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Authors: Patrick Modiano
Tags: Fiction
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safer place," the porter repeated.
He tried to reason with himself: his mother was dead, he was an adult, now.
"Is something worrying you?" the porter asked.
Ingrid too was giving him a questioning look.
"No. No. Nothing at all."
"What were you thinking about?" Ingrid asked.
"Nothing."
It was enough to hear Ingrid's voice and to meet her eyes for the past to crumble into dust, with its miserable incidentals: a frivolous mother, an American water ski champion, the white hair and suntanned skin of Monsieur Bailby, and the guests having cocktails down below, by the landing stage. How could all those faded things still cause him any anxiety?
He walked by Ingrid's side in this garden which was now minute, in comparison with what it had been during his childhood: a forest in which he was always afraid of getting lost and never finding his way back to the castle.
"Now I'll show you round the villa … "
And he was surprised to observe how modest the villa too seemed to him, compared with the castle he remembered in Walter Scott's novels. So that was all it was …
•
They chose the turret room because of its white walls. On the first floor, the American woman's bedroom was more spacious, but its dark panelling, four-poster bed and Empire furniture gave it a funereal look. Most of the time they used the salon on the ground floor, which had a veranda and opened on to the garden and the sea. One whole wall of this salon was taken up by bookshelves, and they decided to read the books one by one, in the order in which they were arranged on the shelves.
Rigaud avoided the garden. But on sunny days they went down the stone steps to the landing stage. They bathed, and lay on the pontoon from which the water skiers had formerly taken off. Stowed in a garage hollowed out in the rock were the speedboat and the skis. Would they be used again before they rotted?
During the first days, the Provençal porter advised Rigaud and Ingrid not to leave the villa. He made himself responsible for bringing their food. He had gone with Rigaud to the mairie in Antibes where, thanks to one of his friends, he had been able to get them a "work permit" specifying that Monsieur and Madame Rigaud were the caretakers of the Villa SaintGeorges, situated in the Boulevard Baudoin in Juan-les-Pins, Alpes-Maritimes. And after all, he had only fulfilled his mission, since the American woman had asked him to keep an eye on the villa in her absence. She had placed it under the protection of the Spanish embassy. Rigaud, who until then had wanted nothing to do with university degrees, official forms, identity papers and good conduct certificates, had asked the porter to get him all the documents that would enable Ingrid to be permanently out of the reach of the French police. So he always carried with him the work permit in the name of Monsieur and Madame Rigaud, and an official letter declaring that the villa was under the direct control of the Spanish embassy in Vichy. As a result, they were in neutral territory and the war no longer concerned them, Ingrid and him.
•
To be on the safe side, he had decided to marry Ingrid in church. The only proof of their civil marriage was Ingrid's false papers in the name of "Madame Rigaud". But there had never been a civil marriage. The religious marriage was celebrated one winter Saturday in the church in Juan-les-Pins. The priest was a friend of the porter, and their witnesses were the porter and the man from the mairie who had provided them with their work permit. The wedding breakfast was held in the salon in the villa. The porter had gone down to the cellar to get a bottle of champagne, and they drank to the health of the newlyweds. Rigaud added the certificate of their religious marriage to the papers he already carried with him.
•
They played their part as caretakers conscientiously, and cleaned the villa regularly. They tracked down the slightest speck of dust, polished the furniture, cleaned the windows.
He tried to reason with himself: his mother was dead, he was an adult, now.
"Is something worrying you?" the porter asked.
Ingrid too was giving him a questioning look.
"No. No. Nothing at all."
"What were you thinking about?" Ingrid asked.
"Nothing."
It was enough to hear Ingrid's voice and to meet her eyes for the past to crumble into dust, with its miserable incidentals: a frivolous mother, an American water ski champion, the white hair and suntanned skin of Monsieur Bailby, and the guests having cocktails down below, by the landing stage. How could all those faded things still cause him any anxiety?
He walked by Ingrid's side in this garden which was now minute, in comparison with what it had been during his childhood: a forest in which he was always afraid of getting lost and never finding his way back to the castle.
"Now I'll show you round the villa … "
And he was surprised to observe how modest the villa too seemed to him, compared with the castle he remembered in Walter Scott's novels. So that was all it was …
•
They chose the turret room because of its white walls. On the first floor, the American woman's bedroom was more spacious, but its dark panelling, four-poster bed and Empire furniture gave it a funereal look. Most of the time they used the salon on the ground floor, which had a veranda and opened on to the garden and the sea. One whole wall of this salon was taken up by bookshelves, and they decided to read the books one by one, in the order in which they were arranged on the shelves.
Rigaud avoided the garden. But on sunny days they went down the stone steps to the landing stage. They bathed, and lay on the pontoon from which the water skiers had formerly taken off. Stowed in a garage hollowed out in the rock were the speedboat and the skis. Would they be used again before they rotted?
During the first days, the Provençal porter advised Rigaud and Ingrid not to leave the villa. He made himself responsible for bringing their food. He had gone with Rigaud to the mairie in Antibes where, thanks to one of his friends, he had been able to get them a "work permit" specifying that Monsieur and Madame Rigaud were the caretakers of the Villa SaintGeorges, situated in the Boulevard Baudoin in Juan-les-Pins, Alpes-Maritimes. And after all, he had only fulfilled his mission, since the American woman had asked him to keep an eye on the villa in her absence. She had placed it under the protection of the Spanish embassy. Rigaud, who until then had wanted nothing to do with university degrees, official forms, identity papers and good conduct certificates, had asked the porter to get him all the documents that would enable Ingrid to be permanently out of the reach of the French police. So he always carried with him the work permit in the name of Monsieur and Madame Rigaud, and an official letter declaring that the villa was under the direct control of the Spanish embassy in Vichy. As a result, they were in neutral territory and the war no longer concerned them, Ingrid and him.
•
To be on the safe side, he had decided to marry Ingrid in church. The only proof of their civil marriage was Ingrid's false papers in the name of "Madame Rigaud". But there had never been a civil marriage. The religious marriage was celebrated one winter Saturday in the church in Juan-les-Pins. The priest was a friend of the porter, and their witnesses were the porter and the man from the mairie who had provided them with their work permit. The wedding breakfast was held in the salon in the villa. The porter had gone down to the cellar to get a bottle of champagne, and they drank to the health of the newlyweds. Rigaud added the certificate of their religious marriage to the papers he already carried with him.
•
They played their part as caretakers conscientiously, and cleaned the villa regularly. They tracked down the slightest speck of dust, polished the furniture, cleaned the windows.
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