Someday in Paris

by Olivia Lara

  There was love and suffering in her words. So many things he didn’t know about Dominique. She called JJ her mentor and the father she never had. When did that happen? wondered Anthony. It’s not only the physical time I missed. It’s a big part of her life, a part I should’ve been in.

  The news about JJ brought tears to Anthony’s eyes. He loved JJ. He had been like a father to him too, even before his father had died. He was always the one man he could count on, his support system, the voice of reason. Even when JJ was wrong, he did it all out of love.

  Anthony put the letter down. She was taking him home the next day. He still had time. What harm could that do now? He hadn’t wanted to risk seeing his godfather before, because he was terrified JJ, with all his good intentions, would have told Dominique he was alive. But now… he had to go. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t. He would go and see him, just for a few minutes, thought Anthony, and without wasting time, got in his car. He drove without stopping and seven hours later he arrived, as the sun was setting.

  He went straight to the hospital and after, convincing the nurses he was JJ’s nephew who had come all the way from England to see his ailing uncle, Anthony slowly opened the door and stepped in, hesitatingly.

  JJ looked even smaller than in the photo, and he had aged not by ten years but by twenty or more. His face was shriveled, and he’d lost weight. Even in his sleep, his mouth twisted in pain.

  Seeing that powerful, strong man reduced to a sack of bones, his brilliant mind emptied and wondering idly, crushed Anthony. Losing his father as a young man had been painful but also abrupt and unexpected. Watching JJ suffer was torture.

  He approached the bed and heard JJ’s irregular breathing. The moment he touched his hand, JJ opened his eyes wide and fixated on Anthony. Anthony was startled for a moment although he knew his godfather couldn’t see him.

  ‘You came. I was hoping you would. I almost lost hope,’ JJ said, weakly.

  Anthony froze. What did he mean by that?

  ‘Where have you been? What took you so long?’

  ‘I’m here now,’ said Anthony in a calming tone.

  ‘They said you were dead but—’ A tear rolled down his cheek.

  ‘It’s alright, don’t think about that now.’

  His presence was upsetting JJ. He shouldn’t have come. He’d made things worse; what a selfish thing to do.

  ‘Please forgive me. Will you forgive me? Say you do.’ JJ sounded frantic.

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive, nothing,’ said Anthony and caressed his cold forehead.

  ‘I should’ve done more. And then they told me you were dead. For years I felt responsible,’ he said, making a visible effort to speak.

  ‘It’s not your fault. Nothing is your fault. It just happened; it was an accident.’

  Was he talking about him? Did he know who he was? Dominique said in one of her letters that JJ had been reminiscing about Leonard quite a lot recently. Maybe he thought he was Leonard. After all, JJ’s mind was not what it used to be.

  ‘An accident.’ The corners of his mouth turned up in a tiny smile. ‘So many accidents. My poor girl. An accident too. I mourned for her, I mourned for her. I was such a bad father.’

  Anthony didn’t know what he meant. ‘Who, JJ?’

  ‘My poor Nicole. Such a shame, a young, beautiful life lost. So many accidents,’ he repeated.

  ‘Nicole is dead?’ asked Anthony in a raised voice, unable to hide his shock.

  ‘Dead. Dead,’ he repeated.

  Was JJ lucid or was he delusional? In all the emotional rollercoaster of getting his memories back, it hadn’t crossed Anthony’s mind to look up Nicole. He’d just assumed she was somewhere, happily married to someone, away from JJ and his world.

  She was dead. His best friend. No matter what happened at the end between them, no matter how they parted ways, he had never stopped caring about her.

  A tear ran down Anthony’s cheek, while JJ sobbed quietly.

  He took JJ’s hand in his and comforted him.

  ‘I don’t want to forget. I have forgotten so much,’ JJ said.

  He wanted to show something to Anthony but couldn’t and ended up doing a jerky movement of his whole body.

  ‘Can you open that drawer there? There’s a book in it. Take it, it’s yours.’

  He seemed to try to remember something.

  ‘In it is everything you need, everything you’ve been searching for all this time,’ he said to Anthony, who thought these were the ramblings of an old man who was no longer in touch with reality.

  He took the book. It was a copy of Monet’s Impressionism. How ironic, Anthony thought. He’d left his copy at Zara’s house, many years before, hoping that she would eventually find it and understand what it all meant. What she meant to him. And she would come looking for him. How many times he dreamed that, somehow, the book would bring them together.

  ‘I trust you will know how to find what you are looking for. Even if you don’t know you’re looking for it.’

  Anthony opened it, to see what was on the first page. He knew it couldn’t be the same copy, but for some reason, he still wanted to check.

  No. It wasn’t the same. But it did say something on the inner cover. ‘From JJ to A.P.’

  ‘Not now,’ said JJ as if he saw him.

  Anthony immediately closed the book.

  ‘Wait until after I’m gone. It shouldn’t be long now.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that,’ said Anthony, trying to believe what he said.

  ‘It’s alright. It’s time. I’m tired,’ JJ said.

  Anthony kissed his godfather’s forehead as JJ seemed to fall back asleep.

  The tiny old man smiled, the kind of smile people have when they say goodbye.

  DOMINIQUE

  13 JUNE 1974

  PARIS

  Dominique kept her promise and made JJ’s birthday celebration one to remember. The biggest reward had been the joy in JJ’s tired eyes. Being able to do one last thing for the man who had been by her side all those years, who’d helped and supported her, given her a sense of family and a home, made her happy. She couldn’t repay him for all the good things he’d done for her, but she could show him how much he was loved. They all got him presents and Constance cooked his favorite dishes.

  JJ’s last days were peaceful and warm, filled with love and laughter.

  They lost him on the stormy night of 13 June 1974. He died quietly in his bed, surrounded by the people who loved him and cared for him until the last moment.

  Although Dominique had known what was coming, it was still a hard, sad time and both she and Vincent did their best to shelter their daughter from it.

  But JJ had been in Anne’s life from the start, and the void left by his departure could not easily be filled. She wanted to hear stories about Grandpère, from his youth, stories he told Dominique on many evenings by the fire or outside in the garden. About his time in Switzerland, at the boarding school of La Rolande – a coincidence which quite shocked Dominique – his trips around the world, the time when he had met his wife, his career in the art world. More and more, Anne seemed interested and quite fascinated with La Rolande and kept asking her parents why she was not going to the same school as Grandpère.

  A couple of days before he died, JJ called Dominique into his room and said he wanted to talk to her. Dominique smiled, remembering days long gone when she and JJ would lock themselves in his office and plan to conquer the world.

  ‘I have something for you,’ JJ said and asked Dominique to bring an envelope from his desk. ‘I cannot give you what you wish for the most, but I wanted to make sure I at least give you a comfortable life,’ he said and smiled absently.

  ‘I don’t know what to say. Thank you! Do you want me to open it now?’

  ‘Wait until I am gone. It shouldn’t be long now.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that,’ said Dominique, upset.

  ‘You sound just like Leonard.’

&n
bsp; ‘Who?’

  ‘Leonard. He came to see me,’ said JJ, and Dominique sat on the side of his bed.

  ‘Who’s Leonard? I’ve never heard you talking about him,’ she said.

  ‘But you did, a long time ago. Leonard, Alexander’s father.’

  Alexander’s father? The only thing she knew was that he had been JJ’s best friend and he died when Alexander was a teenager. But neither Alexander nor JJ ever gave her details about what happened to him. She didn’t even know his name until then.

  ‘I was sure he wasn’t dead.’

  ‘Who?’

  Dominique knew right away JJ was having one of his episodes when he couldn’t distinguish reality from fiction. She smiled like she always did when he went down that path.

  JJ ignored her. ‘I didn’t want to tell you, but I knew. Deep down, I believed it, but I didn’t want to say anything. He said he isn’t upset and he forgave me. He said it was just an accident,’ said JJ in one breath.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Dominique, hoping that would be the end of it.

  ‘I gave him something as well. Something I’ve been holding on to for a long time. It was his to begin with; I just returned it. For him and his boy. That child deserves the best in this world. How much I loved him,’ said JJ and sighed.

  Hearing JJ talk about Alexander, and seeing how much JJ still loved him after all those years, made her feel less lonely in a way. She and JJ were so alike; it was as if their hearts were made from the same mold. Two hearts still beating for Alexander.

  ‘I’m so glad you sent him to me. I don’t know how else I would’ve found him,’ he said.

  ‘I didn’t send anyone. Where did you meet this man?’ she asked, wondering if she encouraged his delusions.

  ‘I don’t remember. I don’t know.’ He sounded frustrated.

  Dominique sighed. She didn’t mean to cause him pain. She’d thought it was better to play along than to ignore him, but she was obviously mistaken.

  ‘I know. In the hospital. You told him I was there, didn’t you?’ said JJ all of a sudden.

  ‘In the hospital?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it,’ said JJ. ‘He came to see me in the hospital, right before you brought me home. What have I been trying to tell you? You’re not listening to me, young lady,’ he said and smiled.

  Dominique didn’t tell anyone. The only other person who knew JJ had been in the hospital, except for their family and close friends, was her boss, Anthony Peltz.

  ANTHONY

  20 JUNE 1974

  CAMBRIDGE

  When he returned from Paris, Anthony went home and as usual, when he was distraught, straight to his study.

  Mary knocked on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ he said and quickly wiped the tears with the back of his hand.

  ‘I thought you could use this,’ she said and brought him a tray with tea and some biscuits.

  ‘Thank you, Mary.’

  She sat on a chair across from the desk, looking at him.

  She usually didn’t linger, especially if he seemed preoccupied. Unless he wanted to talk, and then they would both drink their tea and eat their biscuits. And talk. And talk. They hadn’t done that much lately.

  ‘I saw the address of the hospital in Paris,’ she said. ‘On your notepad there. I didn’t mean to spy, it’s just that I’ve been worried about you lately.’

  He smiled sadly.

  ‘I just found out someone I cared for deeply has died. And because that wasn’t enough, someone equally dear to me is gravely ill and he’s probably going to die as well, soon. I went to say goodbye.’

  She nodded. ‘Someone from your old life?’

  Anthony lifted his eyes and looked at her. ‘My old life?’

  ‘The one when you weren’t Anthony Peltz,’ she said. There was no anger or betrayal in her tone. It was simply a statement.

  ‘How did you—’

  ‘I didn’t. Until now,’ she said. ‘But I always suspected, I guess.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

  ‘I thought you would tell me when you were ready.’

  ‘That I was a fraud?’ he said sadly.

  ‘I never thought you were a fraud. It didn’t take me long to figure out there was something in your past… something that you either didn’t want to remember or couldn’t. And those nightmares you kept having, they just confirmed it. You are anything but a fraud. You are the most honest person I know.’

  ‘You know I stole someone’s wallet once?’

  ‘I’m sure that if you did that, it was because you didn’t have any other options.’

  ‘Oh, Mary,’ said Anthony, broken-hearted.

  He wrung his hands, not knowing where to start.

  Mary poured herself some tea and pulled the chair next to him.

  ‘Why don’t you start,’ she said, as if she could hear his thoughts, ‘by telling me what your name is.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘My name is – was – Alexander Roberts.’

  He then told her what happened.

  Mary listened, and from time to time, he saw her looking away for a few moments, then wiping her cheek with the back of her hand.

  When he was done, Mary was sniffling quietly, and her eyes were puffy and red.

  ‘Poor, poor man,’ she said and the pain in her eyes hurt him even more. ‘What are you going to do? Are you going to get her back?’

  ‘I can’t do that to her, Mary. She’s married; she has a daughter. A family of her own.’

  ‘But you love her.’

  ‘And that’s why I have to let her go. Because I love her. And I want her to be happy.’

  She sniffled again.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Alexander, for everything you’ve been through. My heart is breaking for you.’

  ‘Anthony,’ he said. ‘I am Anthony. I haven’t been Alexander in ten years. And I will never be Alexander again. That life is gone. It’s gone and I can never get it back. Just like I can never get Dominique back. She’s moved on with her life, as she should. I am but a memory.’

  The phone rang. He was needed at the Fitzwilliam.

  ‘I want you to be happy,’ said Mary as he was on his way out. ‘You deserve to be happy.’

  ‘Happy…’ repeated Anthony lost in thought. ‘I don’t think happy is in the cards for me,’ he said and, after hugging her and assuring her he would be alright, Anthony left.

  He was barely in front of the house, when she caught up with him.

  ‘Don’t give up. You love her unconditionally. You loved her even when you didn’t remember her. You love her and she loves you. That is so rare, Anthony. Fight for that love.’

  He smiled as he walked away. ‘Yes, she loved me. Loved, not loves. Goodbye, Mary. I will see you later.’

  DOMINIQUE

  15 JULY 1974

  PARIS

  A month after JJ’s passing, Dominique finally opened the envelope he had given her. In it was his testament. Anne would inherit AngeD’Art when she was of age. Until then it was to be managed by an appointed administrator. Dominique inherited JJ’s priceless collections of paintings, drawings and sketches, the mansion in Paris and a lump sum she could’ve used to buy a private island of her own easily. The rest of the money went to an art organization based out of Milan and to an unnamed account at a private bank in Switzerland.

  He kept his promise and made sure they were well taken care of and beyond. So he was still somewhat lucid when they had that strange conversation before he died. There might be some truth to his story and for some reason, her thoughts kept going back to Anthony Peltz.

  Dominique wondered why she felt the need to talk to that man, to share with him details she wouldn’t share with anyone else. He never told her anything about his life despite multiple attempts to get him to open up, to make him come to the Louvre at least once, to meet him. She got the sense he was never in one place very long, with all the travel to find artwork that needed their help. Yet somehow he was always there, so
mewhere, answering her letters without delay. Never giving her too much or too little. Just enough to keep her on her toes.

  Why am I thinking about him now? Obviously, Anthony is not the mysterious visitor JJ talked about. That is, if there was such a person and it wasn’t a figment of JJ’s imagination.

  And again, her thoughts went back to him, even when she tried to stop them. And it wasn’t just then. It was a lot lately. Something in their conversations, in the way she imagined him from his letters, something was familiar, soothing but at the same time heartbreaking and unsettling. He was intriguing and interesting, fascinating sometimes and he reminded her of a time long gone, and of feelings she thought had been buried.

  All of that from a man she had never met. He could’ve been forty-five or seventy-five, bound to a wheelchair or a professional runner, married with six children or a confirmed bachelor. Yet, in her imagination, he wasn’t any of those things. He was something else. He was someone else.

  Although she did her best to pretend nothing was happening, Dominique felt guilty most of the time and could barely look her husband in the eye. It wasn’t that she did anything, no, at least she had that peace of mind, but she knew what she felt. She ‘saw’ Alexander in Anthony. That was the truth. His spirit, his passion, his heart. There were moments when she read Anthony’s letters and she could swear she even recognized words and expressions.

  Dominique realized how that would sound to any normal person out there. How that would sound to Vincent. Ridiculous. Pathetic. Desperate.

  If he only knew, after all those years, that she still thought of Alexander, she still loved him – probably much more than she ever did – she still dreamed about him, she still talked to him when she was alone, telling him how she was and how much she missed him.

  If he only knew how in the last months, every time she received a letter from Anthony, she felt she had received a letter from Alexander. Even though she didn’t really think it was possible Anthony was Alexander, she was consumed by the ‘what-if’.