Across the Road Page #2

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That's just it.

It's not the space...

I want to move

the furniture round...

Don't you feel good here?.

Isn't the fourposter great?.

No!

It's fabulous.

Like being in fairy tale.

A fairy tale...

I'm the princess.

Take it off. You'll boil!

It's wonderful.

Feels like a country house.

So?. Not too much of a strain?.

Getting used to the fairy tale?.

She'll kill us

with all these croissants!

Morning, Clemence!

Thanks, Clemence.

For you, sir?.

I'll start with a few Danish,

thanks.

I was fine there, right?.

Aside from your get-up.

She didn't lie.

She really does do everything.

What?.

Not quite everything...

You could give up your job now.

We've got a house, but no money.

I'm getting more than you

out of it.

You stop working,

and I'll find a job.

You promised!

I just want you to write!

But, Michelle...

What?. Trust in yourself!

I believe in you, I love you.

I'm not unhappy.

I enjoy the flower shop.

I love you, you're so gentle.

When shall we have a baby?.

You're right.

There's room for a dozen here.

Soon!

I love you!

So run off!

It's worth 3 to 4 million dollars,

a pittance!

But I'll still verify

my book sales. You bet!

We're now home-owners, still...

What's this?.

Sorry.

The dinner?.

That was Michelle's idea.

She wants us to make up.

Anyway, I want to meet you wife.

I hear she has the dough.

Only kidding, Henry!

See you Tuesday.

"Russian Success Story"

"You won't answer the phone,

so I'm writing."

Signed:
"Aude de Fontenay."

Hugo will enjoy this.

Why did you get it out?.

It's too dressy.

That's all I needed.

Jean?. Help me?.

Jean...

Stop it!

Sorry, I just wanted to...

What is it?.

Nothing.

You OK?.

You really want me to wear it?.

Let me see.

Yes.

It's much too dressy.

It's perfect.

Hurry. They'll be here soon.

So you're Jean's publisher?.

I have that honor.

I'm his friend and lawyer.

At last!

Good evening.

Victoria, the love of my life.

Of his apartment, at least.

You rented it!

Michelle, dear!

How are your flowers?.

Like us all. They bloom,

wilt, and get thrown out!

Ghislaine de Villard?.

I'm one of your humble novelists.

This is my muse:

Michelle...

Madame de Villard.

Hello.

I've heard so much about you.

His mother was impoverished

Russian nobility.

Left her husband,

followed her French lover to Paris,

got dumped,

whored around to survive,

died of siphyllis.

Aged 7, Guillemet

was a penniless orphan,

itching to get even with life.

he was a millionaire. Not bad, huh?.

He was lucky to be born

inthat era.

Today he'd be dealing drugs

in grade school.

Or selling dogs to labs.

Beat it, Socrates!

Now we're vulgar upstarts!

Don't worry. Happens all the time!

Clemence!

He had all the women of his era.

And loved them in very odd ways.

He had quantity and quality!

You jealous?.

Jean brought it up.

It turns him on!

I'm only turned on

by my wonderful wife!

And you're the only one

who gets her!

Jean has a fascinating

subject there.

I'm glad we signed him up.

I can see that!

The things one does to

entertain one's publisher!

Like kill an old fart,

forge his will!

Sorry, Madame.

I'll get something.

I'm fine, Clemence.

Very poor taste, Jean.

We're vulgar upstarts!

Good evening.

Thanks.

Bye!

It was a wonderful evening!

Too bad.

Your dress was so becoming.

You had a coat.

Right.

Drive safely!

What's got into you?.

What?.

Why write about Guillemet?.

He's a banal news item.

Come with me.

Jean...

Tell me something...

I almost ended up

in one of these.

Don't be sordid.

Almost reassures me.

What does?.

I know why she hates us,

and he left us the house.

He spent years peeping at my ass

with this camera!

I thought you were jealous.

Jealous of a dead man?.

"A gift to youth and love"

He was honest.

You got him hot for 3 years,

now he's repaying you.

His will is for the happiness

you gave him.

Sure...

I understand him.

It's kind of...

Stop, it's creepy.

No, look!

It's sultry... really sexy...

I'm sexier seen through a lens?.

Of course not.

How can you say that!

We forgot something

across the street...

Couldn't you go and...?.

What's got into you?.

Come on...

I'm not asking you to....

Just this once...

So I can see...

That's how she hooked him!

Give me that camera!

Get out of my office!

You know nothing!

you never will!

What does that mean?.

There's nothing in those papers!

He was so much more.

He knew everything!

What's going on, Jean?.

Nothing, darling. Don't worry.

Go to your room.

Take a few days off. You need it.

Yes, sir.

She scares me.

She's just upset.

Forget it. Come on.

Clemence?.

Clemence?.

What are you doing?.

I know this handwriting.

It's lousy

to dig into a dead man's life.

The cops stopped by.

They got an anonymous letter.

What's all this?.

It's true.

They seem to suspect Clemence.

They're right. She killed

the old guy for4 his house.

No, he died of a heart-attack.

But this anonymous letter...

Stop it!

You'll bring us bad luck.

I thought you wanted me to write.

I don't know how to put it:

this may unblock me.

Michelle...

There we go...

If you seek, you find.

Clemence wanted

to become a lab assistant.

He never let her

finish her studies.

She worked 15 years for him.

Quite a chore.

But don't let it worry you.

The shock of his death

will go away...

in time...

You knew him well?.

I was his mistress for 20 years.

Not his only mistress!

You're right,

it looks nicer this way.

You came often?.

A long time ago...

After his stroke,

he holed up in here, saw no one.

He'd been the greatest,

he was too proud to take the pity,

the scorn that they'd heap on him.

He was hated.

Even by women?.

Especially women.

He made them fall in love with him,

then dumped them.

He picked them

rich and influential.

Except for Edwige.

Edwige?.

His wife.

Why did you send that letter

to the police?.

Guillemet called me

a month before he died.

I was stunned.

He hadn't called me in 15 years.

Since his stroke.

He said he was scared

he'd be murdered.

He asked me to tell the police

if he died. So I did.

That's all.

He said by who?. Or why?.

No. He was a mystery man.

Did someone want to kill him?.

Before his stroke,

at least fifty women would have

loved to polish him off.

And after it?.

Seeing a man who exploited you

become a cripple is

vengeance enough, I'd say.

Did you love him?.

At first, I suppose to...

And later?.

I'm like Guillemet.

He said love doesn't exist.

We love being loved,

but we don't love!

We don't make sacrifices,

we want all for nothing.

What crap!

The old guy was right.

Love doesn't exist!

Are we just monkeys mating?.

We've been together long.

How long?.

Really.

of a couple.

I'll go further:
I bet a bottle

you won't outlast the year.

Jean, speak up!

Socrates?.

Sh*t!

Sh*t!

Still working?.

Yes.

Lucky my Mac's on battery.

The power keeps cutting out.

Love doesn't exist.

Just a working hypothesis.

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