Memories of a Marriage Read Online Free PDF Page A

humiliating. Guy proposed an after-dinner scotch. I accepted. After some hesitation Bernard and Francine said they too were going to bed. It was what I had hoped for: I was left alone with Guy and Elsa. When the conversation became desultory, I asked them about the other guests.
    It’s a class reunion! cried Elsa. All three of them were at Stan all the way through
hypokhâgne
. And then Bernard and Marc were together again at Sciences Po.
    Bernard is in business with his father, who is an antique dealer on Faubourg St.-Honoré, she continued, and Marc works for Banque Worms.
    I had frequented enough members of the elegant Parisian bourgeoisie to know that by Stan they meant Collège Stanislas, the most esteemed of French Catholic schools among whose eminent graduates was none other than General de Gaulle, so detested by Marc de Clam.
    And the wives? I asked.
    Francine has twin boys. She left them with the grandparents for the weekend. That’s a job and a half, but she also helps out in the antiques business. She did the École du Louvre.
    And Bella, Guy chimed in, the redoubtable Bella! She went through
khâgne
at Fénelon and came in second or thirdin the examination for Normale Sup. Of course she got in and graduated brilliantly. Midway through Normale, she married Marc. She’s never taught. Instead, she’s one of my authors. Two years ago we published her delectable little study of Madame de La Fayette. She’s working on something new now, but she won’t say what.
    “Redoubtable”! I thought I had sensed it: she was as brainy as she was beautiful. Fénelon was the best of girls’ lycées; École Normale Supérieure was the
nec plus ultra
of French humanities education. The intellectual snob inside me was smiling and nodding approval.
    Your pal Marc has some strong political opinions, I ventured. Is she onboard with them?
    Guy laughed. Certainly not! She’s a closet socialist. She doesn’t pay attention to his politics. None of us do. He’s a special French product: the lovable right-wing nut.
    Elsa chimed in: He has it in his genes. You should hear him on the subject of that traitor Dreyfus!
    We remained silent for a while, gazing at the stars that were so bright one truly believed they were burning. When Guy stretched and said good night, Elsa told him she’d be right up and asked whether I would like another whiskey. A small one, I told her. She poured it and poured one for herself.
    It’s been a tough week, she said. It’s my turn to be responsible for the emergency room, and we’ve had a record load of trauma cases. Car crashes, knife and bullet wounds, plus the usual heart attacks, strokes, kids falling off bicycles ontheir heads. You may have sensed it, she continued, abruptly changing the subject. It’s not a good marriage. Bella does her best. There are no children; I have a feeling there won’t be any, and it’s just a question of when she will decide she’s had enough. If you can believe it, Marc resents her writing. He claims it makes his colleagues and clients nervous!
    The next day Bernard Bruneau organized an antiques-hunting expedition to Nîmes and Arles. There was general enthusiasm for the project, Bernard and Elsa being adepts of flea markets and provincial dealers, as was apparently Marc de Clam. I begged off. The day was gorgeous and less hot than the day before, and it seemed a pity to spend most of it in a car being driven too fast on the murderous D15. It occurred to me that I should instead get into my own car, head at a reasonable speed in the direction of Uzès, and take a long walk in the
garrigue
. The mere thought of the aroma of sunbaked juniper, wild thyme, and lavender was intoxicating. I announced my plan and held to it despite expressions of regret and promises to go on a hike the next day and the day after. To my surprise and delight, Bella asked if she could join me.
    It turned out that she had read one of my novels and remembered it well. We talked about my themes.