The Beast Within - Emile Zola [95]
He needed to get things clear in his mind. Maintaining his grave demeanour, he asked her, ‘Perhaps you could explain, madame ... I remember you at Doinville very well ... there is nothing I would like more than to assist you, if it is within my power to do so.’
Séverine told him frankly how her husband was threatened with dismissal. He had become the object of resentment among his colleagues, due partly to his own success and partly to the fact that he had received help from people in high places. Now that this help was no longer available, people were making even more determined efforts to get rid of him, and they seemed to think they would succeed. She named no names and was careful to remain discreet, despite the real danger that confronted them. It was only because she was convinced she needed to act quickly that she had decided to make the journey to Paris. Tomorrow might be too late; she needed help immediately. Her arguments were so well founded and persuasive that it seemed impossible to Monsieur Camy-Lamotte that there could be any other reason why she had gone to such trouble to come and see him.
He watched her intently as she spoke, observing the slightest tremor of her lips.
‘Why should the Company wish to dismiss your husband?’ he asked her suddenly. ‘Surely he has done nothing seriously wrong.’
She too had been eyeing him carefully, looking for some flicker of response in the lines of his face, all the time wondering whether he had found the letter. His question had seemed a perfectly innocent one, yet the minute he asked it, she was convinced that the letter was there in the room, in a drawer somewhere. He had read it. He was setting a trap to see if she would dare mention the real reasons for her husband’s dismissal. There was something too pointed about the way he had phrased the question. She felt as if his pale, weary eyes were reading her innermost thoughts.
Bravely she entered the fray.
‘It is outrageous, monsieur,’ she said. ‘Just because of what was in that awful will, people are saying that we killed Monsieur Grandmorin. We proved that we were innocent, but such terrible accusations are not easily forgotten. I imagine the Company is afraid there might be some scandal.’
Once again Monsieur Camy-Lamotte was surprised and rather taken aback by the frankness of her response and the note of genuine anguish in her voice. What was more, having at first sight found her not particularly attractive, he was beginning to yield to the spell of her gently appealing blue eyes and her luxuriant black hair. He thought of his friend Grandmorin with a mixture of jealousy and admiration. How on earth had an old rake like him, ten years his senior, managed to attract creatures like this till the day he died, when he had already had to abandon such pleasures in order to preserve what little bit of energy he still had left? She was charming; quite delightful in fact. He sat looking at her, stiff and serious - a government minister with an awkward problem on his hands. A smile of wistful longing passed across his lips.
Séverine, emboldened by the effect she sensed she was having upon him, made the mistake of adding: ‘We are not the sort of people who would kill for money. There would have to have been some other motive ... and there wasn’t.’
Monsieur Camy-Lamotte looked at her and saw the corners of her mouth tremble. Yes, she was the murderer! He knew it instantly. Séverine too realized immediately that she had played into his hands; she could tell from the way he stopped smiling and pursed his lips awkwardly. She felt