2
ON HER FIRST evening Anne was sent to work in the town bar, which was on the other side of the hall from the main dining-room and had a door opening straight out on to the street behind. The position of the hotel made the bar a meeting place for people passing through and sometimes this gave it an agreeable air of bustle and change.
Two men stood with their feet on the rail of the bar and their elbows on the zinc counter, talking in voices which, although conspiratorial, were not in any way muted, so that as she went about her work Anne could hear everything they said.
‘Hartmann. Yes, I’ve known him since we were children,’ said one, a man in his middle thirties with unusually curly hair and a mellow speaking voice. There was something angelic about his head, but his hands were small and restless. He reminded Anne of a man she had seen in a film magazine.
The other man grinned. ‘I never thought he’d take on that leaky old manor when his father died. He’ll be needing a lot of work doing on it, I shouldn’t wonder. All good news for the workers.’
He was small and dark with a chirpy note in his voice that seemed to place him lower down the social scale than his companion. His name, it transpired, was Roussel.
‘If he can be persuaded to part with his money, of course.’
‘Is he mean, then?’
The film star rolled his eyes. ‘When we lived in Paris, Hartmann used to walk round to my apartment every night, though it was a long way away, so he could use my telephone because he was too tight-fisted to use his own.’
‘But I thought M. Hartmann was a friend of yours?’ said Roussel.
‘Yes, he is. My best friend.’
Roussel glanced down at the bar and moved his drink from hand to hand. ‘I suppose it’s the Jewish blood in him. Have you known him for a long time?’
‘We were at school together. I remember another time. Hartmann invited me to bring a girl – a young woman I had met at the opera – and come round to his apartment so we could all go to the theatre. He was to bring his floosie of the moment. Then we went out to dinner afterwards, a place he said he knew off the rue Saint Denis – all of this was to be a treat on him, you understand. And then suddenly at the end of dinner he says he’s left his money behind and has no means of paying. He presents me with the bill from the theatre and from the restaurant. He said he’d pay me back, but of course he never did.’
‘But that’s terrible,’ said Roussel, standing up on tip-toe in agitation. ‘Why didn’t you ask him for the money back? I mean, if he had agreed to it?’
‘There are certain things one cannot do. As a gentleman, you understand. I reminded him once, politely. That’s really all one can do.’
Roussel looked shame-faced, and swirled his cloudy drink round in his glass. Then his manner lightened as an idea seemed to strike him. ‘I suppose he’ll want a builder at the Manor, won’t he? You know my company has diversified. We do all sorts of different kinds of work now, it’s not just earth-shifting and that sort of thing.’
‘Yes, he may need someone. If you don’t mind a few delays with the payments.’
‘Well . . . things could be better in business at the moment. I mean, we’re doing well, but it’s the general feel of the times, isn’t it? And I thought that since you know him, you might be able to . . . put in a word. We could do it ever so cheap. Though I wouldn’t want to put you in a tricky position – you know, having to talk business with him, something that might damage your friendship.’
Covertly, Roussel motioned Anne to refill the film star’s drink, which she did, earning a conspiratorial wink from Roussel as he slipped some coins across the counter.
‘I’m rather tired of fixing things for Hartmann,’ said his friend. ‘I’ve just arranged some work for him. You know, the big negligence case when three men died last year in the accident at the marsh reclamation works. It’s coming on in Paris and Hartmann is acting for the company.’
‘You fixed that for him?’
‘I put in a word here and there. He told me he was looking for work and he hasn’t been in these parts for such a long time I think most people have forgotten who he is.’
Anne watched Roussel’s eyes widen. She was surprised at the way they talked so openly in front of her, as though she didn’t really exist, or as though being a waitress made her deaf or wholly discreet.
‘Have I shown you our new business card?’ said Roussel. He took one from his pocket. ‘We’re the first people to have them in this area. Here. Building, construction, decoration. We do anything really.’
‘Very nice.’
Roussel tried several more times to bring the conversation back to Hartmann and any work he might need doing, but the other man seemed to have lost interest. Eventually Roussel took his coat from behind the door and said goodnight.
When he had gone, the man with the curly hair turned slowly to face the bar. ‘It’s obvious from your accent,’ he said to Anne, ‘you’re not from anywhere round here.’
‘No, that’s right. I’m from Paris. I arrived yesterday.’
He silently appraised her face and she looked back at him. His eyes were narrow and his nose was hooked, but his face was boldly shaped and the overall effect was handsome in a striking if unusual way.
‘So you’ve replaced the girl – what’s her name, Sophie?’
‘Yes. Her mother was ill and she had to go back to Lyon.’
‘Do you know anyone here?’
‘No one at all.’
‘Now you do. André Mattlin.’ He held his hand out over the bar for her to shake. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘I’m not allowed to, monsieur.’
‘Not now. I meant when you’d finished here. What time is that?’
‘I think we close at eleven-thirty, but –’
‘That’s fine. I have my car outside and there’s a place I know near the station that stays open till quite late. I could take you there and show you something of the town.’
Knowing that she should say no, Anne agreed.