Authentic French Noir Box Set by Frédéric Dard

Author:Frédéric Dard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Steerforth Press
Published: 2021-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

FOUR

I still ask myself, whose role is more embarrassing in a situation like that—the servant who’s never been a servant before or the mistress who’s never been a mistress?

Madame Rooland looked me up and down for a good long moment—not so much with a critical eye, more like she was trying to think of what she should say. Eventually, she nodded:

“Come and see the house.”

I went to the palace at Versailles with school once. We had a one-armed tour guide who reeked of cheap wine, like Arthur after one of his merrier piss-ups. His heels rang out on the kings’ polished wood floors as he proclaimed:

“This is the Queen’s room. It is here that she gave birth to…”

And I imagined the queens all giving birth to little princes. It made me come over all strange. Well, when Madame Rooland announced: “This is our bedchamber” (she spoke French like that: I always had to keep myself from laughing at her funny little turns of phrase) it made me imagine her with her husband, in all sorts of poses that a young girl shouldn’t know about. You wouldn’t believe the shapes they twisted themselves into.

The headboard was padded, as were the wardrobe doors. There were chairs, and rugs scattered all over the floor, but nothing on the walls: no paintings, no ornaments… Dirty laundry was piling up in the corners. She was a slattern, Madame Rooland: always spick and span herself, in her green blouse, her orange lipstick and her classy hairdo, but lazy like you wouldn’t believe when it came to the housework.

She showed me all the rooms. There were nine in all, five of which were unused. As we looked around, a question occurred to me, but I didn’t dare ask. When we’d finished, it came out all of its own:

“And my bedroom?” I murmured.

She stared at me, shocked. She looked almost like a little girl.

“Your bedroom?”

“Yes! A maid should sleep in the house, they have to… I’ve got to make breakfast in the morning, haven’t I?”

“But… But you don’t live far away.”

“That doesn’t matter. Suppose you need something in the night?”

A scene from an American movie came helpfully to mind.

“Look, suppose you want a glass of milk, for example. You just call me and I go and get it for you.”

“Oh, I see! Very well, choose whichever room you want.”

“Any of them?”

“Of course, it is not importance.”

I felt as if a good fairy had taken me by the hand and led me into a fantastical toy shop. Choose! It was too tempting. Cheekily, I chose the best room there was. It was near theirs. Only the bathroom was in between. He’d rented the house furnished, Monsieur Rooland, and only bought furniture for their bedroom and the garden. There was no padded headboard in my room—just a normal bed with marquetry inlay and a red eiderdown, a mahogany dresser, a round table covered with a lace cloth. A pair of wicker chairs and a leather armchair completed the set-up. You get the idea.

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