“It wasn’t your fault!” David said before he could help himself.
“I lost everything that day.”
“Jeanne …” David said, unsure of what he could say to alleviate her pain. His mind was blank with shock and hot with anger at her pain.
“Don’t pity me, David. I’ve lived a good life,” Jeanne said. She poured yet another healthy measure of wine into her glass, but David pulled it out of her hand.
“Come with me,” he said and gently pulled her from the bistro, turning the lights off as they left.
In the hallway he opened a door he had yet to touch. Jeanne’s apartment was dark except for a lone lamp on in what looked like the sitting room. Jeanne flicked a switch and the rooms were suddenly bathed in a warm light. Jeanne walked forward mechanically and David followed. She turned into a small bedroom. A lone silver picture frame was propped on the bedside table. The couple that smiled out of the picture was happy, their arms thrown around each other, beaming into the camera as they stood in front of a country church.
David tore his gaze away from the young Jeanne and her handsome black-haired husband and helped her into bed. He picked up a neatly folded wedding ring quilt and laid it over her. Jeanne sighed and tugged the edge of the quilt, drawing it to her chin.
“You’re a good boy, David.”
“Sleep now.”
Jeanne curled into a ball. Her hair lay fanned out behind her like a silvery wave. Her face relaxed into a wine-induced peace but David knew the pain would return in the morning. Just like it did every morning. There was no escape from one’s own heart. He bent down to kiss the older woman’s cheek and tiptoed to the bedroom door.
“Don’t think less of me,” her small voice stopped him as he made to close the door.
Jeanne’s eyes were closed, and she hadn’t moved an inch. He hesitated, shuffling from foot to foot as he tried to think of something to say. Anything.
“I think he meant to do it. He didn’t cry out when they came into the bedroom. He didn’t call for me. He meant for me to live.”
“Yes, I think so,” David whispered.
A long pause followed. Jeanne’s breathing was heavy and just as he was about to leave once more, she spoke, “I still hate him for that.”
David stood frozen in the doorway. Quiet snores came from Jeanne’s bed long before he left the apartment. He trudged up the stairs, his mind still on Jeanne’s dramatic revelation. What about what she had said about still hating her husband? Did she ever say his name? David turned the handle to the door at the top of the stairs.
A rush of thick stuffy air blew out as he opened the door. He flicked on the light switch in a dispirited sort of way before collapsing on the worn grey couch. Somehow, during his absence, the stuffing had rearranged itself as to be much more comfortable for his long figure. Just as he was about to close his eyes, the telephone rang. If he ignored it any longer, he might be accused of hiding.
“Bonjour.”
“Hello, David.”
It was Lois: his oldest sister. By the harsh tone of her voice, she was still the clone of their father. If only she’d called at a different time. He was exhausted mentally and emotionally. Jeanne’s story tore at his heart. He stared across the room to the bedroom where Jeanne’s husband had been dragged out of his bed in the middle of the night. And the alley, where he was dragged like this week’s trash … it was too horrific to think about.
“It’s good to hear from you, Lois.”
“I’ve been calling for weeks, David. Where have you been?” Lois said, her voice strained and horse.
“I just took my summer holiday. I’ve been out of town.”
“Yes? How was that?”
“It was enjoyable.”
“You are aware that our father passed away? Mother has been worried about you.”
“I am aware.”
“And you just couldn’t make it back for the funeral?”
“I’ve just taken my vacation. I wasn’t able to take any more.”
“I see,” Lois said, “here’s Mother.”
He sighed and listened as the line cracked and whistled.
“Hello, David.”
“Hello, Mom.”
“It is wonderful to hear your voice. It’s been so long.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, David … your father lived a long life. When are you coming home?” she said, her voice cracked and David could hear her shuffling across a floor, the noises in the background grew faint. He let out a long sigh and raked his fingers through his hair.
“I can’t Mom. I’ve already taken my allotted amount of vacation. I won’t be able to take more time off.”
“Oh … I understand. I’m sure you’re busy. Tell me about your vacation. Where did you go?”
David could hear a smile in her voice and the sound of her favorite armchair creaking as she sat down.
“I went to Cannes and drove to Italy.”
“And what did you do in Cannes? Did you go alone?”
“I met a friend in Cannes,” David said evasively.
“That’s wonderful. I’m glad you weren’t alone the entire time.”
David smiled, his mind turned to memories of Catherine’s sun kissed body, as it lay draped over lavender scented sheets.
“No, I wasn’t alone.”
“Your father was proud of you.”
“I’m not sure that was the case.”
“He told me, last week, that he was considering taking a trip to visit you. I wish you would come home.”
A loud sniffle came across the line, David picked at a stray thread on his coat.
“I’m sorry,” he said but even as the words came out he knew they sounded pathetic.
“Ah, here’s Lois,” she said with a layer of false cheeriness.
“So that didn’t work.”
“Did you expect it to change anything?”
“You might show some sympathy, David.”
“Father thought I was a waste of space, a blot on the family honor. I don’t have much sorrow to spare for his passing.”
“This isn’t about you. You could try pretending when you are on the phone with Mother.”
“Is there anything else you’d like to lecture me about?”
The phone clicked. The sound echoed around the room like a gong. David shoved the handset back onto the receiver.
It rang again.
“What is it?”
“It’s time we talked about my business proposal. You had your holiday.”
“Gilbert, call me tomorrow.”
“Fine, but I’ll be over in the morning,” Gilbert said, his voice low and fervent.
David went back to the couch, shrugged out of his coat and shoes and collapsed once more.
“YOU WON’T REGRET THIS, David,” Gilbert said from across the table.
They sat in a far corner in Jeanne’s bistro, as removed as possible from “the rabble” as Gilbert called them.
It was, in David’s opinion, far too early for such a meeting. Gilbert had come pounding on the door of his apartment at six o’clock, eyes blazing; raging like a maniac.
“I’ve contacted a number of the people you listed as potential clients. I’m not going into this blind.”
“How enterprising of you,” Gilbert said, tipping back his coffee with a self-satisfied smirk.
“I will have control over all of the banking. Since I will be doing all the actual work.”
“David, come, come, I’ll be selling you to the up and coming in Paris.”
“I understand that. I, however, am not the social recluse that you think me to be.”
“Really, you could have fooled me. Where were you when I found you?” Gilbert said with a laugh. “Yes, that’s right, holed up in the Sorbonne for ten years without getting out.”
“That’s in the past.”
“Is it Madame Ruski we have to thank for this monumental change?”
David flew around the table, sei
zed Gilbert by the neck of his shirt and shoved him against the wall. He felt nothing, heard nothing, but the throbbing of Gilbert’s carotid artery against his fingers. The blood pounded in his ears, fear flickered across Gilbert’s face, as it slowly turned red.
“Say that one more time and you’ll wish you hadn’t,” he seethed.
Power flowed through him in torrents and for a moment he forgot his missing arm, forgot that Gilbert could overpower him. Anger bred inside him.
“Relax, David, relax. She’s a swell girl,” Gilbert gasped. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes looked completely black. David threw him off, sneering.
“I mean it. Never again.”
Gilbert took a step backward and straightened his jacket and tie. An ugly sneer crossed his face, distorting the usually handsome face, turning it gruesome and disgusting.
But before David could grow truly worried, the normal smirk was back. Gilbert picked up his coffee, took a large slurp and set it down with a resounding clank.
“Now that we have that out of the way,” he said.
David ground his teeth, resisting the urge to throw Gilbert out the window and onto the pavement outside.
“I have one employee I am brining on.”
“Yes?” Gilbert said, snapping his fingers at Jeanne and pointing imperiously at his now empty cup.
David seethed; he turned from Gilbert, ashamed that Jeanne would now associate Gilbert with him.
“Yes, I do. A former French Army liaison officer to the British. Georges Neuve.”
“And where did you happen to run across such a man?”
“Outside of a restaurant.”
“What?”
“He’s homeless,” David said, emphatically.
Gilbert rolled his eyes.
“A clochard? They’ll say anything to get money out of you,” he laughed.
“I’ve already thoroughly vetted him. I went to the wartime records office before I left for Cannes. He is who he says he is. He served in both world wars as a translator for the French army. We’ve already begun creating spreadsheets and workbooks.”
“So he’s old and a clochard? This gets better and better.”
“What is wrong with you?”
“Sometimes I question your judgment.”
“Georges will be coming to work for us. He’s accomplished and keen to do a good job. You can keep your prejudices to yourself.”
“Whatever you say, David. I’m thankful at least I won’t have to be in the office.”
David was ready to fire back, but before he had the chance, Gilbert threw back the rest of his coffee, plopped a few francs on the table, roughly patted David’s empty shoulder, and breezed out of the bistro.
As soon as Gilbert left, the room broke out in conversation and laughter. Smiles magically reappeared and even the espresso machine seemed to bubble jovially once more. With the sudden upswing in noise, David could now appreciate just how quiet it had been.
“Who was that?” Jeanne said sitting in the chair Gilbert had vacated only moments before.
“My new business partner,” he said, watching as Gilbert strutted across Rue Saint-Jacques, his shoulders thrown back.
“I don’t want him in here again.”
“Why?”
Jeanne looked back at him as though he had taken leave of his senses.
“You obviously don’t see the reactions he culls from people.”
“What do you mean?”
“As soon as he walked in, the bistro went quiet. We are not so far removed from less civilized days that we cannot recognize a viper is in our midst.”
“You believe that?”
“I do.”
“I won’t bring him in again.”
She smiled warmly and her mouth opened but she closed it quickly, looking as though she was biting back an apology. David picked up his cup, hoping to drink just to avoid the awkward atmosphere that had risen between them.
Bringing the cup to his lips he looked down, frustrated to find it was empty. He didn’t want to bring up last night in case she didn’t even remember. Jeanne would say something if she needed to. She sat for a few more moments before excusing herself to check the staff. David watched her go. She was alone in the city, running a business, wallowing in memories. His intestines squirmed with guilt, a feeling made all the worse by his inability to do more than listen.
The bistro gradually emptied as Parisians left for their jobs, shoving the last bite of croissant or gulp of coffee down before bursting out in to the street. David gathered his things; he wasn’t looking forward to the journey to the Sorbonne and subsequent conversation with Pierre. Another rush of guilt washed over him. After all their time together and his mentor’s good care, he was walking away. Would Pierre take it as a slight that he was leaving?
HE WALKED DOWN SAINT-JACQUES, toward where the university stood, a monument to French knowledge. It was still early when he walked through the empty halls to Pierre’s office. He sat on the wooden bench in the hallway, kicking his feet, feeling more like a student by the minute. Elsewhere in the vast building, footsteps echoed like the soft beat of a heart. The school had a life of its own, a vast organism breeding constantly.
David leaned back; the wall cooled his head and calmed his thoughts, which swirled around his mind like a tornado. He soon forgot his father was dead, forgot the confrontation with Gilbert, and forgot the insecurity surrounding the business venture.
“You’re here early.”
David’s eyes burst open to see Pierre smiling down on him, his trench coat hung open to showcase a light summer suit.
“Might I have a word Pierre?”
“Certainly, how was your holiday?” Pierre sidled around the desk and set his briefcase down with a muffled thump. Scratches adorned the side of the case, which certainly hadn’t been there two weeks ago.
“It was lovely. Thank you for encouraging me to go.”
“And your young lady?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The beautiful, young woman who was in your office, asking you to go to Cannes,” Pierre prodded.
“Oh–Catherine. We had an enjoyable trip,” David replied, he took a breath before continuing. “My father died while we were vacationing.”
“Mon Dieu, David, my condolences. How very terrible for you.”
“Thank you.”
“I am truly sorry,” Pierre said, hastening around the desk and taking David’s hand in both of his own.
“The truth is, Pierre, I’ve come to a decision. I’ve worked for the Université for over a decade. I have greatly enjoyed my time here, but I believe the time is right for me to move forward with my career.”
“Ah, I see,” Pierre, said, lowering his body gently into a chair.
“I am forming my own company teaching English to French business professionals. A few clients have already signed contracts,” he said, feeling as though the words had all stumbled out of him in a great scram.
Pierre perched his head on his intertwined fingers and peer at David. A frown passed across his face. He sighed and rubbed the knuckles of one hand.
“I cannot say that I am surprised. I expected something of this nature to happen eventually. You have been kept in a small box, and a box is not a good place for a man such as yourself. I will be sorry to see you leave. I have never enjoyed a colleague’s company as much as I have yours,” Pierre said.
“I also am sorry to leave. The Sorbonne feels as if it is my second home. I am indebted to you for your faith in me all these years.”
“It was not faith. When you applied for our position, I saw in you a determination to succeed despite everything that held you back. That is an admirable and extremely rare quality to find in anyone. I do, however, worry about your lack of faith in yourself. You are much more capable than you think,” Pierre said, rubbing his knuckles.
David looked down as Pierre tried to hide his hands behind the side of the desk.
“Pierre, what is it?”<
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Pierre huffed and his head rolled a little with his eyes.
“Arthritis. It’s quite common at my age and has been coming on for a while. Unfortunately, it has made writing … even holding a pen quite difficult. To be quite honest, I’m not sure how much longer I will continue working myself,” he said, slumping slightly.
It was unsettling, to see Pierre so wholly exhausted. It was obvious that his condition had taken its heavy toll. He could not imagine the older man out of the hallowed halls of learning that he heartily adored. It was like trying to imagine Paris running without its morning cup of coffee.
“You mustn’t worry yourself about me,” Pierre said heartily.
“I am worried about you. Have you spoken to a doctor? Are there treatments available?” David asked, leaning forward and placing a hand on the table.
“It’s well in hand.”
David watched Pierre’s smile broadening, and soon the conversation shifted to current students, interdepartmental gossip, and the state of the on-campus cafés.
“Don’t mind an old man’s prattling,” Pierre said. “Why haven’t you requested leave to go home?”
David looked down at the scuffed and worn hardwood floor and the specks of dust hanging in the beams of light, which lay scattered around the room.
“I was … I’ve just returned from holiday. I couldn’t possibly go now.”
“Why not? You aren’t being honest with me. Or yourself.”
“Pierre, please.”
“I don’t mean to nag, it’s your decision. I would only say that, in my old age, my only regrets are what I have done to the people I love,” Pierre said. He studied David with a mournful gaze; his eyes watered with unshed tears.
David sighed and shifted in his chair. The conversation lagged, and before long he stood up.
“You’re always welcome if you decide to come back.”
The noise in the hallway was considerably louder. Every corner echoed with the footsteps of scurrying summer students and staff. David extended his hand to Pierre. The hand that he shook was considerably more knotted and a great deal weaker than what he remembered.
Lives Paris Took Page 11
