Read Online She Who Was No More by Pierre Boileau - Free Book Online

Not the slightest doubt about it—she was scared stiff. She got her bag out of the car. He sprang to his feet and, with the feed line still between his lips, he mumbled:
    ‘Look here! You’re not going to clear out?’
    ‘Listen, you fool!’
    A car. Coming from Le Mans. It was on them before they knew where they were. In the glare of its headlights they felt absolutely naked.
    ‘In trouble?’ asked a cheery voice. ‘Anything serious?’
    They could just make out the outline of a large truck. The driver was leaning out of the cab, the glow of his cigarette plainly visible.
    ‘No,’ answered Ravinel. ‘It’s all right now, thanks.’
    ‘Because, if the little lady’d like a lift…’
    The man laughed and drove on. Lucienne slunk back into the car, racked by emotion. For his part Ravinel was so furious he’d almost forgotten his fear. She may often have treated him as though he were a boy, but that wasn’t the same thing as calling him a fool in that tone of voice.
    ‘You can keep a civil tongue in your head. In fact the best thing you can do is to keep your mouth shut altogether. If we’re in a tight spot it’s your doing just as much as mine.’
    Had she really been intending to make off? To walk back to Le Mans, leaving him on the road? As though, by so doing, she could wash her hands of the whole affair!
    Lucienne said nothing. She was sulking. It was obvious from her attitude that she wasn’t going to lift a finger to help him. He could fend for himself. It wasn’t any too easy. To reassemble a carburetor in the dark, with only a flashlight which never threw the light quite where you wanted it. More than once he almost dropped a screw. But, strangely enough, his anger helped him. He had never felt so competent.
    At last he got back into his seat and pressed the starter. The engine started and turned over sweetly. He could have driven on then and there, but he didn’t. Out he got again, and, taking one of the cans out of the trunk he emptied it into the gas tank. Quite unnecessarily. It was only bravado. And he took his time about it too! With quite leisurely movements he put the empty can away, locked up the trunk, and got back into the car.
    It was half past twelve when he let in the clutch. He drove fast. Not so much on account of the delay as because of a new feeling inside him. He was not far from being delighted. Lucienne had been scared. Not as she had been in the bathroom earlier. This was quite different, real panic. Why? The risks were much the same all along. Anyhow, whatever the reason, something had suddenly changed in their relations. It was she who had quailed. And he wouldn’t let her forget it. Not that he would ever refer to it openly. He would just give her a meaning look when she spoke in her domineering voice.
    They overtook an oil truck. They were now crossing the rich Beauce corn-lands. The sky had cleared and was now dotted with stars. What had she been thinking about when she had snatched up her bag? About her skin? About her career, her position in the world? For of course she had a position! Sufficient at any rate to enable her to despise him when she felt like it. A traveling salesman! Oh yes. He’d know it for a long time. He was considered a good enough man in his way, but not very subtle. Wasn’t he? Perhaps a lot more than he was given credit for!
    Nogent-le-Rotrou. An endless, winding, echoing street. A little bridge over a sheet of black water. A notice Attention—École , but Ravinel ignored it. There were no schools at night. He swept up the slope which led back onto the plateau. The engine was purring beautifully.
    Nom de Dieu! Gendarmes. Three or four of them. A Citroën drawn up diagonally half barring the road. Motorcycles standing on the grass shoulder. The whole scene was as flat as a picture, bathed in the crude glare of his lights which made everything look a bit yellow—the faces, the shoulder-belts and even theboots. Arms were waved. There was nothing