In the end, Patrick didn’t go to the cinema that day; he went for a long walk instead. Something else he hadn’t done for years. In fact, he’d forgotten what a weekday afternoon even looked like. He wandered around, ignoring the ringing of his phone. The business district was deserted at that time of day. All those men and women were busy in their offices, doing their very important jobs. He looked at the buildings surrounding him and imagined them as filing cabinets, their drawers full of humans. Suddenly everything struck him as ridiculous. He wandered into a gambling bar where he drank a beer and watched some horse racing. For an hour, he had the impression that he was feeling something close to happiness. In fact, he found himself trying to hold in what could be described as a sort of euphoria. He noticed the missed calls on his phone and thought about the days before mobile phones were invented, when you could genuinely disappear from your life.

70

At rush hour, as people in suits swarmed out of office buildings and down into the metro, Patrick was making the reverse journey, returning to his office. He told Valérie he’d be back later than usual, saying he had some work to finish up. She was disappointed that, on the day they had found each other again, he wasn’t making an effort to get home early, but she assumed he didn’t have any choice. In reality, he didn’t do any work, didn’t make any calls. His clients’ problems were no longer his own. Floods, earthquakes, accidents of any kind … nothing could hurt him now.

His department was deserted. He left his office, went to the lift, and rode it up to Desjoyaux’s floor. Once again he walked through the same long corridor he’d walked through a few hours before, but this time it didn’t seem so long. Distances are always influenced by our state of mind. He spotted a cleaner in somebody’s office and made sure she didn’t see him. This wasn’t difficult; she appeared to be performing her duties in a mechanical way, paying no attention to anything around her. Repetitive movements, the same every evening, struggling against exhaustion. She was the real Tom Cruise, thought Patrick, before continuing on his way. But before reaching Desjoyaux’s office, he went to the back stairs and grabbed a fire extinguisher. Then he retraced his footsteps and headed towards the scene of his humiliation.

The door was open. He sat down for a moment in Desjoyaux’s chair, then swivelled around to look at the curtains. Those famous new curtains. A little earlier that afternoon, Patrick had bought a Zippo lighter at the bar. He flicked open the lid with his thumb – the gesture that can make any man look cool. Moreover, it was exactly the right tone for my hero’s attitude. Some find grace in a mystical revelation; Patrick seemed to have undergone a nonchalance transplant. He was taking an insane risk (a security guard or another employee might pass by at any moment), but he appeared completely relaxed. In truth, he was acting like a man who has nothing left to lose.