The Yellow Eyes of Crocodiles by Katherine Pancol Read Free Book Online Page B

rattled, she dumped all her change into the woman’s leathery palm. “Oh, Carmen, I’m so afraid I’ll end up like her one day. I don’t have anything. It all belongs to Philippe.”
    “You’ll never, ever end up like that, darling,” said the maid soothingly, as she spread her mistress’s toes and rubbed the soles of her delicately arched feet. “Not as long as I live.”
    Tonight there had been no bath ceremony. Iris had just taken a quick shower.
    Now only Hortense was chattering away, making her aunt and grandmother smile. And she had Marcel practically purring with pleasure every time she complimented him.
    “I’m sure you’ve lost weight, Chief. When you came into the room, I thought, Wow, he looks good! How much younger he looks! So ‘fess up. Did you get a facelift?”
    Marcel burst out laughing.
    “And who would I do that for, you little vixen?”
    “I don’t know. Me, maybe? I’d be sad if you got all old and wrinkled. I want you strong and tan, like Tarzan.”
    After being flattered by Hortense, Marcel turned to Philippe to talk about the stock market. Would it go up or down in the coming months? Pull out or invest? Philippe only half listened to his ebullient father-in-law.
    The moment dessert was over, Alexandre led his cousin Zoé to his room to play computer games, leaving Hortense on her own. She always hung out with the grown-ups. She knew how to make herself invisible when she needed to.
    In the living room, Joséphine sipped her coffee, praying that she wouldn’t face a barrage of questions. Marcel read a financial newspaper. Henriette and Iris were talking about changing the curtains in one of the bedrooms. They waved Joséphine over to sit next to them, but she chose to join Marcel instead.
    “How’s it going, Jo? Life still a bowl of cherries?”
    The things Marcel says!
she thought.
He must be the only person on earth who still says things like “That’s swell!” or “How ’bout them apples?”
    “That would be one way of putting it, Chief.”
    He winked at her, went back to his newspaper for a moment, and then, noticing that she was still there, realized he had to make conversation.
    “What about your husband? Still up a creek jobwise?”
    Joséphine nodded.
    “If he can’t find anything, he can always come see me. I’ll find somewhere to put him.”
    “That’s sweet of you, Chief, but—”
    “He’ll have to tone it down a bit, though. Pretty full ofhimself, that husband of yours, isn’t he? You can’t afford to be proud these days. Me, I fought my way out of the gutter, so . . .”
    Joséphine had to make an effort not to confess to Marcel that she wasn’t far from the gutter herself.
    “But you know what, Jo? If I had to hire a member of the family, I’d hire you. You’re a hard worker. I think your husband is afraid to get his hands dirty. At least that’s how I see it.”
    He chuckled.
    “It’s not like I’m asking him to be a grease monkey.”
    “I know, Chief. I know.”
    She patted Marcel’s fleshy forearm and looked at him tenderly, which made him uncomfortable. He nodded, cleared his throat, and dove back into his newspaper.
    That’s the way it always is with Marcel
, Joséphine thought.
He’ll talk to me for five minutes, and when he feels he’s done his duty, he moves on. These family gatherings must be a real drag for him. Just like they were for Antoine.
    She glanced over at Iris, who was talking to their mother while fiddling with the long earrings she had taken off. Jo noticed that Iris’s toenails and fingernails matched perfectly. As usual, she felt alien to her sister’s relaxed femininity. Iris exuded the ease that comes from having money. Henriette, try as she might to rise to her eldest daughter’s station, would always seem to be striving.
Her hairdo is too tight
, thought Jo,
her lipstick too heavy, her handbag too obvious—and why doesn’t she ever put it down, anyway?
    The silence was broken only by Marcel turning the