1. 8. My face was an open book. Open to the page where the murderer’s identity was revealed.

30

Dinner was over quickly and everyone went back to their rooms. I stayed alone with Valérie in the living room and drank herbal tea. I didn’t want to bring up what she’d told me about her husband: this wasn’t the time or place. I couldn’t see myself whispering. And yet, one question kept gnawing at me: had her sudden declaration been spontaneous or premeditated? If the former, it was perhaps our conversation that had triggered the sharing of that secret. Would she stick to her resolution? I doubted it. It’s possible to express a desire without going through with it. As I imagined my hostess’s possible romantic futures, she watched me with a broad smile.

‘You’re really unusual.’

‘Oh? Is that a compliment?’

‘Yes. I love it. I did find you very odd to start with, but I have to admit that you’re growing on me.’

‘…’

She started laughing. Apparently she was quite pleased with what she’d said. I had known her only two days, but I had the feeling it had been a long time since she’d laughed like that. Her face seemed surprised at having to make the expressions associated with happiness and amusement. This woman who had been so withdrawn when I first met her was now clearly enjoying the idea of the adventure she’d set in motion.

She went on: ‘So I didn’t really understand: your wife just left you, like that?’

‘She wasn’t my wife.’

‘You know what I mean. Your partner, then.’

‘Valérie, thank you for everything. But I would really prefer not to talk about myself.’

‘I know, I get it. But I need to know the person I’m talking to. And you’re nothing like what they say about you on the internet.’

‘I don’t know what I’m like. I certainly don’t want to hide from you. And I understand your desire for a greater balance in our conversations. But I’m here to write a book about you, not about me.’

‘It’s frustrating though. I want to get to know you better.’

‘We can talk about me later, okay?’

‘All right. But at least let me ask you one question a day. That’s reasonable, isn’t it?’

‘One question a day?’

‘Yes.’

‘All right,’ I said, smiling faintly.

At that rate, it would take her several years to understand my relationship with Marie. I had been questioning myself constantly since our separation, and I wasn’t even close to finding an answer. In fact, it all seemed to be getting stranger and more uncertain; I wasn’t at all sure that she and I had lived through the same experiences.

31

Having parried this autobiographical attack, I gained the upper hand again. I wanted to take advantage of this moment alone with Valérie to tell her what her mother had revealed to me. How much did Valérie know about Madeleine’s first love? Not much, she said. He’d been mentioned in passing a few times; at most, she knew his first name and a few insignificant details, but she had never known how serious the relationship was. She appeared surprised by what I told her, although she did accept it was generally easier to confess one’s innermost thoughts to a stranger. She had felt the same thing too, after all. But Madeleine had hidden her romantic past above all out of respect for the father of her children. And Valérie wasn’t sure she wanted to know any more about it; the frown on her face was pitched somewhere between doubt and disgust. It must also be said that it was probably strange for Valérie to imagine her mother in the throes of a wild passion, when she had always seen her go about her life in such a reasonable way.