Waltenberg

by Hedi Kaddour

  Chapter 5

  1978

  Rumours and a Pair of Braces

  In which a man named Berthier goes hunting for moles inside, no less, the French Embassy in Moscow, in a manner prejudicial to the interests of Henri de Veze, whose love life is rocky, and also of Madame de Cramilly, who is bringing up a papyrus on her own.

  In which de Veze remembers a voice crying ‘The Great Adventure is buggered!’

  In which it becomes obvious that you’ve been Lilstein’s mole in Paris for a very long time and that you have the ear of the President of the French Republic.

  In which it becomes clear that Michael Lilstein is in melancholy mood and has almost stopped believing in socialism.

  Paris, 4 June 1978

  During the course of his life, a man is required to be reborn several times, and all the help he gets comes from chance and error.

  Colette

  Henri de Vèze entered the room without knocking, he is France’s ambassador to Moscow, he was one of Free France’s youngest subalterns and, in 1942, at Bir Hakeim, he cleared a minefield, his chances were one in ten.

  He doesn’t knock before entering a minister’s office, even though it’s now thirty-six years later, even though it’s the Quai d’Orsay.

  The Minister does not bridle: always agreeable, thinks de Vèze, spine of an oyster, a man of the centre, de Vèze is very angry, and the more so because he can’t say why nor tell the Minister straight out that this meeting has forced him to abandon his mistress in the middle of a quarrel, twenty minutes it took twenty minutes for her to agree to give him back his braces, forced to negotiate with a harpy so he can be on time for a mollusc.

  De Vèze and the Minister have known each other for ages, they joined the Foreign Office together in 1946 but not by the same academic route, the Minister sat the usual exams while de Vèze was entitled to attempt those set specially for ex-servicemen, for several years this did not matter.

  And then de Vèze realised that he was not really part of the club, though not where promotion was concerned, no, they’d never screwed him around on that score, but when in certain meetings you’re practically the only one in the room who never went to their prestigious École libre des sciences politiques, it gets to you in the end, especially the way they go about making sure you’re not aware of it, sensitive people, uncivilised but sensitive, they take your coat while their chums look on because the secretary, bless her, has forgotten to do it yet again, and they oblige with that excess of attentiveness which proclaims that they’re putting on a show especially for you, your scarf folded neatly instead of being stuffed into one sleeve, and everyone knows that you know.

  The Minister is with a man to whom de Veze takes an instant dislike, crewcut, thin lips, well-developed shoulders, the blue-eyed athlete of airport novels, though from the waist up only: below the belt, to speed things up, all parts have been shortened, more like a Mediterranean plumber, back bent and buttocks rounded, will never make second military attaché, talks like bursts of machine-gun fire with a strange rising intonation at the end of a phrase, to make him sound forceful, another one of those types who believe that being in charge means having to have a big mouth, a vulgar loudmouth, low-slung rear-end of a cockerel, how dare the Minister think he can lumber an ambassador with a jester like that?

  And it was to be introduced to this moron that de Vèze walked out on his mistress this morning, bang in the middle of a big row, and they’d been back together again only a matter of days, they’re both very good at rows, first a fit of feminine sulks, just a small one, the corners of her mouth turn down, her oval face becomes hard, her nose grows more pointed, a not-speaking phase which drags on, he was careful not to ask her what the matter was but to no avail, because she asked first, softly, gently:

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You’re in a bad temper, I can feel it.’

  ‘Not at all, there’s nothing the matter with me.’

  ‘Yes there is, you seem to be in a hurry.’

  That did it, the word ‘hurry’, it happened every time she says a word she doesn’t like, ‘hurry’, mentally you’ve as good as gone, de Vèze knew what came next:

  ‘Anyway you’re never here

  Within seconds, they’d got on to the actual length of his stay in Paris, which was not certain.

  ‘Muriel, you know I can’t be away from Moscow for long.’

  He was getting dressed, he added in one breath:

  ‘You misheard, darling, I never said one thing while meaning another, those two days in Dinard, it was just a thought, as you knew all along.’

  He paused a moment, to let the words sink in, it’s true, Muriel does always know but she invariably acts as if she doesn’t, so that she can keep the argument going, put him in the wrong, it’s also true that he pretends to believe that he’ll have time to go to Dinard while all the time he knows he won’t, he makes much of it, he imagines going, but she also behaves as if it were true, and he cannot see why he should deny himself the prospect, and then when it all comes to nothing Muriel makes a meal of it, although she too had been looking forward to it. She seizes on his words:

  ‘Knew all along? I never know anything with you, it’s true, I never know a thing!’

  She has raised her voice to him, she breathes in through her mouth, her voice drops:

  ‘But I’m not going to get angry about it.’

  Her mouth is a scornful curve, then her eyes relax, she smiles, he’s been caught without his braces, he smiles, he’ll have to carry on the argument sans braces, she’s holding them in her hand, she has decided not to get angry, she’s just said so, he’d better believe her, she looks down at the braces with a smile, all maternal:

  ‘You know, I think this red is far too lurid for braces.’

  She laughs, shaken by two little ripples of laughter, but there is no real amusement in it, it’s to get what’s bothering her off her chest, she repeats ‘this red’, exaggerating the movements of her lips, dropping her chin, hollowing her cheeks, her voice scolds, mocks, ‘this red’, a woman giving a young child or an old husband a good ticking off:

  ‘And don’t tell me it’s maroon, maroon isn’t as hot a colour, and it’s more dignified, this is just red.’

  She holds the braces up in the light streaming in at the window. ‘Bright red, so unflattering. At your age!’

  A silence. She looks him up and down.

  ‘You wear braces when you don’t need to, and when you do wear braces you choose red, it makes you look like an ageing dandy trying to look like a young man.’

  Another silence, it’s like an invitation, de Vèze says nothing, don’t answer back, look sad, sad at being forced to leave her when she’s looking so lovely, the crucial point is the meeting with the Minister, ‘ageing dandy’, ‘young man’, he doesn’t answer, her malice should take the sting out of her mood, her voice is softer as she amends her words:

  ‘Whereas you are neither one nor the other.’

  She smiles, more relaxed now, her prettiness returns, de Vèze relaxes, armistice signed, she goes on:

  ‘Tell me, when did you buy them?’

  De Vèze knows that ‘when’ means ‘who were you with when’ because he wasn’t with her, she is wondering ‘with whom?’ but will not put the question, it would be only too easy for de Vèze to say ‘I was by myself, of course, I don’t even remember where’, obviously, there’s no answer to that, she knows it, this way de Vèze could then take her by the hand and speak of jealousy in a gentle, understanding voice, ‘I also buy my cigarettes by myself, maintain the tender note, and if she doesn’t buy it you could ask ‘do you really have to be jealous? Is it so hard to love someone straightforwardly?’ Leave it at that, don’t get schmaltzy, I don’t do schmaltzy very well, but play up the jealousy angle because all she’s got to go on is the purchase of a pair braces, that’s the way to do it.

  She knows all that, which is why she doesn’t ask ‘wit
h whom?’ but ‘when?’ it’s not so provocative, de Vèze replies:

  ‘I really don’t know.’

  The ‘really’ is good, say ‘I don’t know’ by itself and you give the impression that you’re clutching at straws, floundering, in the wrong, whereas ‘really’ is a clincher, it lends your answer an edge of exasperation, most effective, but not with her, she doesn’t give a fig for ‘really’, she moves to what always comes next:

  ‘You never know anything.’

  She clears her throat, cigarette and venom, only moments ago she was saying ‘I never know with you’, and now it’s ‘you never know anything’, it’s not a particularly serious thing to say, ‘you never know anything’, it might just mean something along the lines of ‘I’m feeling upset and want you to know’.

  She holds your braces in her left hand, slides them between the thumb and forefinger of her right, the movement uncovers her breasts, a beauty spot high on the right breast, a chocolate chip, ‘You never know anything’, you feel her sadness, she’s not wrong, a person could lie back and settle into sadness like that, life, circumstances, work, you promise you’ll change, that you’ll learn how to know, each of you contributes a quotient of inertia, and then you start all over again, you’re back together for a couple of days, we’ve so little time, at least we shouldn’t quarrel, but after saying ‘you never know’ she added:

  ‘– ever.’

  But there was nothing miserable at all about the way she said ‘You never know anything – ever’. Always a bad sign with her.

  De Vèze stands facing the double bed, Muriel shows no intention of getting out of it, well ensconced, shoulders leaning back on the cushions propped up against the wall, now she’s playing with the braces like a catapult, like chest-expanders, she has always liked her hands, small, almost plump, but ‘plump’ is banned, much better say I love to nibble your fingertips, she’s just lobbed ‘ – ever’ at him and is waiting for him to ask for his braces back.

  She looks him up and down, from head to toe, not possible to suck in his stomach or else his trousers will end up around his ankles, and if I hold my trousers up I’ll just look stupid, now where’s my other shoe got to, I must go.

  A friend of de Vèze once lived for a week in Geneva with a lady chemist, a rich nymphomaniac who kept him under house arrest, she’d go out early in the morning while he was still asleep, she never locked the door, she just shut her pet lynx up in the hall, the lynx wasn’t particularly aggressive but I never wanted to put it to the test, I didn’t try to go out, every morning for a fortnight I read books, I also used the exercise bike, she’d be back at twelve-thirty, off duty until the next day, a whale of a time, absolutely, we’d go out for a breath of air in the afternoon, not for long, she was an expert, she could open your flies using only her toes.

  Muriel has certainly chosen her moment, she looks at de Vèze, eyes dewy, eyelashes long, eyebrows arched, then a tetchy mannerism, her hand hooks her hair behind one ear, a little apple, at her best this woman is a little apple, vivacious, elegant, normally a couple of minutes at most would see him, braces, shoes, jacket, peck on the cheek, through the door.

  He thought he’d left his braces attached to his trousers, but no, she had unfastened them last night while he was still wearing them, just playing, he’s never sufficiently on his guard, and she has this way, as soon as she’s swallowed the last mouthful of croissant, of kicking her legs out under the bedclothes, but he’s run out of time.

  ‘What are you thinking? You’ve as good as gone.’

  And then a discharge of electricity, shoulders juddering fractiously against the cushions, I’m going to have to go looking for my shoes under the bed on all fours but I’m still in control of the situation, she’s calming down, her face which had looked so hard is softening, she’s forgotten the ‘— ever’, she’s not on the attack any more, soon I can bend down and reclaim my shoe from under the bed, she smiles, not a big smile, so as not to accentuate the quote-mark wrinkles around her mouth and nose, and she says:

  ‘All right, see you this afternoon.’

  Why ever you could not have just replied, ‘Right, I’ll ring you’ when she said ‘All right, see you this afternoon’, why did you have to go into details:

  ‘No, I can’t this afternoon, some visits to make.’

  It didn’t go down well.

  ‘People to see? Henri, you didn’t say anything about that yesterday, you just talked about the Minister, no, don’t lie, I’m not getting cross, but you didn’t mention it.’

  Talking about visits gives her an opportunity to say ‘don’t lie’, it’s not good when she starts saying ‘don’t lie’, too late now to pick up on the jealousy theme, I should have kept the visits to myself and said ‘Right, see you this afternoon, I’ll give you a ring’, and call her around two o’clock and tell her ‘Something’s come up, I’ll phone you back’, saying anything about visits was a mistake, though the visits were nothing special, the head of protocol and the bank, I could tell her that but it wouldn’t help to go into details if what I get is:

  ‘You prefer the bank to me, that’s very nice, you’re always saying you’re not a money man, you’ve only got a few days in Paris and you prefer the bank to me!’

  Best not mention the bank, the head of protocol perhaps, no, don’t mention either bank or protocol, though actually she’s making the running:

  ‘These visits, which part of town will they take you to? Anywhere near Saint-Germain?’

  I should never have mentioned those visits, Saint-Germain is a dangerous part of town.

  If she’s already got on to Saint-Germain it means that she is extremely cross, she has lit a cigarette though she’s trying not to smoke before midday, she holds the braces in her left hand as if minded to lash out with them, she says not one word, she has opted for deadly silence now that she’s mentioned Saint-Germain, Saint-Germain is deadly serious, whenever she says the words it’s a point of no return, but if she maintains a deadly silence at least it’s better than if she starts going on about the quartier Saint-Germain, in a deadly silence it’s possible to make a getaway, it’s hard but not disastrous, though it could get really serious if she started on about Saint-Germain, usually it’s a reliable warning sign, when she says Saint-Germain she’s saying ‘Watch out, you’re in for a rough ride!’ and then she waits, and in moments like these de Vèze knows that she’s asking that he be nice to her, that he point her away from Saint-Germain by unlimited attentiveness, promises, pleasant fancies, the prospect of Dinard, she has said Saint-Germain and now she waits for him to redeem himself with tenderness, reassurance and promises.

  But this time she didn’t wait, it’s very unusual for her not to wait, for her to have got to Saint-Germain so quickly.

  ‘Obviously you’re going to visit her!’

  It’s what he was hoping to avoid, why did I ever bring up visits? ‘You’re going to visit your trollop.’

  Didn’t waste time getting to the crude abuse.

  ‘You’ve been back there already.’

  Chin starts to tremble, sob in the throat, she chokes it back, and to restore her voice she clears her throat and then snarls:

  ‘Your whore!’

  Straight into the tantrum.

  ‘Does a good blow job, does she? The whore!’

  She’s angry, for God’s sake don’t say ‘calm down’.

  Say anything except that. Let the first squalls pass over.

  ‘And your whore will do anything you want!’

  This word ‘whore’ is new from her, maybe she’s got mad just so she can test it. She threw the braces in his face left-handed, she missed and they land on the floor at the foot of the bed.

  ‘She paid you, the whore, you’ve been back there, don’t lie to me!’ A fine display of sobbing follows, jealous recriminations, body shaking, tremors, lulls, obscenities, she whips up her unhappiness with obscenities, catches her breath, the other woman isn’t a whore, she’s more the high society type, bu
t it’s her misfortune to be The Other Woman, not Another Woman, there are others and Muriel never says anything about them, the one in Moscow for instance, she knows about her, even that her name is Vassilissa, but she says nothing, acts as if she didn’t exist, she doesn’t want to give the impression that she knows, but this Other Woman, the one in Saint-Germain, dates from before her time, a friend of hers actually, she hates her, de Vèze hasn’t been back to see her and it wasn’t she who bought him the maroon braces, that was Vassilissa, but he doesn’t want to make an issue of it.

  The danger with tears is that she might go weepy on him, calm down, sigh, jiggle her legs about, pester him, she’s quite capable of playing up in the most unsubtle way, to make him late, because she is more important than anything else, to ensure that de Vèze is unable to manage anything more than short visits, the very thought makes de Vèze angry, he breathes a sigh of regret and just says:

  ‘Needs must…’

  That’s good, just the right amount of impatience in the truncated platitude to make him insufferable, it’s my only chance, she has to think I’m insufferable, but she didn’t calm down, anger and desire jostled together, as much was visible in the way she looked at him, her unhappiness was seductive as she knew very well, de Vèze remained firm, he picked up his braces, his shoe wasn’t far under the bed, his visits, he should never have said anything about the visits he had to make that afternoon, a mistake, absolutely routine visits, but a mistake.

  ‘You’re just a coward, all this pretence for a whore, oh, just go!’

  She will never forgive him for her descent into vulgarity, she, a distinguished university professor, wife, ex-wife, of a leading light at the Collège de France, normally so refined.