As if embarrassed by these confessions, Valérie suddenly changed the subject. She wanted to talk about me again.

‘Obviously I don’t know you. But I mentioned you to my colleague who teaches French and she would be thrilled if you’d agree to meet her students.’

‘Yes, maybe later. For now, I need to devote myself to this book. And that means talking about you.’

‘Are you really interested?’

‘Your husband asked me the same question.’

‘Well, that’s something we have in common,’ she said with unveiled sarcasm.

‘And yes, of course I’m really interested. Weariness is an important subject these days. Probably because our relationship with fulfilment has completely changed.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Nowadays it’s everyone’s ambition to be happy. That’s obviously changed our expectations.’

‘If you say so.’

‘Lots of people I know are changing their occupations. Retraining has become the norm. People reach forty and realise they don’t want to work as an estate agent any more – they’d rather teach yoga. I see it all the time. Why should teachers be any different? Just because they’re employed by the State? What you’re feeling seems perfectly understandable to me. Maybe you want a change of career.’

‘Well, not yoga, that’s for sure! What bothers me is not feeling that passion for my job any more. I don’t think I really want to change, I just want to feel that spark again.’

‘I know exactly what you mean.’

‘Anyway, you’re right about people having fragmented careers. I have a friend who was a paediatrician and she gave it all up to open a cheese shop in Corsica! She’s an amazing woman. You should write about her instead of me. If you’re ever disappointed with me, I’ll give you her number.’

‘You’re not disappointing,’ I said without thinking.

Valérie seemed pleased by this unusual compliment. Perhaps it made her feel like an interesting heroine. I hadn’t intended to put so much of myself into our conversation; I wanted to remain withdrawn, to be a listener. But the discussion had hit a nerve for me. I knew that feeling all too well – losing one’s spark. Many times, writing a novel, I have felt lost, completely lacking in motivation. And then one day, like a miracle, my love of words would return. A writer can quickly become bipolar. So I understood Valérie and what she was describing: that feeling of paralysis, doing a job drained of all colour.

19

The conversation continued; soon it would be time to leave.

I could have waited until our next meeting to ask her about her sister, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

‘Could I ask you about something else?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘I sensed yesterday that there was an awkwardness when I mentioned Stéphanie. Your mother seemed uncomfortable too.’

‘…’

‘What happened?’

‘There are some things I don’t feel like talking about.’

‘I understand.’

‘Don’t sulk. I promised I’d be honest, and I will be. But it’s too early to talk about my sister.’