I sat there staring at the page. My message had been read instantly. Sitting in my chair in the living room, I felt as if I were in the middle of an action film. I had to stay calm; it might not be him at all; it could be someone else who looked after his account, one of his children, for example. I drifted back into negative thoughts. No, stay positive! Until this point, everything had gone swimmingly with my book. There was no reason why that should change now. Oh! Three little dots had begun to flash up on the screen. That meant he was replying. Was Yves Grimbert himself writing something at that very moment? What time was it in Los Angeles? There was a nine-hour time difference. So that meant it was 7.30 a.m. there. I immediately imagined him with his coffee in the kitchen, replying to my message. Or perhaps he was in bed with his phone? No, I didn’t believe that. Old people in the United States get up early; they do everything early, in fact; they have dinner around five in the afternoon. Why was I thinking about American seniors’ mealtime habits? I was just filling the interminable waiting time while those three little dots quivered before my eyes. Facebook must have invented those dots to keep us hanging on; to keep the user in suspense; to let the recipient prepare himself for the coming message like an actor rehearsing his lines backstage; to prevent the connection ever being broken … yes, that was it: never break the connection. Even the silences between responses have become part of our entertainment; something is always happening now, even when nothing is happening.

At last his reply appeared: ‘Dear Monsieur, I was very moved to read your message. In fact, it is a shock for me to hear about Madeleine this morning. I think about her so often. Please send her my most faithful thoughts. And tell her that I would be more than happy to see her again. It has been a long time since I travelled back to France. But if she would like to come here, I would be delighted. Thank you once again for sending this message on her behalf. Best wishes, Yves.’

So now it was official: I had a new character in my book. And what an elegant entrance he had made! Already, I wanted to know everything about him. Who was he? What did he do? And why had he left France? I was thinking about my book, of course, but I was also thinking about Madeleine. She would surely be overwhelmed with emotion when she read his message. People often talk about the power of literature. But it was crazy to think how many aspects of the Martins’ lives had suddenly turned into gripping storylines since I’d made the decision to write about them.

43

Before meeting Jérémie, I went to Madeleine’s apartment to announce the news. She did not seem surprised. For her, everything had been clear since that morning. She had not imagined any other scenario. I was fascinated by the power of her conviction. And by her pragmatism too. She handed me her passport and asked if I could book the flights. I had become her private secretary on this voyage into her past. I had a sudden intuition that something awaited me too in Los Angeles. But what it could be, I had no idea.