Maigret's Holiday (7 page)

He hadn't been insincere when
he'd said that he had been taking an interest in Maigret from the start.

‘You have also become acquainted with
the atmosphere of our hospital and with our nuns.'

The ghost of a smile. He
was picturing a clumsy Maigret among the nuns with their muffled tread.

There was a tricky obstacle to overcome. He
still had to explain this spontaneous invitation, his anxiety to dispel any prejudices
that this detective chief inspector might have been harbouring against him.

Did he suspect the note from Sister Marie
des Anges?

‘You have probably spent time in a
little town like ours before. Mind you, I love the place and won't speak ill of
it. If I am here, it is because I wanted to be …'

He gazed around affectionately at the
surroundings he had created for himself. When his gaze rested on the venetian blinds
letting in streaks of light, Maigret guessed that he was thinking of the sea with its
sails and its seagulls, which he could see from his study in the morning, while he
savoured the quality of the air and the subtlest fragrances from the moment he opened
his eyes.

‘I love the peace and quiet … I
love my house …'

As he also loved his books with their
beautiful bindings, the curios dotted around the room that awaited the caress of his
fingers.

‘I could quite easily have become
antisocial, and perhaps that is why I force myself to play bridge every day. It sounds
straightforward and natural, doesn't it? Each person's life sounds
straightforward until an event occurs and then people scrutinize us, no longer as
ourselves, but in relation to that event. I think that is why I invited you to come. I
didn't think twice about it at the time. I saw you looking at me several times.
May I ask you a personal question? What was your training?'

It was Maigret's turn
to appear more docile than the most docile of his ‘customers'.

‘I dreamed of being a doctor and I did
my first three years of medicine. My father's death put an end to my studies and I
joined the police by chance.'

He was not afraid that Bellamy would be
shocked by the word in this refined, bourgeois atmosphere.

‘I was going to say to you,'
replied Bellamy, ‘that your eyes always seem to be searching for a diagnosis. For
the last two days, a lot of people have been staring at me with curiosity, some with
involuntary alarm. Oh yes! I can feel it. I don't think I am liked, because I am
not bothered about endearing myself to people. Did you know that that is generally what
people are the least willing to forgive their fellow human beings? That is probably why
so few men have the courage to live their lives without worrying what people think of
them.

‘I wasn't worried, two days ago.
And I'm still not worried now. But I did feel the need to explain myself to you
…'

As if he were afraid of having betrayed a
certain vulnerability or a weakness, he added hastily, with a faint smile that Maigret
was beginning to recognize:

‘Perhaps I was simply trying to avoid
complications? I realized that you were intrigued, that you wanted to know, that you
would try to find out at all costs. Some men put off irksome things until later and
others deal with them straight away. I am one of the latter.'

‘And I am a very irksome
“thing”, aren't I?'

‘Not terribly. You don't know
me. You don't know the
town. Anything that people tell you is
likely to be twisted and you don't like that, admit it, you are only happy when
you
feel
the truth in your bones.'

He seized the portrait of his sister-in-law
and looked at it.

‘I was very fond of that girl, but I
repeat that my feelings for her were purely fraternal. I am aware that things are often
otherwise. A man can easily be in love with two sisters, especially if they are both
living under his roof. That is not the case and, besides, Lili was not in love with me.
I'll go further. I was exactly the opposite of what she loved. She found me cold
and cynical. She often said that I had no heart.

‘All this of course is no proof that
the accident was indeed an accident, but …'

Maigret listened to him while continuing to
think about the girl on the stairs. There was no doubt that Doctor Bellamy had been
shocked by her presence in the house. Initially, he had been taken aback. He had looked
at her as if she were a stranger and was visibly wondering what she was doing in his
home.

Afterwards, when all of her had appeared on
the landing, he had known who she was, Maigret had read it in his eyes.

He probably knew at that moment whom she had
come to see.

The household was no doubt unaccustomed to
seeing new faces. Hadn't Chief Inspector Mansuy spoken of the jealousy of the
doctor who, when he went out, even simply to play bridge, left his wife under the
supervision of his mother?

But someone had come. And
immediately Bellamy had telephoned the elderly lady. If the girl had been visiting her,
presumably she would have told him straight away, although her son would have avoided
asking her about it in front of Maigret.

As far as Maigret could tell, she
hadn't mentioned the matter. And then Bellamy had left the room and headed towards
the door on the landing.

What had the doctor just said?

‘All this of course is no proof that the accident was indeed an accident,
but
…'

And Maigret replied, almost without
thinking:

‘I'm sure you never had any
intention of killing your sister-in-law …'

If the nuance did not escape the doctor, he
refrained from commenting on it.

‘Others are, and will be, less
positive than you. For my part, I wanted to open the door of this house to you. It will
remain open to you. I hope that you'll see that there are no secrets here. Would
you like to have a look around my sister-in-law's apartment? You'll be able
to meet my mother, who must be up there right now.'

He drained his glass and gave the visitor
time to finish his. Then he opened a door and they walked through a second, more
private, library where there was a green divan. Another door and, still facing the sea,
they entered a very soberly decorated room, verging on the austere, where most of the
space was taken up by a grand piano. On the walls were photographs of composers. Few
armchairs, almost no fabrics, a plain carpet.

‘This was her
realm,' said the doctor, walking towards a half-open door.

He added, speaking to someone who was
invisible:

‘Mother, I'd like to introduce
the famous Chief Inspector Maigret to you.'

A sort of groan came from the adjacent room;
a tiny, very fat woman dressed in black from head to toe appeared, leaning on a walking
stick with an ivory knob. Her expression was wary, not particularly affable. She looked
the intruder up and down and merely said:

‘Monsieur …'

‘I apologize for disturbing you today,
madame, but your son insisted that I accompany him home.'

She glowered at the doctor, who explained
with his faint smile:

‘Monsieur Maigret is on holiday at Les
Sables d'Olonne. He is someone I have always wanted to meet and, since he'll
be leaving us sooner or later, I was afraid of missing him. We were talking about Lili
and I was keen to show him what we call her sanctuary.'

‘It's very untidy,' she
grumbled.

All the same, she allowed them in and
Maigret found himself in a bedroom that was almost as bare, almost as unfeminine as the
music room, despite the clothes that had been taken out of a wardrobe and were heaped on
the bed. Among other things, there was a black velvet toque with no trimmings, without a
splash of colour, that must have been part of a sort of uniform for the girl.

There was not a single photograph on the
walls, or on the furniture, nothing that suggested family life.

‘These are the
surroundings she loved. She had no friends, male or female. Once a week she would spend
a day in Nantes where she would have a lesson with her teacher. When there was an
interesting concert in the region, I would drive her to it. Let us go down this way
…'

Maigret bowed to the elderly lady and
followed his host down a spiral staircase. They were back on the ground floor, in a sort
of glass conservatory that opened on to a very well-maintained garden where a few
magnificent trees provided shade. To the right, a vast, airy kitchen could be
glimpsed.

‘Do you sometimes regret having gone
into the police?'

‘No.'

‘I thought not. I wondered several
times when I was looking at you.'

They walked through the drawing rooms and
Doctor Bellamy opened the front door.

‘I have noticed, in any case, that you
haven't asked me a single question.'

‘What would be the point?'

And Maigret re-lit his pipe, which he had
put out with his thumb on entering the girl's apartment.

As he took leave of his guest, Bellamy was a
little ill at ease. Had this visit disappointed him? Did Maigret's silence now
make him somewhat anxious?

Not once had the doctor mentioned his wife
and there had been no question of introducing her to Maigret.

‘I hope, monsieur, that I shall have
the pleasure of seeing you again.'

‘So do I,' muttered Maigret as
he walked off.

Maigret was almost pleased
with himself. He puffed on his pipe as he made his way towards the town centre. Then he
looked at the time and retraced his steps, picking up his walk where he should have been
at that hour, passing familiar landmarks: the port, the billowing sails, the smell of
tarmac and heating oil, the boats gliding down the channel and mooring in front of the
fish market.

Only he turned around to look at every girl
he passed and stared into every open doorway, in the hope of catching sight of the girl
from the staircase.

She had not been wearing the local costume
of short, black-silk skirts like most of the fishermen's daughters or the women
who worked in the sardine canneries. And yet she was of a very humble background. Her
dress had been faded, her black woollen stockings darned and her little coloured-bead
bag came from a bazaar or local fair.

Behind the port there was a warren of narrow
streets which Maigret explored every day. The houses were only one storey high,
sometimes there was just a ground floor. Generally, and this was something he had only
seen in Les Sables d'Olonne, the cellar served as the kitchen, with stone steps
leading up to the street.

It was highly likely that the girl lived in
this neighbourhood.

He went into his fishermen's café
and drank a glass of white wine. Once the door had closed, Doctor Bellamy must have
raced upstairs to join his wife or his mother. Which of the two had he questioned about
the girl's visit?

Maigret walked, as he did every day, but
without
realizing it he took a detour and found himself outside the
police station. It wasn't far from the railway station. A train must just have
arrived, because there were people walking past carrying suitcases.

A couple caught his attention, or rather he
stood there in amazement on seeing a woman who so closely resembled the two portraits in
the doctor's study that it was uncanny.

This woman was no longer young. She must
have been getting on for fifty and yet she had the same hair of an ethereal blonde, the
same violet eyes. She was only slightly plumper, while still preserving an extraordinary
lightness.

The woman wore a white suit and a white hat,
which made her stand out among the shabby crowd in the street. Leaving a trail of
perfume in her wake, she walked quite fast, dragging along a man around fifteen years
her senior who did not look at ease.

In her hand, she held a very expensive
crocodile-skin attaché-case, while her companion struggled with two suitcases.

She could be no other than Madame Godreau,
the mother of Odette Bellamy and of Lili.

They must have sent a telegram to Paris, and
she had hastened here for the funeral.

Maigret gazed after the pair. There were
several hotels nearby, but they did not go into any of them. Were they going to ring the
bell of the house that Maigret had just left?

He entered the police station and slowly
climbed the dusty staircase. He had only been here once and he already felt at home.
Without knocking, he pushed open the door
of the inspectors'
office, which was almost deserted, as it had been the previous day. It was past six
o'clock. Chief Inspector Mansuy was busy signing letters.

‘Madame Godreau has arrived,'
announced Maigret, perching on the corner of the desk.

‘Ah! … For the funeral, of
course … But how do you know?'

‘I just saw her leaving the
station.'

‘Do you know her?'

‘You only need to have seen a picture
of her daughter to recognize her.'

‘I've never met her. Apparently,
she's still beautiful …'

‘Very … and she knows it
…'

A few more flourishes.

‘Have you had an interesting
afternoon?'

‘Doctor Bellamy talked a great deal
and did me the honour of showing me around his home. Tell me, do you by any chance know
a girl of around fourteen or fifteen, tall and skinny, with reddish hair who wears a
pink cotton dress and black woollen stockings?'

The inspector looked at him in surprise.

‘Is that all you know about
her?'

‘She has a little handbag made of
coloured beads.'

‘And you don't know where she
lives?'

‘No.'

‘You don't know her
name?'