When Trace realized she was pregnant, she, Blake and Cyrano hit the town in a celebration that lasted into the wee hours of the morning, dining in Chelsea and consuming copious amounts of sparkling apple cider and alcohol-free rosé.
Whatever had happened in the past no longer mattered to Trace. Her nightmares as the doomed Mata Hari faded and then finally ceased completely. Trace became happily immersed and occupied with her new life. Thanks to her time travel journey, she’d been purged of the old demons, the nightmares and the guilt. She was living her life in the present—as the New Ager’s say—she was living in the Now. And it was the Now and the life of her dreams. She had a great marriage, a fabulous career, more friends than she could count, and a lovely baby girl, the new love of her life.
Two weeks after Trace returned home with Natalie, Cyrano dropped in, carrying a package. Trace helped him out of his coat, kissed him on the cheek and accompanied him into the living room. He remained quiet about the package, as they entered the spacious room that opened into a wall of windows that offered a glorious view of the flaming trees of Central Park, and the distant towers of Manhattan.
Trace had placed Natalie in her crib, and arranged it facing out to the world. She cooed and clapped and reached, and when Cyrano drifted by to give his adopted granddaughter a kiss, she smiled up at him and giggled.
“Hello, my beauty,” he said. “Hello, love of my life.”
He turned to Trace, still holding the package. “I take it Blake is out working to get New York in good physical shape. From what I hear in the news these days, we can all use it.”
“Yes, he just took on four new clients: two corporate CEOs and their wives. He’s getting quite the name. Did he tell you that he wants to open his own studio?”
“Yes, and I told him that I thought it was an excellent idea. Perhaps I’ll even become a client. I’ve put on some weight this summer, and the holidays are coming.”
Trace stared curiously at the package. “Is that for me?” she said, smiling, batting her eyes.
Cyrano grinned broadly. “Yes, but before I bestow this gift upon you, I want to make a statement.”
Trace nodded, crossing her arms. “A statement. Well, sir, I am all ears.”
“Yesterday, my entire Mata Hari collection, including the lost Mata Hari ring, was shipped off to the Fries Museum in Leeuwarden, Netherlands. You will never have to worry about seeing that damned ring again.”
Trace jerked a nod. “Good. I’m glad it’s gone. I hope that ring is kept under lock and key forever.”
Cyrano nodded. “Well said, Trace. Now that that bit of news has been concluded, let’s move on.”
“I know that grin, Cyrano. It’s your affluent grin. Whatever is in that package is expensive.”
He presented it to her. “Take it. It is yours, and Natalie’s. It will be a very good investment for her someday. Open it, immediately. I can’t wait to get your reaction.”
Trace gingerly unwrapped the brown paper.
“Be careful, Trace. It’s breakable.”
As she peeled back the last of the paper, she saw a pencil sketch, in a silver frame. She held it up into the light, staring, transfixed.
“Do you like it, Trace?” Cyrano asked, eagerly, hands clasped together. “Do you?”
She nodded, keeping her eyes on the sketch. “Yes… Yes, I like it very much.”
“It’s a Picasso. A sketch by Picasso. See, there’s his signature. But, here’s the thing. Doesn’t it look like you? When I saw it at auction, I nearly fainted dead away. Look at it,” Cyrano said, pointing. “Picasso did that sketch outside a Paris café in 1916. Isn’t it a remarkable resemblance of you, Trace?”
A slow smile of remembrance came over her. Yes, she recalled that day very well. She recalled Picasso, and she remembered exactly what he had said to her, as if it were only yesterday.
“Am I to sketch your face, what’s inside your face or what’s behind it? You seem to be in pieces to me. Okay, I’ll have to find you in pieces.”
She was no longer in pieces. Those fragments of pain, fear and terror had all been washed away, replaced by the rich wholeness of love.
Cyrano stepped back, his face animated. “Trace, were you there? Did you meet Pablo Picasso in 1916? Is that you in the sketch? Please tell me.”
Trace handed the framed sketch back to him, her eyes clear and present. She turned to focus on Natalie. She went to her, reached and stroked her daughter’s soft peachy cheek with a finger, smiling down at her, feeling a sweet, blooming and infinite love that dwelled far beyond any sense of time and place.
She whispered, “I love you, little Nonnie.”
And then Trace turned back to Cyrano. “Yes, Cyrano that’s me in the sketch, but it’s just a fragment of the woman I once was, a long time ago. A very long time ago.”
Thank You
Thank you for taking the time to read The Lost Mata Hari Ring. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and it is much appreciated.
Thank you,
Elyse Douglas
Other novels by Elyse Douglas that you might enjoy:
The Christmas Eve Letter A Time Travel Novel (Book 1)
The Christmas Eve Daughter A Time Travel Novel (Book 2)
The Summer Letters
The Other Side of Summer
The Christmas Diary
The Christmas Women
Christmas for Juliet
Christmas Ever After
The Christmas Town A Time Travel Novel
www.elysedouglas.com
The Lost Mata Hari Ring Page 29
