He had come over to her and helped her alight. She could see that he was angry, that he intended to give her a rough reception; then that his moustache curled into a smile, as if scoffing because he was the strongest … But she said nothing, calmly took his hand and got off the train. He took her out of the station and in the carriage she waited a moment for the suitcase. His eyes surveyed her. She was wearing an old blue linen skirt and a blue linen jacket, but despite the old clothes and the weary resignation she looked like an elegant, beautiful woman.
“I’m pleased you’ve finally seen the virtue of following my wishes,” he said at last.
“I thought it was best,” she said softly.
He was struck by her tone and he observed her closely from the side. He did not understand her, but he was pleased she had come. She was tired now from the emotion and from the train, but he thought she looked most charming, even though she was not as glamorous as at Mrs Uxeley’s ball, when he had spoken to his ex-wife for the first time.
“Are you tired?” he asked.
“I’ve had a bit of a temperature for a few days, and of course I did not sleep last night,” she said, as if apologising.
The suitcase had been loaded and they drove off, to the Hôtel Continental. They said nothing else in the carriage. They were also silent as they entered the hotel and the lift and he took her to his room. It was an ordinary hotel room, but she found it strange to see his brushes lying on the table, to see his jackets and trousers hanging on the hooks, things with a shape and creases that she remembered from before, with which she seemed familiar. In a corner she recognised his suitcase.
He opened the windows wide. She had sat down on a chair, in an attitude of wait and see. She felt slightly faint and closed her eyes, dazzled by the stream of sunlight.
“I expect you’re hungry,” he said. “What shall I order for you?”
“I’d like some tea and bread and butter.”
Her suitcase was brought in and he ordered her breakfast.
“Take your hat off,” he said.
She got up. She took off her jacket. Her cotton blouse was creased and she did not like it. In front of the mirror she pulled the pin out of her hat and very naturally combed her hair with his comb, which she saw lying on the table. And she folded the silk ribbon round her linen collar. He had lit up a cigar and was calmly standing smoking. A waiter brought breakfast. Silently she had something to eat and drank a cup of tea.
“Have you already had breakfast?” she asked.
“Yes.”
They fell silent again and she ate.
“Shall we talk a bit now?” he asked, standing smoking.
“Very well.”
“I don’t want to talk about your running off,” he said. “At first I was going to give you a piece of my mind: it was a damn idiotic thing for you to do …”
She said nothing. She just looked up at him and her lovely eyes took on a new expression — one of gentle resignation. Again he was silent, obviously restraining himself, choosing his words.
“As I say, I don’t want to talk about it again. For a moment you didn’t know what you were doing, you weren’t responsible for your actions. But there’s got to be an end to it now: that’s how I want it. Of course I know that in the eyes of the law I haven’t the slightest claim on you. But we’ve already talked about that, and I’ve already written to you. You were my wife, and now I see you again I feel very clearly that, despite everything, I look on you as my wife. You must have had the same impression of our reunion here in Nice.”
“Yes,” she said calmly.
“You admit it?”
“Yes,” she repeated.
“That’s all right then. That’s all I want from you. From now on don’t let’s think about the past, our divorce, the things you did afterwards. From now on we’ll blot all that out. I look on you as my wife and you’ll be my wife again. According to the law we can’t remarry, but that doesn’t matter. I regard our legal divorce as an interlude, a formality that as far as possible we shall render null and void. If we have children, we shall legitimise them. I’ll consult a lawyer about all that and take all the necessary steps, including financial ones. So our divorce will be nothing but a formality, with no force at all for us and only minimal force for the world and the law. And then I shall leave the army. I wouldn’t have wanted to stay in for ever anyway, and so I can leave sooner than I planned. Besides, you won’t enjoy living in Holland, and it doesn’t appeal to me either.”
“No,” she murmured.
“Where would you like to live?”
“I don’t know …”
“In Italy?”
“No …” the tone was pleading.
“Shall we stay here?”
“I’d rather not … to begin with.”
“I was thinking of Paris. Would you like to live in Paris?”
“Fine…”
“That’s agreed then. We’ll go to Paris as soon as possible, look for an apartment and get settled in. It’ll soon be spring and that’ll make a good start in Paris.”
“Fine …”
He threw himself into an armchair, which groaned under him.
“Tell me, what are you thinking, deep down?”
“What do you mean?”
“I wanted to know what you were thinking about this husband of yours. Did you think he was ridiculous?”
“No …”
“Come and sit on my knee.”
She got up and went over to him. She did as he wanted and sat on his knee, and he pulled her towards him. He put his hand on her head: that gesture that left her unable to think. She closed her eyes and snuggled up to him, resting her head against his cheek.
“You didn’t forget me completely, did you?”
She shook her head.
“We should never have divorced, should we?”
Again she shook her head.
“We were hot-headed back then, both of us. You mustn’t be hot-headed any more. It makes you nasty and ugly. You’re much sweeter and more beautiful as you are now.”
She smiled faintly.
“I’m glad to have you back,” he whispered, giving her a long kiss on the mouth.
She closed her eyes as he kissed her, while his moustache bristled against her skin and his lips pressed on hers.
“Are you still tired?” he asked. “Do you want to rest a little?”
“Yes,” she said. “I want to put on something more comfortable.”
“You should go to bed for a bit,” he said. “Oh, and I was going to tell you: your friend the princess is coming here this evening.”
“Isn’t Urania angry …?”
“No. I’ve told her everything, she knows the whole story.”
She was glad that Urania wasn’t angry, that she still had a friend.
“And I saw Mrs Uxeley too.”
“She is angry with me, I expect.”
He laughed.
“Poor old thing! No, not angry. She’s put out that she’ll have to do without you. She was very fond of you. She likes beautiful people around her, she told me. She can’t stand an ugly lady’s companion, with no class. Come on, get undressed and lie down for a bit. I’ll leave you alone and find somewhere to sit downstairs.”
They had got up. His eyes had a golden sparkle and an ironic smile played beneath his moustache. He swept her into his arms.
“Corrie,” he said hoarsely. “It’s wonderful to have you back. Tell me, are you mine, are you mine?”