Read Online The Circle by Bernard Minier - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Bernard Minier
Ads: Link
student pubs. Why did you choose Marsac rather than Toulouse?â
âBecause of Van Acker. The lit prof.â
Even after all this time, Van Ackerâs name elicited a reaction, like an electrical impulse stimulating a long inactive zone in his heart. He tried nevertheless to keep his voice neutral.
âHeâs that good?â
âHeâs the best in 500 kilometres.â
Margot knew what she wanted. No doubt about that. He recalled the words of his daughterâs married lover, the only time he had met him, on the place du Capitole, a few days before Christmas: âBeneath her rebellious exterior, Margot is a wonderful girl, brilliant and independent. And a lot more mature than you give her credit for.â A difficult conversation; bitter, full of reproach, but which in the end had made him conclude that he did not know her very well at all.
âYou could have made more of an effort with your clothes.â
âWhy? Itâs my brains theyâre interested in, not my clothes.â
That was Margot all over ⦠Still, he wasnât sure her argument would carry much weight with the staff. They had driven through the vast Marsac forest, which went on for miles, with its bridle trails, footpaths and car parks, then they had entered the town by way of the long straight avenue lined with plane trees which Servaz had gone up hundreds of times in his youth.
âYou donât mind being a boarder from Monday to Saturday?â he asked.
âI donât know.â She was looking out of the open window. âI havenât given it much thought. I suppose Iâll meet interesting people here; itâll be a nice change from those idiots at the other lycée. What was it like when you were here?â
The question had caught him unawares. He didnât feel like talking about it.
âIt was good,â he said.
There were a lot of bicycles on the streets, mostly with students perched on the saddle, but also a few professors with leather panniers stuffed with books over their rear wheels or in front of the handlebars. Marsac had several faculties: law, science, humanities ⦠The town seemed to have yielded to its preference for youth. Except during the holidays, half the population was under twenty-five.
They drove north out of town. A green meadow, with a dense line of trees in the distance.
âHere,â he announced.
There was a long, tall building on the right, a short way from the road, at the end of a broad meadow. It looked very old-fashioned, with its roofs clustered with chimneys, its facade with mullioned windows. Around it there were several low, modern concrete buildings,set down upon the lawn like incongruous dominoes. Memories assailed him. He saw once again the pensive statues, the pools with green water, the copses colonised by mistletoe, the tennis courts overrun by dead leaves in November, the running track, the little woods where he liked to go for walks, which led to a high, gently sloping hill and the view it offered over the undulating hills as far as the Pyrenees, white from autumn to spring.
It was as if a cold fist had squeezed his heart, causing a rush of nostalgia.
He hadnât realised it, but his fingers were gripping the steering wheel. He had dreamt for so long of a second chance, and had eventually understood that there wouldnât be one. He had missed his chance. He would finish his adult life the way he had begun it: as a cop. In the end, his dreams had turned out to be as transient as clouds.
Fortunately the sensation only lasted a second, and the next instant it was gone.
They left the road to head up the paved driveway. It led between a white gate, which separated them from the broad meadow and the main building on their left, and a row of old oaks beyond a ditch to their right. Horses were frolicking in the meadow. He couldnât help but think of his investigation during the winter of 200 8.
âFollow your
âBecause of Van Acker. The lit prof.â
Even after all this time, Van Ackerâs name elicited a reaction, like an electrical impulse stimulating a long inactive zone in his heart. He tried nevertheless to keep his voice neutral.
âHeâs that good?â
âHeâs the best in 500 kilometres.â
Margot knew what she wanted. No doubt about that. He recalled the words of his daughterâs married lover, the only time he had met him, on the place du Capitole, a few days before Christmas: âBeneath her rebellious exterior, Margot is a wonderful girl, brilliant and independent. And a lot more mature than you give her credit for.â A difficult conversation; bitter, full of reproach, but which in the end had made him conclude that he did not know her very well at all.
âYou could have made more of an effort with your clothes.â
âWhy? Itâs my brains theyâre interested in, not my clothes.â
That was Margot all over ⦠Still, he wasnât sure her argument would carry much weight with the staff. They had driven through the vast Marsac forest, which went on for miles, with its bridle trails, footpaths and car parks, then they had entered the town by way of the long straight avenue lined with plane trees which Servaz had gone up hundreds of times in his youth.
âYou donât mind being a boarder from Monday to Saturday?â he asked.
âI donât know.â She was looking out of the open window. âI havenât given it much thought. I suppose Iâll meet interesting people here; itâll be a nice change from those idiots at the other lycée. What was it like when you were here?â
The question had caught him unawares. He didnât feel like talking about it.
âIt was good,â he said.
There were a lot of bicycles on the streets, mostly with students perched on the saddle, but also a few professors with leather panniers stuffed with books over their rear wheels or in front of the handlebars. Marsac had several faculties: law, science, humanities ⦠The town seemed to have yielded to its preference for youth. Except during the holidays, half the population was under twenty-five.
They drove north out of town. A green meadow, with a dense line of trees in the distance.
âHere,â he announced.
There was a long, tall building on the right, a short way from the road, at the end of a broad meadow. It looked very old-fashioned, with its roofs clustered with chimneys, its facade with mullioned windows. Around it there were several low, modern concrete buildings,set down upon the lawn like incongruous dominoes. Memories assailed him. He saw once again the pensive statues, the pools with green water, the copses colonised by mistletoe, the tennis courts overrun by dead leaves in November, the running track, the little woods where he liked to go for walks, which led to a high, gently sloping hill and the view it offered over the undulating hills as far as the Pyrenees, white from autumn to spring.
It was as if a cold fist had squeezed his heart, causing a rush of nostalgia.
He hadnât realised it, but his fingers were gripping the steering wheel. He had dreamt for so long of a second chance, and had eventually understood that there wouldnât be one. He had missed his chance. He would finish his adult life the way he had begun it: as a cop. In the end, his dreams had turned out to be as transient as clouds.
Fortunately the sensation only lasted a second, and the next instant it was gone.
They left the road to head up the paved driveway. It led between a white gate, which separated them from the broad meadow and the main building on their left, and a row of old oaks beyond a ditch to their right. Horses were frolicking in the meadow. He couldnât help but think of his investigation during the winter of 200 8.
âFollow your
Similar Books
