Arthur asked Margaux what she’d been doing after school, and she replied that she went to Science Po for university. Arthur had also gone there before deciding to abandon politics to study art, and they began to compare notes on teachers and classes. Penelope had just started to ask Victor another question when she overheard Margaux say that she’d gone to Monaco for a year and had only come back recently.
“Franck Duboise is there,” Penelope said. “Did you guys meet up? It’s a small place, so I’m sure you would have run into each other if you were in Monaco a whole year.”
“Oh, I…” Margaux turned bright red, surprising April, who would have thought her capable of hiding any emotion she might not wish to be made public. Victor had turned to Margaux, and his jaw dropped.
Penelope continued as if Margaux had not shown any embarrassment. “He’s running the family hotel there. His parents have decided to sell their apartment in the sixteenth and settle in Monaco permanently.”
Margaux looked down and fiddled with her knife. “Yes,” she replied. “We did run into each other a few times. He doesn’t live that far from my cousin, so we would see each other at the market and sometimes when we went out.”
“Is he friends with your cousin?” Penelope probed. “Martin, can you pass the carafe of water, please?”
Margaux didn’t answer right away, but when she saw that Penelope was still waiting for her reply, said, “They seemed to know each other pretty well. As you said, it’s a small city so everyone knows each other.” Her words fizzled, and silence settled over the table.
“This filet mignon is delicious,” Penelope said, with a bright smile. “I like the pepper crust this time.”
April wanted to help clear the air, so she added, in English, “Me too. Guillaume, you are really a star in the kitchen.”
He laughed. “Don’t let Penelope’s false humility fool you. The pepper crust was her idea.”
Penelope jerked her chin, hiding a smile. “It was good, non?” She popped a bite in her mouth.
Penelope turned to Théo, who was on her left-hand side, leaving Victor free to speak to Margaux if he wished. April watched them, wondering if he’d noticed how uncomfortable Margaux had been when Penelope mentioned Franck’s name. Of course he’d noticed. How could he not? She wondered if Margaux had been in love with Franck while she was there. Nothing could come of it if she were pregnant, but perhaps she couldn’t help her feelings. Maybe that was why she stayed in Monaco as long as she did, unable to break away from a relationship. April hoped she’d given that up and was fully committed to Victor now. He deserved no less than complete fidelity. The baby deserved it too.
After dinner, April went to get a flyer from her bag that she thought might interest Penelope, and Victor met her in the hallway lined with glass-enclosed bookshelves. “Penelope told me your painting was stolen?”
“Yes,” April said, turning toward him.
“April, you should tell me these things. We’re friends.” He folded his arms and leaned against the glass.
She looked at her feet. He’s not available, she told herself. “I don’t have all the details yet. Françoise—my art teacher—was going to ask the police if they were able to catch anything on camera, and I wanted to see if she had any news for me before I said anything.”
“You need to tell me everything right away,” he insisted. “Don’t wait to have all the answers before you say something. Let me help.”
April crossed her arms, imitating his posture. “How are the wedding plans going?”
Victor looked away.
“She seemed uncomfortable—” April dropped her voice to a whisper. “Margaux seemed uncomfortable when Penelope asked her about that Franck person.”
Victor took a breath. “Yeah, well, that could be anything. She’s always had a lot of secrets. He could’ve been rude to her once, or they could’ve had an affair. I’ll never know.”
“Don’t you think you should have the right to know these things before you get married?” April knew she was treading on thin ice. She was questioning the wisdom of his marriage to Margaux, and her motivation was not, in the least bit, pure. She had feelings—sometimes overwhelming feelings—for him, herself. She needed to stop, but couldn’t seem to help herself.
“I just know Matthias deserves for his father to be involved,” Victor said. “He deserves an unbroken home. I always promised myself I’d give my children better than I had. Better than my father gave me.”
April felt her heart sink. He was perfectly right. “You’re a good guy,” she said. Then, drawing on an inner strength—determined to let him be free to do what was right, even if it meant she would lose him—she asked, “How is Matthias, anyway?”
“Matthias smiled at me,” Victor said. He grinned at the memory. “I made him smile. He’s really cute.”
April laughed. “I told you you were a great dad.”
Penelope peeked into the hallway. “We’re about to play poker. Who wants in?”
“Me,” April said. “But I need a refresher for the rules. It’s not for money, right?”
“No, just for chips. Hey, Victor,” Penelope said, “are you able to take April back to your grandmother’s apartment tonight after you bring Margaux home? She probably won’t ask for help, but we’re afraid Lucas is following her, and we want to make sure she doesn’t get stalked.”
“Sure.” Victor turned to her in consternation. “Another thing you’re not telling me, April. Please tell me these things.”
A flash of anger came over April, and she replied without thinking. “Don’t expect me to tell you everything. It’s not like I’m your girlfriend. I don’t owe you explanations, or details, or anything.”
“Er…let me see how the game is going.” Penelope turned, whisking away a smile.
“What are you talking about, April? We’re friends. Friends talk.”
“Victor,” April hissed. “It’s like you expect things from me you don’t even expect of your own fiancée. You want me to come to you for help and tell you everything. But you don’t even know what Margaux was doing that whole year in Monaco. You don’t know what brought her back or…or whether the baby is even yours.” There. I said it. April’s pulse pounded in her temple.
“Victor doesn’t ask me these things, because he already knows the answer.” Margaux's cool voice came from where the living room joined the hallway. “And, since he is satisfied, I don’t see what business it is of yours.” Margaux managed to communicate all her disdain in two sentences.
April’s face was crimson. She could feel the heat of shame emanating from her. She’d let everyone know how she felt about Victor as plainly as if she’d announced she was in love with him at the dinner table. It’s not like I’m your girlfriend. And what was even worse was that she was completely in the wrong attempting to sow seeds of doubt. She was not the type of person to try to break people up. She was not “the other woman.” It was not her style. If a man wasn’t free to love her, she had absolutely no interest in him.
So what had happened? How had she gone so wrong?
Victor’s eyes were fixed on hers. He hadn’t answered, but now he looked toward Margaux and the crowd that was gathering behind her. “Hey guys, could you give us a minute? Margaux, I’ll be right there to take you home. I imagine the baby needs you.”
Margaux folded her arms and planted her feet. So Victor took April’s arm and pulled her into the first room he saw. It was the toilet, and they had only enough room to stand face-to-face. He fumbled for the light, and when it went on, April wouldn’t look at him. He grabbed her by the arms.
“April, I need to say this fast so no one gets the wrong idea about us being in here together.”
They were standing in a tiny cubicle, nose to nose, and his words brought on an insane desire to laugh. She needed to get a hold of her emotions. He’s not available.
“I think one of the biggest regrets of my life,” Victor said, “will end up being that I wasn’t fr
ee to follow my feelings in this instance. But I’m not. I’m a father, and that comes first.”
I am a great fool, April thought, and any wisp of humor over the situation fled. To complete her shame, her eyes filled with tears.
“If I could’ve followed my feelings…” He stopped short, looking at her eyes, her lips…They heard only the sound of their breathing.
Then Victor dropped his arms, turned in the tight space, and opened the bathroom door. “Margaux and I need to get going. Penelope, do you think one of you could see April home safely?”
“Sure,” Penelope said. She handed the pack of cards to Auriane and slid past Victor to where April was. “You guys go ahead and play.”
Chapter 20
“I’m so stupid,” April said, tears streaming down her face as she walked toward the métro, Guillaume on one side of her and Penelope on the other. “I know he’s not available, and it’s not me to let my feelings go for someone I can’t have. And I basically announced in front of a crowd of strangers and his fiancée that I was in love with him. I’m so stupid,” she repeated.
“You’re not stupid, and we’re not strangers,” Penelope said. “So stop that right now. Here. Let’s not take this métro. Let’s walk to the next one. It’ll be a direct line and will give us a chance to talk.” Guillaume silently obeyed Penelope, guiding April around the railing to continue on the sidewalk.
“Honestly, though,” Penelope said, “It was pretty obvious you loved him even before you said anything. How could you not have feelings for him when he saved you?”
“Yes, but he’s going to marry Margaux, and it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world that I’d make a big scene about someone who’s unavailable. And in front of his fiancée.” A fresh wave of tears came over her.
“I’m not all that sure he’s going to marry Margaux,” Penelope said. “I know she doesn’t love him, and she won’t be good for him, trust me.”
“You didn’t hear him,” April said. “He is going to marry her because of the baby.”
“Sometimes everyone thinks two people are going to get together,” Guillaume said, breaking his silence, “except that you know that someone is meant for you. And sometimes it turns out everyone else is wrong.” April turned to look at him, and she caught Penelope’s gaze. “Hypothetically speaking,” he said.
The only sound for a few minutes was their feet on the pavement before Penelope spoke up again. “Like I said, I don’t think he’s going to marry Margaux. I just need to come up with a plan. In the meantime, I wanted to talk to you about something. Arthur told me that Mr. Chambourd is going to announce which paintings will be shown at the gallery just after class on Thursday. He can get us in to hear the announcement if you want to come with me. I’m sure Françoise will be there, but if you want to find out before the rest of our class, why not come with me?”
“All right.” April fell behind them as the sidewalk narrowed, her eyes trained on the curb that lined the dark road. “May as well.”
The gallery in the École des Beaux-Arts was located on the first floor at the back of the building, a beautiful atelier that overlooked a cobblestone courtyard with an old mulberry tree right in the center. April followed Arthur and Penelope into the room where a crowd of mostly young people was already assembled, with Mr. Chambourd in conference at the front with Françoise and two other people.
April took in the room with interest and walked over to read the plaques on each of the statues. Vénus au Collier. The horse’s head from the Parthenon, a caryatid statue, and more recent examples of art in its various stages from sketch to completion were displayed around the room. Her attention returned to the students, who looked as nervous as she felt.
“Chers élèves, chers confrères, bonjour.” And with a smile, Mr. Chambourd added, “And everyone else. I know you’re excited to hear which paintings have been chosen for the art gallery. Let me introduce you to Monsieur Axel et Madame Provost, who assisted me in making the selection. As my collaborators in the showing, they have a special interest. They also have the knowledge of what will sell.
“I’ve assembled a team of six,” Mr. Chambourd continued, indicating for them to come forward, “who will help me unveil the chosen paintings so you can see what they’ll look like placed in a particular order. You will appreciate the harmonious effect when they’re assembled together. S’il vous plaît.” He swept his hand up with a flourish.
At his cue, the men went into the corridor and rolled racks of paintings into the room, then turned the racks so they were facing the students. All of them were covered with black cloths. April counted the rolling easels as they were brought in, and there were eighteen of them.
“Without making you suffer too much from suspense, let me just say that the selection was difficult. There was a particular painting I’d meant to give the prime spot in the gallery, but in the end it was not presented for selection. Still. What we have here will bring my collaborators and me an interesting sum and will launch some of you as upcoming artists. Without further ado, please unveil the chosen paintings.”
The first one that caught April’s eye was the Pompidou center, with its celebrated pipes covered with foliage or water or sky. An element for each one. Ben’s painting was chosen. He was right. He got in. Heart pounding in her chest, April quickly scanned the rest of the paintings, but she did not see her Passage de l’Ancre. Stunned that her hopes were dashed, she was not able to appreciate the harmony of Mr. Chambourd’s exhibit.
Was that it then? No other paintings had been chosen? She looked around the rest of the room and on the sidelines to see if she’d missed something. Her gaze settled at last on Penelope, whose face had fallen. Then it hit April. Her painting had not been chosen either. Only Ben’s was recognizable from their class.
“Félicitations, Arthur.” Penelope kissed him on both cheeks. Apparently his painting had been included. April tried to put on a brave face, but she had to swallow and blink back tears. She hadn’t realized how much hope she’d tied up in her painting getting accepted. It was the only way she knew of to earn some income so she could at least stay the rest of the semester.
She would have to go home. There was no other way around it. She’d completely run out of money with no promise of getting any more. April didn’t want to stay and watch Victor marry his fiancée. She didn’t want to be a target for Lucas, who’d apparently not stopped stalking her. Everything she had was lost.
“I’m going to go,” she murmured to Penelope, who looked concerned, but who had her own disappointment to handle. She just gave a small wave in return.
April made it as far as the door when Françoise called out to her, stalling her from going any further. “I heard Mr. Chambourd’s student was bringing some people from our class, but I didn’t know it would be you.”
“Penelope is friends with Arthur,” April answered, just wanting to leave.
“April.” Françoise put her hand on April’s arm. “I just wanted to tell you that Mr. Chambourd would’ve included your other painting. He told me so. In fact, yours was the one he wanted to feature in the prime spot on the gallery’s far end wall. He was disappointed when he learned that it had been stolen.” April kept her gaze trained on the ground. “It’s a small comfort, I know. But it shows you just how much talent you have.”
“What was wrong with my Passage de L’Ancre?” April asked.
“Nothing. Nothing wrong. It just…didn’t catch his eye in the same way. He said your other one had all the hope of a visitor discovering Paris, all the youth we long to hold on to. The painting provoked such strong emotions, and the message was that Paris brought them forth.”
“Did you ever hear back from the police?”
“I did. They checked, and there was nothing on the camera. Either he knew it was there, or it was just pure luck that he went the other way.”
“A week ago, I would’ve said it was dumb luck, but given the fact that he’s managed to elude the police so far, I would
say that Lucas has more connections in the underworld than I would’ve thought. How is it possible that they haven’t found him yet?”
“Well,” said Françoise. “Maybe the police aren’t trying very hard, which, honestly, is a possibility. For one thing they have a whole series of protocol to follow if they want to bring someone in, and the crime usually has to be rather serious. For the moment, it’s a big deal in your life, but not necessarily a huge misdemeanor in the eyes of the law. Not enough to put a lot of resources on the task. And for another thing, he does seem to be more resourceful than he first appeared.”
“I need to leave,” April said. “I think it’s time I went home. At the very least, I’m sure I can get a job at the ice cream parlor where I used to work after I graduated. Just something to start off until I can get on my feet.”
Françoise nodded. “I understand if you want to do that. But you’ve got a month left of school and you’re very good. I’d be disappointed to lose you before it’s time.” She looked April in the eye. “Just take some time to think about it before you rush into anything. Do you have money to live on? Could you survive another month in Paris?”
April thought about it. She did, actually. Since Penelope was able to get her deposit back, she did have money. And she could survive until it was time to go. “I’ll give it some more thought,” she answered.
Mishou was home when April arrived. “Alors?” Mishou asked. “I haven’t seen you since you went to the dinner. Was your tarte a success? When she spoke slowly April was able to understand everything, but she had more trouble answering. The effort served to draw her attention away from her worries and disappointment.
“Everyone liked it,” she said. “Thank you for teaching me.”
“Oh.” Mishou wore a pleased smile as she shrugged. “C’est normal. Now, we just have to think about what else I can teach you.”
A Friend in Paris Page 16
