their victims.’‘That’s true!’ exclaimed the old woman.‘Those hussies attract a type of man that brings nothing but trouble; if I were you…’‘Mariette alerted my mistress; she was white as a sheet,’ interrupted a chambermaid.‘She said a fellow called after midnight, but she never saw his face.La Gerfleur was covered in rose petals, and she had a red shoe stuffed down her front.’His legs feeling like jelly, Victor moved away from the crowd and found the nearest cab rank.He was only half aware of murmuring an address to the cabman.The name Iris kept running through his mind.*Victor had never seen Kenji in such a state; a single well-thought-out sentence had been sufficient to cause him to drop the pile of index cards he had been filling in at his desk.‘Iris is in great danger at Mademoiselle Bontemps’.’‘W-what did you say?’ Kenji stammered, turning the shade of scarlet he went when he had drunk too much sake.‘Her best friend, Élisa Fourchon, has been…’‘Who told you that Iris was in France?’Victor had to think on his feet again.Luckily, Joseph was out delivering some novels to Mathilde de Flavignol and the shop was empty.‘Joseph overheard the address you gave the cabman the day that shoe was brought here.You were upset and he thought you were having a relapse, so he told me about it.I was worried and decided to go to Saint-Mandé.’‘So it was you who brought back my cane…Did you speak to Iris?’ Kenji asked in a stern voice.‘I did indeed meet your goddaughter.She told me she had lent a pair of red shoes to Élisa Fourchon.And I am afraid that this young woman might have met with a fatal accident, particularly since I discovered that her mother, the singer Noémi Gerfleur, has been murdered.’‘How did you know about this?’‘I read it in the newspaper.’Kenji stood up.Victor could not help noticing how white his hair was growing, and the shadows under his eyes.He suppressed a surge of affection.‘We must go at once to fetch your goddaughter.She can stay in my apartment and I’ll stay with Tasha.It’s high time I fended for myself, and there’s no reason why it should affect our partnership.’Kenji paced back and forth, tapping together the two index cards he was still holding, and then stopped in front of Victor.‘You are forcing me to disclose something I would have preferred to keep secret.I suppose in a way it’s a relief.Iris is my daughter.’‘I suspected as much.Does she know this?’‘No…Yes, but I only told her recently.Her mother died when she was four years old; she was a married woman.Iris has no memory of her.I wanted to spare her from a scandal.’‘Why did you keep her hidden from me?’‘The frog that resides in the well knows nothing of the big wide ocean and is better off in ignorance.’‘Spare me the oriental wisdom and give me a simple explanation, will you please, Kenji?’‘You were a withdrawn, nervous and possessive young man at the time.Your mother had put you in my charge and I felt a responsibility towards you; why should I burden you with my worries?’‘But then I grew up.You really are a terribly complicated fellow.Did you not envisage the consequences of your little secret? I was convinced Iris was your mistress.’Kenji moistened his lips.‘A child her age…You’re mad! Have you been spying on me?’‘Of course not! You are simply very bad at hiding things.Remember the saying: truth will out.’‘Please do not inflict your crude sayings on me and promise me you will tell no one about this, not even Tasha.’‘I promise.’Kenji slipped on his frock coat and bowler, picked up his cane and went out of the shop, still holding the two index cards.Victor addressed himself to Molière’s bust in a jaunty voice:‘Indeed, Tasha, the young girl is his mistress and I must make way for her.I have little choice in the matter…’‘A sixteen-year-old girl!’ Tasha exclaimed indignantly.‘Men! Young or old, you’re all obsessed with the same thing: proving your virility!’‘Not all of us [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]