Someday in Paris

by Olivia Lara

  Why had he got his memory back? To go through all this suffering? And what was he supposed to do now? Go back to his life as if nothing had happened? He never should have come.

  Anthony sat on the curb, picturing Dominique by his side, eating their macarons and drinking their cinnamon coffee, laughing, holding hands. Imagining she would feel he was there, and she would come running out, take him in her arms and tell him she loved him. Tell him that what he’d just seen was nothing more than a nightmare. Tell him she hadn’t forgotten about him. She had never given up on them.

  He tried to imagine what their life would’ve been if it hadn’t been for that stupid, horrendous accident that ruined his dreams. As he was sitting there, in the cold winter night, shivering and fighting his tears, he realized that it was all too late. He was too late.

  Dominique had moved on; she had built a new life for herself, a family of her own.

  He couldn’t even blame her. He had been dead to her for a long time and it was better if he stayed that way. Alexander Roberts ceased to exist nine years ago when a plane crashed at Sainte-Adresse. ‘There had been survivors. Anthony Peltz made it,’ he said to himself, ‘but Alexander didn’t. How could he, when his reason to live no longer existed? He stopped existing when she forgot about him.’

  He got up and looked at her, knowing it was likely the last time, and mouthed, ‘Only you. Always.’ And then he walked away.

  DOMINIQUE SAINT GERMAIN

  23 DECEMBER 1973, EVENING

  PARIS

  Apart from JJ’s stroke three years before, which had left him with a right-side paralysis and in a wheelchair, Dominique’s life had been peaceful and quiet, predictable even, especially after she married Vincent. But she didn’t complain. He was a good husband and a caring father to Anne. They attended social events where she wore expensive clothes and jewelry and met important people. They had everything one could want, and Dominique was envied by many for her ‘luck’.

  This was especially true when, in early November, as they were celebrating their fourth anniversary with family and friends, Dominique and Vincent announced they were expecting a baby. Anne, who was eight years old and had been begging them for a little sister or brother for years, was on top of the world. She had started making plans of her own; how she would take care of the baby, what they would do together. Vincent was smiling from ear to ear as he shook everyone’s hand, and Dominique let everyone touch her belly and smiled graciously. She was happy too; of course she was. A baby was a blessing and she was going to give her child all the love and care in the world, just like her mother had given her.

  There was a small part of nostalgia in the back of her mind, or the reminiscence of the what-if in her heart. A baby marked yet another milestone in her life, totally different to the life she had dreamed about. But she couldn’t allow herself to think about that. Not anymore. It wouldn’t have been fair to anybody: her baby, Anne, her husband. Whatever she once dreamed of was long gone. The dreams were long gone. She could barely remember the last time she had had one. Not in years.

  The news kept on coming and the excitement in Dominique’s life didn’t seem to have an end. A couple of weeks later, she received the most coveted job in the art world of France, perhaps even Europe – curator at the Louvre. After so many years of hard work, she had finally got it.

  Even her last project at the Marmottan got picked up by the Louvre – a Monet Lily painting she worked on for months to restore. Coincidentally or not it was the same painting on the cover of Monet’s Impressionism. The book that changed her life many years ago. The Louvre board gave her a special gallery for a temporary exhibition. And recently, they’d nominated her for one of the spots on a newly created elite restoration group.

  Now it really looked like any woman who knew her, or knew of her, had reasons to be envious. It did seem like she had it all – the loving husband, the perfect daughter, the baby on the way, the successful career. And she did, didn’t she?

  *

  The whole family planned to meet at Le Petit Coin to celebrate Dominique’s latest success and to have the pre-Christmas dinner, as they did every year. Lisa, Dominique, Vincent and Anne arrived first and waited for JJ.

  Dominique’s heart always shrank when she sat at that table. Their table. ‘Best view in town.’ She heard the words as if only days had passed, not years. A lifetime ago.

  ‘I told you not to put up so many Christmas lights,’ she said jokingly to Constance. ‘The entire street is in complete darkness. Did you blow the fuses in the neighborhood? You’ll get sued if a clumsy Parisian breaks a leg on the ice.’

  ‘You know I like to dress up the place. They should come in and have fun, not stay outside in the dark,’ Constance said and laughed.

  They all sat at the table in the corner, bringing more chairs and squeezing in to fit everyone. It was a lovely holiday dinner, prepared by their very own ‘world-famous chef de cuisine’, as Vincent called Constance.

  But during dinner, there was a moment. A fleeting moment when Dominique felt compelled to turn and look at the window behind them. Only a moment.

  *

  ‘You didn’t know he was there, did you? But why? I thought you always felt his presence.’

  ‘It had been so long since I stopped believing, since the dreams went away, and I got good at pretending there was no unbreakable bond. I had been living an ordinary life for four years. A comfortable, no-surprises, ordinary life. I loved Vincent in my own way, and we had a good thing going. It wasn’t what I had dreamed of, but dreams, I convinced myself, were just that. Dreams.’

  I close my eyes for a moment. ‘When we look back, whether it’s something we did five minutes or sixty years ago, we all think we know what we should’ve done. When we look at others making wrong decisions, we shake our heads and say, “I would never. I’m better than that.” We all want to believe we’re special or extraordinary in some way. But the reality is, for most of us at least, what makes us truly extraordinary is the love we have for someone, the connection we have with them. If we deny that connection, if we reject that love, we’re ordinary people. Who make ordinary people mistakes. Who have ordinary people faults and who fail to recognize extraordinary, like most ordinary people do.’

  ‘Mamie, you’re anything but ordinary.’

  ‘Yet, that evening, and in the last four years I was painfully ordinary. As soon as I stopped listening to my heart, as soon as I denied the very connection that made me extraordinary, I was.’ I smile. ‘But you know what?’

  Valerie stares curiously.

  ‘That fleeting moment was all it took to bring it all back. And that night I had a dream, for the first time in four years. I felt the connection again. Because that evening, in the coffee shop, although I didn’t want to listen to my heart, I did. I just didn’t know it yet.’

  ‘What did you dream about?’

  *

  In my dream, I was in the coffee shop, at the table, just like I had been that evening. I held my breath.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ I asked Constance.

  ‘What?’ she asked distractedly.

  ‘I thought I heard something.’

  Then Anne came back to the table with Vincent and jumped into my arms. Just as it happened.

  ‘Are you alright?’ asked Vincent.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘That is a dazzling dress. Let me see you, dear,’ said Lisa and I did a pretend pirouette. A few minutes later JJ was wheeled in by his live-in nurse and everyone sat at a table, eating Constance’s amazing holiday specials. In my dream, everything was happening exactly like it had a few hours before. Well, not exactly. They all enjoyed themselves. Except for me. I felt the need to be alone. Pregnancy moods, I told Vincent and Constance.

  I didn’t know what made me feel so sad, but it wasn’t the hormones. I walked to the window and stood there, looking out, although I couldn’t see anything past my reflection.

  I touched the window and instead of a
frozen glass I felt a warm – in a way familiar –touch. My heartbeat accelerated; my body shivered. ‘This can’t be,’ I whispered.

  I ran outside. It was cold and pitch black.

  I sat on the curb and tried to calm my beating heart. I thought I was losing my mind. There was nothing there. Just darkness, shadows and freezing wind.

  And then a silhouette appeared right next to the café’s window.

  ‘Only you. Always,’ I heard.

  ‘Only you. Always,’ I echoed, fighting back the tears.

  Then I woke up.

  PART X

  ‘Nothing is real but dreams and love.’ — Anna de Noailles

  ANTHONY

  11 JANUARY 1974

  CAMBRIDGE

  He tried to convince himself nothing had changed. Anthony had built himself a full life, and who was he to ruin all that?

  It had been weeks since the board had approved the plan and given him the money; he needed to show them they weren’t making a mistake by trusting him.

  No more running after impossible dreams, Alexander, Anthony, whatever your name is, he said to himself. It’s time to live in the real world. Make the best of what you have.

  The first step was to recruit the best specialists. The core team would have fifteen members and Anthony looked over the list he received from the Louvre that had over 250 candidates. People from all over the world: sculptors, painters, auctioneers, scholars, young, old. How would he choose? The organization’s headquarters was at the Louvre, as requested by the board, and that was fine with him, but one thing he couldn’t do was to accept their offer for a permanent office there. ‘I will be traveling so much I will not need it. Besides, I still have my restoration workstation at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge, and it’s only fifteen minutes from where I live. Makes more sense.’

  The board didn’t insist. Thankfully. He couldn’t very well show up at the Louvre one day and risk running into her and Cambridge seemed far enough. Safe enough.

  Anthony sat at his desk with the list in front of him, along with piles of résumés and portfolios. Aaron Johnson. Diane Wills. Francis Gerber. Flora Garcia. Dominique Saint Germain. L.B. Brown.

  He stopped. Dominique. His Dominique. No, not his. Vincent’s Dominique.

  He read her résumé twenty times. Of course, she had to be the perfect candidate. Associate curator at the Louvre, leading restoration projects at The Marmottan. Specialized in Impressionism, an expert in Claude Monet. Dominique Saint Germain. Those initials. D.S.G. It was she who had restored that Monet painting at the Louvre, the Lilies mural. That’s why he’d felt what he felt. How strange our souls are, he thought.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ he said and moved her résumé and portfolio to the rejection pile. Then his hand went back and hovered over the envelope. ‘No. I shouldn’t. Being that close to her, the pain would be unbearable.’

  A few candidates later… ‘But is it correct to dismiss her because I can’t control my feelings? From what I see she is the most deserving to be on the interview list.’

  He groaned. ‘Think of what you’re saying, Anthony. Interview her face to face. Is this how you want Dominique to find out you’re alive? And what for? You will undoubtedly ruin her life and you have no right to do that. You have 249 other people to choose from.’ Anthony stopped. He had been talking to himself out loud while his intern stood in the doorway looking at him.

  ‘Is everything alright?’ asked the young man.

  ‘Yes. Fine. I have decided not to interview the candidates. Please let our contact at the Louvre know. I will send them a test and will hire the ones who pass.’

  The boy left.

  ‘Now what? What is the test? You are getting yourself in trouble. You just can’t stay away from her, can you?’ he said out loud, noticing too late the boy was there again.

  Embarrassed, Anthony laughed.

  ‘When should I say you will be sending out the tests?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘And when should they send them back by?’

  ‘I don’t know. Give them a week. Say, 18 January?’

  He spent the rest of the day and night writing and erasing. The test was either too hard, too easy, too close to Dominique’s skillset, or too far from it. Finally, he settled on one.

  ‘Only a handful will pass, at best, and then I will get a new set of candidates and that’s that,’ he said to himself, sealing the envelope before he could change his mind.

  *

  A few days later, he started receiving envelopes. Did he go through all of them three times looking for Dominique’s? Probably more than that. Her name wasn’t there. On the day of the deadline, he had fourteen candidates who had passed the test. Dominique’s envelope was nowhere to be found. Only one spot left on the team and she hadn’t sent in her answers.

  On that last day, five more envelopes came in the mail. No, No, No, No… Yes.

  The last one had all the correct answers. No name on the test. He checked the back of the envelope. Sender: Dominique Saint Germain.

  DOMINIQUE

  22 FEBRUARY 1974

  PARIS

  After the holidays Dominique went back to the Louvre and to her new challenge: the nomination to be part of the European Restoration Initiative – a team of hand-picked, highly skilled art specialists, led by a restoration master and professor at Cambridge University.

  It all sounded amazing and she was excited to start preparing her application for the role until she found out who the team lead was. Anthony Peltz. He was widely regarded as one of the most influential and powerful art historians and restorers in Europe. That was the good news. The problem was his reputation. He was quite the character in the art world: a recluse, difficult, demanding, and always unsatisfied. At one point, she considered withdrawing her name from the list, but on the last day, she decided, for some unknown reason, to give it a chance. She completed the test and sent it to the Louvre, per the instructions received. ‘All correspondence should be addressed to The Louvre Museum, European Restoration Initiative, Mr Anthony Peltz.’

  Much to her surprise, on 21 January, she got the acceptance letter and the contract she needed to sign. Should she? Shouldn’t she? Why put herself through that? But why miss the opportunity? Days went by and Dominique couldn’t decide. She went about handling her regular curator responsibilities, doing her best to pretend the turning point in her career wasn’t dangling in front of her eyes.

  More than three weeks after she received the contract – which she had yet to sign – word came that the first batch of salvaged art from a rundown mansion in Surrey was to be sent by Anthony Peltz to one of the art specialists. Nobody knew which one of the fifteen would be the lucky one. In that batch, there was a Le Havre painting by Monet. Dominique took that as a sign she needed to grow up, get over her insecurities and accept the challenge given to her.

  The Louvre Museum

  European Restoration Initiative

  To Mr Anthony Peltz

  Mr Peltz,

  I want to start off by apologizing for not being able to confirm my involvement in the European Restoration Initiative sooner, due to some pressing matters at Le Louvre.

  I am aware it has been a while since I received the proposal to join the team, but if there is a spot left and the offer is still valid, I would like to offer my services from here on.

  Respectfully,

  Dominique Saint Germain

  The Louvre Museum

  European Restoration Initiative

  To Mrs Dominique Saint Germain

  Dear Mrs Saint Germain,

  I have only heard wonderful things about your work and could use someone with your skills and talents on the team. Your profound knowledge of Impressionist art is something we have been looking for and are currently missing from our organization’s know-how.

  Please rest assured of my deepest gratitude for your offer, which I accept with pleasure.

  Yours truly,

  Anthony Peltz

>   Dear Mr Peltz,

  Thank you for the second chance. I will not disappoint you. I was informed one of the art pieces you have recovered is a Le Havre by Monet, and I want to express my enthusiasm and willingness to take on the lead with the dedicated team that will restore it.

  Please allow me to be the one responsible for bringing it back to life.

  Respectfully,

  Dominique Saint Germain

  Dear Mrs Saint Germain,

  It would be my pleasure to appoint you in charge of the Monet.

  I have made all the arrangements and the painting is scheduled to arrive at the Louvre at 2 p.m. on 22 February. Your presence for the reception of the painting is vital, as it can only be released to the person indicated in the international transit papers. If for any reason you cannot carry out this task, do let me know at once. Don’t forget that once it arrives, it will be your responsibility. Please examine it and send me your recommended restorations. I trust the Monet will be in good hands, Mrs Saint Germain.

  Yours truly,

  Anthony Peltz

  He was giving her the Monet. That was beyond her most optimistic scenarios. All she had to do was show up at the delivery.

  On 22 February, Dominique was coming back from AngeD’Art’s public relations experts, where she negotiated a royal coverage for the incoming Monet. She was running late so she picked up her pace. Once on Rue de Rivoli there was no point in rushing; she was only a couple of minutes from the Louvre. But she couldn’t miss the second chance to make a first good impression. Besides, if she wasn’t there, the painting could not be received. She kept walking fast. Meters from the entrance to the museum, Dominique felt a sharp pain in her abdomen. Then another so strong, she let out a short scream.

  ANTHONY