She inclined her head slightly and went to sit in an armchair that must have been hers. As she passed the magistrate, she said a curt:
‘Good evening, Julien.’
Hubert Vernoux announced:
‘My sister-in-law will be down right away. We had a power cut earlier, which delayed dinner. I imagine the electricity was off in the whole town?’
He was talking for the sake of it. The words didn’t need to make any sense. He had to compensate for the emptiness of the drawing room.
‘A cigar, inspector?’
For the second time since he had been in Fontenay, Maigret accepted, because he didn’t dare take his pipe out of his pocket.
‘Is your wife not coming down?’
‘She’s probably been detained by the children.’
It was already obvious that Isabelle Vernoux, the mother, had agreed to put in an appearance after goodness knows what bargaining, but that she was determined not to take an active part in the gathering. She had picked up a piece of needlepoint and paid no attention to what was being said.
‘Do you play bridge, inspector?’
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I never play. Let me hasten to add that I greatly enjoy watching a game.’
Hubert Vernoux looked at the magistrate.
‘How are we going to play? Lucile will definitely play. You and me. Alain, I suppose—’
‘No. Don’t count on me.’
‘There’s still your wife. Do you want to go and see if she’s ready?’
This was becoming painful. No one would sit down, apart from the mistress of the house. Maigret’s cigar gave him an air of composure. Hubert Vernoux had lit one too and busied himself pouring brandies.
Could the three men on guard outside imagine the scene inside?
Lucile came down at last. She was a thinner, bonier replica of her sister. She also only glanced briefly at Maigret and walked straight over to the bridge tables.
‘Shall we start?’ she asked.
Then, gesturing vaguely in Maigret’s direction:
‘Does he play?’
‘No.’
‘So who’s playing, then? Why was I asked to come down?’
‘Alain has gone to fetch his wife.’
‘She won’t be joining us.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because she’s got her neuralgia. The children were insufferable all evening. The governess handed in her notice and left. Jeanne’s looking after the baby . . .’
Hubert Vernoux mopped his forehead.
‘Alain will persuade her.’
And, turning towards Maigret:
‘I don’t know whether you have children. It’s probably like this in all large families. Every child is out for themselves. Each has their own activities, their preferences . . .’
He was right: Alain walked in with his wife, a nondescript woman, on the plump side, with eyes red from crying.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said to her father-in-law. ‘The children were playing up.’
‘I hear the governess—’
‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’
‘Detective Chief Inspector Maigret—’
‘Pleased to meet you.’
She held out her hand, but it was limp, without warmth.
‘Are we playing?’
‘We’re playing.’
‘Who?’
‘Are you absolutely sure, inspector, that you don’t wish to join in?’
‘Certain.’
Julien Chabot, perfectly at home, was already seated and was shuffling the cards. He spread them on the green baize.
‘Your turn to draw, Lucile.’
She turned over a king, her brother-in-law a jack. The magistrate and Alain’s wife drew a three and a seven.
‘We’re partners.’
It had taken nearly half an hour, but at last they were settled. In her corner, Isabelle Vernoux senior continued to ignore them all. Maigret was sitting at a distance, behind Hubert Vernoux, whose hand he could see as well as that of his daughter-in-law.
‘Pass.’
‘One club.’
‘Pass.’
‘One heart.’
The doctor appeared not to know what to do with himself and was still standing. Everyone was under orders. Hubert Vernoux had gathered them together, almost by force, to keep up the semblance of normal life in the house, perhaps to impress Maigret.
‘Well! Hubert?’
His sister-in-law, who was his partner, was taking him to task.
‘I’m sorry! . . . Two clubs . . .’
‘Are you sure you don’t mean three? I bid a heart over your club, which means I have at least two and a half honours . . .’
From that moment, Maigret began to take a keen interest in the game. Not for the game itself, but for what it revealed to him about the players’ characters.
His friend Chabot, for instance, was as regular as a metronome, his bids exactly what they should have been, without brashness and without bashfulness. He played his hand calmly, made no comments to his partner. And when the young woman didn’t give him the correct response, his face showed just the faintest hint of annoyance.
‘I’m sorry, I should have said three spades.’
‘It doesn’t matter. You couldn’t know what cards I have in my hand.’
In the third round, he bid and made a small slam, and apologized:
‘Too easy. I was dealt it.’
The young woman, however, was distracted. She tried to get a grip on herself and, when it was her turn to play, she looked about her as if seeking help. She turned towards Maigret, her fingers on a card, to ask his advice.
She didn’t like bridge, was only there because she had to be, to make up a fourth.
Lucile, on the other hand, dominated the table with her personality. It was she who, after each hand, commentated the game, chiding the others.
‘Since Jeanne bid two hearts, you should have made a finesse. She obviously had the queen of hearts.’
What’s more, she was right. She was always right. Her dark, beady eyes seemed to see through the cards.
‘What’s wrong with you today, Hubert?’
‘But—’
‘You’re playing like a beginner. You barely seem to hear the bids. We could have won the hand by three no-trumps and you ask for four clubs which you won’t make.’
‘I was waiting for you to say it—’
‘I wasn’t going to tell you about my diamonds. It was up to you to . . .’
Hubert Vernoux tried to redeem himself. He was like those roulette players who, once they are losing, cling to the hope that their luck will turn any minute and try all the numbers, watching furiously as the winning numbers are the ones they have just dropped.
Nearly always, he bid higher than his hand, counting on his partner’s cards, and, when they weren’t forthcoming, he chewed the end of his cigar nervously.
‘I assure you, Lucile, that I was perfectly within my rights in bidding two spades at the opening.’
‘Except you didn’t have either the ace of spades or the ace of diamonds.’
‘But I had . . .’
He listed his cards, the blood rose to his face, while she gazed at him with icy fury.
To get himself back on an even keel, he bid even more recklessly, to the point where it was no longer bridge, but poker.
Alain had gone over to keep his mother company for a moment. He came back and stood behind the players, looking at the cards without interest, his large eyes blurred behind his glasses.
‘Do you understand anything, inspector?’
‘I know the rules. I’m able to follow the game, but not to play.’
‘Do you find it interesting?’
‘Very.’
He scrutinized Maigret more closely, realizing that Maigret’s interest lay in the behaviour of the players much more than in the cards. He watched his aunt and his father with an annoyed air.
Chabot and Alain’s wife w
on the first rubber.
‘Shall we swap?’ suggested Lucile.
‘Unless we stay as we are and take our revenge.’
‘I’d rather change partners.’
That was a mistake on her part. She ended up playing with Chabot, who never slipped up and whom it was impossible for her to criticize. Jeanne played badly. And perhaps because she invariably bid too low, Hubert Vernoux won the two rounds one after the other.
‘It’s pure luck.’
That was not entirely true. Admittedly, he had been dealt a good hand, But, if he had bid recklessly, he wouldn’t have won because there was no hope to be had from his partner’s cards.
‘Shall we continue?’
‘We’ll finish the round.’
This time, Vernoux was with the magistrate, the two women together. And it was the men who won, with the result that Hubert Vernoux had won two games out of three.
He looked relieved, as if this game had mattered considerably to him. He mopped his forehead, went and poured himself a drink and took a glass over to Maigret.
‘You see that despite what my sister-in-law says, I’m not so feckless. What she doesn’t understand is that if you manage to grasp how your opponent’s mind works, you’ve half-won the game, irrespective of the cards. The same applies to selling a farm or a piece of land. Understand how the buyer thinks and—’
‘Please, Hubert.’
‘What?’
‘You could perhaps refrain from talking business here?’
‘I apologize. I forget that women want us to make money, but they prefer not to know how.’
That too was unwise. His wife rebuked him from her distant armchair.
‘Have you been drinking?’
Maigret had seen him drink three or four brandies. He had been struck by the way Vernoux furtively filled his glass, in haste, in the hope that his wife and his sister-in-law wouldn’t notice. He downed the drink in one, then, to conceal his unease, filled Maigret’s glass.
‘I’ve only had two glasses.’
‘They’ve gone to your head.’
‘I think,’ Chabot began, standing up and pulling his watch from his pocket, ‘that it’s time for us to leave.’
‘It’s barely half past ten.’
‘You’re forgetting that I have a lot of work. My friend Maigret must be feeling tired too.’
Alain looked disappointed. Maigret would have sworn that throughout the entire evening, the doctor had been hovering around him in the hope of having a quiet word with him.
The others did not detain them. Hubert Vernoux did not dare insist. What would happen when the players had left and he’d be alone facing the three women? Because Alain didn’t count. That was obvious. No one had taken any notice of him. He would probably go up to his room or to his laboratory. His wife was more part of the family than he was.
In short, it was a family of women, as Maigret suddenly discovered. Hubert Vernoux had been allowed to play bridge provided he behaved himself, and they had watched him like a child.
Was that why, outside his home, he clung so desperately to the persona he had created for himself, fastidious about the slightest details of his dress?
Who knows? Maybe, earlier, when he had gone upstairs to fetch them, he had implored them to humour him, to allow him to act the master of the house and not humiliate him with their comments.
He had his eye on the brandy decanter.
‘One more drink, inspector, what the English call a nightcap?’
Maigret didn’t feel like another drink, but said yes to give him the opportunity to have one too. As Vernoux raised the glass to his lips Maigret caught his wife glaring at him, saw his hand waver and then, regretfully, put the glass down again.
When Chabot and Maigret reached the front door, where the manservant was waiting for them with their coats, Alain said quietly:
‘I think I might walk some of the way with you.’
He didn’t appear worried about the reaction of the women, who seemed surprised. His wife made no objection. She probably didn’t care whether he went out or not, given the little importance he had in her life. She had moved closer to her mother-in-law and was admiring her work and nodding.
‘You don’t mind, inspector?’
‘Not at all.’
The night air was cool, not chilly like the previous nights, and you wanted to fill your lungs with it and greet the stars that were back in the sky after such a long absence.
The three men with armbands were still outside, but this time they stepped back to make way. Alain hadn’t put on an overcoat. As he passed the coat stand in the hall, he had put on a soft felt hat battered by the recent rains.
Seen like that, his body thrust forwards, his hands in his pockets, he looked more like a final-year student than a husband and a father.
They couldn’t talk in Rue Rabelais, because voices carried a long way and they were aware of the presence of the three lookouts behind them. Alain jumped as he brushed against the one standing on the corner of Place Viète, whom he hadn’t seen.
‘I imagine they’ve put them all over town?’ he muttered.
‘Definitely. They’re going to take turns.’
Few windows were still lit. People went to bed early. From a distance, at the far end of Rue de la République, they could see the lights of the Café de la Poste, which was still open, and two or three isolated passers-by, who vanished one after the other.
By the time they reached the magistrate’s house, they hadn’t had the time to exchange more than a few words. Chabot mumbled reluctantly:
‘Are you coming in?’
Maigret said no:
‘There’s no point waking your mother.’
‘She’s not asleep. She never goes to bed before I get home.’
‘We’ll see one another tomorrow morning.’
‘Here?’
‘I’ll drop into the courts.’
‘I have to make a few telephone calls before I go to bed. There might be news.’
‘Good night, Chabot.’
‘Good night, Maigret. Good night, Alain.’
They shook hands. The key turned in the lock and a moment later the door closed again.
‘Shall I walk you back to your hotel?’
They were the only people left in the street. A vision of the doctor whipping a hand out of his pocket and hitting him over the head with a hard object, a length of lead piping or a monkey wrench, flashed through Maigret’s mind.
He replied:
‘With pleasure.’
They set off. Alain couldn’t muster the courage to speak straight away. When he did, it was to ask:
‘What do you think?’
‘About what?’
‘About my father.’
What could Maigret have answered? What was interesting was the fact that the question was asked, that the young doctor had come out of his house purely to ask it.
‘I don’t think he’s had a happy life,’ muttered Maigret, without much conviction.
‘Are there people who have happy lives?’
‘At least momentarily. Are you unhappy, Docter Vernoux?’
‘I don’t count.’
‘Yet you try to carve out your share of pleasure.’
The big eyes stared at him.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing. Or, if you prefer, I’m saying that no one’s entirely unhappy. Everyone clutches on to something, and creates a sort of happiness.’
‘Do you realize what that means?’
And, since Maigret did not reply:
‘Do you know that it is because of this search for what I would call the compensations, this search for some happiness in spite of everything, that obsessions are born, and often instability? The men who right now are drinking and playing cards at the Café de la Poste are trying to convince themselves that they are enjoying themselves.’
‘What about you?’
‘I don’t understand the question.’
This time, Alain was worried, suspecting Maigret of knowing more, but he was afraid to question him.
‘Would you dare go over to the barracks neighbourhood tonight?’
It was rather out of pity that Maigret asked that, to dispel his doubts.
‘You know?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you spoken to her?’
‘At length.’
‘What did she tell you?’
‘Everything.’
‘Am I wrong?’
‘I’m not judging you. You’re the one who started talking about the instinctive search for compensations. What are your father’s compensations?’
They had lowered their voices, because they had reached the open door of the hotel where a single lamp shone in the foyer.
‘Why don’t you reply?’
‘Because I don’t know the answer.’
‘Does he not have affairs?’
‘Definitely not in Fontenay. He’s too well known and wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret.’
‘What about you. Do people know?’
‘No. My case isn’t the same. When my father goes to Paris or Bordeaux, I presume he has a bit of fun.’
He muttered to himself:
‘Poor Papa!’
Maigret looked at him in surprise.
‘Do you love your father?’
Modestly, Alain replied:
‘At any rate, I feel sorry for him.’
‘Has it always been like this?’
‘It’s been worse. My mother and my aunt have calmed down a little.’
‘What have they got against him?’
‘That he’s a commoner, the son of a livestock merchant who used to get drunk in the village inns. The Courçons have never forgiven him for the fact that they needed him, do you see? And, in old Courçon’s day, the situation was even harsher because Courçon was even more scathing than his daughters and his son Robert. Until my father’s death, all the Courçons on earth will resent him for the fact that they are completely dependent on him financially.’
‘And how do they treat you?’
‘Like a Vernoux. And my wife, whose father was Viscount de Cadeuil, sides with my mother and my aunt.’
‘Did you intend to tell me all that this evening?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You were anxious to talk to me about your father?’
Maigret is Afraid Page 8
