The Lying Down Room (Serge Morel 1) by Anna Jaquiery Page A

Henri say. ‘I’ll be right there.’
    Solange came back down the stairs and walked up to Morel. She touched his shoulder, her face close to his.
    ‘He’s on his way,’ she said.
    Soon Henri de Fontenay came into the room with a broad grin on his face. The two men embraced.
    ‘It’s good to see you. Solange got you a drink?’
    ‘I was about to.’
    ‘Let me do it. What will you have, Morel? And you, darling?’
    ‘You choose,’ Solange said. Henri’s question was rhetorical. He had already picked out and uncorked the wine, and he poured it now, telling Morel he was in for a treat.
    ‘It’s a 1982 Château Margaux. I saved it for you,’ he said, handing a glass to Morel.
    Morel took a sip, letting the liquid roll around his tongue while Henri watched approvingly.
    ‘How’s your father?’ he asked.
    ‘He seems well.’
    ‘Tell him he should pick up the phone once in a while.’
    ‘You know what he’s like.’
    ‘I do. He’s becoming a hermit in his old age.’
    ‘He always was. Just had to work, that was the difference.’
    Henri laughed. He and Morel’s father had gone to school together before going their separate ways, Morel senior pursuing a diplomatic career and Henri taking over the family’s
real-estate empire, which he managed from the confines of his home. The two had remained close.
    Henri had married Solange on his sixty-fourth birthday. She had been twenty-five then. ‘They met at the chemist,’ Philippe Morel had told his son, with a look of disbelief.
‘She was a pharmacist, or maybe not, just an ordinary shop girl. He liked the look of her and instead of just sleeping with her he decided to get married.’
    ‘He’s a romantic,’ Morel said.
    ‘Bloody stupid, you mean. What can they possibly have in common?’
    Yet eight years on Henri and Solange seemed perfectly happy with each other. They had the sort of partnership that some couples seemed to manage, open and affectionate, each leaving the other to
pursue their interests and, in Solange’s case, occasional affairs.
    Since the wedding, Henri and Morel’s father had lost touch. Without saying it openly, Henri clearly felt it was because Morel Senior disapproved of his young wife. Morel thought it had
more to do with his father’s increasing reluctance – or was it inability? – to socialize.
    Thinking of his father now, he wondered what the old man would say if he knew about his son’s involvement with Henri’s wife. It was unthinkable. The funny thing was that Henri knew
and accepted Morel’s involvement in his wife’s life. There was no way of knowing what went on in the old man’s head, whether his generosity was altruism or whether he was getting
his kicks out of the situation. Knowing his wife enjoyed being screwed by another man. Morel chose not to dwell on it.
    They ate at the bench in the kitchen, where the couple liked to have their meals. The dining table was reserved for dinner parties. Solange had prepared a dinner of cold lobster, poached salmon
and salad. She ate very little. Most of the time she sipped at her drink, resting one arm on the counter. The dress, like the lobster, was expensive. It allowed him to see her almost as he would if
she were naked. With Henri in the room, he tried not to stare at her too blatantly.
    Henri didn’t give him much time to feel self-conscious. After dinner, they had another glass of wine together, and Henri made coffee. Then he excused himself, saying he would have his
coffee in his study. He gave Morel a kiss on the cheek. Not for the first time, Morel felt he was receiving the older man’s blessing. In the early days it had confused him, but he accepted it
now without any reservation.
    ‘I have some work to do, and an early start tomorrow. I’ll leave you two now.’ He kissed his wife tenderly, one hand stroking the back of her neck.
    Solange and Morel moved together to the sofa. Solange sat opposite him. Neither one of them said a word. For a while they