“True.” Julien nods. “But still you will have fun looking. You might find a little something else you want. A scarf perhaps? Or colored sandals?”
The thought of something extra pleases Brigitte. She smiles and swings her feet to the floor. “I’ll go now and hurry back. We can spend the afternoon—”
“Not so fast,” he says and tugs her back into the bed. “Are you not going to show your appreciation?”
Julien needs to keep her there until it is close to four o’clock. That is when the buyer will be at the meeting place. Although she no longer watches him like a hawk, Brigitte is clingy and wants to tag along regardless of where he is going. If she is not here, it will be easier to leave and there will be no questions.
She drops back onto the bed then leans forward and lowers her face to his. With her mouth pursed in a pretend pout, she says, “Didn’t I already say you are the most generous man in all the world?”
“Words are cheap,” Julien laughingly replies.
“And so…” She teases her fingers along the side of his face, down his neck and onto his chest. “You think I should make love to you as payment for the dress?”
“No, I think you should make love to me because you want to.” Julien says this because he knows it is what he must say to keep Brigitte occupied. He would just as soon she go back to sleep, read a magazine or dabble around in the kitchen; but to say such a thing would only trigger an argument.
He glances at the clock. It is only ten. Six hours until the buyer will be at the meeting place.
~ ~ ~
The next time Julien looks at the clock it is not yet noon. It seems the hours move as slowly as an old man with a sack of bricks tied to his back.
“I want to do something,” Brigitte complains. “I’m tired of lying in bed.”
“Then go make coffee and fix me something to eat.”
She grudgingly climbs from the bed, but instead of turning toward the kitchen she stands at the window and pushes back the draperies.
“Look at the blue of the sky,” she says. “This day is telling us to be outside.”
Julien pinches up the left side of his mouth and gives her a look of skepticism.
“I hear only the grumble of my hungry stomach,” he says.
“If I make sandwiches will you come with me to the Tulleries for a picnic?”
He frowns at the thought.
“Please,” she begs. “It’s only for a few hours. We’ll sit on the grass and have a nice lunch. Afterward I’ll go to buy the dress and you can come home to rest those lazy bones.”
At this thought Julien smiles. The timing would be right. “Okay. But we will leave in one hour. I want time to shower and dress.”
“For that you need an hour?” She heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Such a slowpoke.”
“No more complaining, or I’ll go back to bed!”
“Okay, okay.” She laughs and prances off toward the kitchen.
When Julien comes from the bedroom, he is clean-shaven and wearing his good black trousers.
“Rather dressed up for a picnic, aren’t you?” Brigitte says.
“With such a fancy new dress, I thought that later you might want to go to the restaurant for dinner.”
“The restaurant?” she says. “Not the café?”
Julien knows Brigitte only too well; she is a woman who can be pushed into nothing but tricked into almost anything. “Of course if you would prefer I change…”
“No, no,” she says. “I like the thought of the restaurant.” She gives him a devilish grin and adds, “I will wear a lipstick as red as the dress.”
They have barely settled on the grassy lawn near the fountain when Julien begins checking his watch. He is anxious to have lunch over with so that when it is a quarter of four he can hurry off. If he didn’t know better he would swear Brigitte is toying with him, moving slowly when he wants her to hurry and ready to dart off when he is stalling for time.
As she unwraps the baguettes, Brigitte notices the way Julien drums the fingers of one hand against the other. “You seem jumpy as a flea. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he says, “I’m just hungry.” His words are sharp, and threaded with impatience.
Brigitte angrily thumps the wrapped baguette into his lap. “Are you so hungry you can’t relax and just enjoy being with me?”
For a while there is no more conversation, but Brigitte’s anger is short-lived. Before long she moves on to idle chatter about things Julien has no interest in hearing. There is talk of a cooking class at the church on Rue Monge and a visit from her sister at the end of the summer.
As Julien watches the hands of his watch tick off the minutes, he tries to appear interested. Every so often he nods or repeats a word or two of what she has said, but his thoughts are elsewhere. He is remembering the afternoons spent with Max in this very same spot.
When it is finally three-thirty, he reminds Brigitte of the dress.
“I’m in no hurry,” she says. “The shop is open until seven.”
Julien stands and stretches. “Well, you can go look around or stay here if you want, but if we are going to the restaurant tonight I need to go home and take a short nap.” Even as he says this he worries that she will latch onto his arm and follow him home.
She doesn’t. Brigitte is happy with the thought of browsing through the rack of dresses and perhaps buying a new nail polish to match the red dress.
They walk to the edge of the park together; then she turns toward the Champs Elysées and he walks in the direction of Rue Racine. Once she is out of sight, he crosses over and heads for the metro station.
It is twenty minutes before four.
~ ~ ~
When the buyer walks into the darkened bistro, Julien is already waiting.
“I need a favor,” he says.
“I don’t do favors,” the buyer replies. “Unless you’ve got something to sell, get out of here.”
“This is personal. I just need you to unlock a phone,” Julien says. “I’ll pay for your time.”
The buyer sticks out a bony hand. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Julien pulls Max’s phone from his pocket and passes it across the table. The buyer peels the pink case from the phone and tosses it back.
“Get rid of this,” he says. “Shit like this is how people get caught.”
Julien pockets the case and waits.
The buyer tries two or three codes then looks up. “Fifty euros.”
“Fifty euros just to unlock the phone?”
The buyer nods. “Cash up front. Yes or no?”
Julien reaches into his pocket, pulls out a handful of bills and peels off five ten-euro notes. “Do it,” he says and hands the buyer the money.
The bony hand pockets both the phone and the cash. “Monday, four o’clock.”
Julien gasps. “Monday? I can’t wait until Monday. I need it sooner.”
The buyer points a warning finger across the table. “Keep your voice down. I’m not here weekends; you know that. You want sooner than Monday it’s an extra hundred.”
Julien digs into his pocket but can only come up with seventy euros. He hands the money to the buyer. “Trust me on the balance; you know I’m good for it.”
“I trust nobody,” the buyer says. “Tomorrow morning, ten o’clock. Be here and have the money, or you lose the phone.”
“I’ll be here.” Julien stands and starts toward the door. From the corner of his eye he sees a young girl waiting. Before he steps out onto the street, she slides into the seat across from the buyer.
This is how it always is. The buyer comes at four, sits at the table furthest from the window, has a single glass of burgundy and leaves at five. He does all of his business during that hour. Where he comes from and where he goes, no one knows.
Although the buyer says he trusts no one, Julien wonders if the buyer himself can be trusted.
A Visit to Versailles
On Friday morning as Andre
w pulls out of the small parking lot in back of Le Maison d’hote Max turns, takes one last look at the large stone house and gives a wistful sigh.
“Last night was so lovely,” she says. “I only wish…”
“Wish what?” Andrew asks.
The answer she gives is not the full truth of what she is thinking. “I wish I’d brought a change of clothes and some makeup. The only thing I had in my bag was a comb and lip gloss.”
He glances over, and his eyes study her face. “You don’t need anything else; you’re beautiful just as you are.”
Max plants a kiss on the tips of her finger, then reaches across and touches it to his cheek. “Mmmuah,” she says as if she is transferring the kiss. There is a moment of hesitation; then she adds, “Thank you for making last night easy for me.”
“Easy?”
“You know what I mean,” she says. “Being together in a room like that…well, a lot of men would have pushed for more. You didn’t, and that was very sweet.”
A smile curls the corner of Andrew’s mouth. “Don’t think I didn’t want to,” he says playfully. “It was a test of my willpower.”
“Mine too,” Max replies.
His smile broadens. He reaches across the seat and affectionately squeezes her hand.
~ ~ ~
The palace at Versailles is only 65 kilometers from Giverny and Andrew has never been there, so they decide to make a day of it. Any trace of last night’s storm is long gone. The day is bright and the sun warm against their shoulders.
Andrew again lowers the convertible roof, and the soft breeze ruffles their hair. “Too much?”
Max shakes her head. “I like it.”
Instead of taking the highway he travels the back roads that weave in and out of small villages. Along the way there are fields of wildflowers, stone churches and farms bordering patches of waist-high wheat.
Max has an eye for detail, and twice they stop for a better look at an age-old building. The first time it is an abandoned farmhouse. The door is missing, so they step inside and look around. The rooms smell of dampness and nothing has been left behind, so after a few minutes they move on.
Their second stop is a small church set back from the road. Max steps up onto the stone ledge and touches her hand to the stained glass window.
“The man who created this was old,” she says. “In his last years of life.”
Andrew gives her a quizzical look. “How do you know that?”
“His pain is still here in the pieces of glass. See this mark?” She points to a tiny nick in the edge of Mary’s robe. “When he cut this piece, he had tremors and his hand was shaking.”
Andrew looks at her wide-eyed. “Can you do like Annie does—know the thoughts of other people?”
“Read minds?” She laughs. “Hardly. But I can often feel the aura people have left behind.”
“Amazing.”
“Not really,” Max says. “There’s always some tiny detail that tells me about the person who created the piece of art or lived there. Feeling the aura is not a supernatural thing, it’s just zeroing in on that one tiny clue and then imagining myself in that time and place. Try it.”
“Me?” Andrew says. “I could never—”
“Just try it,” she urges. “The next time you see something that piques your interest just touch it, then close your eyes and see what happens.”
Andrew gives her a devilish grin. “Okay,” he says then reaches over, places his hand on her forehead and closes his eyes.
“It doesn’t work with people,” she says and playfully brushes his hand away.
Feigning disappointment Andrew asks, “Why not?”
“A building doesn’t hide its scars and years of wear; only people do. Secrets of the past can sometimes be painful. Hiding them doesn’t change anything, but people usually feel better if no one else can see their scars.”
As they turn back to the car Max thinks of her own past and wonders if she will ever willingly share her own ugly secrets.
By the time they reach Versailles it is past noon, so they stop in the village and search for a place to eat. Andrew parks the car and they walk. Two blocks down they find La Table Rouge and go in. It is a small café with only a few of the bright red tables still open. The proprietor, a robust man with a white apron tied around his waist, motions to a table along the wall and waves them over.
“Merci,” Max says as she slides into the chair. This is the type of place where there is no menu; today’s dishes are written on a chalkboard.
“Take your time,” the owner says and disappears back into the kitchen.
When he returns to take their order, he brings two small glasses of a sparkling pear wine.
“For the newlyweds,” he says and gives a broad smile.
“Oh…um,” Max stammers, but before she has time to say anything more Andrew smiles and replies, “Merci.”
When they are again alone she whispers. “He thought we were—”
“I know,” Andrew says with a mischievous smile. “But if we corrected the mistake he’d be embarrassed; this way he hangs on to the pleasure of what he did.”
Max smiles at the thought and mentally adds another item to the growing list of Andrew’s attributes. This one reads, “Considerate of others.”
When they arrive at the palace it is crowded, as it always is. Max stops at the front desk and grabs two English-language audio guides. She has been here twice before, but it has been over three years and there is much she does not remember. They pass through the lounge area then enter a room that houses a model of the palace and its grounds.
She hands one of the audio guides to Andrew. They both slide the ear buds into place and click the devices on.
“The Palace of Versailles was originally a hunting lodge,” the narrator says, “but in sixteen twenty-three, Louis the thirteenth…”
Andrew nudges her. “Are you getting any sound?”
She nods. “Aren’t you?”
He shakes his head.
She pulls the earphones out and hands her audio guide to him. “Try mine.”
He pops the earphones in then nods.
“Okay, you use them,” Max says. “I’ve been here before so I don’t need to—”
He again shakes his head then pulls one earphone out and hands it to her. “We’ll share.”
He reaches over and tucks the second earphone into her ear then loops his arm around her shoulder. This is how they spend the afternoon, with one audio guide tying the two of them together.
On the tour they move through grand ballrooms with windows overlooking the gardens, the king’s bedroom with its massive bed and velvet draperies, the equally grand queen’s bedroom and the much-touted Hall of Mirrors, but the thing Andrew remembers most is the sharing of earphones.
By the time they arrive back in Paris it is near dark. Andrew returns the car, and they go to dinner. It is late, but they are in no hurry. They linger with a cocktail before dinner and coffee afterwards.
It is after midnight when he walks her back to the Hotel Vendome. They pass through the lobby and go back to where the elevator is. She stands with her back to the wall, and he faces her.
For a moment there is only silence; then they both speak at once.
“Thank you—” she says.
“Tomorrow—” he says.
They both laugh.
“You first.” He gestures and gives her a playful smile.
“I was going to say thank you for such a wonderful two days.” She looks up and directly into the soft gray of his eyes. “I can’t remember when I’ve had a nicer time.”
“Me too,” Andrew says. He leans forward with his hand braced against the wall and his face tilted down towards hers. “Tomorrow at ten?”
She starts to answer, but there is a lump in her throat. She swallows hard and nods. Finally the words come. “That would be—”
The word “wonderful” never comes, because he covers her mouth with his. The kiss is long and
sweet.
When he releases her she feels a little dreamy and a lot confused.
He pushes the button, and the elevator door slides open. She steps in and looks back at him. As the door is closing she sees him mouth the word, Tomorrow.
The Discovery
When Julien leaves the buyer his mood is as black as a storm cloud. He has no love for the buyer as it is, but now his dislike has bubbled into hatred.
“Played me for a fool is what he did,” Julien grumbles as he crosses over Rue Emireau. He ignores the passersby and talks to himself. “He saw I was anxious to get the phone unlocked, so he stuck it to me.”
Sucker.
One hundred and fifty euros to do something that likely takes five, maybe ten minutes. Outrageous.
Instead of taking the metro, Julien walks. He tries to shake the anger loose, but with every step it grows bigger. Meaner. Over the past year he has given the buyer hundreds of phones and stacks of credit cards. That should count for something. Once the phone is unlocked, what is there to be gained anyway? A telephone number? An address here in Paris? Then what?
Julien knows with Max there’s only the slimmest chance she’ll take him back. Brigitte is a sure thing. With Brigitte his life is easy; he has only to nod, and she lifts the phone or wallet from a stranger’s pocket. With Brigitte there are no expectations. She takes what he gives and is happy with it.
With Max there are expectations; too many expectations. Marriage. Family. Work. With her life would be a tar pit of responsibilities, and his life would forever be changed. She offers him nothing, and yet he cannot chase her from his mind.
Julien sees a loose button dropped on the sidewalk, and he kicks it aside with a vengeance. It is something to vent his anger on.
He is halfway to the apartment when the anger building inside him explodes, and he turns. Screw it, he thinks and heads back to the bistro. He is going to tell the buyer to give back his money and forget about unlocking the phone. His stride is long and his face chiseled in a look of determination.
What the Heart Remembers Page 16
