A Paris Affair Read Online Free PDF Page A

key in a safe hiding place. No one will ever read it. One day, I will burn it.
    NOVEMBER 17
    Guy has asked me to look for a new apartment, as our rental agreement will not be renewed. I have to find a pleasant four-room residence in a quiet area.
    DECEMBER 1
    Moving was exhausting. It took me a long time to work up the courage to unpack those final boxes. They were just piled up in the entrance hall.
    Then, one rainy day when the children were at school and I wasn’t expecting anyone, I finally decided to put them away. Inside I found a bunch of old papers: payment slips, accounts, old photographs, road maps, leaflets—the kind of junk you amass over the years.
    I feel too tired. Or not brave enough. I will finish this entry later.
    DECEMBER 18
    I found a nice caf é , where I like to come and read newspapers, and write. I must continue my story. It’s raining outside.
    So, those old papers …
    I went through them, tossing anything that seemed useless, putting aside whatever we might still need. It was a notebook—a bit like mine, only red, and larger, and without a padlock. I had never seen it before. I opened it. Inside were women’s names, with dates and places. It was all in Guy’s handwriting. For example, I read:
    Paris, Winter ’98:
    Laure
    Yvette
    the Rondoli sisters
    É tretat, Spring 2000:
    Fifi
    Ludivine
    Harriet
    F é camp, June 2002:
    Adrienne L.
    Then there were remarks, some with spelling mistakes (that I will not reproduce), such as:
    C ô te d’Azur, Summer 2004:
    Hermine (aka The Spitter)
    Rosalie (nice)
    Ad é laide (too fat)
    Lise (crap)
    I kept turning the pages, reading the lists of names. I wasn’t mentioned. This annoyed me.
    I’m going to order another coffee.
    DECEMBER 20
    I have to finish this story.
    I have to talk about the other women’s names—those that came after we were married. Their names mean nothing to me. All I know is that he had them in Paris, mostly during my pregnancies, then occasionally after that. For the past year, however, the pages of the red notebook show only mysterious initials without dates, places, or comments.
    It doesn’t bother me to discover he’s had mistresses. On the contrary, it is reassuring.
    What bothers me is thinking that Guy no longer loves me. In fact, I don’t think he ever loved me.
    The mask of the simpleton has slipped. Now I see Guy’s true face. And that face suddenly strikes me as magnificent.
    DECEMBER 24
    Dear Jeanne,
    I imagine you are rather startled to see my handwriting in your private diary.
    So, you’ve found it at last—my red notebook! And I have finally unlocked yours. God knows I left that notebook in plain sight for years. Yet you never noticed it. I wanted to see how far your effrontery and your vanity would take you. You imagined yourself the only one capable of cheating and lying. And you took an exquisite pleasure in it. It was amusing. For five years, I enjoyed playing the gullible husband, the honorable spouse, the cuckold who closes his eyes. But, as I’m sure you realize, my dear Jeanne, that can’t last forever.
    Not once did it enter your head that I, too, might be cheating. Not once did you suspect me. You found it priceless to make your husband look like an imbecile. Oh, my poor Jeanne. What will become of you now? And your young men? Are you so tempting to them now? On whom will you cheat? To whom will you tell your lies?
    I can imagine you, frozen with shock, as you read these pages, in that café where you’ve spent so much time recently. And the worst thing must be that you are now realizing that you love me. I can see it from here—the light of love finally softening your sharp features, like the sun rising for the first time.
    I am going to leave you now, my dear Jeanne, not only at the foot of this page, but forever—because I have nothing else to say to you.
    You no longer amuse me. Frankly, you bore me. May God bless you this Christmas.
    But look on the bright side—you were right all along!