She Who Was No More Read Online Free PDF Page A

plans for the future.
    Ravinel wiped his eyes, surprised that he could have wept so much. He sat up on the edge of the bed.
    ‘Lucienne.’
    ‘Yes? What is it?’
    She had recovered her normal everyday voice. He felt sure she was powdering her face and making up her mouth.
    ‘Suppose we went right through with it this evening?’
    Lucienne promptly appeared, her lipstick in her hand.
    ‘Suppose we—took her away?’ Ravinel went on.
    ‘Have you lost your head? After working everything out to the last detail—’
    ‘I’m longing to—to get it over.’
    Lucienne gave a last glance at the bathtub, switched off the light, and gently shut the door.
    ‘What about your alibi? You know very well the police may suspect you. Still more the insurance company. You’ve got to be seen, and by plenty of witnesses. Tonight, tomorrow, and the day after.’
    ‘I know,’ he said dejectedly.
    ‘Come on, darling. Pull yourself together. The worst’s over: you mustn’t give way now.’
    She stroked his cheek. Her fingers smelled of eau de cologne. He rose to his feet, leaning on her shoulder.
    ‘You’re right. So I shan’t be seeing you till—till Friday.’
    ‘I’m afraid not. I’ve got the hospital, you know. Besides, where could we meet? Not here!’
    ‘I should think not!’
    ‘And then—this isn’t the moment for us to be seen about together. It might spoil everything, and it would be childish to take a risk like that.’
    ‘The day after tomorrow, then. Eight o’clock?’
    ‘Eight o’clock on the Quai de l’Île Gloriette. As we arranged. And let’s hope it’s a nasty night like this one.’
    She went and fetched his things, his shoes, his tie, collar. Finally she helped him on with his overcoat.
    ‘What’ll you do with yourself during these two days, my poor Fernand?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘You must have some customers to see in the neighborhood.’
    ‘There are always customers to see.’
    ‘Is your bag in the car? Sure you’ve packed everything? Razor? Toothbrush?’
    ‘Yes. Everything.’
    ‘All right. Let’s go. You can drop me at the Place du Commerce.’
    She carefully closed the doors, double-locking the front door, while he got the car out of the garage. The street lights seemed to be shining through layers of gauze. The fog was tepid, with a muddy smell. From the direction of the river came the sound of a diesel engine which kept misfiring. Lucienne got into the car beside Ravinel. He jerked the gears in, backed out, and stopped by the curb. Then he went back to the garage, shut the sliding door, fumbled irritably with the lock. He looked at the house, turning up his coat collar.
    ‘We’re off.’
    The car moved forward slowly, pushing its way through the fog, which floated away on either side in straggling yellow trails and which stuck to the windshield, despite the efforts of the indefatigable wiper. A locomotive went by, disappearing almost at once, but leaving a track from which the fog had for a moment been swept and in which the rails glistened brightly.
    In the Place du Commerce stood a row of lighted trolleys.
    ‘You can drop me here. Nobody’ll see me.’
    She leaned over and kissed him on the temple.
    ‘Now don’t do anything silly. Keep your head. You know it had to be done.’
    She slammed the door and disappeared into the fog. Ravinel was alone, his hands nervously clutching the steering wheel. He was convinced that this fog… It couldn’t be an accident. It had a precise meaning.
    There he was, he, Ravinel, sitting in a little metal box, and it was as though he were appearing before the Judgment Seat. He could see himself with his great bushy eyebrows. Fernand Ravinel. He wasn’t really a bad chap at bottom. But there he was with his hands stretched out in front of him groping like a blind man. Through existence. Through eternity—through an eternal fog, at any rate. Nothing to be seen anywhere except a few shadowy figures. Deceptive figures. Mireille’s, for