Jezebel (20 page)

She grabbed the mirror from his trembling hands, studied her face for a long time, opening wide her despairing eyes. ‘Bernard, sometimes I think you hate me less for the past than for the present. Why? What harm can it do you that I’m still a real woman, that I have a lover?’

‘It disgusts me,’ he murmured.

‘Why? Bernard, why? You’re young. You love your mistress. How can you not understand that I am in love, that I’d give my life to be loved? You look at my dresses, my furs, my jewellery and you want to take them away from me and give them to Laurette. I’d happily give them
away. If you only knew how much I’ve suffered today! My lover …’

‘Shut up! There are certain words you have no right to say. They’re monstrous coming from your mouth … unnatural. You’re sixty years old, you’re an old woman. Love, lovers, happiness, such things are not meant for you. You old people should be content with the things we can’t take away from you,’ he said in a fury, thinking of Laure’s mother. ‘Keep your money, keep your status, keep your reputation, but those other things, those at least were meant for us. They were ours, ours! Who gave you the right to take them?
You
, in love? You’re a poor old woman who’s mad,’ he said with a bitter laugh, ‘but then, if that’s the way it is, if you have the
right
to love and be loved, why are you and women like you so afraid of having anyone know how old you are? You’d be less ashamed if you’d committed some crime. You’d happily see me dead if that could help you hide your age. I hate you because you’re old and I’m young, and because you’re the one who’s happy, you, while I’m the one who should have been happy, because I’m young. You’ve stolen that from me. Besides, you hate me too. But you don’t have the courage to say it to my face. You call me “my boy”. You smile grotesquely with a mouth that would actually prefer to snap at me!’

‘Why should I love you?’ said Gladys quietly. ‘What are you to me? I’m not the one who brought you into this world. You’re not my son. It doesn’t make any difference to me that we’re related. That’s the kind of thing men consider important. I don’t know you. You’re a stranger to me. There’s only one thing that matters to me and that’s my lover.’

‘That makes me want to die laughing,’ said Bernard.

But she continued without listening to him, ‘He means everything in the world to me, because if he left me there would be no one left in my life, and a life in which no one loves you, no one desires you, is cold, dead, the life of an old woman, and when all is said and done, to me, it’s worse than death.’

‘How dare you speak of love? A woman’s love? While I, your child …’

What am I saying, he thought in despair, but he sensed that he was right.

‘You think you’ve triumphed over age. But it’s there, within you. You might show off your supple body and a back that looks like a young woman’s, you can dye your hair, go out dancing, but your soul is old. It’s worse than that. It’s corrupt. There’s the foul scent of death about you.’

‘Shut up! Leave me alone! You’re either drunk or mad. What did I ever do to you? I’m not taking anything away from you. Every human being wants his share of happiness. What have I done that’s so wrong? I’m free. My life …’

‘Your life … But why should your life be important? You’ve had your share of life! You’re the one who’s always been happy, and I … Oh, how I want to make you suffer. I can’t understand why I don’t just kill you. Would anyone blame me? Yes, of course they would, of course. I’d have committed matricide, but it would be the only time I’d be allowed to say I was related to you and that you were my grandmother. No, no, it would be more satisfying if I just told the truth to your lover …’

‘Listen to me. What good would it do you to tell the
truth? Well? You would have killed me, that’s true. But you’d have no more support, no more money.’

‘What difference do you think your money makes to me? Laure died yesterday. And as for your support, as you call it, I know only too well that you’ll never give me any. Well, then? At least I would have the satisfaction of taking away your illusions, Grandmother! For now it’s your turn to listen to me, because I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen. I’m going to tell your lover that you’re an old woman, that you’re sixty,’ he said, savouring the words, ‘and he’ll stay with you. He’ll take it all on. Because it’s not you he loves, it’s your money. And that way, you poor madwoman, that way, you’ll see …’

He stopped short. The telephone was ringing. He laughed quietly.

‘Is that him? Is that your crazy lover? Well, well, this is going to be fun.’

‘No, Bernard!’

‘But yes! I couldn’t have dreamed of anything better! “Is that Count Monti? This is Bernard Martin.” A man at his mistress’s house! At this hour? “Oh, not really a man. A boy. Almost your child. Her grand …” ’

‘Bernard!’ She lunged at him.

He blocked the telephone with his body, spoke softly, lovingly, choosing his words. “The grandson of your mistress! The grandson of the beautiful Gladys Eysenach!” ’

‘Bernard, don’t answer it! Bernard, don’t tell him! I haven’t done anything to you! Please … Please forgive me, Bernard! Forgive me! You’ll see, you’ll be rich, happy,’ she shouted, trying to drown out the sound of the telephone
that kept on ringing and that Bernard was holding in his hands. ‘Put the phone down!’

He started to reach for the receiver. Then she pulled out the gun, the gun she had thought of every night for the past month.

He looked at her with a strange, scornful twitching of his lips. She fired. He dropped the telephone; his face had suddenly changed: it was soft and surprised. He fell to the floor, dragging the insistent telephone with him.

She saw the bewildered, silent look of death spread over his features. Before crying out, before calling for help, before feeling any remorse or despair, a sensation of utter peace filled her heart. The telephone had stopped ringing.