Read The President's Hat for Free Online Page B

her hair.
    â€˜So that means a man gave it to you,’ continued Édouard, staring straight at her.
    Fanny gave him a strange little smile. ‘Are you jealous?’
    â€˜I might be. You come into our room wearing a present from someone else …’
    Â 
    The mood in the room had suddenly shifted. Fanny studied Édouard carefully. She loved his body, his hands; she loved his face, his voice, his hair. For the last two and a half years, she had loved all of that. She had been jealous of a phantom wife she had never laid eyes on and whose existence meant she could not be with Édouard. He, on the other hand, had never been jealous, yet this evening she could see the signs of it appearing on his face. How far could she take this little game with the hat Édouard took to be a gift from another man?
    All the way, she realised in a burst of lucidity, surprising even herself. In the space of a few moments, the felt hat had emerged as the source of strength she had waited so long for. All at once, the cowardice which had prevented her talking to Édouard, perhaps even breaking it off, had vanished. Now she understood Michel Polac’s approach: push it as far as it will go until the whole thing explodes, then sit back and survey the damage. Fanny shivered with fear and excitement. She took a step back, perched on the table and tilted her head to one side, all the while keepingher eyes on Édouard. She was about to leap into the unknown and it was a delicious feeling, more satisfying than any sexual position.
    â€˜Yes, the hat was a present,’ she said softly.
    Â 
    â€˜Who gave it to you?’
    The question opened a gaping hole at Fanny’s feet. ‘A man,’ she heard herself reply. ‘A man I met on the train.’
    â€˜Like me?’ Édouard instinctively pulled the white sheet up over his chest, as if literally to protect his feelings.
    â€˜Yes, like you.’
    â€˜How old is he? It’s an old man’s hat!’ cried Édouard, too loudly for the time of night (though no sound came from behind the walls of sleeping Batignolles).
    â€˜He’s older than you, it’s true,’ began Fanny, gazing off into space, ‘but it doesn’t matter. He’s not handsome the way you are; he’s beautiful in a different way. He’s thoughtful and considerate, he loves me and he wants to live with me. I borrowed his hat – it’s a little game we play – and I wore it all round Le Havre. I even wore it once when we were making love – I put it on and got on top …’
    Ã‰douard stared at her, rooted to the spot.
    â€˜So he bought me one of my own, just like his. He got my initials put in it and gave it to me to remind me of him.’
    Fanny took off her hat and smoothly passed it to Édouard, who turned it over to read the gold letters inside.
    â€˜You’ll never leave your wife and I’ll never be anything more than the girl you meet in hotels at weekends, so I’m going to leave you, Édouard. Like that Gainsbourg song:
“Je
suis venu te dire que je m’en vais.”’
    The words had come out of her mouth perfectly calmly and yet, inside, Fanny was in turmoil.
    Ã‰douard breathed deeply, keeping his eyes on her, trying to decide how to react – though since Fanny appeared to have made up her mind, his options were somewhat limited. He had lost. He had lost her.
    â€˜Fine,’ he said crossly. ‘You could have saved me a wasted weekend coming here. You could have just told me by Minitel.’
    He got off the bed and grabbed his trousers. Fanny watched as though from a distance, as if Édouard were no more than a silhouette moving in the sunlight at the far end of a beach. He put on his trousers and angrily buttoned his shirt, his fingers fumbling with the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons.
    â€˜Waiting until half past midnight to tell me that …’ he grumbled, scowling at her.