“During this stay in Biot, I had a fling with a bartender, nothing original or particularly risky. Luc and I loved each other. We were always crazy about each other. Luc often said to me, ‘I’m an old fool, if you want to have fun with younger men, go for it, as long as I know nothing about it. And above all, you don’t fall in love—that I couldn’t handle.’ With hindsight, I’m convinced that, by almost pushing me into the arms of other men, he hoped I’d end up pregnant. It was subconscious, of course, but I think he hoped for a long time that I’d come home one day with a bun in the oven. A little one he could have stamped with his name. Anyhow, during that summer holiday, we were having a party at the villa, around twenty people, and we’d all had a few drinks, and Philippe caught me with my handsome lover in the swimming pool. I’ll never forget the look he gave me. In his eyes, I saw a mix of astonishment and pleasure, a sort of satisfaction. I think that night, he saw me as a woman for the first time. A woman and, therefore, prey. Philippe was a formidable predator. So beautiful, he would tempt a saint in heaven. But I don’t need to tell you that . . .
“Of course, he said nothing to Luc, didn’t tell on me, but whenever I passed him in the villa, he’d smile at me in a knowing way. A smile that meant: ‘We’re accomplices.’ And I hated that. I could have slapped his face all day long. He became unbearably smug. We stopped laughing together, from one day to the next. I started to find his presence intolerable, the smell of his aftershave, the mess he left everywhere, the noise he made coming in at five in the morning. When I told him to get lost, Luc would say to me, ‘Be nice to the boy, he gets enough from his mother to do his head in.’ At the table, as soon as Luc had his back turned, Philippe would stare at me, faintly smiling. I’d look down, but I could feel his eyes on me, burning with arrogance.
“On the final evening, he got back earlier than usual, and without a girl. I was on the terrace, alone, lying on a sun-lounger, and I’d dozed off. He placed his lips on mine, I woke up, and I slapped his face, saying to him, ‘Listen to me carefully, you jerk, do that once more and you’ll never set foot in our home again.’ He went off to bed without batting an eyelid. The following day, we left the villa. We accompanied him to the station. He was getting a train to Charleville-Mézières. On the platform, he kissed us goodbye, hugging us both, Luc and me, one with each arm. I didn’t want his affection, but had no choice. Luc couldn’t bear the fact that I couldn’t stand his nephew anymore. It made him very unhappy. I was trapped. Philippe thanked us a hundred times. While he was hugging us, he slid his hand down my back and placed it on my bottom, pressing me firmly against his thigh. I couldn’t react, Luc was right there with us. Philippe’s action chilled me. I thought what an outrageous cheek he had, and the ways of such a cocksure man. Finally, he let us go, ‘Bye-bye auntie, bye-bye uncle.’ He got on the train, throwing his bag over his shoulder, waved at us, with his angelic smile. And while I was glaring at him, he was smirking, as if to say, ‘Got you.’
“We went home to Bron, and got back to work. The following spring, Philippe phoned us to say he wouldn’t be with us that summer, he was going away to celebrate his eighteenth birthday in Spain with friends. I admit that it was a relief. I wouldn’t have to be near him, or avoid his looks and inappropriate gestures. Luc was very disappointed, but as he hung up, he said, ‘It’s normal, at his age.’ We returned to Biot, spent a month with friends we’d joined there, but Luc missed Philippe being around. He often said to me, ‘The house is too tidy, there’s not enough noise here.’ Actually, it wasn’t Philippe himself he was missing, even though Luc was very attached to him, but a child of our own. I remember that, coming home from the holiday, on the return journey, I suggested adopting a child. He said no. Doubtless because he’d thought about it at length. He just told me that we were good together, us two, so good.
“In January of the following year, Luc and Chantal’s mother died. We went to the funeral, and despite the circumstances, Luc and his sister didn’t say a word to each other. Philippe was there. We hadn’t seen him for a year and a half. He had changed a lot. Luc gave him a long hug, pointing out that now, Philippe was a head taller than him. Philippe pretended not to see me for the entire ceremony. Just before getting into the car, while Luc was off saying goodbye to family, he trapped me against the door, looking down at me from his full one-meter-eighty-eight, and saying, ‘So, auntie, you were here, didn’t see you.’ And he kissed me on the mouth before I had time to react, and whispered to me, ‘See you next summer.’
“And next summer arrived. The summer of his twentieth birthday. Before he’d even reached his bedroom at the villa, I grabbed him by the collar. He stared
