The Disappearance of Adèle Bedeau Read Online Free Page B

if you play your cards right, you could be sitting in my place in just a few years. Now, what do you think of that, my boy?’
    Manfred resisted the temptation to tell him that he would rather throw himself into the Rhine than spend one minute more than necessary working in the Saint-Louis branch of Société Générale.
    â€˜I’m very grateful for the opportunity,’ he said.
    That same day Manfred made inquiries about the apartment above the Restaurant de la Cloche, but it was occupied by the new proprietor and his wife. He then, as a temporary measure, took the apartment off Rue de Mulhouse.

Three
    T HURSDAY WAS MARKET DAY . At half past twelve the Restaurant de la Cloche was thronging with people. Manfred recognised most of the customers and acknowledged those who spotted him with a nod or a silently mouthed ‘good day’. That was the extent of his interaction with his fellow regulars. Among those who lunched daily at La Cloche, there was, like railway commuters, a tacit understanding of the boundaries of communication. Manfred took his place at the table in the corner that Marie had reserved for him. The menu rotated on a weekly basis and offered a choice of two starters, two main courses and a special followed by dessert or coffee. In almost twenty years the daily menus had never varied. Thursday’s special was
pot-au-feu.
Approximately once a month, Manfred made a joke to Pasteur about changing the menu. ‘Do you see a suggestion box around here?’ the proprietor invariably responded.
    Adèle appeared at Manfred’s table to take his order. He felt inexplicably excited to see her.
    â€˜Hello, Adèle.’ He said attempted to make eye contact with her, seeking some acknowledgement of what had passed between them the previous night.
    â€˜Monsieur,’ Adèle replied blankly. She did not raise her eyes from her notebook and she recited his Thursday order (onionsoup,
pot-au-feu, crème brulée
) before he had the chance to say anything else. Manfred was tempted to suddenly change his order just to get her attention, but as she turned away with an air of great ennui, he was glad he hadn’t. Such an act would only bring Pasteur to the table demanding to know what had brought about such a change of heart. Manfred imagined himself shouting, ‘I just felt like a change!’ before throwing over his table and storming out of the restaurant, batting other customers’ glasses of wine against the walls as he went.
    He opened his copy of
L’Alsace
to the financial pages and gazed blankly at the columns of share prices. Adèle returned with his soup. She continued to betray no sign of the intimacy that had passed between them. Perhaps when she returned with his main course, he should casually enquire whether she had had a pleasant evening. He could even ask about the young man. What could be wrong with that? He had seen them together after all. Wasn’t it perfectly natural to acknowledge the fact? Manfred had already finished the glass of wine that was included in the set menu. The soup was watery and under-seasoned.
    Customers arrived and left continually. When it was busy, the Restaurant de la Cloche ran like a well-oiled machine. Marie often paused at a regular’s table to exchange a few words, but her eyes were continually scanning the room for empty plates and customers wishing to pay their bills. These were despatched with a minimum of fuss by Pasteur from his station behind the counter. Tables were cleared and reset with military efficiency. There was a constant clatter from the kitchen and the calling of orders as they were delivered to the hatch. Customers spoke in loud voices with their mouths full, conscious that they were not expected to linger over their lunch. Most elected not to have coffee. If they did, it was brought with their dessert. Adèle attended to the other customers with the same sullen demeanour she displayed towards