Dimanche and Other Stories by Irène Némirovsky Read Free Book Online

I’m saying? I’m talking to you now as if you were already what I hope you will be in a few weeks’ time, my wife …”
    “And what about … her?” Christiane asked. This was how they referred to Gérard’s mistress.
    “Her? Oh, it’s over, of course! Laclos won’t wait for the police to nab him; he will leave and she will go with him.”
    “You don’t think she might leave him for you?” Gérard shrugged.
    “She probably doesn’t have a penny …”
    He wiped his brow slowly. In spite of everything, he was sad about Martine Laclos and, as he was still very young, now that the night’s excitement had subsided he felt weary and shaken and had a sudden urge to cry. But he pulled himself together. He was pleased to have made a decision at last. Christiane was an intelligent girl, and they would make an effective couple. Boehmer Sewing Machines had suffered comparatively little in the crisis. He imagined Christiane lying in his arms,attentive, concerned, perhaps slightly disappointed, the shape of her lovely body … Suddenly he felt desire and he murmured in a low voice, “So we’re engaged, darling …”
    As she left, Christiane, remembering Ginette, looked around for her and instinctively held out her hand for her to shake. Ginette gave a start, got up, and gave an awkward little curtsy, as if laughing at herself. Then, looking affectionately at the girl, she asked quietly, “Happy?”
    “Everything is working out just as I wanted,” Christiane said, her usual frosty arrogance returning.
    But Ginette murmured humbly, “I’m very happy for you. Allow me to wish you a Happy New Year … and thank you.”
    “Oh, nonsense!” Christiane said with a shrug, but the sad voice and grateful manner had touched her; suppressing a smile, she thought, “Poor woman … Well, here I am starting the year with a Good Deed, like when I was a girl guide …”
    She said, “Happy New Year to you, too, Ginette.”
    Ginette’s cheeks flushed slightly and her heart beat faster. These good wishes at the beginning of the New Year, and the beautiful young woman’s smile, would surely ward off bad luck.
    She half-closed her eyes, as if memorizing Christiane’s voice and words, then said, “Thank you, mademoiselle. Will I … will I see you again?”
    “Probably.”
    Ginette gave a muffled sigh.
    “I’d like that … It would make me happy … Happy New Year and good night.”
    After Christiane left, Ginette’s luck turned at once: it was as if those good wishes had an immediate effect, like roses that are in full bloom when they are delivered from the florist and instantly start spreading their delicious if fleeting scent. The door opened and a group of men came in. They were drunk, merry and happy, as fifty-year-old men are who have abandoned the provinces, and their wives, for the night. They invited Ginette to supper in a Montmartre brasserie, and toward morning one of them, a factory owner from Roubaix with smooth red cheeks and a shiny, bald head circled by a crown of gray hair, took her back to his room. It was lunchtime when they parted. The streets were bright under a cold, pink wintry sun, and families were on their way to a formal New Year’s Day lunch with a grandmother or an aunt. The parents walked arm in arm, the better-off women wearing a fox fur, the others carrying a new bag or gloves; the children walked in front, dressed in their Sunday best with white fur-lined jackets and leggings, each holding a little bunch of mistletoe or holly in one hand and clutching a new toy in the other.
    Ginette strolled along happily, buoyed up with exhilaration and hope. She thought the factory owner fromRoubaix had liked her; she felt the calm pride and self-satisfaction of a good worker at the end of the day. She remembered his words: “When I come again next month, I’ll get in touch. We didn’t have a bad time together, did we? I’ll give you more next time and we’ll eat in a little bistro I know, where the