So You Don't Get Lost in the Neighborhood by Patrick Modiano Read Free Book Online Page A

. . .”
    â€œ. . . clinging?”
    â€œYes. Very clinging.”
    And she seemed to give this term a more worrying significance than he had first intended.
    â€œI don’t know what he has learnt about you . . . Perhaps something in the dossier . . . I haven’t read it . . . He’ll use it as a means of putting pressure . . .”
    The words she had just used sounded false coming from her. It was doubtless Ottolini who had spoken to her about a “means of putting pressure”.
    â€œHe wants you to help him write a book . . . That’s what he told me . . .”
    â€œAre you sure he doesn’t want anything else?”
    She hesitated for a moment.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œPerhaps ask me for money?”
    â€œIt’s possible . . . Gamblers need money . . . Yes, of course he’s going to ask you for money . . .”
    They must have discussed the matter after the meeting in rue de l’Arcade. They probably had their backs to the wall—an expression that Chantal used to employ in the past, when she spoke about Paul. But he always thought he would recover thanks to his doubling up on his losses.
    â€œSoon, he won’t even be able to pay the rent for his room in square du Graisivaudan . . .”
    Yes, rents had certainly increased over forty-five years in square du Graisivaudan. Daragane occupied the room illegally, thanks to a friend to whom the owner had entrusted the keys. There was a telephone in this room, with a padlock on the dial so that no-one could use it. But he succeeded in dialling certain numbers all the same.
    â€œI, too,” he said, “lived in square du Graisivaudan . . .”
    She looked at him in surprise, as if she were discovering links between them. He was on the point of adding that the girl who occasionally came to join him in this room was also called Chantal. But what was the point? She said to him:
    â€œWell, perhaps it’s the same room that Gilles has . . . An attic room . . . you take the lift and then go up a small staircase . . .”
    Yes, that was right, the lift did not go to the top floor—a corridor with a succession of rooms along it, each with a partially faded number on the door. His was number 5. He remembered because of Paul, who often tried to explain to him one of his formulas for doubling up on his losses “around the neutral five”.
    â€œAnd I had a friend who gambled at the races, and also went to the casino at Charbonnières . . .”
    She seemed reassured by these words and she gave him a faint smile. She must have thought that even though there were a few dozen years between them they came from the same world. But which one?
    â€œSo, you were coming back from one of your parties?”
    He immediately regretted asking her the question. But she evidently felt she could trust him:
    â€œYes . . . It’s a couple who organise rather special parties in their apartment . . . Gilles worked for them for a while as chauffeur . . . They used to phone me from time to time to get me to come . . . It’s Gilles who wants me to go . . . They pay me . . . I can’t do anything else . . .”
    He listened to her without daring to interrupt. Perhaps her remarks were not meant for him and she had forgotten he was there. It must be very late. Five in the morning? Daybreak would soon come and would scatter the shadows. He would find himself alone in his study after a bad dream. No, he had never lost this address book. Neither Gilles Ottolini nor Joséphine Grippay who called herself Chantal had ever existed.
    â€œIt’s going to be very difficult for you, too, to get rid of Gilles now . . . He won’t let you go . . . I wouldn’t put it past him to wait for you at the door of your building . . .”
    A threat or a warning?