Her Lover (75 page)

The pleasure of her company having, as she had hoped, been requested, she thought it was ever so nice, as she chatted away and was heard with respectful attention, to be sharing the deckyrators' dinner with them: sausage and tinned tuna. Say what you liked, she was very fond of this sort of thing, company, conversation, a sort of picnic really, it reminded her of her young days. To be polite but also to show willing, she cheered the meal up with a leg of mutton, a
ratatouille niqoise
and a strawberry flan, all of which she'd prepared the night before with precisely this in mind. From under her apron, where she had hidden it, she even produced a bottle of the Chateauneuf-du-Pape which was Adrien Deume's pride and joy.

When they'd had coffee, Mariette and her two volunteers applied polish to the floor and then three buffing-pacts sprang into action. Excited by the in-out in-out of their implements and with the sense of communal endeavour rather going to her head, she began humming a song from her youth, whereupon the chorus was taken up, all together and in time to the rhythm of the pads, by all three, their feelings quite running away with them:

Star of love and love's sweet light, Star of joy and sweet caresses, See how lovers and their lasses Spoon by day and swoon by night.

But the singing stopped abruptly when the door opened and Ariane appeared. On her face was stamped all the propriety of the ruling class, while the proletariat stood before her, motionless and shamefaced. At this time of day she, who as Solal's horizontal naked slave was ready in the shadow-filled night to do anything in the service of love without protest, reverted to the vertical, social persona of a dignified Auble, cool in manner and imposing.

When the furniture had been put back in place, gratuities had been distributed and the decorators - accompanied by Mariette who had insisted on sending them on their way — had gone, Ariane gazed gloatingly round her little sitting-room. The furniture was set off magnificently by the white of the woodwork. The long swing-mirror, which the decorators had brought down from upstairs, looked extremely well here, and it was in exactly the right spot, opposite the sofa. Both she and he would feel closer now, because they'd be able to watch each other in the mirror. And the Shiraz was wonderful. He'd love the subtle harmonies and delicate shades, the washed-out greens and pinks.

She took a long, deep breath of sheer pleasure, while at the same instant a seventy-year-old manual labourer named Louis Bovard, who did not own a piano or even a small Persian carpet, too old to find gainful employment and all alone in the world, threw himself into the lake in Geneva without pausing to admire the subtle harmonies of its delicate shades. For the poor have no taste, no eye for beauty or anything which elevates the soul, and in this respect are quite, quite different from Queen Marie of Romania, who, in her memoirs, blesses the gift which God apparently granted her 'of feeling the beauty in things so deeply and of rejoicing in their beauty'. How very thoughtful of God.

Meanwhile Mariette was wiping her nose in the kitchen. Well, that was goodbye to the good times with them two young chaps, no more little chats and jokes. But her disappointments, though acute, were generally short-lived, so she splashed her face with water, rearranged her kiss-curl - rearranging her kiss-curl always cheered her up - and then scooted off to rejoin Madame Ariane.

She found her trying on the silk dressing-gown in the swing-mirror, putting it through its paces with her usual drill: to wit, walking towards the mirror, stepping backwards, then forward again with a smile, then tightenings and slackenings of the cord, poses various with leg out and leg in, turns partial and complete, assorted seated poses, each accompanied by suitable crossings of the legs, the fullness spread wide then drawn in again, and divers other dumb-shows of the same sort. Concluding that the dressing-gown was rather stylish, she gave Mariette a friendly smile and, thoroughly gratified, drew another deep breath through her nostrils, while Louis Bovard's filled with lake water.

'It's ever so smart on you. Makes you look like a statue, it's them folds that does it,' said the old servant meditatively, with her hands together.

'A teeny bit long. It'll need to be taken up two centimetres,' said Ariane.

After one last tightening of the cord round her middle and one last grateful look at the dressing-gown, she took it off, stood there in her nakedness, and then got into her dress, which she slipped over her head. Will you just look at her! Mariette said to herself, no vest, no petticoat, just her panties she calls them, and only a dress to her back, it's asking for trouble, sure as eggs, it's bronchitis for her come the first cold snap, still she's strong as a ox, which is just as well.

'If you wanted, and the two of us set to, we could take it up straight away, Madame Ariane. You could start one end and me the other, but we got to tack it first to make sure we're doing it right, I'll go and fetch what we need.'

She returned bearing needles, thread and a measuring-tape, and they sat down side by side on the sofa and made a start, chattering animatedly. At intervals they stopped talking and sucked their cotton, screwed up their eyes, and threaded their needles before settling back to the time-honoured task discharged by centuries of rapt and docile slave-wives: pursed- and sober-lipped did they ply their needles in a silence broken only by the gurgle of saliva swallowed by the twin seamstresses as they concentrated on their stitches.

Working quickly, her spectacles glinting with concentration, Mariette felt that they were two friends working happily together with one mind and a single cause, that they were allies and confederates. And, besides, there was just the two of them, nice and chummy, without any Deumes to bother them, specially not Antoinette, God Almighty in skirts, with her smile of what was supposed to be kindness but was in actual fact pure poison, always coming it over you, a nobody reely, goodness knows where she'd been dragged up, and as to this hem that had to be taken up right away, that was a job she liked on account of it being a dressing-gown for courting in, and very pretty in it she'd look too when her gentleman friend came calling, but he'd better realize how lucky he was, this chap of hers. She wanted to hold the hand of the beautiful creature who sat sewing at her side and say how happy for her she was about tomorrow night. But she didn't dare.

Instead, snapping her thread with her teeth, she made do with quietly humming: 'Star of love and love's sweet light, Star of joy and sweet caresses.'

Mariette was over the moon, and what a shoal of pleasures there followed in this conspiratorial hour! When the hem was tacked up, quick, see how the edge looked on Madame, oh the dressing-gown suited her to a T, it clung to her behind, but sh! mum's the word on that score. When the edging had passed muster, quick, rush off to the kitchen to fetch finer needles, quick, kill two birds with one stone, brew up some coffee they could drink together later, quick, fill the thermos, she loved filling the thermos because it reminded her of outings, then quick, hurry back and get on finishing the hemming-up, this was what life ought to be like, a bit of excitement, not like the humdrum way the Deumes plodded along, dull as ditchwater were the Deumes, forever thinking about ordinary things, always tapping the blessed barometer, whereas with Madame Ariane it was all romance and wild flings, the sort of thing young people needed if they wanted to stay healthy, still it was a poor lookout for Didi all the same, but it couldn't be helped, love's not ours to command, love's a wayward bird that grows up wild, as the saying goes.

That was a reely lovely idea of yours, Madame Ariane, having the place deckyrated, and the big Sheerage smartens it up no end, a real little snuggery, just right for entertaining and conversations and such, all that's left to do is the windows and I'll make them shine a treat, you'll see, I've already taken the net curtains down and got the newspaper and vinegar ready, you can't beat newspaper and vinegar for windows, makes them shine like the crown jewels, and the curtains will come up lovely too, I'll use soapflakes for them, net dries
in no time, just leave it to me, everything^ be perfick, I'll give the door a wash too, I mean the front door, it's the first thing he'll see when he rings, but I won't use soap 'cos soap brings off the paint, just warm water, but the dusting I'll leave till tomorrow, it's hardly worth doing today, it only comes back, dust's a thorn in the neck, I'll give the place a dust just before I leave tomorrow, which will be near enough to seven o'clock, and I'll give the parky a last going over too so everything's implacable when he comes to call, he'll find everything spickly-span, just you leave it to me, I'll take care of everything, he'll love it, you'll see if he don't,' the old woman concluded excitedly, for she had entered into the spirit of their romance.

'I'll
leave you to finish the hem, Mariette, I've an appointment with Volkmaar. He's been very understanding and agreed to an extra fitting.'

'You go, Madame Ariane. Cheerio — and don't drive too fast.'

When the hem was finished, Mariette reached into her petticoats and produced Madame Ariane's surprise, which she set down on the piano-top, an artistic creation of her own design which she had made out of a leftover blob of china clay in the far-off days when she worked in a pottery. She stepped back to admire the stubby vase in the shape of a ruined tower featuring a lamb with a pig's face and a fat lady who for some reason was kneeling outside the doorway to the tower. Oh, Madame Ariane would be reely pleased, seeing as how it was all hartistic like. Also hand-made.

Leaving her medieval tower to its own devices, she closed the door, picked up the silk dressing-gown, put it on, announced to a man she did not know that she loved her husband and nobody else, and that was the top and bottom of it. She unleashed a look of utter disdain, and in a muted voice sang that once there was a star of love, a star of joy. But, catching sight of herself in the mirror, she saw that she was old and the strange man suddenly vanished. And so, taking off the dressing-gown, she found comfort, as old women do, in admiring herself on a restricted-area basis, by focusing on features which had retained their charm. Looking no further than hands, she had hands that would compete in any company. He used to say she had little hands, like a doll's. And her nose had stayed bonny, not a wrinkle in sight. She licked her finger, stuck her kiss-curl down, and examined it fondly. Hey-up, this was no good, gotter make a start on them windows. She began swabbing with all the ferocity of the dedicated.

'Oh yes, they're always very understanding when it's your money they're after, but you can't make her see it, she spends money like water, she won't have it that her precious Forkman butters her up something chronic, oh no, she don't care what she spends as long as her Mr Magic thinks she's beautiful, so there's pots and pots of cash for Forkman, what would poor Mademoiselle Valérie think if she could see her money going down the drain? quick: gotter buy one of them clinging dressing-gowns that he can take off her the minute he comes, quick: gotter have a Algerian rug, quick: gotter have the deckyrators in, no thought for nobody except him, even puts fags out ready on the table, and all that sun-bathing so she can go coffee-coloured all over, that's all your modern misses are interested in, it clings all right, specially around her behind, but whisht! I didn't tell her that nor will I, might make her feel ashamed, quite likely she won't wear it tomorrow night, but you got to with men, it points them in the right direction, anybody'll tell you that, men love behinds, it's the way they are, anyway there's not many got a behind like her, love-cushions I call them, it was grand just now when we was sat sewing side by side because I'll tell you straight I don't like routine, I like surprises, a bit of fun, I don't know if you follow me, what I mean is anything to get me out of a rut, he's coming at nine tomorrow night, he said so in the terrygram, oh yes, I read it all, she's hopeless at hiding papers, so come ten to nine I'll be hiding across the street waiting to get a proper look at him, sh! mum's the word, there'll be right goings-on tomorrow night, so get your glad rags on, and to think she's Mademoiselle's niece, not that I blame her mark you, it's only yuman nature, anyway it was bound to happen, stands to reason what with that wet dishcloth husband of hers, and her a healthy girl, pretty as a poppy blowing in the summer breeze, got a good shape on her, lady-bumps like marble knobs, poor Didi, but there it is, from the minute he was born he was destined to marry a wife who carries on, poor man, and then that skimpy beard of his and him always fussing over her and giving her presents and saying Arianny this and Arianny that and looking at her with eyes like a spaniel, always please and thank you and sorry and I hope you're not too tired, he might as well say go ahead, make a monkey out of me, be unfaithful and quick about it, poor devil, instead of asking her all the time if she's tired he should have tired her out a bit more hisself, she wouldn't have gone looking elsewhere then, but I will say her fancy man is good-looking, oh yes, no two ways about that, I could gobble him up meself, I seen a picture of him sitting on a horse that she leaves trailing everywhere even the bathroom, dark and handsome, gives you goose-pimples, I'm not keen on fair hair meself, it's a bit sickly, and you can bet your boots he don't waste time saying please and thank you and asking if she's tired, it's obvious he's the one that makes her tired with his toings and froings, and that's the size of it, she don't take after her auntie, I'd swear Mademoiselle Valérie never got up to tricks and mind you she must have been a pretty little thing when she was young, but keeping your mind on religion all the time calms you down, now getting back to Didi, it breaks my heart to think what'll happen when he finds out, 'cos he's bound to one of these days, but there you are, I got a soft spot for her, known her since she was a baby, I even used to call her Ariane without any Mademoiselle in front of it, even said Riri sometimes, but you see I had to leave Mademoiselle Valérie when she was twelve on account of my sister being so bad she couldn't manage, had her yewteris upside down and ho varies all over the shop, and when I came back, 'cos I missed her so much, she was already going on sixteen, a young lady, and her aunt told me I had to say Mademoiselle Ariane, and with her being so strong-willed I didn't have no choice, and then I got used to it, and nowadays it's Madame, but sometimes when I'm tucked up in bed I still call her Riri, how's it all going to end I ask, even a watched pot will boil over in the end, did you see the pretty vase I gave her .as a surprise for her night of passion? I made it meself, done it in the kiln, when I was at the pottery I was on the hartistic side, always one for having heaps and heaps of ideas, it's a gift, you either got it or you haven't got it.'