Read Online Underground Time by Delphine de Vigan - Free Book Online Page A

waited for the beep and checked the screen: MATHILDE DEBORD: ENTRY REGISTERED. She went to the drinks machine and put some money in the slot. She pressed the button and watched the cup fall and the liquid flow. She picked up the coffee and walked past the data-processing department. Jean-Marc and Dominique gave her a wave and she waved back. They didn’t stop what they were doing. The glass door of Logistics was open. Laetitia was sitting at her desk, her phone glued to her ear. Mathilde felt as though she was avoiding her eye.
    Something wasn’t quite right, the usual ritual wasn’t quite being observed.
    It had spread, gone further.
    Mathilde pressed the lift button and followed the lift’s progress on the illuminated display.
    Just as the doors opened, Laetitia came dashing out of her office and rushed in behind her. They kissed in greeting. Between the first and second floors, Laetitia stopped the lift. Her voice was shaking.
    ‘Mathilde, he’s replaced you.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘On Friday, when you weren’t here, the girl from Communications, the one who was doing work experience, took your office.’
    Mathilde was speechless. This didn’t make any sense at all.
    ‘They moved your stuff. They’ve put her in your place for good. Nadine told me they’ve given her a permanent job.’
    ‘What job?’
    ‘I don’t know. That’s all I was able to find out.’
     
    Laetitia restarted the lift. Mathilde could hear the sound of her own breathing in the silence. There was nothing else to say.
    Mathilde got out at the fourth floor. As the doors closed, she turned round and said, ‘Thanks.’
     
    Mathilde went along the corridor. She passed the open-plan area. They were all there: Nathalie, Jean, Éric and the others. Through the glass she could see them, absorbed, busy, in a state of great concentration. None of them looked up. She had become a shadow, impalpable, transparent. She no longer existed. The door to her office was open. Immediately she noticed that her Bonnard poster had disappeared. She could see a pale rectangle where it had been.
    The girl was indeed there, sitting on her chair in front of her computer. Her jacket was hanging on her peg. She’d taken possession of the territory. Mathilde forced a smile. The girl answered her greeting in a weak voice without looking at her. She grabbed the phone and dialled Jacques’s internal number.
    ‘Mr Pelletier, Mathilde Debord is here.’
     
    He came up behind her. He was wearing his black suit, the one for important days. He looked at the time on the clock and asked her if she’d had a problem. Everyone had been looking all over for her for two hours. Without waiting for her reply, he expressed concern about whether she was feeling better, if she’d had a rest, ‘because you’ve been looking really tired lately, Mathilde’. Jacques glanced at the girl, watching her reaction. With just a few words hadn’t he just given an outstanding demonstration of how good and kind he was? Just goes to show you shouldn’t believe everything people say, the rumours that do the rounds . . . Mathilde began explaining that she had taken a day off to go on her son’s school trip, but as she uttered the words she felt pathetic. Why did she have to justify herself? How had it come to this, providing justifications for her days off?
    It was the first time he had spoken to her directly in weeks. In her high heels, she was a couple of inches taller than him.
    A long time ago, on the way back from a meeting, Jacques had asked her if she could wear flat shoes, at least on days when they had to go out together. Mathilde had found this admission of weakness touching. They had laughed about it and she’d promised she would.
     
    ‘As you can see, we’ve made some changes in your absence. I sent round a note last Friday explaining the objectives of this new structure, which will be achieved notably through a new organisation of space in order to facilitate the