Maigret and the Old Lady

by Georges Simenon

  ‘I have no option. People wouldn’t understand if I went to a hotel, and there are no trains until tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Did you and your mother have an argument?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘This afternoon.’

  ‘We told each other a few home truths, coldly, as usual. It has become almost a game, the moment we are together.’

  She hadn’t eaten a dessert and, before leaving the table, she applied her lipstick, looking at herself in a little mirror, and shook a tiny powder puff.

  Her eyes were extraordinarily light, a clearer blue even than Valentine’s, but as empty as the sky earlier when Maigret had hoped to see the green ray.

  4. The Cliff Path

  Maigret was wondering whether the end of the meal would also be the end of their conversation or whether they would continue it elsewhere, and Arlette was busy lighting a cigarette, when the owner came over to Maigret and spoke to him in an exaggeratedly hushed voice, so softly that Maigret had to ask him to repeat what he had said.

  ‘You’re wanted on the telephone.’

  ‘Who?’

  The manager gave a meaningful look in the direction of the young woman and the two of them misunderstood each other. Arlette’s features hardened, without losing their impassive expression.

  ‘Would you kindly tell me who is asking to speak to me?’ said Maigret impatiently.

  And the man replied, annoyed, as if being forced to reveal a state secret:

  ‘Monsieur Charles Besson.’

  Maigret smiled furtively at Arlette, who must have thought that it was her husband, and rose, saying:

  ‘Will you wait for me?’

  She fluttered her eyelashes to indicate that she would, and he walked over to the booth, accompanied by the manager who muttered:

  ‘I should have handed you a note, shouldn’t I? I must apologize on behalf of one of my staff. Apparently Monsieur Besson called you two or three times during the day, but no one told you when you came back for dinner.’

  A booming voice on the other end of the phone, one of those voices that make the receiver vibrate.

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Maigret? I’m very sorry, truly. I don’t know how to ask for your forgiveness, but perhaps you won’t be too annoyed with me when I tell you what happened.’

  Maigret couldn’t get a word in edgeways. The voice went on:

  ‘I drag you away from your work, from your family. I make you come to Étretat and I’m not even here to welcome you. I must tell you that I intended to be at the station this morning, that I desperately tried to contact the stationmaster to give him a message for you. Hello! …’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you believe that last night I had to rush off to Dieppe where my wife’s mother was at death’s door.’

  ‘Did she die?’

  ‘Not until this afternoon and, since she only has daughters and I was the only man in the house, I had to stay. You know how it is. You have to think of everything. There are unforeseen circumstances. I couldn’t telephone you from the house because my dying mother-in-law couldn’t stand the slightest sound, but I managed to get away for a few minutes three times to call you from a nearby bar. It was awful.’

  ‘Was she in a great deal of pain?’

  ‘Not particularly, but she knew she was dying.’

  ‘How old was she?’

  ‘Eighty-eight. Now I’m back in Fécamp, where I’m looking after the children, because I left my wife in Dieppe. She only has the baby with her. If you wish, I can jump into my car and come and see you this evening. Otherwise tell me what time tomorrow morning. I shan’t take up too much of your time and I’ll make it my duty to be there.’

  ‘Is there something you’d like to tell me?’

  ‘You mean to do with what happened on Sunday?

  ‘I know no more than what you’ve been told. Oh! I did want to let you know that I’ve managed to get hold of all the Normandy newspapers, both from Le Havre and Rouen. None of them mentions the case, which means the Paris papers won’t either. That was no easy task. I had to go to Rouen in person on Tuesday morning. They printed three lines about it, saying it is presumed to be an accident.’

  He stopped for breath at long last, but Maigret had nothing to say.

  ‘Are you comfortably settled? Have they given you a good room? I hope you’ll shed some light on this distressing affair. I don’t know if you’re an early riser. Shall I be at your hotel at nine o’clock?’

  ‘If that’s convenient.’

  ‘Thank you, and once again I apologize.’

  When Maigret came out of the booth he caught a glimpse of Arlette, who had remained alone in the dining room, her elbows on the table, while the staff were clearing away.

  ‘He had to go to Dieppe,’ he said.

  ‘Has she finally croaked?’

  ‘Was she ill?’

  ‘She’s been saying she’s dying for twenty or thirty years. Charles must be delighted.’

  ‘Did he not like her?’

  ‘He’s going to be all right for a good while, because there’s a huge inheritance. Do you know Dieppe?’

  ‘Not well.’

  ‘The Montets own around a quarter of all the houses in the city. He’s going to be rich, but he’ll manage to lose all that money in some outlandish enterprise. Unless Mimi stops him, it’s her money after all, and I think she’s capable of standing up to him.’

  It was strange: she said all this without animosity; there was no spitefulness in her voice, no envy; she sounded as though she was simply talking about people as she saw them and they appeared in a harsher light than in the photos of the Criminal Records department.

  Maigret had sat back down opposite her and filled his pipe, which he hesitated to light.

  ‘Tell me when I start to get on your nerves.’

  ‘You don’t seem in a hurry to go back to La Bicoque.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘To the extent that you prefer any old company?’

  He knew that this was not true, that now she had begun to talk about herself, she probably wanted to say more. But most of the lights had now been turned off in the vast dining room and the staff were signalling that they had outstayed their welcome, making it difficult to pick up the conversation where they had left off.

  ‘Would you like to go somewhere else?’

  ‘Where? If we go to a bar we might bump into Théo, and I’d rather avoid him.’

  ‘Do you still love him?’

  ‘No. I don’t know.’

  ‘Are you angry with him?’

  ‘I don’t know. Come on. We can always go for a walk.’

  The night was dark and the fog created broad halos around the few electric streetlights. The regular crashing of the waves was much louder than during the day, making quite a din.

  ‘May I carry on asking you questions?’

  She was wearing very high heels and he was careful to avoid the streets that had no pavements, especially the ones with big, uneven cobblestones which might trip her up.

  ‘That’s why I’m here. You’ll have to ask them sooner or later, won’t you? I’d like to go back to Paris tomorrow with my mind at rest.’

  It was many years since Maigret had had the occasion to wander around at night through the dark, cold streets of a small town in the company of a pretty woman, and he felt almost guilty. There were few people out and about. Their footsteps could be heard long before they loomed out of the darkness. Most of them turned round to look at this nocturnal couple, and perhaps people were spying on them from behind the curtains of the lit windows too.

  ‘Sunday was your mother’s birthday, I gather.’

  ‘The third of September, yes. My stepfather turned that date into something as important as a national holiday and would not hear of any member of the family missing it. We’ve kept up the habit of getting together at my mother’s on that date. It’s become a tradition, do you understand?’

  ‘Except for Théo
, from what you told me earlier.’

  ‘Except for Théo, since his father’s death.’

  ‘Did you bring presents? May I ask what?’

  ‘Funnily enough, Mimi and I brought almost the same gift: a lace collar. It’s hard to find presents for my mother, who’s had everything she ever wanted, the rarest and most expensive things. When you give her a trinket, she bursts out laughing in a hurtful way and thanks you over-effusively. Since she loves lace, we both had the same idea.’

  ‘No chocolates, sweets or cakes?’

  ‘I can guess what you’re thinking. No. It wouldn’t occur to anyone to give her chocolates or sweets, which she hates. You see, Mother is one of those women who look frail and delicate but who prefer a grilled or pickled herring, a jar of gherkins or a nice piece of salted pork to cakes or sweets.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Has anyone in the family ever suspected what happened in the past between you and your stepfather?’

  ‘To be honest, I’m not sure, but I’d swear that Mother was always aware of it.’

  ‘Who’d have told her?’

  ‘She doesn’t need anyone. I’m sorry to speak ill of her again, but she’s always listened at keyholes. It’s an obsession. She spied on me before spying on Ferdinand. She spied on everyone in the house, in her house, including the butler, the driver and the maids.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because she wanted to know. Because it was her house.’

  ‘And do you think she knew about Théo as well?’

  ‘I’m almost certain.’

  ‘Did she ever say anything to you or make any allusion to it? You weren’t even twenty, were you? She could have warned you.’

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘When you announced your intention to marry Julien Sudre, didn’t she try to dissuade you? In other words, in those days it could have been considered a poor match. Ferdinand Besson was at the height of his career. You lived a life of luxury and you were marrying a penniless dentist with no prospects.’

  ‘Mother didn’t say anything.’

  ‘What about your stepfather?’

  ‘He didn’t dare. He felt awkward about me. I think he regretted his behaviour. Deep down, I think he was a very honest man, scrupulous even. He must have been convinced that I was doing it because of him. He wanted to give me a big dowry, which Julien turned down.’

  ‘At your request?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your mother never suspected anything?’

  ‘No.’

  Now they were on a path that led to the top of the cliff; at regular intervals they could see the Antifer beacon sweeping the sky, and they could hear the mournful wail of the foghorn in the darkness. The pungent smell of wrack reached their nostrils. Arlette showed no sign of tiredness and didn’t complain of the cold, despite her high heels and her Parisian outfit.

  ‘I’m going to ask a few more personal questions.’

  ‘I’m prepared for nearly all of the questions you’re asking me.’

  ‘When did you find out that you couldn’t have children? Before getting married?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Have you forgotten what I told you earlier?’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten but—’

  ‘No, I didn’t take any precautions whatsoever and I didn’t allow the men to take any.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps out of a sort of integrity.’

  He had the feeling she was blushing in the dark, and that there was something different in her voice.

  ‘How did you know for certain?’

  ‘Through a young houseman at Lariboisière hospital.’

  ‘Who was your lover?’

  ‘Like the rest. He examined me and had me examined by his friends.’

  He hesitated, embarrassed by the question that sprang to his lips. She sensed it.

  ‘Say it! I’ve got nothing left to lose …’

  ‘This appointment with his friends, was it strictly for medical purposes or—’

  ‘Or … yes!’

  ‘Now I understand.’

  ‘That I needed to put a stop to all that, right?’

  She still spoke with the same sang-froid, in a detached tone, as if this weren’t about her but about a pathological case.

  ‘Ask the other question.’

  ‘My goodness, yes. During these … amorous adventures, and later, with your husband or with others, did you ever feel—’

  ‘Normal pleasure? Is that what you mean?’

  ‘I was going to say “satisfaction”.’

  ‘Neither. You’re not the first person to ask me that, you know. Although I sometimes follow a man in the street, I also sleep with intelligent men and even men of great standing.’

  ‘Is Hervé Peyrot one of them?’

  ‘He’s a conceited idiot.’

  ‘How would you react if your mother suddenly told you that she knew about that side of your life?’

  ‘I’d tell her to mind her own business.’

  ‘Supposing that, in the belief that it was her duty, and in the hope of saving you, she were to inform you that she was going to tell your husband about it?’

  A silence. She had stopped walking.

  ‘Is that what you’re leading up to?’ she asked reproachfully.

  ‘Not intentionally.’

  ‘I don’t know. I told you that I wouldn’t want Julien to find out for anything in the world.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Haven’t you understood?’

  ‘Because you’re afraid of hurting him?’

  ‘Partly. Julien is happy. He’s one of the happiest men I know. No one has the right to take away his joy. And besides …’

  ‘Besides?’

  ‘He’s probably the only man who respects me, who treats me other than … than you know what.’

  ‘And you need that?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘So that if your mother—’

  ‘If she threatened to sully me in his eyes, I would do anything to stop her.’

  ‘Including killing her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She added:

  ‘I can assure you that the situation has not yet occurred.’

  ‘Why do you say not yet?’

  ‘Because now not only does she know, but she has proof. She spoke to me about Hervé this afternoon.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘You’d probably be surprised if I told you what she said. You see, despite her airs and graces, Mother has remained very working class, very much the fisherman’s daughter, and in private she can be quite foul-mouthed. She told me I could have been content with playing the whore elsewhere than under her roof, using the filthiest language to refer to what happened between Hervé and me. She was just as rude about Julien, calling him a pimp, because she’s convinced he knows about it and takes advantage.’

  ‘Did you defend him?’

  ‘I ordered my mother to shut up.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By looking her in the eyes and telling her that I wanted her to shut up. Since she wouldn’t I slapped her, and she was so taken aback that she stopped at once.’

  ‘Is she waiting for you?’

  ‘I’m sure she won’t go to bed until I’m back.’

  ‘Do you really want to go and sleep at her house?’

  ‘You know the situation, and you must admit that I don’t really have any choice. Before I leave I have to be certain that she won’t say anything to Julien, that she won’t do anything that might worry him.’

  After a silence, sensing Maigret’s anxiety perhaps, she gave a wry little laugh.

  ‘Don’t worry. There won’t be a murder!’

  They had reached the top of the cliff and a milky fog obscured their view of the sea, which could be heard pounding the rocks.

  ‘We can take the path on the right back down. It’s better and b
rings us out almost opposite La Bicoque. Are you sure you don’t have any more questions for me?’

  The moon must have risen above the mist, which was now faintly incandescent, and, when Arlette stopped, he saw the pale shape of her face, with the wide line of her mouth.

  ‘Not for the time being,’ he replied.

  Then, still standing there in front of him, she said in a changed voice, which was painful to hear:

  ‘And … don’t you want to take advantage of me, like the others?’

  He nearly reacted to her the way she had reacted to her mother earlier that day, by slapping her as if she was a naughty little girl. But he merely gripped her arm hard and forced her to start making her way down the cliff path.

  ‘Mind you, what I was saying was for your benefit.’

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘Admit you’re tempted.’

  He squeezed her arm harder, deliberately hurting her.

  ‘Are you sure you won’t regret saying no?’

  Her voice had become shriller, sounding cruel and sarcastic.

  ‘Think carefully, inspector!’

  He abruptly let go of her arm, filled his pipe and continued down the cliff, taking no further notice of her. He heard her stop again, then continue slowly and finally hasten her steps to catch up with him.

  Maigret’s face was illuminated by the glow from the match he was holding over the bowl of his pipe.

  ‘I’m sorry. I behaved like an idiot just now.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you very angry with me?’

  ‘Let’s not mention it any more.’

  ‘Did you really think I wanted to?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What I wanted, after having been forced to humiliate myself as I did, was to hurt you back, to humiliate you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’d have felt avenged, watching you lying on top of me like an animal.’

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘Admit that you believe I tried to kill my mother.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Do you mean that you’re not sure?’

  ‘I simply mean what I said; in other words, that I have no idea.’

  ‘When you think I’m guilty, will you tell me?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Will you tell me to my face?’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘But I’m not guilty.’