Her Lover (Belle de Seigneur)

by Albert Cohen

  But once inside, her courage failed her, for the men looked up from their cards and stared. She turned round, pushed the revolving door too hard. It caught her in the small of the back and propelled her on to the pavement, where she saw, heading towards her, a friend she had known since before she was married. So that she wouldn't have to say hello, she took refuge in a stationer's, where, to justify her presence, she purchased a fountain-pen. A small cat sidled up to her. She tickled it in the approved manner, forehead first, under the chin next, then asked how old it was, what sort of character it had and its name, which, disappointingly, was Tiddles. Feeling that she had fallen among friends, she exchanged stories about cats with the proprietress, strongly recommended raw liver, an indispensable source of vitamins, said goodbye to Tiddles, and left with a smile on her face.

  'On reflection, there's not much point writing it all out, all I need do is tell myself what I'm going to tell Piglet, sort of dress rehearsal. Basically, the main thing is to insist on three fittings, all close together. Friday the seventeenth, Tuesday the twenty-first, Thursday the twenty-third, no Wednesday the twenty-second, so as to leave a good margin in case of slip-ups. Ask calmly, act as if you're convinced you'll get your way. Yes, because everything depends on your inner attitudes. Don't say "I would like", say "I want", and say it firmly and categorically. "Monsieur, I want three fittings, and everything must be finished by the morning of Friday the twenty-fourth." Tell lies, never mind, it's self-defence. Yes, tell him unexpected developments, circumstances beyond my control, absolutely must leave on the evening of Friday the twenty-fourth, that is a day earlier than planned. Consequently, I must have everything absolutely but absolutely ready for the Friday morning without fail. Got to be firm with him. Look him straight in his piggy little eyes. And don't let him arrange to deliver it at Cologny, say you'll call in and collect everything yourself on the Friday morning. Friday morning I arrive, supposedly to collect the dresses and suits by car or taxi, and while I'm in the shop tell them straight, as if it had just occurred to me, that come to think of it I'd like to try everything on once more. That's it: be brave. They won't dare say no. That'll make a fourth fitting on the sly. If, when I try the things on, I find other faults that need to be put right, I ask for the alterations to be done for Friday afternoon, by six at the latest. If there's anything that's still wrong, tell more lies, no option, say I've put off going until Saturday evening, whereupon more alterations and dresses perfect, finished by Saturday at twelve or two. The advantage of spinning a yarn about going away on Friday evening is that it leaves me a margin of twenty-four hours to get everything spot on. Lying's wrong, of course. But, beloved, I lie for you. To sum up, be firm, don't weaken for any reason. I'm negotiating from a position of strength, since I haven't paid them anything on account. If Piglet won't play ball, say I'm cancelling the order, in which case grab a plane for Paris and try those de-luxe haute couture boutiques where they do off-the-peg lines, after all I do have a figure like a model's, so I'm not the least at Piglet's mercy. Oh, just one other thing: change the neckline on the gold lamé.'

  Outside the canopied entrance to the dress shop, her courage failed her and she didn't dare go inside. It was no good denying it, she was afraid of people who were in trade, common people who did not like you and passed judgement. No, she did not have the courage to face the whole gang of them with their hypocritical, smirking faces — Volkmaar who thought it refined to say dear lady, the heavily made-up sales girls who criticized you silently, Chloé who thought herself so smart with her signet-ring on her little finger, and the rest of the vulgar tribe of models who behaved like man-eating, sensual princesses and had mothers who most likely were concierges. Better to phone. Feel braver when they can't see you.

  In the phone-box, she scribbled the gist of what she wanted to say on the back of her husband's latest letter, postmarked Jerusalem but still unopened, like all the others. Damn, you'd better open them or, if you can't bring yourself to do that, wire him at the address on the back of the envelope and say: 'Thanks fascinating letters stop Read and reread them' etc. Concentrate, you can think about that tonight. After propping the envelope in front of her against the back of the phone-box, she dialled the number, sneezed, and made a face when she heard Chloé's voice.

  'Oh hello, this is . . . (Awkward saying she was Madame Adrien Deume.) I was in the shop a little while ago. I'm ringing to say that . . . (She bent down to pick up the envelope which her sneeze had blown away, but failed.) On second thoughts, I'll pop in. (Out of the question to say that she was phoning from across the road.) I'll be with you in a quarter of an hour.'

  She rang off quickly so she wouldn't hear the reply, and wandered through the narrow streets. When thirteen minutes were up, she turned on her heel, having made up her mind to be firm. Courage. In this life, success came to those who paid no attention to other people's opinions and rode roughshod over anything that stood in their way. Yes, be forthright, she told herself as the gold-braided porter pushed the door for her. But once inside the perfumed, mellowly lit salon, she was struck by the full enormity of both the things she was asking. So that they would not be held against her, and also to keep Volkmaar sweet, she began by saying that she would like another suit. He bowed before a customer who was clearly made of money.

  'But before I decide anything about the extra suit,' she said, a warm flush creeping across her face, 'I'd like a small alteration to the gold-lamé dress. Yes, on reflection I think I'd rather not keep the plunging neckline. I'd prefer to have it come higher on the neck.'

  'Round the neck,' said Volkmaar gloomily. 'Very well, dear lady, we shall make it round-necked. And what sort of material are we thinking of for our suit?'

  'First I have something else to ask you. Unforeseen circumstances oblige me to bring forward the date of my departure, and I now have to leave on the Friday evening. (Volkmaar assumed an impassive expression.) I've just this moment heard. So I shall need everything I've ordered for the morning of Friday the twenty-fourth, noon at the latest, because I cannot possibly be expected to pack at the very last moment.'

  'Ah?' was the only comment offered by Volkmaar, who was well accustomed to the time-worn gambit of the new date of departure.

  'I realize it doesn't leave much time,' she said with a timid smile.

  'Not much, Madame.'

  'It was unavoidable, couldn't be helped.'

  'Hardly any time at all,' said Volkmaar, sphinx-like and sadistic.

  'I'd .. . (Say pay? Best not. Might offend him.) I'd be . . . happy to meet any extra charge you felt necessary to hurry things along.'

  He pretended he had not heard, closed his eyes momentarily as though giving the matter his fullest attention, and began pacing round the shop while she looked on anxiously.

  'It's a large undertaking, dear lady, but we shall manage it, even if we have to keep our workrooms open all night. Very well, everything will be finished for midday on Friday the twenty-fourth. As for the extra charge, perhaps you would have a word with Mademoiselle Chloé.'

  She murmured that she was extremely grateful. Then, deliberately avoiding his eye and breathing with some difficulty, she recited: 'I'd like three fittings. The first on Friday of this week, and the other two on Tuesday and Wednesday of next week.'

  While her breathing returned to normal, he assented with a bow, having made up his mind that this customer, whom he had marked down as easy meat, would be made to pay through the nose.

  'And now Madame's suit,' he said. 'I have several pretty little numbers to show you. (He turned to a tragic, tubercular girl with huge eyelashes.) Josyane, bring down the Dormeuil that's just in, the Minnis twelve-thirteen and the shot cretonne by Gagnière.'

  'There's really no need, I'm very taken with that flannel there on the table.'

  'Excellent choice, dear lady. An exquisite cloth, and the charcoal grey is entrancing. And what style does Madame prefer? I could see Madame in a very short jacket, gathered at the waist, with a belt in the same
material and high pockets. Or perhaps wide lapels and a scooped neckline to emphasize the bust? Chloé, would you ask Bettine to model the Caprice and Patricia the Androcles?'

  'There's really no need,' she said, anxious to be gone and stop being a dear lady. 'Make the suit exactly like the other which is also flannel.'

  'Very well, dear lady. Would you note that down, Chloé? A second Cambridge in the charcoal-grey Holland. First complete fitting on the afternoon of Friday the seventeenth. Madame shall have top priority. All other orders will be put back. Good-day, dear lady.'

  Free at last and happy to breathe air which was not heavy with perfume, she decided she had earned a reward in the shape of several cups of tea. But just as she reached the teashop she knew in a sudden flash of intuition that the lamé dress would be horrid with a high heck. The idea of wanting to restyle a high-fashion dress like that, a garment which had after all been very carefully designed, was quite absurd. That beast Volkmaar ought never to have agreed to it. The round neckline was a stupid idea. A round neck! Round your neck. Noose round your neck, hang you by the neck until you're dead, dead, dead! Volkmaar was a beast. She kicked a pebble which was doing no one any harm. Once she had the dresses, she'd send Volkmaar an anonymous letter saying he had breasts like a woman.

  'This time I'll phone.'

  In the phone-box, she dialled the number after first propping the sacred telegram in front of her, to give her strength. But when she heard Chloé's voice she hung up and beat a hasty retreat. She halted abruptly when she had got as far as the tearoom. God! the telegram! She ran back and dashed into the glass-sided phone-box. It was still there! 'My love,' she said to it.

  Be firm, yes, she would go, five uncomfortable minutes and it would be over and done with. I've been thinking. Leave the lamé dress as seen, that is with the deep neckline. Or should she say that she was cancelling it because it would be far too hot in summer. Yes, cancel, that would make her appear less undecided, more feet-on-the-ground.

  At midnight, unable to sleep, she switched the light on and once more picked up the mirror. Terrific hair, oh yes. Light-brown, but with a wonderful golden sheen, like burnt hazel and gold. Fantastic nose too, marvellously attractive, though perhaps it was a teeny bit bigger than was usual. And the overall effect? She was beautiful. Even the swans had stared as she strolled by the lake after leaving Piglet's shop. But what was the good of being beautiful when he wasn't there?

  'One: the white crêpe, which actually is extra to requirements since I've got something similar already, so that was a bad move. Two and three: the two heavenly rustic linen outfits. Four: the little light-grey flannel suit, absolutely tickety-boo, I'll feel wonderful in it. Five: the charcoal-grey flannel, stuck with it because I couldn't say no, it's absolutely ridiculous because it's a winter weight, let's hope there'll be some cold days. The kiss on that first night, the kiss on his hand, set the tone for our love. I am his slave, that's what I am. I make myself sick loving him the way I do, but it's divine. Next the dresses I ordered to get myself off the hook for cancelling the gold lamé. Six or seven: the black velvet, can't make my mind up about it, we'll see. Seven or eight: the sporty affair, twelve wooden buttons all the way down the front and back, not bad. Eight or nine: the linen one that laces up, I love it, it's a sort of fine sailcloth almost, it'll be grand swanning around like a galleon. All right, so I dropped a few clangers, but there's always some waste. So let's see, how many outfits is that? Eight or nine? No matter, we'll see how they turn out at the fittings. What absurd lengths to go to, just so he'll find me attractive. Mustn't ever let up, have to go on being attractive all the time, what a comedown. Tomorrow you absolutely must open Adrien's letters. Quarter past midnight. Hooray, that's one day gone, only another ten to go. Yes, the people chosen of God. Shall I convert? Anyway, I shall have to ask him to forgive me for those two words, I'll write and say sorry, I couldn't possibly tell him to his face. O my love, come now, she sighed, throwing the covers back. See, my love, I am yours, completely yours, and ready.'

  CHAPTER 60

  Next morning, she walked through the patrician portals of the house of Saladin, de Chapeaurouge & Co., bankers to the Aubles for more than two centuries. After exchanging a few friendly words with the aged porter she liked because he kept a tame raven which had a taste for café au lait, she made for a till manned by a counter-clerk who, observing her come in, had already checked the state of the account of this niece of an old and valued customer recently passed away.

  'How much money may I withdraw?'

  'Exactly four thousand francs, Madame. There's nothing more to go in until the first of October.'

  'That's fine,' she said, and she displayed her teeth for his benefit. 'Funny, really, because as it happens I have an account to settle which comes to exactly four thousand francs.'

  She signed the slip, collected the cash, asked after the raven, listened with a delighted smile as she was told all about it, and left, while the counter-clerk with the long ears straightened the comforting carnation in the buttonhole of his jacket. He wore a fresh one every day. It made him feel like a gentleman.

  In the street, she reflected that it would be ridiculous to pay money on account since she already knew how much the final bill would come to. Eight thousand five hundred francs in all, Mademoiselle Chloé had said, including the extra charges. Might as well pay the whole lot straight off and then she could put it out of her mind. Yes, trot along to de Lulle's, where she surely had bigger holdings than with Saladin etc. & Co. She'd need to squeeze four thousand five hundred francs out of them. On second thoughts, best ask for a bit more, since there were lots of other things she'd need to buy, given that her lord would be corning back soon.

  'At least fifteen thousand and be on the safe side.'

  As she proceeded up the olde worlde street, she smiled as she recalled something Tantlérie had often said to Uncle Gri: 'Of course, Agrippa, I have the fullest confidence in de Lulle's. They are a very good family and have for generations been sound members of the Consistory. But I do not feel at ease in their bank, which is too modern, too grand. It even has a lift, tsk, really.' Dear Tantlérie, so undemonstrative when she was alive but so affectionate in her will. She remembered the words: 'With the exception of my villa at Champel, which I leave to my dear brother Agrippa, I bequeath the whole of my estate to my beloved niece, Ariane, nee d'Auble, whom I commend to the protection of the Almighty.' Ariane, nee d'Auble, that is what unbending Tantlérie had said: even in her will she could not bring herself to recognize her ill-advised marriage.

  She halted outside the de Lulle bank, fished out the telegram she had received that morning, looked at it, but did not read what it said. Everything was now settled. He would take the train on the twenty-fifth just as she had asked him to. He would get in at seven twenty-two and would be with her at nine. Hallelujah! And between now and then they both had an appointment with the polestar every evening, also at nine. No, don't read the wire again now, don't extract the last drop of juice. Tonight, in bed, after the polestar-gazing, she'd read both of them again, the one she'd got yesterday and the one that had come this morning.

  She frowned as she walked into the silent de Lulle building. Yes, tomorrow without fail, open and read all of Adrien's letters. Now that's out of the way, just enjoy being happy. She smiled at the cashier, another old acquaintance, a long, ascetic vegetarian with a Jesus beard, of whom Tantlérie had greatly approved because he believed the Bible was the inspired word of God. Having dealt with a lady customer with a face like an old pekinese with eczema, who waddled away with one hand tragically gripping the opening of her handbag, he straightened his clip-on tie in honour of the Auble inheritance and gave her a friendly, welcoming look.

  'How much money is there in my account?'

  'Unless I am very much mistaken, approximately six thousand francs, Madame,' said the salt-of-the-earth cashier, who knew the current state of the accounts of all his high-class customers like the back of his hand.

/>   'I shall need more than that,' she said, and she smiled. (Why did Ariane smile so much in her two banks? Because she was comfortable in banks, which were very pleasant places, they made a person feel so at home. Bankers were very nice people, always ready to be of service and give you all the money you wanted. For Ariane, nee d'Auble, money was the only kind of goods which could be obtained free of charge. All it took was a signature.)

  The cashier looked at her unhappily over his glasses. In addition to being saddened, as he always was, when a client asked him for sums greater than were justified by her 'receipts', he was afraid that this eccentric niece was about to ask him to sell some of her shares. He loathed receiving instructions to sell, especially from young, inexperienced women customers. Though only a humble, modestly paid counter-clerk, a man of ingrained habits and many scruples, he felt a curious affection for the daughters of the well-to-do who had inherited money. He longed for them to prosper, and grew dispirited when he sensed that they were on the way down. A sort of underfed watchdog, resigned to his modest station in life, his joy was to stand guard over the wealth of the wealthy. So he asked his heiress, who, though of eminently respectable family, had little understanding of money matters, if she could not possibly wait until October, when large receipts were due. He adopted his most persuasive tone to beg to inform her that at that time her account would contain more than ten thousand francs.