Honeymoon by Patrick Modiano Read Free Book Online Page A

the paths in the pine forest. Ingrid and he were coming back from a walk on the boulevard along the coast. A man in a city suit was sitting on the bench, reading a newspaper. And in contrast to the dark colour of his suit, his complexion was milky white, like that of someone who never exposes himself to the sun.
    The next morning they were both lying on the pontoon. And Rigaud again noticed this dark patch leaning on the balustrade of the terrace, to the left of the steps leading down to the beach. The man was watching the few people who were sunbathing. Rigaud was the only one who saw him, as the others had their backs to him. For a moment he had wanted to point him out to Ingrid, but he changed his mind. He got her into the sea, they swam even farther out than usual, and then returned to the pontoon, swimming on their backs. Ingrid preferred to stay on the beach, as the pontoon was scorching. Rigaud had gone to fetch her a deck chair from the veranda outside the bathing huts. He went back to Ingrid, who was standing at the edge of the water in her pale-green swimming costume, and looked up towards the balustrade. This time the man seemed to be spying on Ingrid, smoking a cigarette which remained glued to his lips. His face was still as milk white, in spite of the sun. And his suit appeared even darker in contrast with the white veranda and beach huts. Rigaud had spotted him once again at aperitif time, sitting at the far end of the lobby, staring at the guests coming out of the lift.
    •
    So far, he hadn't been able to see his features very clearly. But that same evening, in the Princesse de Bourbon's restaurant, he was able to do so at leisure. The man was sitting at a table near theirs, at the back of the room. A bony face. Blond hair with reddish glints, combed back. His milk-white skin seemed to be pitted over his cheekbones. He was wearing his city suit and casting a beady eye over the tables where the habitués were sitting. It was almost as if he wanted to take a census of them. Finally his gaze came to rest on Ingrid and Rigaud.
    "Are you on holiday?"
    He had tried to soften the metallic tone of his voice as if attempting to worm a shameful secret out of them. Ingrid turned her head towards him.
    "Not exactly," Rigaud said. "We're on honeymoon."
    "On honeymoon?"
    With a nod, he expressed feigned admiration. Then he took a cigarette holder out of his jacket packet, stuck a Caporal in it – he packer was on the table – lit it and took a long puff, which hollowed his cheeks.
    "You're lucky to be on honeymoon."
    "Lucky? Do you really think so?"
    Rigaud regretted the insolent manner m which he had replied. He had stared at the man with wide-open eyes, pretending to be astonished.
    "Given the circumstances, very few people your age can indulge in a honeymoon …"
    Once again that smooth tone. Ingrid remained silent. Rigaud guessed that she was embarrassed and would have liked to leave the restaurant.
    "Can you stand those cigarettes?" Rigaud asked the man, pointing to the packet of Caporal on the table.
    A sudden impulse. It was too late to go back on it now. The man was looking at him, screwing up his eyes. Rigaud heard himself say:
    "Don't they make your throat sore? I have some English ones, if you like."
    And he held out a packet of Craven A.
    "I don't smoke English cigarettes," said the man, with a twisted smile. "I can't afford them."
    Then he began to study the menu, and thereafter pretended to ignore Ingrid and Rigaud. He went on indefatigably looking from table to table, as if he wanted to engrave everyone's face in his memory and take notes later on.
    •
    When they were back at the hotel, Rigaud regretted his childishly provocative gesture. He had found the packet of Craven A, empty, in the drawer of the bedside table, left there by a guest from the palmy prewar days. Ingrid and he were leaning over the balcony. Below, the roof of the church and the umbrella pines were silhouetted in the moonlight. The