A Paris Affair
Page 8
He took a sheet of paper from his pocket and held it up to the camera. I was able to make out his name, the date, and the words “HIV negative.”
“I can imagine you on the other side of the screen. I can imagine you, feeling heartbroken. Sickened. Revolted. I’m sure it never even crossed your mind that I might be homosexual. It must be a terrible shock for you. If it was another woman, okay—that’s easier to accept. But a homosexual husband? No. It could scar you for life. You know everything about me now, Thérèse. Have you managed to listen to this confession to the end? Will you be able to understand? I don’t know. I suppose we’ll get a divorce, that our marriage is over. Will you agree to see me again? Will you let me see my son, help you bring him up? And will you let me see you, too, from time to time? I really hope you will. Tell me what you want. Your wish is my command, Thérèse. I’ll call you at eight o’clock tonight, after Luc has gone to bed. If you don’t answer, I’ll understand that you don’t want to see me anymore. And I will try to accept your decision.”
Hubert’s voice broke. He hid his face in his hands and wept for a long time, in silence. For a short while, he remained sitting on the couch. Then he stood up and moved toward the camera. Before the screen went black, I heard his voice one last time:
“Please, Thérèse, destroy this USB key. Thank you.”
The woman who looked back at me from the mirror was a stranger. She had a vague resemblance to me, her hair in particular. But her face was completely unknown to me. There were deep lines stretching from her nose to her mouth; her eyes were dull and lifeless; her complexion was waxy, almost greenish. I didn’t know her, but at the same time, there was something familiar about her.
When this woman started at the sound of a baby’s cry, I understood who she was. The woman gently bathed him, then gave him his dinner. She was tender with the child. She put him to bed. Then she sat next to the telephone and waited.
At exactly eight o’clock, it rang. She picked up the receiver.
A man’s voice said, “It’s me.”
She replied, “I know it’s you.”
Even her voice was not like mine.
“Thérèse, I—”
“No, I don’t want to talk about it on the phone. I want you to come here. Now. We can talk then. I’ll wait for you.”
The man said, “I’m on my way.”
The unknown woman stood up, then looked at me in the mirror.
I asked her, “What are you going to say to him?”
She rearranged her hair, adjusted her blouse.
“That I don’t want a divorce.”
“What? But your husband is a homosexual!”
“Maybe, but he’s still my husband. He’s the father of my child. I bear his name, and so does our son. I won’t agree to divorce him. I won’t let him leave Luc and me. Just because he’s homosexual doesn’t mean he can’t be a good father. I want a real home for my son. Away from home, he can have his secret life, his lovers, his movies, his nights out. But here, he will be a father and a husband. That’s all I ask of him.”
“What if he refuses?”
“He said he would do whatever I want.”
She looked at me. I had never seen such a hard look before.
Then she declared, “He’ll want this, or he’ll never see his son again.”
There was a knock at the door.
We looked at each other for a long time. She was quite beautiful, with her ravaged, noble face.
“Answer the door,” she told me. “Hold your head up proudly, Thérèse. And whatever you do, keep your eyes dry.”
THE BRUNETTE FROM RUE RAYNOUARD
Those who truly love doubt nothing,
or doubt all
—HONORÉ DE BALZAC (1799–1850), A Murky Business
“Eugénie? Hey, is this a bad time?”
“Hi, Eve! No, it’s fine—I’m just finishing up a case.”
“Listen, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but … well, we’ve known each other a long time.…”
“What is it?”
“I wasn’t sure I should tell you, but then I thought you would have done the same for me.…”
“Okay. Go on. What is this about?”
“Are you alone?”
“Yeah. I’m in my office.”
“Okay. It’s about Lionel. This may seem strange, but I can’t keep quiet about it any longer.”
“Just tell me, for God’s sake!”
“All right. Several times now, I’ve seen your husband enter a building near my office during the lunch hour. To start with, I wasn’t worried—I just assumed that Lionel must have a business meeting in the area. But the longer it’s gone on, the shadier it’s seemed.”
“Where is this building?”
“Rue Raynouard.”
“And why do you think it’s shady?”
“Because when he comes out, he’s red-faced. And he walks away quickly, with his head down. He doesn’t seem normal.”
“…”
“Hello, Eugénie? Are you still there?”
“Yes. So why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“I thought about it. I knew that, since last year—since your thing with …—anyway, since all that, I know you’ve had a tough time. I didn’t want to make things worse. But it must have happened about ten times now, so I thought it would be better to let you know.”
“Ten times! I don’t know what to think.”
“Do you think he…?”
“It’s possible. After all he went through with the other thing, after what I did…”
“How does he seem at the moment?”
“Quiet. Preoccupied. But no more than usual, you know. He’s never been very talkative, my husband.”
“There’s something else I have to tell you.”
“…”
“Eugénie, are you okay? I feel like I should tell you everything.”
“Oh my God … What are you going to tell me now? Go ahead.…”
“I ended up going down to the building’s intercom and looking at the list of names. I thought maybe he had a medical appointment or something. Do you know if that’s the case?”
“No. Definitely not. He’s never mentioned it.”
“…”
“Eve? Keep going.”
“Okay, so there were no doctors on the list. Or physios. Nothing like that at all. And then…”
“What?”
“I saw Lionel go into a woman’s apartment. In that building.”
“How could you have seen that?”
“You’re going to think I’m crazy, but … I followed him.”
“Jesus. Did he see you?”
“Of course not. I was wearing a knit cap, with a hoodie over it. There’s no way he could have recognized me. He pressed a button on the intercom—the initials ‘F. G.’ I followed him in. That woman lives on the first floor. I pretended to wait for the elevator. When she opened the door, I got a quick look at her.”
“So? What’s she like?”
“Well, that’s why I’m calling you, Eugénie.”
“Will you just spit it out? The suspense is killing me!”
“I’m just worried about hurting you.”
“What, is she gorgeous?”
“Yes, Eugénie, she’s gorgeous. And … sexy.”
“Meaning what?”
“Don’t get annoyed. I just mean she’s sexy. Tight skirt, but chic. High heels. Nice hair. I caught a glimpse of a pink-and-white entry hall, very feminine looking, with books on shelves and watercolors on the walls.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, shit.”
“I’m glad you told me. Even if I have a very bad feeling about this.”
“How are things between you and Lionel?”
“You mean since … since all that?”
“Yeah, since all that.”
“Not good. Not good at all. We never talk about it. I can tell he’s hurting. But he has his work, and he’s busy looking after the
kids and me. He never mentions it, and I don’t dare bring it up. I had actually started to believe that it was all behind us, that we’d turned the corner. But now, after what you’ve told me, I’m wondering whether that’s true.”
“And what about … as a couple?”
“In bed, you mean?”
“Yes, in bed.”
“There’s not much to tell. He’s tired. I’m tired. Just like any other couple who’ve been married for a while and who’ve been through what we’ve been through, I imagine.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you going to talk to him about it?”
“No. Not right now.”
“You’re not mad at me, are you?”
“No.”
“You promise?”
“Yes. Just give me the number on Rue Raynouard. Thank you. Thank you, Eve.”
* * *
“Eve? It’s me.”
“Hang on, I’m just coming out of a meeting. Can you hold for a couple of seconds?… Hello? Okay, I can talk now.”
“Do you have five minutes?”
“Sure, go ahead. I’ve been expecting your call. Are you okay, by the way? You sound a little strange.”
“Yes, I’m okay. I’m just a bit … Well, you’ll understand. Where to begin?”
“You went to that F. G.’s place, on Rue Raynouard?”
“Yes. Not long after your call. I stayed in my car, out in front of the building. I didn’t see Lionel. After a while, F. G. came out. She was just as you described her. A beautiful woman. I almost stayed in the car, because I felt afraid, but in the end I got out and followed her. I watched her, that woman, with her sensual walk, and I felt sick at heart because I was thinking to myself, She’s my husband’s mistress. He makes love with her, but with me nothing happens anymore. I could imagine Lionel’s hands touching her long brown hair, her soft skin, her hips, and I felt like crying. It’s all my fault, Eve.”
“Don’t say that, Eugénie. There’s no point torturing yourself.”
“If only I hadn’t had that stupid fling. If only I hadn’t…”
“You have to forget all that—you know you do.”
“I followed her to Place du Trocadéro. She sat in one of those big cafés. She looked at her cell phone and smiled. I imagined she had just received a text from Lionel. I sat at a table not too far from her. I could see her sparkling eyes, that pale, luminous skin. How could I hope to compete with a woman like that? I felt lost. I didn’t dare confront her. What could I have said? So I went home.”
“And then?”
“When Lionel came home, I noticed that he was spending a lot of time on his phone. I wanted to make love that night. He turned me down. He did it nicely, but … obviously he doesn’t find me attractive anymore. I don’t do anything for him now. But how could I, next to her? Anyway, that night, while he was sleeping, I looked through the messages on his phone. There were lots of texts sent to ‘F. G.’ I didn’t have time to read them, but I saw the word ‘sex’ in the first one. That was enough.”
“Stop. You’re upsetting yourself—”
“If only I hadn’t gotten involved with that guy—”
“There’s no point dwelling on that. Just try to calm down. Think about what you’re going to do next. Will you talk to Lionel? Tell him that you know?”
“But what can I say to him, really? He went through so much pain because of me. If he’s cheating on me with this F. G., it’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I’m going to hang up now. I can’t bear to talk about it anymore. Bye.…”
* * *
“Is this Madame F. G.?”
“Who’s that?”
“…”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Lionel’s wife. Eugénie. I know my husband is with you. He went in there ten minutes ago. I saw him. I’d like to talk to you—to both of you. Please open the door.”
‘I’m sorry, but that’s impossible, madame.”
“I’m not going to tell you my life story on the intercom; it’s ridiculous. Give Lionel and me a chance. Just a little chance. Leave him to me. Let me try to make him happy. He probably told you about my stupid affair. I will regret it for the rest of my life. I know it hurt him. He’s been distant from me ever since. Oh God, what a mess I am, crying outside your door. You must think me pathetic. I would like to come in and speak to you, to him.”
“Madame, please stop crying. Calm down.”
“Is Lionel with you? Is he listening?”
“I’m going to hang up now. Good-bye, madame.”
* * *
Lionel. I know you’re with that F. G. woman.
I saw you going into her apartment. She wouldn’t let me in.
LIONEL PLEASE REPLY TO MY TEXTS!
Calm down, Eugénie. Let me explain.
Don’t bother.
Where are you?
In a café.
Tell me where you are. I’ll meet you there.
Why? To tell me that you’re in love with F. G.?
To talk to you.
I already know what’s going on.
I’ll explain about F. G.
What’s the point?
I want to tell you how much F. G. has helped me,
restored my self-confidence.
Stop.
No, this is important, Eugénie.
I want you to meet her.
What the hell is wrong with you?
Why would you want that?
Because she’s saved me in these last 6 months.
6 MONTHS?
You’ve been sleeping with her for 6 MONTHS?
Eugénie, you’ve got this all wrong!
You don’t understand.
I understand that you love another woman.
No. I love YOU.
??
I want you to see her with me.
She would like that, too.
WTF! You want a threesome?
Have you lost your fucking mind?
Please calm down.
This hurts SO MUCH.
Just tell me where you are please.
I’ll be there in five minutes.
NO.
OK, Eugénie, enough. Please stop arguing and just read what I’m going to write: F. G. = Dr. Frances-Sarah Guidoboni, SEX THERAPIST, 47 Rue Raynouard. I’ve seen her one hour per week since you admitted your one-night stand. I had difficulties after that, in bed. Now tell me where you are. I want to hold you tight and tell you how much I love you. I want you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TATIANA DE ROSNAY is the author of ten novels, including the New York Times bestselling novel Sarah’s Key, an international sensation with more than four million copies sold in thirty-five countries worldwide, which was made into a major film released in spring 2011. Together with Dan Brown, Stephenie Meyer, and Stieg Larsson, she was named one of the top-ten fiction writers in Europe in 2009. De Rosnay lives with her husband and two children in Paris. You can sign up for email updates here.
Also by Tatiana de Rosnay
Sarah’s Key
A Secret Kept
The House I Loved
The Other Story
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
Hotel Room
The Texts
The “Baby Monitor”
The Red Notebook
The Answering Machine
The Au Pair Girl
The Strand of Hair
The Woods
The Password
; The USB Key
The Brunette from Rue Raynouard
About the Author
Also by Tatiana de Rosnay
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in these stories are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A PARIS AFFAIR. Copyright © 2014 by Éditions Héloise d’Ormesson. Translation copyright © 2015 by Sam Taylor. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Michael Storrings
Cover photograph by Michael Trevillion/Trevillion Images
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-06880-4 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-7739-9 (e-book)
First published in France under the title Son Carnet Rouge by Éditions Héloise d’Ormesson in 2014.
e-ISBN 9781466877399
First U.S. Edition: July 2015