The President's Hat by Antoine Laurain Read Free Book Online Page A

that wonderful lover who had given her a hat just like his own and had her initials put in it as a sign of his affection. No man she had ever known would do such a thing, would ever have such class, such panache. Was he tall, slender, or average build? Did he have brown, blond or grey hair?
    No face came to mind. She had lied for the first time in as long as she could remember and it had worked. At no point had Édouard stood up and declared, ‘I don’t believe you! You’re lying.’ No. The idea that Fanny might be spinning a yarn had not even crossed his mind. For that matter, it occurred to her, he had never read a single one of her stories. She was reminded of the subject of the competition: ‘A True Story’. The story of Fanny and Édouard had come to an end. And all because of a hat. That was the tale she must tell.

 
    From the moment she had sat down at the table of the little café on Place Félix-Lobligeois, she had not put down her pen. She filled page after page of the pink notebook with her rounded handwriting, drawing little circles on top of every ‘i’. The words told the story of her split from Édouard, the misunderstanding over the hat and all the feelings she was experiencing: relief, anxiety, sadness and nostalgia. Towards the end of her account, she wrote: ‘This hat was no longer of use to me; it had served its purpose, and even though it bore my initials, I resolved to leave it somewhere in the city.’
    Leave the hat behind? Fanny chewed the end of her pen. It struck her as a romantic idea. If she discarded the hat somewhere in Paris before getting her train, her story could reflect the truth right up to the end. This small act of sacrifice might even bring her luck. Filled with doubt, she looked up from her page to see a gypsy and her daughter walking towards her. Fanny smiled and turned away.
    â€˜I don’t want anything,’ she said.
    â€˜I’m a clairvoyant, I’ll tell you your fortune,’ said the woman, whose dark-brown hair was swept up under a red headscarf. She had a tattoo between her eyes and a line under her bottom lip.
    â€˜No, I’d rather you didn’t,’ Fanny insisted, smiling once again, ‘really.’ She looked down at the child, who was staring at her oddly.
    â€˜Yes, I’m going to tell you.’
    Fanny shook her head and withdrew her hands.
    The woman placed her dark, papery hand on the hat but pulled it away again immediately as though the felt were boiling hot. ‘It’s not yours, this hat.’ Her expression had changed – she looked almost frightened. Her hand hovered above the hat. ‘This is a man’s hat, he is very powerful,’ she said, crossing herself.
    â€˜Oi, you! Stop bothering the customers!’ shouted a waiter with a grey goatee.
    â€˜No, it’s all right,’ Fanny told him.
    â€˜It’s not all right, young lady. This is my terrace and I’m not putting up with that.’
    â€˜Whose hat is it?’ Fanny asked regardless.
    â€˜You know him, everyone they know him.’
    â€˜No,’ replied Fanny, ‘you’re wrong, I don’t know him.’
    â€˜Yes, you do.’
    â€˜Well then, tell me his name.’
    â€˜You give me money, give me twenty francs.’
    â€˜No, I don’t have twenty francs for that.’
    â€˜Give me fifteen.’
    â€˜No, I’m sorry.’
    â€˜Will you leave the young lady alone!’
    The gypsies stepped away as the waiter came over, flicking his tea towel as though trying to scare off cats.
    â€˜They’ll tell you any old rubbish and then you look down and find your wallet’s gone. They pulled the same trick last week,’ he grumbled.
    Fanny watched the woman and her little girl disappear around the corner.
You know him
. It was ridiculous, how could you know the owner of a hat you’d found on a train? She must not let herself be put off. She had