by Olivia Lara
‘Are you waiting for someone?’ she asked.
‘For you.’ He laughed, not taking his eyes from her. ‘No, I work here. My family owns one of the Louvre wings. We’re big into arts. Our house is—’
She interrupted him. ‘Filled with paintings.’
‘Yes,’ he said and smiled. ‘And sculptures, drawings. How did you know?’
Her heart thumped. It looked like it was him. What was she expecting to feel? For the rest of the world around to cease to exist? To see fireworks? Hear music?
‘This might sound strange,’ she said, pausing to look for the right words, ‘but did you go to school in Switzerland?’
He tilted his head and looked at her intensely.
‘I did. Yes,’ he said apprehensively.
‘Do you remember a trip to France? Colmar? A field trip to the town library and—’
‘When our teacher almost called the police? That was quite an adventure,’ he said, laughing.
Dominique tried not to cry.
‘How do you know all this?’ he asked. ‘Did we meet when I was in school? We did, didn’t we? And I don’t remember. That’s why you were looking at me like that.’
‘Leon, it’s me,’ she said, her eyes brimming with tears.
He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He looked like he had seen a ghost, which was probably how Dominique looked too.
‘You don’t remember? The museum in Colmar,’ she said, her voice cracking.
His eyes grew big. ‘Oh my God, Zara! You’re Zara.’
She didn’t even try to stop the tears from running down her face now. She was happy. She had found him. Finally, she had found him. What more certainty was there? It was him. After all those years…
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think you would be this beautiful.’
Dominique blushed. ‘You are very handsome too.’
He smiled. ‘I know we just— I mean, is it too forward of me to ask you to accompany me for dinner? To talk? I’d love to, if you want.’
He seemed unsure, all of a sudden. And nervous.
‘I would love that,’ she said without hesitation.
*
They walked to a nearby restaurant, where he got them a table in the back of the dining area, after chatting for a moment with the hostess.
‘We’ll have more privacy here,’ he said.
Dominique smiled as he took her coat and pulled her chair.
It was surreal.
‘Zara,’ he said and from the way he said it, it was clear he felt the same way. ‘I can’t believe it’s you. It’s so… incredible, isn’t it?’
‘It is,’ she said smiling. ‘You know, nobody has called me Zara since Colmar.’
‘Isn’t that your name?’ he asked.
‘It was a nickname. My mother used to call me that. Her name was Zahara, and since everyone kept saying how much we looked alike, she started calling me Zara. You know, like a mini version of her name.’
‘That’s nice,’ he said. ‘I always assumed it was your name. Then what is your name?’
‘Dominique,’ she said. ‘Dominique Gardiner.’
He smiled. ‘Dominique. I like it.’
He played with his water glass for a moment, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to.
‘You know my name is not Leon either, right?’
‘It’s not?’
He chuckled. ‘What kind of name is that? No, just a nickname. Don’t even remember where I got it from. Maybe because, as a kid I was always brave; like a lion. That was such a long time ago. I’m still brave, though. I can prove it to you,’ he said and grabbing a fork from the table, got up like he was waiting for an imaginary enemy.
‘No need to, I believe you,’ said Dominique.
She was about to ask, but he probably already knew what she was thinking.
‘My name? Vincent. Vincent Saint Germain.’
With an ample gesture of his arm, he bowed to Dominique, then took her hand in his and kissed it gently. ‘Enchanté, mademoiselle.’
Her cheeks were on fire, and she knew she had blushed again. There was something about Vincent, something over the top, almost theatrical. He didn’t seem to care if people were staring or that he made a fool of himself. He was charming and amusing, just different than what she imagined he would be. Leon from the museum was a bit more restrained. No, not restrained. He was just different. But she was undoubtedly different too. Wasn’t she?
By the end of the appetizers they had covered the first years of their lives. By the end of the first course, they had almost reached present day. He was asking most of the questions, with a curiosity that surpassed even Dominique’s. What did she do after she left Colmar, where did she go, how did she end up in Paris?
As she was telling him about her life in America with Lisa, Dominique hesitated for a second before asking him.
‘Were you in Newport four years ago?’
‘I don’t think so, no. Why?’
‘No, you’ll think I’m crazy,’ she said, embarrassed.
‘I won’t. I promise. Tell me.’
And she told him. About the boy across the street, the accident. How she had thought it was him. He’d had black hair, just like him, but she hadn’t been able to make out his features because of how badly he had been injured. And how she’d looked for him, but to no avail.
He listened to her without saying a word. After he finished his glass of wine and poured another, he smiled and assured her that while he didn’t think she was crazy or anything like that, it hadn’t been him.
‘What about a year ago in New York?
‘I was in New York, yes. Why? What happened there? Don’t tell me it was another accident, because that wasn’t me either.’
‘There was this woman. And you were kissing her. I mean, I don’t know if it was you. I thought it was. Or I felt as if it was, to put it better, but again, I couldn’t really see your face.’
‘What did she look like?’ he asked, deep in thought.
‘Blonde, tall, very elegant. Like a model.’ She felt a tinge of jealousy just remembering that moment.
His eyes fixed on her. ‘In front of the Empire State Building?’
Dominique gulped and nodded.
‘You were there too?’ he said, almost to himself. It sounded like disbelief, more than anything else.
‘So it was you!’ said Dominique, not knowing if she was glad he’d confirmed it. ‘Who was she?’
His eyes avoided hers for a second. ‘Nicole,’ he said in a low voice.
‘Who is she? Is she your—’
He gave a wry laugh. ‘Was. It’s ancient history. She’s destroying someone else’s life now. Not that I feel sorry for the guy. He deserves it.’
Something in his eyes made Dominique uncomfortable. His anger – almost hate – towards that man and woman she knew nothing of made her wonder what they had done to deserve it. It must’ve been something really bad, because the Leon she knew wasn’t the type of person who hated someone for petty things.
‘I’m sorry, that came out wrong. Now you must think I’m this hateful, vindictive person, when in fact, I’m not.’
‘I didn’t think that,’ she said kindly.
Dominique was relieved, but again, just the idea that he had been with someone else, and she’d stood there and watched them kiss made her heart break a little. Although, what did she expect? That he was going to wait for her all his life? Just because she had?
They shared dessert and had one more glass of wine.
‘Did you find it?’ she asked, all of a sudden.
‘Find what?’
‘The painting. The Monet.’
‘The Monet. No. I have plenty of other Monets now. My parents own quite a few.’
It was strange seeing him brush it off so quickly, when it had been his biggest dream, but a lot had happened in the last seven years. He wasn’t a kid anymore.
It was late when they f
inally called it a night.
Vincent took her home and behaved like a perfect gentleman.
Before they said goodnight, he took her hands in his and looking her straight in the eye, asked, ‘Are you disappointed?’
‘Disappointed? In what?’
‘In me? Am I different to what you expected?’
All through their romantic dinner, through their flowing conversation, the laughter and the stories, she felt something was different. But she was so caught up in the moment, that she didn’t stop to think about it. She didn’t want to. When he asked, in a way, it confirmed what she had been feeling. It was different than what she thought. Not that he was different – though maybe he was – but what she felt or what she thought she would feel was different. But she didn’t tell him. She couldn’t tell him. It would’ve broken his heart.
Here she was, standing in front of this man she had dreamed of for so long, and instead of being out-of-this-world happy, she was questioning everything.
‘I could never be disappointed in you, Leon,’ she said.
‘Vincent,’ he corrected her gently.
‘Vincent.’
*
‘I wondered when Grandpa Vincent would show up. I was getting a bit worried there. I knew your meeting had to be something special,’ says Valerie with a dreamy look on her face. ‘And he was so handsome when he was young. I saw the photos.’
‘Yes, he was,’ I say. ‘And very elegant and charming. But out of my league, as you young people say. Way out of my league.’
Valerie chuckles. ‘Nobody is out of your league, Mamie.’
PART V
‘One always returns to one’s first love.’ — Charles-Guillaume Étienne
DOMINIQUE
1 MARCH 1961
PARIS
The day after they met, Vincent waited in front of her house with a big bouquet of red roses. Standing in the middle of the street, honking the horn again and again and again on his perfectly white sports car until she came out, he seemed like the embodiment of Prince Charming in her mother’s fairy tales. He was dressed the part, he looked the part, and even the way he wouldn’t take his eyes off her was like something out of a book.
Dominique rushed out. ‘Everyone is staring at you,’ she said in a hushed voice.
‘Let them,’ said Vincent, with a laugh. He always seemed so comfortable in his own skin. He handed her the bouquet, and she felt the light touch of his fingers against hers.
‘They suit you.’
‘Thank you, they’re beautiful,’ she said, her cheeks aflame.
He then went around the car and opened the door for her. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Where are we going?’ she asked as she sat on the passenger seat next to him.
‘It’s a surprise,’ he said and smiled.
After a short drive, Vincent told Dominique they were about to arrive and asked her to close her eyes. She did. A couple of minutes later, the car slowed and came to a stop.
‘Can I open them now?’
‘Not yet,’ he said.
She heard him leaving the car, then taking something from the trunk. ‘I’ll be right back.’
A minute passed. Two. Dominique desperately wanted to peek but managed to keep her eyes closed despite the temptation.
‘Alright,’ she heard Vincent say. She heard the sound of her door opening and then she felt his hand taking hers.
He helped her out of the car.
‘Voila,’ he said. ‘You can open your eyes now.’
‘Wow,’ was all she could say, standing in front of a beautiful castle. ‘Where are we?’
‘Château de Vincennes. And it’s all ours for the next few hours. I thought you would like to have lunch here. I brought some things,’ he said with a large smile and showed her the picnic basket and a blanket.
‘Is that for us?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t know what you wanted to eat, so I packed a bit of everything.’
Not letting go of her hand, he led her through a narrow path, across the castle’s grounds, and onto a private clearing. It was like a small park. Not far from them, under a gazebo, a group of musicians were playing classical music.
He sat the basket down and laid the blanket. They say next to each other, admiring the castle and listening to the music.
‘This is—’ she started but stopped, looking for the right words. ‘Amazing. You do know how to impress a girl,’ said Dominique and laughed quietly.
‘You like it? Is it a good surprise?’
‘Like it? I love it. Thank you… for bringing me here and putting all this together. I’ve never been to a château before. Never even seen one up close.’
‘I’m happy you’re happy,’ he said, taking her hand in his and kissing it gently.
*
It was ten days after their first date, and just as many outings, when one evening, as they were sitting on the beach at Les Calanques de Cassis near Marseille, admiring the sunset, Vincent wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close to him and kissed her. Their first kiss was passionate. She had been waiting for it for years, dreaming of it. Dreaming of that moment. Yet, after it happened, instead of silencing all her doubts and questions, their first intimate moment fueled them. The kiss was great, and Vincent was an incredible man, there was no doubt about it, but still something kept her from giving her heart to him, unconditionally. Something she didn’t know how to explain.
‘You are a fascinating woman, Dominique,’ he said, looking at her intently, and kissed her again. ‘I can’t get enough of you. I didn’t think I would feel this way so soon.’
Although it didn’t feel soon at all for Dominique, she loved hearing that. She had feared he would perhaps feel the same doubts she was feeling or decide that grown-up Dominique was not as interesting as young Zara and end their relationship. But he didn’t seem to have any doubts at all. About her, or about them as a couple.
‘Where have you been all my life?’ he asked jokingly one day as they kissed.
Dominique just smiled. Her first instinct was to say, ‘looking for you’, but she couldn’t say it. Why, she didn’t know.
They started seeing each other all the time. That Sunday, he took her to Comédie-Française and then to a fancy dinner. It wasn’t even a month since their first date when he introduced her to his family. Then to his friends. Gifts followed. And the first weekend with his parents at Chamonix, in their chalet in the mountains.
Vincent made it easy for Dominique to fall for him. What was there not to love about him? He was every girl’s dream – educated, handsome, intelligent, attentive. He made her feel like she was the only woman in the world, the only person who mattered to him. He opened the door for her, pulled out her chair at dinner, gave her his jacket when she was chilly. He listened to her carefully, even when she was making small talk, and took her seriously. And he never seemed to be tired of hearing about her interests and passions. It made Dominique feel special. Cared for. Loved.
She was happy with Vincent. When they were together, she smiled more, she felt surer of herself. He gave her that confidence, that support she needed.
Being with him, holding his hand, kissing him, hearing him say, ‘I love you. You are everything I ever wanted,’ felt so good. It didn’t make her heart race like she imagined it would when she was a child, but it felt amazing. She didn’t need to feel butterflies in her stomach every time he kissed her to know she loved him. To know he loved her too and would do anything for her.
When sometimes at night she would sit in bed, staring at the ceiling, and her thoughts would trail off, she’d stop them. What was there to think about? They were meant to be, weren’t they? The dreams said so. Her mother said so. Dominique had no idea what her mother meant by ‘you will know’, other than what she was feeling. And that was enough. She knew he was good for her, they had a great time together, and she could see herself with him. When he talked about their future together, she could picture it. Their children, t
heir perfect life. That was all that mattered, right?
*
When Vincent heard Dominique was looking for a job, at first he was against it.
‘You know, you shouldn’t be working at all,’ he said, looking concerned. ‘I am wealthy enough that you will never have to worry about anything for the rest of your life.’
Dominique smiled. ‘I like to work. It makes me feel useful. Besides, Constance needs my help. It’s not just about me. It’s my family.’
‘I could give her the money,’ he insisted.
‘I appreciate that, I really do, but this is something I truly want to do for her.’
‘Very well then,’ he said, sounding unconvinced. Dominique knew he wanted her to be happy, so he wasn’t going to fight her too much on it. ‘I’ll keep an eye out for a nice, clean, easy job.’
‘I don’t mind getting my hands dirty or working hard,’ said Dominique.
‘But I mind,’ he said, gently pulling her into an embrace. ‘Let me take care of you.’
DOMINIQUE
9 DECEMBER 1961
PARIS
‘I have just the right thing for you. You love books and art and I think I found the perfect place,’ said Vincent one evening when they were driving to his parents’ house for dinner. ‘I know the owner of the biggest bookstore in Paris: Galignani’s.’
‘I’ve heard of it. Do you think I should try and apply for a job there? I don’t have much experience but—’
‘I have already talked to him and recommended you for a position. In the beginning it’s going to be bookstore assistant, but with your knowledge of art and talent, I am sure you will do great there.’
Dominique leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, excited. ‘Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.’
‘I do,’ he said with a smile. ‘And I’m happy I could help. And one more thing.’
‘What more could it be? You’ve done enough already,’ she said, not trying to hide her gratitude.
‘I have also talked to a friend of the family. He’s a banker in the 8th arrondissement and he will review Constance’s existing loans to try and find some solutions. He’s the best in his field. You can rest assured that if anyone can help her, it’s him.’