5/16/2023 0 Comments Edouard pronunciationNow as he drove tentatively from the boulevard to the next street, he finally spotted it. He had driven past this particular brasserie several times before. It was eight o’clock now, and the early-winter cold was already gripping the city, muffling its sounds and the noise of the passing traffic. They had ordered the seafood platter royale, a bottle of Pouilly-Fuissé, and a hamburger with mashed potato for Jérôme, who had declared, to his father’s great disappointment, that he didn’t want to try the oysters. His son, only six at the time, had been very well-behaved. The last time had been with Véronique and Jérôme. He hadn’t been to a really good brasserie for at least a year. He had started fantasising about going to a restaurant – a really good brasserie, perhaps – at about four o’clock that afternoon as he was checking the last of the expenses slips submitted by the SOGETEC auditors. The idea of shopping on his own then making supper for himself in the silent flat was unbearable. The telephone rang and rang, no one answered it, and then they rang back later, that’s how. How did people manage before answering machines? wondered Daniel. The tape was starting to wear out and hadn’t been rewinding properly for the last few days. Perhaps there would be a message on the answering machine when he got home. He hadn’t heard from his wife and son, who were in Normandy with his parents-in-law for the holidays. ![]() He had massaged his aching shoulder, trying unsuccessfully to get the crick out of his neck. The hit song with its slow, insistent refrain was now stuck in his head. He’d turned off the radio, cutting off Caroline Loeb as she droned on about liking cotton wool. The evening before, Daniel had stopped his Golf at the junction. The two gold letters stood out clearly: F.M. Then she turned the hat upside down, and her eye fell on the band of leather running round the inside. ‘Are your hands clean?’ his mother asked anxiously. She took it carefully, running her finger over the felt. ‘To us,’ said Daniel, solemnly clinking glasses with his wife.ĭaniel removed his hat and held it out to Véronique. ‘Take a seat,’ said Daniel, who had still not taken off his hat. Véronique was impressed – her husband rarely made dinner. Cold meat, chicken, tomato and basil salad, and cheese. When they got up to their sixteenth-floor apartment in the fifteenth Daniel announced that he’d made supper. Véronique had pressed him, but he stood firm. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when we get home.’ President of the Republic,’ Daniel had answered, delighted by his son’s suggestion.ĭaniel had refused to divulge anything further as they drove back. ‘Yes I have,’ Daniel had replied, grabbing their bags. ‘What do you mean?’ she had asked incredulously. In other words, the frown that was the reason, amongst others, that he had fallen in love with her. The same frown as when Daniel had asked her to marry him, or when he’d first asked her out on a date to an exhibition at the Beaubourg. When he’d told her at the station that it really was Mitterrand’s hat, Véronique had stared at him again, her head on one side, with that little frown she always wore when she was trying to work out if he was having her on or not. ‘I mean this really is Mitterrand’s hat.’ When Véronique reached them, slightly out of breath, she stared at her husband. Jérôme meanwhile made a beeline for his father, flinging himself at his legs and almost tripping him up. She waved, then described a circle above her head, finishing her gesture with an astonished look. Daniel craned his neck, looking for his wife and son. train 78654 ground into the station and released its passengers. He retraced his steps and stood next to the ticket-punching machines.Īt 9.45 p.m. The train would be arriving at platform 23. Daniel forced his way through to the arrivals board. ![]() Here too it was crowded, with an uninterrupted tide of humanity pouring from the trains. At the top of the steps, he crossed the main concourse and headed for the platforms. ![]() On the contrary, it seemed as though they parted to let him through. In the crush, they could easily have knocked into him but they didn’t. Men and women hurried distractedly past him, most clutching briefcases but some with suitcases. Daniel Mercier went up the stairs at Gare Saint-Lazare as the crowd surged down.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |