Félicie
Page 15
‘Have you come far?’
‘From the Orléans area.’
‘You don’t have a car?’
‘No. I came by train.’
‘And there are no trains back today. Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Raymonde! Raymonde! … I bet she’s off gallivanting again. I’m going to have to have words with her … If she’ll listen … Because she can be difficult. She’s the maid, but she takes advantage of my being unwell to do as she pleases and anyone would think she was the one in charge. Well, well, now what does he want around here?’
She was looking out of the window at a man whose footsteps could be heard crunching the gravel. Maigret watched him too and began to frown, for the newcomer vaguely reminded him of someone.
He was wearing tennis whites or country attire, white flannel trousers, a white jacket and shoes, but what struck Maigret was his black crepe armband.
He came in, as if he were a regular.
‘Hello, Jeanne.’
‘What do you want, Monsieur Malik?’
‘I came to ask if you—’
He stopped mid-sentence, looked straight at Maigret and broke into a smile, saying:
‘Jules! … Well I never! … What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I’m sorry?’
First of all, it had been years and years since anyone had called him Jules, to the extent that he had almost forgotten his first name. Even his wife was in the habit of calling him Maigret, which he found amusing.
‘Don’t you remember?’
‘No …’
Yet that ruddy face with well-defined features, a prominent nose, cold, steely eyes, was no stranger to him. The name Malik too, when Madame Amorelle had uttered it, had rung a bell somewhere in the back of his mind.
‘Ernest.’
‘Ernest who?’
Hadn’t Bernadette Amorelle spoken of a Charles Malik?
‘The Moulins lycée.’
Maigret had been a pupil at the lycée in Moulins for three years when his father was the steward in a chateau in the region. Still …
Curiously, although his memory was unreliable, he was certain that it was an unpleasant recollection that this well-groomed face, this man brimming with self-confidence, stirred in him. What was more, he did not like his over-friendly manner. He had always had a horror of familiarity.
‘The Tax Collector.’
‘I’m with you, yes … I would never have recognized you.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Me? I—’
Malik burst out laughing.
‘We’ll talk about it later … I knew perfectly well that Detective Chief Inspector Maigret was none other than my old pal Jules. Do you remember the English teacher? … No need to make up a room, Jeanne. My friend will stay at the house.’
‘No!’ protested Maigret, annoyed.
‘Eh? What did you say?’
‘I said that I’d stay here … It’s already been arranged with Jeanne.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I insist.’
‘Because of the old woman?’
‘What old woman?’
A mischievous smile hovered on Ernest Malik’s thin lips, the smile of the schoolboy he had once been.
He was nicknamed the Tax Collector because his father was the tax collector in Moulins. He was very thin, with a hatchet face and light-coloured eyes, of an unappealing grey.
‘Don’t worry, Jules. You’ll understand later … Tell us, Jeanne, don’t be afraid to speak your mind. Is my mother-in-law mad, yes or no?’
And Jeanne, gliding noiselessly in her slippers, muttered half-heartedly:
‘I’d rather not get involved in your family affairs.’
She was already viewing Maigret less sympathetically, if not with distrust.
‘Well, are you staying here or are you going with him?’
‘I’m staying.’
Malik was still looking at his former schoolmate mockingly, as if this were all a prank being played on Maigret.
‘You’re going to have a lot of fun, I assure you … I can’t think of anywhere more lively than the Auberge de l’Ange. You saw the angel, you were taken in!’
Did he suddenly recall that he was in mourning? In any case, his manner became more solemn as he added:
‘If all this weren’t so sad, we’d have a good laugh, the two of us … Come up to the house at least. Yes, you must! You have to … I’ll explain … I’ll tell you over an aperitif and you’ll get the picture.’
Maigret was still in two minds. He stood rooted to the spot, massive compared to his companion, who was the same height as him but unusually slim.
‘I’ll come,’ he eventually said, somewhat reluctantly.
‘You’ll dine with us, of course? I can’t pretend the house is very cheerful at the moment, after the death of my niece, but …’
As they left, Maigret glimpsed Jeanne, who sat watching them from a dark corner. And he had the impression that there was hatred in the look that she allowed to rest on Ernest Malik’s elegant form.
THE BEGINNING
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First published in French as Félicie est là by Éditions Gallimard 1944
This translation first published 2015
Copyright 1944 by Georges Simenon Limited
Translation copyright © David Coward, 2015
GEORGES SIMENON ® Simenon.tm
MAIGRET ® Georges Simenon Limited
Cover photograph (detail) © Harry Gruyaert/Magnum Photos
Front cover design by Alceu Chiesorin Nunes
All rights reserved
The moral rights of the author and translator have been asserted
ISBN: 978-0-241-18867-5