She shook her head. “I was very young when I married Laurent. We had been friends for years; it was the logical thing to do.”
“Do you have children?”
“Two. My son, Joël, is now twenty-five. He works in London for Moët & Chandon. My daughter, Delphine, is twenty-three and works in Paris for a magazine. They have both grown up.” She sighed and lowered her eyes.
“And what about you?”
“Oh, I do nothing much. I look after Laurent.”
“Does he need much looking after?”
“He’s more demanding than both my children put together. We all have to run around Laurent.” I noticed that shadow around her eyes once again and heard myself ask:
“Are you happy, Claudine?”
She turned to me, her face pink with embarrassment. “You’re not supposed to ask that question.” She was indignant. “You can’t ask me, Mischa! It’s rude!”
“Why not? Because I’m not happy. I thought I was fine until yesterday, when I saw you. I realize now that I’ve been miserable for years, I just hadn’t noticed. Unhappiness was so much a part of my life I was no longer aware of it. But you, Claudine, you’ve changed everything. I’ll never be the same again.”
“What are you saying, Mischa? You don’t even know me.”
“You know that’s not true.” Once again she turned away. “Would you have sent me that letter if you weren’t unhappy? If you hadn’t felt something too?”
“I wanted to see you, that’s all.” She shrugged helplessly. “Laurent doesn’t like me to have male friends. He says it’s inappropriate. I feared you might leave without having spoken to me.”
“No, you sent me the note because you felt it too.” When she turned back, her eyes were glittering. “Tell me you felt it too.” She inhaled the icy air. Her lips were pale and trembling, her cheeks white but for two spots of red, like bee stings. The moment felt surreal, as if I were floating in cloud. “I know it’s silly,” I persisted. “I haven’t seen you for decades. But it doesn’t feel that way. I feel I’ve known you all my life. Tell me, Claudine, that you felt it too.”
“You’re right.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I felt it too.”
I drew her into my arms and kissed her warm mouth. Her face was cold, her nose red, but her lips were soft and tender, parted a little, inviting. She didn’t resist but yielded as if she had anticipated this moment, too. As if, like mine, her whole life had been leading up to this crossroads. She had on a heavy coat and boots, polo neck and scarf, gloves and hat. I was only able to reach her face. In an attempt to get closer, I pulled off her hat and scrunched her hair in my fingers. It was thick and hot and a little sweaty around her forehead. We didn’t speak, or even try to. We simply clung to each other. I savored the sensation of her skin beneath my lips. I breathed in her scent, and tasted the salt of her tears. I realized that I had been looking for her all my life.
“Is this possible?” she asked after a while, drawing away. Her eyes searched my features, incredulous of what they saw.
“If I had been asked that a week ago, I would have said no. It’s not possible to fall in love instantly. I believed that kind of love to be the stuff of bad fiction and film. I would never have imagined it would happen to me.”
“I feel I’ve known you forever. That you’re meant for me. I often thought about you, you know. I missed you. Especially when you left without a word. My world felt suddenly empty. I felt bereft. Everywhere reminded me of you. Everyone talked about you. You dominated the town and yet you left without saying good-bye.”
“I was spirited away in the middle of the night. I had no time. I cried all the way to America.”
“And I cried too. You were my friend. I knew you were special to me then, but more so after you had gone, because it hurt for a long time after and I never forgot you.”
“I thought about you, too. At first America was so colorful and bright, I left Maurilliac behind. But later, in the years after Coyote left, when I hated myself and everyone around me, I searched for you without even realizing it. I was subconsciously drawn to French women, only to be disappointed. I never lost my heart to anyone. I didn’t let it go. I just knew it didn’t feel right. Oh, Claudine, where have the years gone? They suddenly appear to have been but a blink. It’s as if we’ve never been apart. Yet, look at us, we’re middle-aged.”
“Nothing matters. You’re here, in Maurilliac, and it feels right. You should have stayed. You weren’t meant to leave me.”
“I know. I wish I’d had the courage to come back. I’ve been treading water until now. I feel I’ve been waiting for you. Now I’ve found you.” Neither of us dared ask the inevitable question: where did we go from here?
“Why did you return to Maurilliac?” she asked instead.
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got all day. Laurent works in Bordeaux, he’s a solicitor. He won’t be back until evening.”
“Then I will hold you until sundown.”
“Why did you leave it so long?”
“I was afraid to come back.”
“Afraid? But you were a miracle. You had the town at your feet.”
“I was a freak. I was different from everyone else. I was the Boche baby whose mother had collaborated with the enemy. No miracle could wash away that stain, however much Père Abel-Louis appeared to sanction it. You know, I still dreamed of this place. Sometimes I awoke with the smell of summer in my room.” I didn’t really know the answer myself. “Oh, it was a combination of things, I suppose. My mother died, taking with her the only link to my past. There are so many questions I need to find answers for. So many shadows I need to shed light on. I realized the past would torment me forever unless I confronted it.”
“Have you seen le curéton?”
“He was my greatest enemy. Now he’s a sad, decrepit old man teetering on the edge of his grave. I wonder why I feared him as I did.”
“You spoke to him?” She stared at me incredulously.
“I paid him a visit.”
“What did he say? Did he recognize you? Was he surprised to see you?”
“No, he didn’t recognize me until I said my name and then he pretended he had never known me. He was terrified.”
“How I hated him. He was an evil man.”
“More evil than you could possibly imagine. He collaborated with the Germans. He married my parents in secret, then, when the Allies liberated Maurilliac, he turned against my mother because she knew too much.”
“He stood back and let them torture you both to save himself?”
I nodded gravely. “He knew that once she was ostracized as a collaborator no one would believe any story she told about him. He has blood on his hands, I tell you. And I think there’s more. He wouldn’t tell me the rest and I don’t care to know. He’s buried, as far as I’m concerned. He no longer exists.”
“I bet he betrayed Resistance fighters in exchange for comforts. Everyone trusted him. They confessed their innermost thoughts to him. He knew everyone’s secrets. He’s disgusting. I hope he rots in Hell.”
“Don’t worry, Claudine. He’s already there,” I said, remembering the locks and bolts on his door and the rancid stench of fear. “He’s been there for years.”
“I’m ashamed to be part of this town. Ashamed for my own family’s part in its history. I understand why you didn’t have the courage to return and I admire your courage now.”
“There’s something else,” I said, unburdening my thoughts.
“Yes?”
“My mother gave away a very valuable painting just before she died. She gave it to the Metropolitan as a gift.”
“How very generous of her.”
“I never knew she had such a painting. It’s a Titian. The Gypsy Madonna. It’s supposedly a version of the one that hangs in Vienna. Apparently Titian’s first was stolen, so he painted another. It’s very valuable.”
“Where did she get it from?”
“That’
s what I want to know.”
“Do you think she found it here?”
I shrugged, but Claudine had a point. “I don’t think she stole it.” But I wasn’t sure. I felt a moment of dizziness as the idea of theft grew ever more plausible.
“Then who gave it to her?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Did she hang out with people in the art world?”
“Yes, she did. In her business she met all sorts.”
“What did she do?”
“Antiques.”
“Did she sell paintings?”
“No.”
“Then she must have been keeping it for someone else. Why would she give a stolen painting to the Metropolitan? That would just heap a whole load of trouble onto your shoulders, and she wouldn’t have wanted that, would she?” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Whatever happened to Coyote?” Coyote — the mere mention of his name had the power to sting me, like lemon juice on a wound.
“The elusive Coyote!” I shook my head and chuckled bitterly. “Coyote disappeared when I was ten years old. Just like that. One day he was there, the next he was gone, and he never came back. I now know that he had a double life. A wife and children living in Virginia. He wasn’t all that he seemed. However, if the painting had been his, he wouldn’t have left without taking it with him, or he would have certainly come back to retrieve it.”
“Do you hope to find the answers here?”
“My gut tells me there’s something here. I have vague memories, like dislocated images that come and go. If I could see the whole picture I’m sure I’d discover something important.”
“I can’t believe your mother never told you. Even when she was dying.”
“She wouldn’t discuss it.” I looked at her anxiously. “That suggests guilt, doesn’t it?”
She took my hand and squeezed it. “If she had got it by legal means, surely she would have shared it with you? A painting of such value is something to celebrate and show off. Not to hide away. Perhaps she was given it for safekeeping and then the owner died. Who knows what went on in the war? Maybe she found it without realizing its value. There are lots of possibilities, but you shouldn’t beat yourself up about it. It’s not your problem. If she had wanted you to know, she would have told you.”
“Well, there’s another twist in the story.”
“Go on.”
“Coyote appeared in my office a few weeks ago. He suddenly turned up after more than thirty years.”
“Did he say where he’d been?”
“No. But he looked like a tramp. He hadn’t washed for weeks and his clothes were rags.”
“I remember him with his hat and his guitar. He was a hugely glamorous figure back then. Like a film star. He set the town ablaze. No one talked of anything else for years after he left. Especially as they said he hadn’t paid his bill at the châ-teau. He had appeared a rich man.”
“He wasn’t. He just charmed his way through life.”
“And charmed your mother.”
“I believe he loved my mother and I believe he loved me.”
“He gave you back your voice.”
“You remember. It wasn’t a miracle, after all.”
She smiled and my heart stumbled. “I remember everything about you, Mischa.” She blushed. I took her hand and rested my gaze on her face. “What did he want?”
“He asked after my mother. He didn’t know she had died. He didn’t know that she had loved him until the end. I didn’t tell him, either. What was the point? You see, he didn’t come back for her, but for the painting. There had been a bit of press interest, as you can imagine, and he had read about it. That was why he had come.”
“But he didn’t say it belonged to him?”
“No. He thought we were rich. He had flown in like a vulture.”
“Surely he gave you an explanation?”
“He said he didn’t want anything from me. He said that he was ‘chasing rainbows.’”
“What did he mean?”
“I don’t know.” I shook my head and kissed her forehead. “But I now know why I came back. The Fates brought me back for you, Claudine. And you are the reason for my staying.”
We wandered up the hill to the old folly, our hands entwined as if we were young lovers on a carefree walk, not a couple of old friends on the brink of adultery. We reminisced about the old days. She told me a little of her life, of which every detail fascinated me. I wanted to know more about Laurent, but she didn’t want to talk about him. I wanted to know if she loved him, if he treated her well. I knew she wasn’t happy, but was her unhappiness something that she could live with, or was it enough to drive her away? I wanted her to come with me to America, but I didn’t dare ask. It was too soon and, besides, I couldn’t bear the answer to be no.
We reached the little round folly where I had spied on Jacques Reynard and Yvette. It stood on the top of the hill like a small winter palace, proud and discreet but abandoned to the depredations of time. The pale stone blended in with the frosty trees and grass, shrouded in a veil of mist that caught the light and glittered magically. The woods had encroached further so that snakes of ivy wound their way up the pillars, and blackberry bushes had been allowed to overgrow. If it hadn’t been for the frost the little folly would have been a sorrowful sight. However, it possessed a mysterious beauty, enhanced by the transience of the morning. The sun would melt the frost, the ice would turn to water, and the magic would eventually disappear with the mist.
“Its loveliness makes me feel melancholy,” said Claudine. “We’re getting old and what have I done with my life?”
“You’ve brought up two children. That’s a triumph in itself,” I replied, swinging her around to face me. I cupped her face in my hands and rubbed my thumbs over her red cheeks. For a moment she was too shy to look into my eyes.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she mumbled. “I’m married.”
“Look at me, Claudine.” She turned her head and blinked up at me helplessly. “If I didn’t feel so strongly, I’d never compromise you in this way. Look, I’ve wandered this earth with a great big hole in my heart. I’ve tried to fill it with all sorts of people of different shapes and sizes but no one’s been the right shape. You know why? Because you made that hole in the first place and you’re the only person who fits. I knew you were special when I was a boy. You had courage. You weren’t afraid to defy authority, to be unpopular, to be ridiculed, and you took me for your friend when no one else would. You still fit, Claudine, because the hole has grown with you. It only got bigger. I can’t help myself. I love you.”
She took my wrists in her hands and smiled anxiously. “I don’t regret it, Mischa. I don’t regret coming to meet you and I don’t regret kissing you. I regret Fate that took you to America. I married the wrong man.”
“You don’t have to stay married to him.”
“I’ve only just met you.”
“Trust me.”
“I’m frightened to. If Laurent finds out he’ll be furious. I’m scared, Mischa.” I kissed her pale lips, hoping to persuade her that I wouldn’t change my mind. How could I explain that, until our meeting the previous day, I had never lost my heart? As a little boy I had loved those who had loved me: Joy Springtoe, Jacques Reynard, Daphne Halifax, and, of course, my mother. I had never loved a woman as a man should. Isabel had given me a taste of France, but that was all. Linda was unable to reach me. She had given me the best years of her life and in the end, she never really knew me any better than she had the day we met. One glimpse of Claudine had been all it had taken to shatter the protective shield I had built around myself. One glimpse, and she had penetrated deeper than any woman ever had. I had let her in. If she had known me better, she would have understood that now I would never let her out.
“Don’t leave me,” I said, my voice a whisper. “I need you, Claudine.” She didn’t reply. She just wrapped her arms around my neck and held me close.
My trip to Ch
ile had reestablished my bond with Matias and Maria Elena. My arrival at the château had shown me that the past can never be recaptured, however many stars are wished upon. Claudine was the love I wanted to take back with me. Claudine was the home I had been searching for.
31
Over the next couple of days, we spent as much time as we could together. At night I longed to feel her beside me, and my longing caused my whole body to ache. I wanted to hold her, to kiss her all over, to possess her completely. I wanted her to be mine. When I couldn’t sleep I paced the room like an animal, imagining her sharing a bed with Laurent. I tormented myself wondering whether they made love. Whether they lay apart or entwined, whether Laurent forced himself upon her. And if he demanded his marital rights, did she resist him or was she too afraid? Afraid of hurting him? Or of him hurting her? I had to know.
If he so much as laid a finger on her, I vowed I would draw my sword. I imagined sending my fist through his face, shattering his arrogance with a single blow. I was bigger than he was, taller and broader, and I had more experience in that department than he could possibly imagine. Laurent had no hope against me. I visualized sweeping Claudine into my arms and stepping over his battered body. I’d rescue her from her unhappiness and we’d start a new life together in America.
Desperate to know my enemy and frustrated that I couldn’t realize my daydreams, I went to Mass. I was not a religious man and I had always feared the Church. It held a dark allure that both fascinated and frightened me. I believed the institution of organized religion to be full of self-serving masters who only wanted total domination of weak people. I did not want to be one of their flock. However, my desire to see Claudine and to know more of Laurent superseded my anxiety. I sat in my coat and hat at the back of the church, watching the people drift in. I recognized some of the faces, but most were strangers. I heard the echo of their voices, Hun-head, Nazi boy, Boche bastard, but no one cast me more than a glance, not even the people I recognized. They were old now and their sight was bad. Like Père Abel-Louis, they focused on the life to come, not the past. They didn’t even toss me a second glance. The boy who had once been different from everyone else now blended in.
The Gypsy Madonna Page 27