Maigret's Mistake

by Georges Simenon

  ‘Before coming down, I phoned the Saint-Joseph Clinic, where he’s operating right now, and I know he won’t get home until half past seven.’

  It was 6.15 now.

  ‘What was I saying? Oh, yes. We had lunch together, and he wanted to know what my father did. This is where it gets harder. Especially as I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea. It reassured him to know that I came from a similar family to his. What nobody knows is that he’s terribly shy, I was going to say unhealthily shy, but only with people who belong to a different social class. I assume that’s why he was still unmarried at the age of forty and why he’d never moved in what’s called society. All the girls he had were common.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘I wonder if, with someone else, he could have …’

  She blushed as she said these words, thus giving them a specific meaning.

  ‘He got used to me, even though he never stopped behaving with the others the way he always had. Then, one fine day, he asked me, almost absent-mindedly, if I wanted to marry him. That’s our whole story. I came to live here. I’ve kept house for him.’

  ‘Did the housekeeper leave?’

  ‘A week after we were married. Needless to say, I’m not jealous. That would be ridiculous on my part.’

  Maigret couldn’t remember ever looking at anyone so intensely as he was looking at this woman. She sensed it and wasn’t intimidated; on the contrary, she appeared to understand the interest he had in her.

  She was trying to say everything, to leave no character trait of her great man in the shadows.

  ‘He continued sleeping with the nurses, with his successive assistants, in fact with any girl he came across who wasn’t likely to complicate his life. Perhaps that’s the main point. He would never accept an affair that would make him waste time he considers he owes to his work.’

  ‘What about Lulu?’

  ‘You already know she was called Lulu? I’m getting there. It’s as simple as the rest, you’ll see. Do you mind if I get a glass of water?’

  Lucas tried to stand up, but she had already got to the kitchen, where they heard the tap running. When she sat down again, her lips were moist, and there was a drop of liquid on her chin.

  She wasn’t pretty in the usual sense of the word, nor was she beautiful, in spite of her regular features. But she was pleasant to look at. There was a kind of calming influence in her. Maigret would have liked to be treated by her if he was sick. And she was also the kind of woman you could have lunch or dinner with somewhere without worrying about keeping up the conversation. A friend, in other words, someone who understood everything, who was never surprised or shocked or offended by anything.

  ‘I suppose you know how old he is?’

  ‘Sixty-two.’

  ‘Yes. Mind you, he’s lost none of his vigour. And I use the word in all its senses. All the same, I think all men, at a certain age, are terrified at the thought of seeing their virility diminish.’

  Realizing as she spoke that Maigret was over fifty, she stammered:

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry …’

  ‘It’s all right.’

  It was the first time they had smiled at each other.

  ‘I suppose it’s the same with other men. I have no idea. The fact is, Étienne has been even more determined than ever in his sexual activities. Haven’t I shocked you yet?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘About two years ago, he had a young patient, Louise Filon, whose life he miraculously saved. I assume you already know all about her previous life? She comes from as far down the social ladder as it’s possible to come, and that’s probably what interested my husband.’

  Maigret nodded, because everything she said sounded true, with all the simplicity of a police report.

  ‘It must have started at the hospital, when she was convalescing. Then he set her up in an apartment in Rue La Fayette, after mentioning it to me casually. He didn’t go into details. He’s always been reticent about such things. All at once, in the course of a meal, he told me what he’d done, or what he was intending to do. I didn’t ask him any questions. And then we didn’t speak about it any more.’

  ‘Was it you who suggested she come and live in this building?’

  It seemed to please her that Maigret had guessed.

  ‘For you to understand, I need to go into more detail. I’m sorry to be taking so long. But it all hangs together. Étienne used to drive his car himself. A few years ago, four years to be precise, he had a small accident on Place de la Concorde. He knocked down a woman who was passing. Luckily, she escaped with bruises. All the same, he was upset. For a few months, we had a chauffeur, but he never got used to it. It shocked him that a man in the prime of life should have nothing better to do than wait for him for hours at the kerb. I offered to drive him, but that wasn’t practical either, so he got into the habit of using taxis. The car stayed in the garage for several months, and we ended up selling it. In the morning, it’s always the same taxi driver who comes to pick him up and drives him around for part of the day. It’s quite a long way from here to Faubourg Saint-Jacques. He has patients at Neuilly, too, and often in other hospitals around the city. Going to Rue La Fayette on top of all that …’

  Maigret was still nodding, while Lucas seemed to be dozing off.

  ‘As luck would have it, an apartment became free in this building.’

  ‘One moment. Did your husband often spend the night in Rue La Fayette?’

  ‘Only part of the night. He always tried to be here in the morning for when his assistant, who’s also his secretary, gets here.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘In a way, it was all because of these domestic complications. I asked him if there was any reason he shouldn’t set up the girl here.’

  ‘You knew who she was?’

  ‘I knew everything about her, including the fact that she had a boyfriend named Pierrot.’

  ‘Did he also know that?’

  ‘Yes. He wasn’t jealous. He probably wouldn’t have liked to find him with Lulu, but, as long as it happened when he wasn’t there …’

  ‘Carry on. He agreed to the idea. What about her?’

  ‘Apparently, she resisted for a while.’

  ‘What, in your opinion, were Louise Filon’s feelings for the professor?’

  Maigret was starting automatically to talk in the same tone as Madame Gouin about this man he had never seen and who seemed almost present in the room.

  ‘Would you like me to be frank?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘First of all, like all the women who come near him, she fell under his spell. You’re going to think it’s a strange kind of pride on my part, but even though he isn’t what people call handsome and he’s far from young, I know few women who have resisted him. Women instinctively feel his strength and …’

  This time, she couldn’t find the words she was looking for.

  ‘Anyway, it’s a fact, and I don’t think the women you question will contradict me. This girl was just like the others. What’s more, he saved her life and treated her in a way she wasn’t used to being treated.’

  All clear and logical so far.

  ‘To be perfectly honest, I’m convinced the question of money played its part. If not money exactly, at least the prospect of a certain security, a life devoid of worries.’

  ‘Did she ever talk about leaving him for her boyfriend?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘Did you ever see the man?’

  ‘I passed him once at the front entrance.’

  ‘Did he come here often?’

  ‘Generally not. She’d meet him in the afternoon somewhere or other. On rare occasions, he came to see her.’

  ‘Did your husband know that?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘Would he have been displeased?’

  ‘Perhaps, though not out of jealousy. It’s hard to explain.’

  ‘Was your husband very fond of the girl?’

  ‘She owed
him everything. He was almost her creator, since without him, she would have died. Maybe he was thinking of the day when he wouldn’t have any others? Plus, with her, although this is only a supposition, he felt no shame.’

  ‘And with you?’

  She stared at the carpet for a moment. ‘I’m a woman, after all.’

  He almost retorted: ‘While she was nothing!’

  Because that was clearly what she thought. Perhaps it was what the professor thought, too?

  He preferred not to say it. All three were silent for a moment. Outside, the rain was still falling noiselessly. Lights had come on in the building opposite, and a shadow was moving behind the cream-coloured curtains of an apartment.

  ‘Tell me about last night,’ Maigret said at last. He indicated his pipe, which he had just filled. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  So far, he had been so interested in Madame Gouin that he had not thought about smoking.

  ‘What would you like me to tell you?’

  ‘First, a detail. Was your husband in the habit of sleeping in her apartment?’

  ‘It was extremely rare. Upstairs, we occupy the whole floor. On the left is what we call the apartment. On the right, my husband has his bedroom and bathroom, a library, another room where even the floor is piled high with scientific pamphlets, and finally his office and his secretary’s office.’

  ‘So you sleep separately?’

  ‘We always have. Our rooms are only separated by a boudoir.’

  ‘May I ask you an indiscreet question?’

  ‘You’re perfectly entitled.’

  ‘Do you still have marital relations with your husband?’

  She looked once again at poor Lucas, who was feeling superfluous and didn’t know what to do with himself.

  ‘Not often.’

  ‘In other words, almost never?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘How long has that been the case?’

  ‘Some years.’

  ‘Do you miss it?’

  Unembarrassed, she smiled and nodded.

  ‘You’re asking me to tell all, and I’m ready to answer you as frankly as possible. Let’s say I miss it a little.’

  ‘Do you ever let on to him about that?’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘Do you have a lover?’

  ‘The idea’s never even crossed my mind.’ She paused, and looked straight at him. ‘Do you believe me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m grateful. People don’t always accept the truth. When you’re the companion of a man like Gouin, you’re prepared to make certain sacrifices.’

  ‘So he would go downstairs to see her and come back up again?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is that what he did last night?’

  ‘No. It didn’t happen every day. Sometimes, almost a week would go by with him just dropping in on her for a few minutes. It depended on his work. I suppose it also depended on the opportunities he found elsewhere.’

  ‘You mean he continued having relations with other women?’

  ‘The kind of relations I described to you.’

  ‘And yesterday?’

  ‘He saw her for a few minutes after dinner. I know that because he didn’t take the lift when he left, which is a sign.’

  ‘How can you be sure he only stayed a few minutes?’

  ‘Because I heard him come out of this apartment and summon the lift.’

  ‘Were you listening out for him?’

  ‘You’re terrible, Monsieur Maigret. I was listening out for him, yes, as I always did, not out of jealousy, but … How can I explain without appearing pretentious? Because I considered it my duty in a way to protect him, to know everything he did, where he was, to follow him in my thoughts.’

  ‘What time was it?’

  ‘About eight. We’d eaten quickly, because he was supposed to spend the evening at Cochin. He was worried about the consequences of an operation he had performed in the afternoon and wanted to stay within easy reach of the patient.’

  ‘So he spent a few minutes in her apartment, then took the lift?’

  ‘Yes. His assistant, Mademoiselle Decaux, was waiting for him downstairs, as she usually does when he goes back in the evening to the hospital. She lives not far from here, in Rue des Acacias, and they always travel together.’

  ‘Does she also …?’ he asked, giving an obvious meaning to these words.

  ‘Yes, on occasion. Does that strike you as monstrous?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where was I? My sister arrived at about half past eight.’

  ‘Does she live in Paris?’

  ‘On Boulevard Saint-Michel, opposite the École des Mines. Antoinette is five years older than me and has never married. She works in a municipal library and is the very model of a spinster.’

  ‘Does she know about your husband’s life?’

  ‘She doesn’t know everything. But from what she’s discovered, she thoroughly hates and despises him.’

  ‘So they don’t get on?’

  ‘She never even talks to him. My sister is still a devout Catholic, and for her Gouin is the devil incarnate.’

  ‘And how does he treat her?’

  ‘He ignores her. She doesn’t come here very often, and only when I’m alone in the apartment.’

  ‘So she avoids him?’

  ‘As much as possible.’

  ‘And yet yesterday …’

  ‘I see the concierge told you everything. It’s true they met last night. I didn’t expect my husband back before midnight at the earliest. My sister and I were chatting.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘This and that.’

  ‘Did you talk about Lulu?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Aren’t you sure?’

  ‘Actually, I am. I don’t know why I gave that evasive answer. As a matter of fact, we talked about our parents.’

  ‘Are they dead?’

  ‘My mother’s dead, but my father’s still alive, in Finistère. We have other sisters there. There were eight of us, six girls and two boys.’

  ‘Do any of them live in Paris?’

  ‘Only Antoinette and I. At half past eleven, perhaps a little earlier, we were surprised to hear the door open and see Étienne come in. He simply nodded. Antoinette said goodbye and left almost immediately.’

  ‘Did your husband go downstairs?’

  ‘No. He was tired and worried about his patient, whose condition wasn’t as satisfactory as he would have liked.’

  ‘I assume he has a key to this apartment?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘During the evening, did anything unusual happen? Did your sister and you hear any noise?’

  ‘In these old stone buildings, you can’t hear anything from one apartment to another, let alone one floor to another.’

  She looked at the time on her wristwatch and grew nervous.

  ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to go back upstairs. Étienne may be back any minute now. Do you have any other questions to ask me?’

  ‘I can’t think of any for the moment.’

  ‘Do you think it’ll be possible for you to avoid questioning him?’

  ‘I can’t promise anything, but I’ll only bother your husband if I consider it indispensable.’

  ‘What do you think now?’

  ‘Now, I don’t consider it indispensable.’

  She stood up and held out her hand, as a man would have done, without taking her eyes off him. ‘I’m very grateful, Monsieur Maigret.’

  As she was turning, her gaze fell on the cardboard box and the photographs, but Maigret couldn’t see the expression on her face.

  ‘I’m at home all day. You can come and see me when my husband isn’t in. But in saying that, I’m sure you’ll understand it isn’t a demand, but a request.’

  ‘It never occurred to me to think otherwise.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She
went out, closing the two doors behind her, while little Lucas looked at Maigret with the air of a man who has just received a blow on the head. He was so afraid of saying something stupid that he kept silent, observing Maigret’s face in the hope of reading on it what he must be thinking.

  4.

  Oddly, in the car taking him back to the Police Judiciaire, it wasn’t Professor Gouin, or his wife, that Maigret was thinking about, but, almost unwittingly, Louise Filon: before leaving, he had slipped her fairground photographs into his wallet.

  Even in those photographs, taken as they were on evenings when she should have been in a lively mood, there was no gaiety in her face. Maigret had known lots of women like her, born in identical surroundings, who had had a more or less identical childhood and life. Some had a vulgar, boisterous gaiety about them that could give way without transition to tears or rebellion. Others, like Désirée Brault, became hard and cynical, especially with age.

  It was hard to define the expression he found in Lulu’s photographs, an expression she must have had in life. It wasn’t sadness, but rather the sullen expression of a little girl who keeps to herself in the school playground and watches her schoolmates play.

  He would have been hard put to explain in what way she had been attractive, but he sensed it and he had often, in spite of himself, questioned such girls more gently than others.

  They were young and retained a certain freshness; in some respects, they seemed barely more than children, and yet they had been through a lot and there were too many disgusting images in their no longer sparkling eyes, while their bodies had the unhealthy charm of something that will wither, that is half withered already.

  He imagined her in the hotel room in Rue Briquet, or in any room in the Barbès district, spending days on a bed, reading, sleeping or looking at the murky window. He imagined her in some café or other in the eighteenth arrondissement, sitting for hours while someone like Pierrot played belote with three of his pals. He also imagined her in a dance hall, her face grave and almost inspired as she danced. He imagined her finally, standing on a street corner, watching the men in the shadows, without bothering to smile at them, and then leading them up the stairs of a rooming house, shouting out her name to the manageress.

  She had lived for more than a year in the impressive stone building on Avenue Carnot, where the apartment seemed too big, too cold for her, and it was there that he found it hard to imagine her; it was face to face with a man like Étienne Gouin that he couldn’t somehow see her.