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Régine slapped his hand off her arm. “Go away, Lucien. You’re being silly.”
“Did you really get a good look at her? The woman in the studio with Papa.”
“No, you know I didn’t. That’s why Marie was up on the roof—to look through the skylight. But I know it wasn’t Maman. She was away visiting Grandmother.”
“No, she wasn’t.”
“The woman I saw had long red hair. She was wearing a blue dress I’d never seen before. Don’t you think I would recognize my own mother? Why are you saying these things, Lucien? I’ve known about Papa and the slut for—”
“I found Papa’s journal. When I was cleaning out the storeroom. He wrote all about Maman coming to him in the studio. Spending days at a time there.”
“But she hates painting. She never said a good thing about Papa’s painting. Let me see this journal.”
Lucien hadn’t quite thought this all through. He thought that once he’d told Régine about their mother being the strange “other” woman she’d be so relieved that—well, he hadn’t expected to be questioned. “I can’t, I burned it.”
“Why would you burn it?”
“Because it contained embarrassing secrets about Maman and Papa.”
“Which you are telling me now. I’m going to ask Maman about it.”
“You can’t. She doesn’t remember.”
“Of course she would remember. Papa died in that studio. Marie died trying to look into that studio. She may not want to, but she’ll remember.”
“No she won’t, because she was taking opium. Lots and lots of opium. Papa wrote about it. He wrote about how she would take opium and come to the studio and they would make love for days and days. But she doesn’t remember any of it. There, now you know.”
“Maman was taking opium and none of us noticed?”
“Yes. Think about it. All the times we said that Maman was insane. It turns out she wasn’t insane at all, she was just a drug fiend.”
“And a sex fiend, evidently.”
“Papa described it in detail, the disgusting, revolting things they did together. That’s what you were hearing the night Marie went out on the roof. That’s why I had to burn the journal. To spare your sensibilities, Régine. I did it for you.”
“To spare my sensibilities you decided to reveal to me, in the middle of my workday, that our mother is a pervert and a drug fiend and our father not only took advantage of those things but wrote about them, and that is supposed to spare my sensibilities?”
“Because you’ve felt responsible for keeping the secret of the other woman from Maman all these years, because you felt responsible for Marie. See, none of it is your fault.”
“But now, knowing the truth, I have to keep this secret from Maman?”
“It would hurt her feelings.”
“She boinked our father to death!”
“Yes, but in a nice way. Really, when you think about it, it’s kind of sweet.”
“No it’s not. It’s not sweet at all.”
“I think Papa’s and Marie’s deaths shocked her out of her drug use, so it’s all turned out for the best, really.”
“No it hasn’t.”
“You’re right, we should murder her in her sleep. Do you think Gilles will help us with the body? She is a large woman.”
“Lucien, you are the worst liar in the world.”
“I’m more visual than verbal, really. The painting and so forth.”
