Françoise Sagan - Bonjour Tristesse and a Certain Smile

The days passed. I rather forgot about Anne and about my father and Elsa. Love made me live with my eyes wide open, yet with my head in the clouds; I was pleasant and peaceable. Cyril asked me whether I was not afraid of conceiving a child. I told him that I was relying on him and he seemed to find that quite natural. Perhaps that was why I had given myself to him so readily, because he would not leave it to me to take responsibility and hence, if I had a child, he would be to blame. He took upon himself what I could not bear to take on: responsibilities. In any case, I found it difficult to imagine myself pregnant, given my slim, firm body. For once I congratulated myself on having an adolescent’s frame.

But Elsa was growing impatient. She constantly plied me with questions. I was always afraid of being discovered in her company or in Cyril’s. She arranged things so that wherever my father was, she was; she ran into him everywhere. Then she would congratulate herself on imagined triumphs and on glimpsing what she said were repressed impulses of his that he couldn’t conceal. This was a girl who, frankly, because of what she was, was well used to the idea of love as a commercial exchange. So I was astonished to see her become so romantic and get so excited by details such as a look or a gesture, she being someone who had been moulded to suit the precise requirements of men in a hurry. The fact is that she was not used to having a role that involved any form of subtlety, and the role that she was now playing must have seemed to her the height of psychological refinement.

Even if my father was gradually becoming obsessed with Elsa, Anne did not seem to notice. He was more tender and attentive towards her than ever and that frightened me, because I put his attitude down to unconscious remorse. The important thing was that nothing should happen over the remaining three weeks. We would return to Paris, Elsa would go on her way and, assuming they were still decided on it, my father and Anne would get married. In Paris there would be Cyril and, just as she had been unable to stop me from loving him here, Anne would not be able to stop me from seeing him. He had a room there well away from where his mother lived. I could already imagine the window opening on to the amazing pink and blue Parisian skies, pigeons cooing on the rail outside and Cyril and me on the narrow bed …

Seven

A few days later, my father was contacted by a friend of ours suggesting that we meet up in Saint-Raphaël for an aperitif. He couldn’t wait to tell us, as he was delighted at the thought of being able to escape briefly from the self-imposed and rather artificial isolation in which we were living. So I informed Elsa and Cyril that we would be at the Bar du Soleil at seven o’clock and that, if they wanted to come along, they would see us there. As ill luck would have it, Elsa knew the friend in question, which made her doubly eager to go. Foreseeing complications, I tried to put her off but I was wasting my time.

‘Charles Webb adores me,’ she said with childlike simplicity. ‘If he sees me, he’s bound to urge Raymond to come back to me.’

Cyril didn’t care whether he went to Saint-Raphaël or not. The main thing for him was to be where I was. I saw it in his expression and I couldn’t help feeling proud.

So that afternoon around six o’clock we set off in Anne’s car. I loved her car: it was an impressive American convertible more in line with her professional image than her personal taste. It was certainly to my taste, being full of shiny fittings and very quiet and cut off from the outside world, and it tilted when it went round bends. What’s more, all three of us sat in the front, and nowhere did I feel fonder of anyone than in a car. There we were, the three of us squashed up together, laying ourselves open to the same pleasures of speed and wind, and perhaps even to the same death. Anne drove, as if to symbolize her place in the family that we were going to become. I had not been in her car since the evening in Cannes, and that made me think.

We met Charles Webb and his wife at the Bar du Soleil. He specialized in theatre advertising and his wife specialized in spending the money he made, which she did at an incredible rate by lavishing it on young men. He was absolutely obsessed with the idea of making ends meet and he pursued money relentlessly, hence he had an anxious, impatient side to him that was somewhat unseemly. He had been Elsa’s lover over a long period because, for all her good looks, she was not a particularly grasping woman and he liked the fact that she was quite relaxed where money was concerned.

As for his wife, she was a nasty individual. Anne did not know her and I saw her lovely face quickly take on that disdainful, mocking expression she usually assumed in company. Charles Webb talked a lot, as usual, all the while looking across at Anne in an inquisitive way. He was clearly wondering what she was doing with that womanizer Raymond and his daughter. I felt full of pride at the thought that he was soon going to find out. My father leant over to him as he was drawing breath and, out of the blue, said:

‘I’ve news for you, old chap. Anne and I are getting married on the fifth of October.’

Webb looked from one to the other, quite dumbstruck. I was delighted. His wife, who had always had a soft spot for my father, seemed disconcerted.

Webb then bellowed: ‘My compliments! What a splendid idea! My dear lady, you are amazing for taking on such a rascal! Waiter! This calls for a celebration.’

Anne was smiling; she was calm and relaxed. Just at that moment I saw Webb’s face light up and I did not turn round to look.

‘Elsa! My God, it’s Elsa Mackenbourg! She hasn’t seen me. Have you seen how lovely that girl is looking nowadays, Raymond?’

‘Isn’t she just!’ said my father complacently, as if she belonged to him.

Then he remembered and his expression changed.

Anne couldn’t fail to notice my father’s tone of voice. In one rapid movement she turned from looking at him to looking at me. As she opened her mouth to say no doubt the first thing that came into her head, I leant across and spoke to her:

‘Anne, your elegance is causing quite a stir. There’s a man over there who can’t take his eyes off you.’

I had dropped my voice to a confidential pitch but was speaking loud enough for my father to hear. He spun round and caught sight of the man in question.

‘I dislike that kind of thing,’ he said, taking Anne’s hand.

‘Aren’t they sweet?’ exclaimed Madame Webb mockingly. ‘Charles, you shouldn’t have bothered these two love-birds. You could just have invited young Cécile here.’

‘“Young Cécile here” wouldn’t have come,’ I said bluntly.

‘Why not? Have you boyfriends among the fishermen?’

She had once seen me sitting on a bench talking to a bus conductor and ever since had treated me as if I had lost caste – that’s what she called it: ‘losing caste’.

‘Yes, I have,’ I said, trying to sound cheery.

‘And do you fish often?’

The worst of it was that she thought she was being funny. I was getting more and more annoyed and I said: ‘I don’t know much about what old trouts do, but I myself do fish.’

There was silence. Then Anne spoke up, composed as always:

‘Raymond, would you ask the waiter to bring a straw? You really do need one with freshly squeezed orange juice.’

Charles Webb quickly moved on to the topic of refreshing drinks. My father had to suppress his laughter. I could see it by the way in which he became engrossed in his glass. Anne shot me an imploring look. On the spot it was decided that we would all have dinner together, which is what happens when people have narrowly avoided falling out.