Betty by Georges Simenon

Author:Georges Simenon [Simenon, Georges]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780141995519
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2021-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

5

She slept a dull, greyish sleep, as exhausting as walking through desert sands. She didn’t dream. There was nothing, no shadows or light, no action, no people, nothing but the dragging, monotonous rhythm of her heart, which skipped the occasional beat.

Then she heard a bell, real or unreal, she didn’t ask herself, she was so tired. The shrill sound pierced her skull and she hoped it would stop, as with the departure of trains and ships, for instance, but the ringing became more and more insistent and eventually she realized that it was the telephone by her bed.

She didn’t want to hear anyone speak or to speak herself. She answered it purely to stop the clamour, dropping the receiver on to the pillow.

Then a voice said, distant, distorted as if from an old broken-down gramophone:

‘Madame Étamble! … Madame Étamble! … Are you there? … Can you hear me? … Madame Étamble! … Madame Étamble! …’

At length she mumbled:

‘Who is this?’

‘The hotel switchboard, Madame Étamble. You had me worried. I’ve been calling you for five minutes. I was about to send someone up to your room.’

‘Why?’

The previous evening, Laure had given her two sleeping pills, but it wasn’t the medication that was making her body ache. Something had snapped, at a certain point when she wasn’t paying attention, and now, somewhere inside her, a switch had been turned off.

‘There’s a call for you from Paris.’

She did not react, didn’t think of her husband or of anyone who might telephone her. The room was dark, with only a wan light filtering between the slits in the shutters.

‘I’ll put the call through.’

She wished she could go back to sleep.

‘Is that you, Betty?’

She didn’t recognize the voice. She had already closed her eyes and her breathing was becoming deeper.

‘This is Florent.’

She stammered reluctantly:

‘Yes.’

‘Can you hear me?’

‘Yes.’

‘I can hardly hear you. Are you well?’

‘Yes.’

He was in a world of light, he was awake, washed, shaved, dressed and fully alive.

‘I saw Guy early this morning. You gave him a big fright by not getting in touch. It was only last night, thanks to the driver, that he finally learned your address.’

His name was Florent Montaigne. He was a friend of Guy’s, a friend of the family. He was sure of himself because he was a very successful lawyer.

‘Are you certain that everything is fine?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re not unwell? You sound very far away. Are you still in bed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I talk to you?’

He added hesitantly:

‘Are you alone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Guy has told me everything and has asked me to contact you. In my opinion, the sooner the better, you understand? It is my intention, if it is convenient for you, to make a quick trip to Versailles this afternoon, late afternoon preferably, and we could have dinner together.’

‘Not today.’

‘Tomorrow morning, then? Tomorrow afternoon I can’t because I’m in court.’

‘Not tomorrow.’

‘When?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll call you.’

‘Are you certain that everything is all right, that you don’t need any help?’

‘Certain. Goodbye, Florent.’

She exerted herself to stretch out her arm and replace the receiver. The

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