“I took it to her. She should have it.”
“And you stayed to go to bed with her?” she asked in a shaking voice as she closed her suitcase.
“No, we had lunch, and talked. That’s when I turned off my phone, and I forgot that I’d promised to call you.” In fact, he had stood Inez up for lunch, and he felt like a total heel, and didn’t blame her for being angry.
“You’re in love with her, Theo. I saw how you looked at her last night. And I don’t care who she belongs to, or what Russian gangster is paying her bills. You’re in love with her, regardless of how she feels about you. And for all I know, she’s in love with you too.”
“She isn’t,” he assured her. “She seems happy where she is.”
“This is what I mean by drama. I don’t need this in my life. I have a child, a job, I’m trying to make it all work. I don’t need some guy who’s in love with another woman, even one you can’t have.”
“She’s given up all her freedom to be with him. We were talking about it.” Inez looked even more furious as he said it.
“Oh, please, don’t ask me to feel sorry for her. She’s doing exactly what she wants. My heart is not bleeding for her. It’s all about the money for women like that. There’s nothing noble about it.”
“Maybe not, but it’s more complicated than you think.”
“I don’t care. Everyone’s life is complicated. And I don’t need you complicating mine more than it already is, while you chase some fantasy woman around, and paint portraits of a woman you can’t have. I don’t want to be part of your fantasy life. And if she turns out to be more than a fantasy, I’m not sticking around.” She set her suitcase down on the floor then, and he looked worried, but not surprised.
“Where are you going?”
“To stay with my sister for a few days, and then I’m going home.”
“Am I going to see you again?”
“I don’t know. I’ll let you know. I need some time to think about it. This is exactly what I told you I didn’t want. I think you’re in love with this girl. And I can’t fight your illusions about her, and don’t want to. My life is too real for that.” And with that, she opened the door and walked out with her suitcase, and he didn’t stop her. He knew he had no right to. And she was right. He could feel his obsession for Natasha fully alive again. She did that to him every time, and he didn’t want to screw up Inez’s life, or his own. He had to stay sane this time, and not let Natasha take over his life. He had a lot to think about.
He went for a walk in St. Germain after Inez left. It was freezing cold and snowing. All he could think about was Natasha and what she’d said to him over lunch about her relationship with Vladimir, and her past. He understood it all better now. And he doubted he’d ever see her again. He had lost two women that day, Natasha and Inez, and had never really had either one.
—
And in her bed on Avenue Montaigne, Natasha was staring at the portrait, and thinking of the artist who had painted it. And she wondered what Vladimir would say when he saw it. He would see it the moment he walked into their bedroom. She wasn’t going to keep it a secret from him. It was too beautiful to hide. The only thing she wasn’t going to tell him was about lunch. He didn’t need to know that. She had put the slip of paper with Theo’s number on it in her wallet. She couldn’t imagine ever calling him, but it was good to have. And he was her only friend.
Chapter 9
When Vladimir came home from Moscow the night before they left for Courchevel, the portrait of her was the first thing he saw when he walked into their Paris bedroom.
“What’s that?” he asked, looking startled and stopping to stare at it.
“A portrait of me.” She smiled at him. She was happy to see him as she put her arms around him and he held her close. He had missed her while he was gone.
“I can see that. Is it a surprise for me?” He was touched and a little amazed that she had had herself painted for him, although he loved it and was curious who the artist was.
“It’s a surprise for both of us. The artist saw us at Da Lorenzo, and painted it from memory.”
“You never sat for it?” She shook her head. “It’s remarkably good. Who’s the artist?”
“Lorenzo Luca’s son. Apparently he’s an artist too. He was at the restaurant that night.”
“Did you talk to him?” Vladimir pulled away and looked at her carefully when she answered. An alarm went off in his head, and he suddenly wondered if he had delivered the painting and had been the man she’d toured around the boat. Vladimir was no one’s fool and had great instincts.
“Only briefly, when I looked at the paintings when you were on the phone. I thought he was a waiter. I didn’t know he was Luca’s son till now.”
“Is that who brought the painting to the boat?” he asked her, and she nodded as he walked over to examine the painting again more closely. “He has talent. Did you buy it?”
“I saw it in an art show, and he gave it to us.” She included Vladimir in the gift, and didn’t mention lunch.
“How did you get it?” He looked at Natasha intently.
“He dropped it off.”
“I should thank him. Do you know his name and how to reach him?” Vladimir seemed benevolent, but Natasha could sense tension in the air. Something unusual had occurred.
“I have his bio somewhere—it came with the painting. Theo Luca, I think. And I suppose you can reach him at the restaurant.” She was casual about it to dispel the tension. Vladimir nodded, and she went to finish packing for their ski trip the next day. They were flying in to Geneva, and then driving to Courchevel, and spending a week there, and then going back to London for a month. They hadn’t been in London for a while. He’d been in Moscow a lot recently, and in Italy about his new boat, and she’d been in Paris, finishing the apartment. It was almost done now, and they both loved it.
The maid had left them a cold dinner in the refrigerator, and they were eating in the kitchen that night, when Vladimir looked at her, and asked her a question he never had before.
“Is this enough for you, Tasha?”
“For dinner? Yes, I’m not very hungry.” And he had said he only wanted a salad and some cold meat that night.
“That’s not what I mean,” he said thoughtfully, and she looked puzzled. “I mean us. The life we lead. I never promised more than this. But you were very young when we started. But not being married, not having babies, are you unhappy about that now? You could be married to some nice, normal man, with a regular job, who’s around all the time, and having children with him. Sometimes I forget how young you are, and that this life may not suit you forever.” As she looked at him, she felt panic rise in her throat and remembered Theo’s questions at lunch two weeks before, about what she would do if her life with Vladimir ended. She hadn’t wanted to say it to him, but she thought she would die. How would she live? Where would she go? Who would want her? What if she had to go back to Moscow? She had no skills—how would she find a job, except as a factory worker again? She was convinced she wouldn’t survive it. She loved him, and this was her life now, one she was used to, and she had no idea how to exist in the real world. She knew she was desperately spoiled, thanks to him.
“Of course this is the life I want,” she said in a choked voice. “I don’t want children. I never did. They frighten me. I wouldn’t know what to do with them, and it’s too much responsibility to have for someone else’s life. And we don’t need to be married. I’m happy as we are.” She had never asked for more, or pressed him about it, unlike some women, and he liked that about her. She wasn’t greedy, which was so different from the women he had known before. “And I would probably be bored with a ‘normal’ man, as you put it. What would I say to someone like that? What would I do with a man like that?” She smiled at him. “Besides, he’d expect me to cook, and I don’t know how.” She didn’t need to, they had cooks in all their homes, except Paris, and they usually went out when they were there, or or
dered food in. He laughed at what she said and seemed relaxed again after the initial shock of seeing her portrait.
“I just wondered. I’ve been too busy lately. Courchevel will do us good.” Although he skied very little with her, he was too skilled and she was still learning and couldn’t keep up with him. He was an excellent skier, despite the fact that he had only learned fifteen years before, and not as a boy.
But after he had said what he did, she felt uneasy. What if someone he knew had seen her having lunch with Theo and thought she was having an affair? The lunch hadn’t been romantic, it had been friendly, although intense, but Vladimir had never asked her questions like that before. She vowed to herself to be especially careful from then on, and not encourage any friendships. Theo hadn’t contacted her since their lunch, but if he did, she wouldn’t respond. She couldn’t take the risk, and suddenly she realized how easily it could all end, if Vladimir chose to banish her. It was a terrifying thought, and had happened to others before. The very idea of it horrified her. She would be lost without him and she knew it. It was a wake-up call to her. And she was even more attentive to him than usual when they went to Courchevel. She tended to his every need, kept him company, and saw to it that they had the meals he liked best, mostly Russian food. She found a Russian girl to cook for them while they were there, and Vladimir loved the meals she prepared. Everything went smoothly, and he enjoyed skiing every day. They spent their nights by the fire in the enormous living room of the chalet they had rented, and they made love more than usual in the holiday atmosphere. And she came in early to dress for him every night when he got back from the slopes. She wore the kind of clothes he liked to see her in, sexy and seductive.
And as he always did, he worked every morning before he went out skiing, and was in constant contact with his offices in Moscow and London. And he called the boat builder in Italy several times too. He said he had six weeks of hard work ahead, and in April they were flying to the boat waiting for them in the Caribbean, in St. Bart’s. After that the boat would make the crossing back to the Mediterranean, so they would have her at their disposal in France in May. Their plans were well organized, and Vladimir seemed to have a lot going on with all his new deals. But by the time they left Courchevel, Natasha felt secure with him again. Vladimir had frightened her in Paris. His questions had reminded her of how much she had to lose. She could never take chances with that.
—
When Theo got back to St. Paul de Vence after his successful show in Paris, he started work on a new portrait of Natasha, but this one was different. It was much darker, tainted by everything she had told him over lunch about her early life in Moscow. It was the more painful side of her life experience, and her face was less recognizable in the new portrait. Marc saw it on his easel when he came to see him, and didn’t realize who it was. And Theo worked on it less frenetically. The subject of the portrait was so soulful that he found he couldn’t work on it as often or as intensely, or it depressed him, and he was working on two other paintings at the same time. And a part of him didn’t want to paint her again. His head told him to release her, but another part of him didn’t want to let her go. He was wrestling with the obsession this time, and not giving in to it as he had before. He knew he couldn’t, for her sake, as well as his own.
He had been back for a week when he got a text from Inez. Predictably, she said she didn’t want to see him again. She thought his life was too unstable, he was too steeped in his work. He had no plans for the future, other than for his career as an artist. He wasn’t interested in marriage, and she said she needed someone more solid. She added that whether he admitted it to himself or not, she was convinced that he was in love with Natasha, a woman he couldn’t have. She told him it was all too complicated for her, she thought their relationship was a dead end that would go nowhere, and she preferred to stop it before it went any further. He was sorry but not crushed. He liked her, but he didn’t love her, and they both knew it. He sent her a text saying that he regretted her decision, but he understood. And in some ways, it was a relief. He had no room for her in his head or his heart, and she knew it.
Although he didn’t fully agree with her about Natasha. He was intrigued by her, and fascinated by her, and had been obsessed with her at various times while he was working on her portrait, but how could he love a woman he barely knew? He would have liked to spend time with her and get to know her better, but he knew there was no possibility of that. But in quiet moments of introspection, he admitted to himself that he had never been in love. He had had infatuations and affairs and a number of wild flings, and dated a few women for extended periods of time, and even lived with one woman for a year, but he had never loved any of them passionately, nor been heartbroken when it was over. He wondered if there was something missing in him. The only woman who had seized him in her grip, to the point of distraction at times, was the one he didn’t really know. He stopped working on the portrait for a while when he thought about it, to give his obsession with her time to cool again. He said something about it to his mother when she asked who he was dating. She’d had the feeling recently that he wasn’t seeing anyone, and she was right. After Inez, he didn’t go out with anyone for a while.
“So what are you up to?” she asked him over Sunday brunch when Gabriel was in Paris for a few weeks. His daughter had been complaining that he never came to the gallery anymore, so he was planning to spend some time in Paris for a while until she calmed down.
“Just painting,” Theo said, looking peaceful. His work had been going well. It usually did when he had no distractions. He always found it hard to juggle women and work and be fair to both. And the women in his life never liked it.
“Are you seeing anyone?” He shook his head and didn’t look bothered by it.
“No, I was seeing a girl from Cannes for a while. She hates artists, she says I have no stable plans for the future, other than for my work, I’m not interested in marriage, which is true, I don’t want children for the moment, also true, or maybe ever, I haven’t decided. And to be honest, I stood her up for another woman when we were in Paris for my opening. I just totally forgot she was there. It was very rude. She left, and then told me it was over. I don’t blame her. I would have dumped me too.” He smiled at his mother.
“Who did you stand her up for?” his mother asked with interest, and he hesitated before he answered. That was harder to explain.
“Actually, I did a portrait of Stanislas’s mistress, from memory, and put it in the show in Paris. Gabriel was crazy about the painting, and so was Pasquier. She showed up at the opening by coincidence, and loved it. So I took it to her the next day, and we had lunch.” He tried to make it sound as casual as it had been and not as intense as he had felt.
“Was Stanislas there too?” She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him.
“No, he wasn’t. I think he was away, or out or something. I didn’t see him.”
“I’m surprised she had lunch with you. Men like him usually keep their women on a very short leash.”
“We didn’t have sex at the restaurant. Just conversation.”
Maylis went straight to the point. She always did. “Are you in love with her?” Her eyes bored into his.
“Of course not. She seems happy where she is. And as you pointed out before, I can’t afford her.” He didn’t want to get into it too deeply with his mother. And she knew him too well. She’d see through him if he didn’t tell the truth.
“You’re playing with fire if you are in love with her,” she warned him again. “Unattainable women, or men for that matter, are dangerous. You can never win them, and they break your heart. Whatever the reason, and not just the money, you can’t compete with Stanislas if she’s happy where she is, if that’s what she says and she’s telling you the truth.”
“I think she is happy, and seems totally willing to accept the limitations of her situation with him, in exchange for what she gets, in terms of security and protection. It seems like a
sad life to me. He owns her.”
“That’s how it works. And in your case, wanting someone you can’t have is very romantic, but it’s an agony you don’t need,” she said wisely. “You need to forget about her, Theo. You need a real woman in your life, not a fantasy. She’s lovely looking, but she’ll destroy your life if you let her.”
“Or I hers.” And he didn’t want that either.
“She won’t let you,” his mother assured him. “She has too much at stake. You have nothing to lose, except your sanity and your heart. Run away while you still can. Don’t let her become an obsession.” But she already was. And when he went back to his studio after lunch, he forced himself not to work on the new portrait of her. He needed to be free of her. And he knew his mother was right.
For the rest of the spring, Theo plunged into what he did best. He was working on several paintings, staying in his studio for as long as he wanted, without the distraction of a woman in his life after the brief affair ended with Inez. He didn’t hear from her again, and he didn’t miss her. He wanted to concentrate on his work. He stopped dating completely for a few months, and wasn’t unhappy about it. He was enjoying his work. And he had managed to stay away from the dark portrait of Natasha. He had other paintings on his mind.
And in April his mother asked him if he would take her place at the restaurant for three weeks in May. She and Gabriel wanted to go on a driving trip through Tuscany, and as usual he agreed reluctantly, but he knew she had no one else to ask, and he thought the trip to Italy would do them both good. And at the end of the trip they were going to Villa d’Este in Lake Como, which would be like a honeymoon for them. Theo thought it was sweet, although three weeks at the restaurant wasn’t going to be much fun for him. And on the first weekend in May, they left in high spirits, excited about the trip.
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