PART TWO
1
AS ANNE TOLD him the story of the evening, she could feel Hartmann’s body grow tense with indignation. He appeared to be on the point of rushing off into action, but even in her distress she knew better than to let him go. As she laid her head on his shoulder and clung to his waist, she seemed to feel the force of his anger strengthen her.
‘All right,’ said Hartmann. ‘Listen. I will telephone this wretched dentist and put the fear of God into him. I will then ring the Patron and explain what’s happening before the old woman gets to him. I’ll have to go to another telephone, though. I can’t do it from the bar.’
‘Can I come with you? I don’t want to go back to my room. It’s so lonely.’ Anne was surprised at what she heard herself saying.
‘Yes, come on.’ Hartmann disengaged himself from her embrace but pulled her arm as they hurried through the rain to where his car was parked. Anne watched from the passenger seat as he negotiated the narrow back streets before joining the Boulevard.
‘We’ll go to the Café Gare. The telephone’s quite secluded there.’
‘But, monsieur, is it safe to ring Monsieur the Patron, do you think? Mme Bouin always says he’s so busy and it might do me more harm than good if he thought someone was – you know, speaking up for me.’
‘Leave it to me.’ Hartmann seemed to have a faint smile on his face.
He sat her down at a table in the café with some brandy and went to the telephone which was in a passageway leading to the lavatories. Anne could hear Hartmann’s voice raised in anger; then the doors swung shut as someone passed through and she could no longer make out the words. The doors opened again and she heard what sounded like threats of violence. She thought back to what she had told Hartmann; perhaps in her sobbing she had exaggerated. Through the glass swing door she saw him ring off and then make another call. This one lasted a little longer but was conducted more quietly.
Hartmann returned and sat down opposite her and beckoned the waiter over. ‘It’ll be all right. He’s going to telephone the Patron and withdraw his complaint – and he’s going to apologise to you. I told the Patron he’d be losing a client, but he didn’t seem to mind. He understands the situation.’
‘Do you know the man in the restaurant? The dentist?’
‘Yes, I let him take a tooth out once. Not a pleasant experience. I was glad of the chance to give him a piece of my mind.’
‘It’s very kind of you.’
‘Nonsense. People like him mustn’t be allowed to get away with these things.’
‘If it wasn’t for you I’d probably be packing my suitcase now.’
‘Would you have minded that?’
‘Not really. It’s very difficult for me there. I like Pierre, the head waiter, and Bruno, and even Roland, but the work’s very hard. And I think . . . they pick on me a bit.’
‘Who does?’
‘Mme Bouin, you know, the – the manageress. And Bruno, though I don’t really mind. He’s funny in his way.’
‘Why don’t you complain to the Patron?’
‘Because he’d sack me. If you’re in a junior position, you can’t make a fuss or people think you’re getting above yourself.’
‘And do they think that already?’
‘Mme Bouin does. She told me so.’
Hartmann lit a cigarette and rested his chin on his fist as he lowered his head and looked at her. ‘I suppose you do rather ask for it.’
‘What?’
‘It’s something about you. You don’t conform to their ideas of what a junior waitress should be like. It’s not that you’re haughty or impolite, it’s just that you seem too self-possessed. You don’t seem to understand how simple most girls in your position are. They may be very charming, but they’re simple. You’re never going to be like that, however hard you try.’
Anne pulled the comb from her hair as she looked down at the table and pushed it back and forth two or three times before resettling it. When she looked up again Hartmann’s eyes were still fixed on her, his expression one of quizzical gentleness, as if he expected her to explain herself. Anne, however, was quite practised at changing the subject when it suited her, and said rather abruptly, ‘Another thing I don’t like about the hotel is that almost every time I have a bath I feel that someone’s watching me.’
‘What?’ Hartmann laughed, incredulously. It was not the response she had wanted.
‘Yes,’ she said, feeling herself colour a little. ‘There’s a noise from high up on the wall and, although I can’t actually see anything, I’m sure someone’s looking at me. I can feel their eyes.’
‘Who is it, do you think?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Perhaps it’s the Patron himself.’
‘Oh, really!’
‘No, I don’t suppose so. He’s too busy. On the other hand, he is a widower. His wife was a beautiful woman. Perhaps he misses her.’
‘Monsieur –’
‘I’m sorry. I was being facetious. It’s probably that boy who looks like a medieval villain with the fringe and those angry boils.’
‘Roland? I don’t think he’d be interested. He’s too young.’
‘I don’t think so.’
Hartmann ordered two more drinks, overriding Anne’s objection. Slowly the brandy trickled down inside her and soothed the feeling of injustice she had felt as she leaned against the hotel wall. She was aware that her eyes must be swollen, but there was little she could do about it. If she went to look at herself in the mirror, it might only destroy what little self-confidence she felt.
He said, ‘You’re a resilient girl, aren’t you?’
‘I was lucky to run into someone who took my part.’
‘It wasn’t only luck, was it? If you hadn’t offered to come and work for me, I wouldn’t have known who you were. If I’d just recognised you from the hotel, I would have thought it was none of my business.’
Anne shrugged and said nothing. The delicacy of her situation was beginning to embarrass her. There was nothing scandalous, of course, in having a glass of brandy with a married man, but she imagined everyone in the room could guess that it meant much more than that to her. Now that the tears had gone, it was difficult to find a level on which to communicate with him. He seemed to talk to her exactly as he talked to Mattlin or to anyone else, but her response was complicated by the nervous emotion she felt and by her fear of saying something stupid.
‘What are you going to do now?’ he said.
‘I don’t know. I haven’t anywhere else to go, so I suppose I’ll have to go back. Mme Bouin isn’t going to be pleased, you know. She’ll make me suffer for this.’
‘Perhaps if you stay there for a little while you can find a better job somewhere else in the town.’
‘What, in another hotel?’
‘You don’t have to be a waitress, surely. You must have other skills.’
‘Not really. I can sew a little, and draw. But I left school too young to learn much there.’
Hartmann, who had obviously not often put his mind to the employment prospects of young women, frowned. ‘Perhaps you could go somewhere as a receptionist, or a manageress. To a doctor’s, perhaps.’
Anne found herself laughing. ‘Monsieur, do I seem to you a typical doctor’s receptionist?’
Hartmann smiled and ran his big hand back through his hair. ‘No, I suppose not. Never mind. By the time you come on Wednesday, I’ll have thought of something. You are coming on Wednesday, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Now I’ll drive you back to the hotel.’
He took his hat and ushered her out into the street. The engine fired into life and the short journey was over, it seemed to Anne, almost before it had begun. Hartmann pulled up at the end of the street at the side of the Lion d’Or. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ he said, as Anne moved to get out of the car.
‘Yes, I’ll be fine. Thank you very much.’
‘I’ll see you on Wednesday.’
‘Yes. Wednesday.’
Anne watched the black car reverse and stop, then pull away, the headlights catching strings of rain in their beam. She stood at the side entrance of the hotel until it was out of sight.