E-Book, Englisch, 314 Seiten
Reihe: The Paris Bookshop Mysteries
Izner The Vanishing at Père-Lachaise
1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 978-1-80533-588-7
Verlag: Pushkin Vertigo
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark
A Victor Legris Mystery
E-Book, Englisch, 314 Seiten
Reihe: The Paris Bookshop Mysteries
ISBN: 978-1-80533-588-7
Verlag: Pushkin Vertigo
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark
Claude Izner is the pen-name of two sisters, Liliane Korb and Laurence Lefevre. Both booksellers on the banks of the Seine, they are experts on nineteenth-century Paris. Liliane Korb died in March 2022.Lorenza Garcia translates from French and Spanish. Her two most recent translations are The Montmartre Investigation by Claude Izner, which she co-translated with Isabel Reid, and The Season of the Beast by Andrea H. Japp. She currently lives in London.
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IT was almost nine o’clock when Denise reached Pont des Arts. The crisp, clear morning set off to perfection one of the most beautiful views in Paris. She stopped halfway across the bridge, mesmerised by the sights around her. To her left lay the towers of the Palais de Justice, the spire of Saint-Chapelle and the imposing bulk of Notre-Dame with the point of the Île de la Cité and the Vert-Galant garden glinting behind them in the sunshine. To her right, far in the distance, the Eiffel Tower soared into the sky. The Seine seemed to arch its back as it curved under Pont Neuf, its current breaking against the hulls of the laundry boats before settling into a smooth yellowish flow, dotted with ducks.
She walked past the L’Institut and the École des Beaux-Arts, watching the second-hand booksellers and the medal traders setting up their stalls on the other side of Quai Malaquais. She had to pluck up courage to ask a portly man the way, but he smiled at her from behind an enormous moustache and pointed out Rue des Saints-Pères.
The houses here were less ostentatiously grand than those on Boulevard Haussman, but Denise found them much more beautiful, perhaps because their weather-beaten façades had stood the test of time. There was a calm, provincial air to the street that she found reassuring. There were several bookshops, but she couldn’t see Monsieur Legris’s. It was only when she spotted the sign saying ‘Elzévir’ above the number 18 that she was certain that she had come to the right place. Behind the shop windows, which were set in wood panelling of a greeny-bronze colour, large red-bound gilt-edged volumes were lined up next to more recent works. Amongst the latter, the latest book by Émile Zola, The Beast in Man, the extremely controversial Noncoms by Lucien Descaves and a Shakespeare play, left open at a lurid illustration of witches, took pride of place. One corner of the window display was dedicated to some novels whose titles Denise read out haltingly in a low voice: The Lerouge Affair by Émile Gaboriau, The Exploits of Rocambole by Ponson du Terrail, The Mystery of Edwin Drood by Charles Dickens, Fifi Vollard’s Gang by Constant Guéroult and The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins. A small notice in red ink read:
If you like murder mysteries and thrillers, do not hesitate to ask for advice. It will be our pleasure to assist you.
A little alarmed by these words, Denise pressed her face against the window and saw a blond young man inside the shop, engrossed in a newspaper. She was startled by the sound of whistling. A schoolboy, his cap pulled down over his eyes, was standing beside her, so close that he nudged her arm. She moved away slightly and then took refuge under the awning of a packaging shop on the other side of the street, hoping that Madame’s ex-lover would soon appear. The schoolboy positioned himself a little further off, in front of Debauve & Gallais, makers of fine chocolates.
The door of the building beside the bookshop opened and out came a woman as round as a ball, enveloped in an apron and armed with a broom. As she scanned the street, looking from right to left, she caught sight of Denise and stared at her suspiciously. Then she disappeared into the hall, reappearing a moment later with a bucket, which she emptied on to the pavement just as a costermonger’s cart appeared beside her. The water narrowly missed the woman pulling the cart.
‘Watch out, Madame Ballu. You almost drowned me!’
‘I’m sorry, Madame Pignot, my mind was elsewhere. I was thinking about my cousin Alphonse, the one who went to Senegal. He’s caught it!’
‘Caught what?’
‘Influenza. They’ve given him syrup of snails, but he’s still coughing and coughing.’
‘Not to worry, Madame Ballu, I’m sure he’ll get better. Good day!’
‘And good day to you, Madame Pignot.’
Madame Pignot waved in the direction of the bookshop and set off again pulling her cart. The young blond man rushed out of the shop. ‘Maman, wait!’ he cried.
He caught up with the costermonger, grabbed a couple of large apples from the top of her fruit and vegetable basket, planted a kiss on her cheek and went back into the bookshop.
Denise did not budge from her spot. She saw the blond boy reappear on the pavement and call to a man leaning out of a first-floor window, ‘Give me ten minutes, boss!’
The man nodded his assent, then closed the window. Denise had time to notice his slanting eyes. She remembered her mistress mentioning Monsieur Legris’s Chinese valet disapprovingly.
The Oriental man was dressed in the English style in a fully buttoned tweed jacket with narrow lapels and flap pockets, a white shirt, grey trousers with an impeccable crease and brown leather shoes. He went over to a table with a row of inkwells on it, and picked up some rail tickets, which he slipped into his wallet. He gazed for a moment at the two new prints recently hung on the wall to brighten the room. One, Boat ride under the Azuma Bridge, was by Kiyonga1 and the other, entitled Lake Biwa, was by Hiroshige.2 He pushed open the door of the bathroom, which was equipped with a copper bath. Leaning towards the mirror over the basin, he straightened the knot of his green silk tie, put on a checked worsted bowler hat and, apparently satisfied, smiled at the photograph on a marble shelf in front of him. Gazing out of the image was a young woman with brown hair who was tenderly holding a boy of about twelve. At the bottom was the inscription, Daphne and Victor, London 1872.
The man went back into the spacious sitting room, which was furnished in the style of Louis XIII, slid back a slatted paper partition, and entered a Japanese-style bedroom. A recess housed a thick cotton blanket and a wooden pillow, a Japanese trunk with ornamental hinges, Noh theatre masks, sheathed swords and a lacquer writing desk. He closed a suitcase, covered in multicoloured labels, and attached a rectangular tag to the handle bearing the following identification: Monsieur Kenji Mori, 18 Rue des Saints-Pères, Paris, France.
As he prepared for his departure, Kenji was reflecting on how, finally, Iris was going to be living near him. In her last letter she had expressed her joy at the thought of living in France, no longer having to wait weeks for him to find time to leave his business associate and cross the Channel to be with her. Saint-Mandé was very close to Paris and he would be able to visit her every Sunday. She would enjoy living comfortably in the heart of the countryside. Mademoiselle Bontemps’s boarding house, an agreeable dwelling on Chausée de l’Étang, was opposite the Bois de Vincennes. He would, however, have to use all his wiles to keep her away from the bookshop. It was out of the question that she should meet Victor! He would find a way. His thoughts were interrupted by the noise of wheels in the street. He went over to the window: a carriage was drawing up in front of the bookshop. The blond young man got out and shouted triumphantly, ‘Your cab awaits, M’sieu Mori!’
‘Coming!’
Denise watched the blond boy come out of the bookshop weighed down by a suitcase dotted with labels. He was followed by two men: the Oriental, and a good-looking man of medium height aged about thirty. He had brown hair and a moustache. She stiffened – it was Madame de Valois’s old lover! She heard him cry, ‘Have a good journey, Kenji, be good!’ as the Oriental took his seat in the cab, which set off.
As soon as Victor Legris and the blond boy had gone back into the shop, Denise crossed the road in what she hoped was a confident manner and went in after them. The blond boy was busy dusting the books on the shelves with a feather duster. At the tinkling of the door bell, he turned his large round head, crowned with dead-straight hair, and smiled at Denise, who gazed at him, blushing, not knowing what to say.
‘Good morning. May I help you?’ When she didn’t reply, he went up to her, smiling more broadly. ‘Are you looking for a book? Any author in particular?’
She noticed that he was hunchbacked. Her brother Erwan had told her once that meeting a hunchback brought luck. She was reassured, without knowing why, although now the boy was scrutinising her in a slightly condescending way. ‘I would like to speak to Monsieur Legris,’ she whispered. ‘It’s … important.’
Intrigued, the boy took in the young girl’s attire. She was badly turned out, her shoes were in a pitiful state and her crinoline was rather skimpy. He noticed the rectangular package that she was clutching to her bosom and from this he concluded that she must be one of those provincial girls convinced they were the next George Sand, come to sell her writings to the booksellers of Saint-Germain. He sighed, and going behind the counter, disappeared up the spiral staircase that led to the first floor. Left alone, Denise stared at the bust of a man wearing a wig and a faintly mocking expression, which was positioned on a black marble mantelpiece. She...
