We were silent for quite a long time. Alas, I had no more doubts, though the picture of Sebastian was atrocious – but then, too, I had got it second-hand.

'Yes,' I said, 'I shall see her at all costs. And this for two reasons. Firstly, because I want to ask her a certain question – one question only. And secondly '

'Yes?' said Madame Lecerf sipping her cold tea. 'Secondly?'

'Secondly, I am at a loss to imagine how such a woman could attract my brother; so I want to see her with my own eyes.'

'Do you mean to say,' asked Madame Lecerf, 'that you think she is a dreadful, dangerous woman? Une femme fatale? Because, you know, that's not so. She's good as good bread.'

'Oh, no,' I said. 'Not dreadful, not dangerous. Clever, if you like, and all that. But…. No, I must see for myself.'

'He who will live will see,' said Madame Lecerf. 'Now, look here. I've got a suggestion. I am going away tomorrow. I am afraid that if you drop in here on Saturday, Helene may be in such a rush – she is always rushing, you know – that she'll put you off till next day, forgetting that next day she is. coming for a week to my place in the country: so you'll miss her again. In other words, I think that the best thing would be for you to come down to my place, too. Because then you are quite, quite sure to meet her. So, what I suggest is that you come Sunday morning – and stay as long as you choose. We've got four spare bedrooms, and I think you'll be comfortable. And then, you know, if I talk to her first a little, she'll be just in the right mood for a talk with you. Eh bien, кtes-vous d'accord?'

17

Very curious, I mused: there seemed to be a slight family likeness between Nina Rechnoy and Helene von Graun – or at least between the two pictures which the husband of one and the friend of the other had painted for me. Between the two there was not much to choose. Nina was shallow and glamorous, Helene cunning and hard; both were flighty; neither was much to my taste – nor should I have thought to Sebastian's. I wondered if the two women had known each other at Blauberg: they would have gone rather well together – theoretically; in reality they would probably have hissed and spat at each other. On the other hand, I could now drop the Rechnoy clue altogether – and that was a great relief. What that French girl had told me about her friend's lover could hardly have been a coincidence. Whatever the feelings I experienced at learning' the way Sebastian had been treated, I could not help being satisfied that my inquiry was nearing its end and that I was spared the impossible task of unearthing Pahl Pahlich's first wife, who for all I knew might be in jail or in Los Angeles.

I knew I was being given my last chance, and as I was anxious to make sure I would get at Helene von Graun, I made a tremendous effort and sent her a letter to her Paris address, so that she might find it on her arrival. It was quite short: I merely informed her that I was her friend's guest at Lescaux and had accepted this invitation with the sole object of meeting her; I added that there was an important piece of literary business which I wished to discuss with her. This last sentence was not very honest, but I thought it sounded enticing. I had not quite understood whether her friend had told her anything about my desire to see her when she telephoned from Dijon. I was desperately afraid that on Sunday Madame Lecerf might blandly inform me that Helene had left for Nice instead. After posting that letter I felt that at any rate I had done all in my power to fix our rendezvous.

I started at nine in the morning, so as to reach Lescaux around noon as arranged. I was already boarding the train when I realized with a shock that on my way I would pass St Damier where Sebastian had died and was buried. Here I had travelled one unforgettable night. But now I failed to recognize anything: when the train stopped for a minute at the little St Damier platform, its inscription alone told me that I had been there. The place looked so simple and staid and definite compared to the distorted dream impression which lingered in my memory. Or was it distorted now?

I felt strangely relieved when the train moved on: no more was I treading the ghostly tracks I had followed two months before. The weather was fair and every time the train stopped I seemed to hear the light uneven breathing of spring, still barely visible but unquestionably present: 'cold-limbed ballet-girls waiting in the wings', as Sebastian put it once.

Madame Lecerf's house was large and ramshackle. A score of unhealthy old trees represented the park. There were fields on one side and a hill with a factory on the other. Everything about the place had a queer look of weariness, and shabbiness, and dustiness; when later I learned that it had only been built some thirty-odd years ago I felt still more surprised by its decrepitude. As I approached the main entrance I met a man hastily scrunching down the gravel walk; he stopped and shook hands with me:

'Enchantй de vous cannaоtre,' he said, summing me up with a melancholy glance, 'my wife is expecting you. Je suis navrй… but I am obliged to go to Paris this Sunday.'

He was a middle-aged rather common-looking Frenchman with tired eyes and an automatic smile. We shook hands once more.

'Mon ami, you'll miss that train,' came Madame Lecerf's crystal voice from the veranda, and he trotted off obediently.

Today she wore a beige dress, her lips were brightly made up but she had not dreamt of meddling with her diaphanous complexion. The sun gave a bluish sheen to her hair and I found myself thinking that she was after all quite a pretty young woman. We wandered through two or three rooms which looked as if the idea of a drawing-room had been vaguely divided between them. I had the impression that we were quite alone in that unpleasant rambling house. She picked up a shawl lying on a green silk settee and drew it about her.

'Isn't it cold,' she said. 'That's one thing I hate in life, cold. Feel my hands. They are always like that except in summer. Lunch will be ready in a minute. Sit down.'

'When exactly is she coming?' I asked.

'Йcoutez,' said Madame Lecerf, 'can't you forget her for a minute and talk about other things? Ce n'est pas trиs poli, vous savez. Tell me something about yourself. Where do you live, and what do you do?'

'Will she be here in the afternoon?'

'Yes, yes, you obstinate man, Monsieur l'entкtй. She's sure to come. Don't be so impatient. You know, women don't much care for men with an idйe fixe. How did you like my husband?'

I said that he must be much older than she.

'He is quite kind but a dreadful bore,' she went on, laughing. 'I sent him away on purpose. We've been married for only a year, but it feels like a diamond wedding already. And I just hate this house. Don't you?'

I said it seemed rather old-fashioned.

'Oh, that's not the right term. It looked brand new when I first saw it. But it has faded and crumbled away since. I once told a doctor that all flowers except pinks and daffodils withered if I touched them – isn't it bizarre?'

'And what did he say?'

'He said he wasn't a botanist. There used to be a Persian princess like me. She blighted the Palace Gardens,'

An elderly and rather sullen maid looked in and nodded to her mistress.

'Come along,' said Madame Lecerf. 'Vous devez mourir de faim, judging by your face.'

We collided in the doorway because she suddenly turned back as I was following her. She clutched my shoulder and her hair brushed my cheek. 'You clumsy young man,' she said, 'I have forgotten my pills.'

She found them and we went over the house in search of the dining-room. We found it at last. It was a dismal place with a bay window which had seemed to change its mind at the last moment and had made a half-hearted attempt to revert to an ordinary state. Two people drifted in silently, through different doors. One was an old lady, who, I gathered, was a cousin of Monsieur Lecerf. Her conversation was strictly limited to polite purrs when passing eatables. The other was a rather handsome man in plus-fours with a solemn face and a queer grey streak in his fair sparse hair. He never uttered a single word during the whole lunch. Madame Lecerf's manner of introducing consisted of a hurried gesture which did not bother about names. I noticed that she ignored his presence at table – that indeed he seemed to sit apart. The lunch was well cooked but haphazard. The wine, however, was quite good.