Someday in Paris

by Olivia Lara

  She called him before leaving Colmar and Vincent, although sounding surprised to hear she was coming over, didn’t hesitate to suggest she should stay over at his place for the night. Dominique refused and told him she would instead stay with Constance, which he accepted without insisting.

  In Paris, they met at Champ de Mars. He showed up five minutes late. ‘We need to talk. Will you walk with me?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course. I miss our talks,’ he replied and smiled.

  ‘I’m afraid this might not be a very pleasant conversation. But it’s all up to you.’

  ‘Why? What’s wrong? You sound serious.’

  He sounded and looked a bit nervous. Apprehensive.

  ‘It’s about Leon,’ she said after taking a few steps in silence.

  He stopped. ‘Leon?’

  ‘It’s not you, is it? It’s never been you, Vincent. That was funny. The whole “I was brave like a lion”. I let myself be fooled by it because I so wanted to believe it was you.’

  ‘You wanted to, but you never did fully believe it,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I’m sorry.’ His voice was shaky and he stopped for a moment. ‘I’m sorry I was an idiot and lied to you. I never thought things would get this far. I never thought I would feel as much as I did for you. I was just curious at first and then—’

  ‘You’re not helping your cause, Vincent. If you’re trying to apologize, let’s just leave it at that,’ Dominique said. She wanted to be more mad at him. But, from his demeanor, it was clear he already felt bad. He was already hurt. And he had been hurting for a long time.

  ‘Yes, it is an apology. A heartfelt one, Dominique. You have to believe me. It was such a long time ago. At first, I guess I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Who was the girl Leon was so cuckoo over? Besides, I’d promised I would get back at him if given the opportunity. And I guess that opportunity just fell in my lap. I’d never liked the guy. Because of him, my relationship with Nicole failed miserably. I just thought it was ironic she was in love with him, and he was in love with you. And here I was, minding my own business, and you showed up.’

  ‘So you did all this because you wanted to get back at Leon for getting between you and Nicole?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. Initially. But—’

  ‘But what?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘Then I spent more and more time with you and I fell in love with you, and I just couldn’t tell you the truth without risking losing you.’

  ‘So you continued lying to me all those years? Even after Alexander showed up. You knew he was Leon.’

  ‘I was shocked you didn’t recognize him, to be honest. I thought Colmar would come up in one of your conversations; I thought maybe Nicole would say something. But time passed, and you seemed oblivious. And I… I couldn’t tell you the truth.’

  ‘How could I recognize him? I had never seen him. And I heard his voice for an hour, when we were kids. He was a man when we met again. What you did was cruel,’ said Dominique, feeling both angry and disappointed.

  ‘Cruel? I loved you. I really loved you. And if he was the one for you, as you so strongly believe, you would’ve recognized him. But you didn’t. I wasn’t about to give you up just for the sake of honesty. I am not a bad man, Dominique, and you know that. All I did was because I loved you. Yes, it was wrong and childish of me – the whole curiosity and revenge thing – but that only lasted for a short while. Remember when I showed up at your house with a big bouquet of flowers and took you out for a picnic? After that day, I knew it wasn’t just about revenge. It was about you and how you made me feel. I was falling for you so fast, it surprised me too.’

  He looked away, then let his head down. He seemed older, tired. Alone.

  ‘I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted us to be together. And I do regret lying to you. I was tempted to tell you the truth. Many times, actually. But after the accident—’

  He stopped walking and looked at her.

  ‘That’s when I thought it would truly be cruel to reveal the truth. What was the point? He was dead and there was nothing anyone could have done to change that.’

  Dominique’s eyes were in tears.

  She was about to tell him, ‘You’re wrong. He’s not dead. He was never dead.’ But she decided against it. They had both been through enough. He’d lied to her; she loved someone else. It wasn’t all black and white. It had never been. And although her first reaction was to be furious with him, now, seeing Vincent and hearing him, she believed him. Maybe she couldn’t forgive him. Not right away. But in time…

  ‘I should go,’ she said.

  He hesitated for a moment. ‘Do you think you could give me ten more minutes?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I want to show you something. I have it at home.’

  ‘I don’t know, Vincent. I really should get going.’

  ‘Just ten minutes,’ he insisted.

  She agreed and followed Vincent back to his apartment, two streets away.

  He led her to his office and invited her to sit.

  ‘What is this about?’ she asked as she sat.

  He took an envelope out of a drawer and gave it to her. ‘This. I think you should read it.’

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, opening it.

  ‘A letter from Nicole that she wrote to me a week or so before she died.’

  She held the paper in her hand. ‘I don’t think I should read it then.’

  ‘Trust me,’ he said.

  Dominique tilted her head to the side. ‘Is this the same letter you presented to the court?’

  ‘And they didn’t admit it as evidence,’ he said sadly. ‘Yes.’

  Vincent,

  I know this is out of the blue. It’s been so many years since I wrote you a letter. Not since our days at La Rolande when you left for Paris. Who would’ve thought then we would end up in this situation? Not me.

  I’ve been thinking a lot about my life lately; what it used to be and what it has become. And about yours too.

  We’ve talked about our guilt over our affair ad nauseam and we’d always refer to it as us cheating on them with each other, but I’m coming to the realization that we were wrong. They cheated on each other with us. And not for a few months, like we did, but for years. They lied to themselves, they lied to us but, ironically, we’re responsible for it. We pretended not to see what was happening, not knowing that even though they might not have recognized each other, in a strange, inexplicable way… they did.

  We never should’ve strayed away from our path and into their lives, because these two were like comets. Blinding, burning fast, and destroying everything in their way and on their way to each other. We lost what we had, chasing the impossible. You can’t make someone love you, no matter what you do. I think we both know that. Why didn’t we realize it sooner? Why didn’t we get out when we still had time? We could’ve been happy together; I think we could’ve. That night at the charity, when you told me who she was, I should’ve grabbed your hand and left.

  I understand now how similar we are. Maybe too similar, and that has been our doom. Loving people who were never ours to love in the first place.

  But now it’s too late. For all of us. That’s the saddest part of all of this.

  Alexander is dead, my father hates me, you hate me, Dominique hates both of us, and an innocent soul has to suffer the consequences of our mistakes.

  I look at Anne and know I must do something to spare her from the same fate I had. If she grows up with me, she’ll become me. I’m sorry I can’t give her to you. I’m really sorry. But I fear that for her sake, you would try to make things work between us. I know you. You are that kind of man. And I couldn’t bear seeing the pain in your eyes. I’ve seen it too many times before… in my father’s eyes, in Alexander’s eyes when I was there and not someone else.

  I think I know what’s best for her, and it will not take me much to make it happen. My father thinks the worst of me anyway; all I have to
do is push him to his breaking point and he will ask me for Anne. I will agree immediately, because it is what he expects me to do.

  That way… Anne will have what I didn’t. She will be raised by him; she will get a chance to redo the life I so sadly failed at.

  I want you to know, without a doubt, that I loved you. And, as much as you don’t want to hear this, I loved him too. But I didn’t love you enough to hold on to you, and I didn’t love him enough to let him go.

  But I love her enough!

  It will break my heart to be parted from her, but I must do this. And I hope you will understand. I hope you will accept it in time.

  I don’t know why I am telling you all this. I guess I wanted to make sure you would understand when you found out, and you wouldn’t be surprised. And don’t be sad, whatever happens; know that everything happens for a reason and it’s for the best.

  Nico

  Dominique had tears in her eyes. ‘Do you think she—’ She couldn’t say it. ‘Do you think her death wasn’t an accident?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Back then, they were saying so many things about her. I never imagined what happened with Anne was her own planning. I guess I never really knew her.’

  ‘I wonder if anyone truly knew her.’

  Dominique sighed. ‘She thought I hated her and that makes me sad, because I didn’t hate her. I felt sorry for her and—’

  ‘And you felt sorry for me,’ he said sadly.

  She looked down.

  ‘Nico was right though. We should have never done what we did. So many lives were changed because of that.’

  ‘Yes, they were.’

  ‘Don’t hate me,’ he said, almost begging her. ‘Please, don’t. I don’t think I could live with myself knowing you hate me. I know I made a mistake. But I never meant to hurt you, Dominique. Please believe that. I loved you. Yes, I was selfish, but I never had bad intentions.’

  She nodded, looked at him one more time, then turned around and left.

  So many years she had lost. They both knew. They had known from the beginning. If only they had told them.

  So many years she would never get back with Leon. But what about all the years ahead?

  ANTHONY

  4 DECEMBER 1974

  CAMBRIDGE

  Anthony had decided he needed a change of scenery, at least for a while. He would travel more so than usual and didn’t plan on returning to England for a few months.

  It was early December when he came back home for the first time in almost three months, and Mary was waiting for him at the door.

  She helped him unpack and poured two glasses of wine for them to celebrate his return.

  He had missed her, and he’d missed home too.

  She called for him from the other room. ‘Before I forget. I have these letters from October and November. Some have been forwarded from the Louvre. What do you want me to do with them?’ she asked.

  ‘Old mail? Just throw it,’ Anthony said, but a moment later changed his mind. ‘Wait! Better yet, put everything in a box. I’ll look at it later.’

  She was about to leave for the night, but in the doorway, she stopped.

  ‘On, and one more thing. Isn’t JJ the man you told me about? Your godfather?’

  ‘Yes. He was. Why?’

  ‘I was arranging your shelves the other day saw an inscription on one of the books—’

  ‘What book?’

  ‘Not sure, something with flowers on the cover.’

  ‘An inscription?’ he repeated.

  ‘It said something like “from JJ to AP”. You told me to stack your old books but I didn’t know if you meant that one too.’

  ‘Where is it?’ he asked, and Mary showed him a pile of boxes in the corner. ‘In there, somewhere.’

  He searched every single box. The book JJ had given him in the hospital and told him to wait before opening it. He had done as he was asked but when it was time to look at it, he couldn’t find it anymore.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ she said and quietly closed the door.

  ‘Found it!’ he yelped.

  Anthony cleaned his desk and moved the box of old mail – that he had no real intention of opening – next to the door, to make room for the book. He opened it and flipped the pages slowly, carefully. A small envelope taped to the inner cover and some notes on different pages.

  ‘Here goes nothing,’ said Anthony.

  1 December 1969

  Dear Mr Jean-Jacques Angers,

  Please be informed our agent in Milan has located another painting that matches the given description, and, per your instructions, he has initiated the transaction without delay.

  The buy will need to be listed but we took every possible safety measure to ensure your privacy is protected. The transaction will be cataloged as a private sale and the name of the buyer is under private collection/anonymous so there will not be any associations between your name or your company’s name and the painting.

  The artwork has been securely transferred to Banque Hottinguer under the name you indicated, alongside the others.

  As always, a pleasure doing business with you.

  Giuseppe M. Bartolomeo

  He browsed the book again, not knowing exactly what to look for. On page 77 he found the initials again, A.P., and a series of numbers written in pencil, in JJ’s handwriting: 381209 and on page 144 another set: 120964.

  ‘One or more paintings, A.P., a bank name and two sets of numbers,’ said Anthony out loud, trying to make sense of it all. ‘I trust you will know how to find what you are looking for. Even if you don’t know you’re looking for it.’ JJ’s last words to him echoed.

  Was he talking about the writings in the book and the letter? How strange it was that the same book reappeared in his life, twenty years later. True, not the same copy he had as a child. This must’ve been JJ’s copy. And he’d given it to him. Yet again. Anthony closed his eyes and remembered the inscription on the first book, the one he’d gifted Zara.

  8 June 1954

  Dear Leonard,

  Give this book to your boy. When the time is right, it will change his life.

  Your friend,

  Jean Jacques D’Angers

  ‘JJ was right, the book did change my life,’ he said and smiled. ‘And now, somehow, it has come back to me. To change my life again? I wonder…’

  ANTHONY

  6 DECEMBER 1974

  ZURICH

  The last couple of days had been a whirlwind. Armed with the book, the letter and the codes, Anthony got in his car and drove to Zurich. He got to the bank shortly before closing, and in the most casual tone possible, asked to discuss something confidential with the branch manager.

  The manager invited him to his office. ‘Could I please have the name on the account?’ he asked after closing the door behind him.

  Anthony hesitated for a second. What if they asked for ID?

  ‘Alexander Price?’

  The man nodded slightly, then asked, ‘May I please have the code?’

  Anthony took a deep breath.

  ‘I have two actually,’ he said, testing the waters.

  ‘You are correct. May I please have the codes?’

  ‘They are 381209 and 120964.’

  ‘Please follow me,’ the manager said and took Anthony to a vaulted room.

  ‘Someone will be with you shortly. Thank you for your business, Mr Price. It is truly an honor to finally meet you,’ the man said then left the room quietly.

  Anthony could hardly believe what was happening. It was all like a passage from one of the adventure books he read as a child.

  A young woman followed by a man, twice Anthony’s size, brought in three huge flat boxes and laid them on a long metal table. The woman placed a small box on the table as well.

  ‘If you have any questions, we are outside,’ said the man, before leaving the room.

  Anthony knew what the size and shape of the boxes meant. There were paintin
gs inside, but he didn’t dare hope what paintings he might find. When he opened them, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The painting he had been looking for, ever since he was a child. Only that there were three of them. One in every box. All seemingly identical. It was incredible!

  He’d always known there were four. One, the original, displayed in museums and three gifted to close friends. Never made known to the public. He started laughing. He had all three now, not one. Three incredibly valuable, priceless works of art.

  ‘JJ, you are a clairvoyant,’ he said as if talking to him. ‘This book keeps changing my life. You keep changing my life, old friend.’

  Anthony was both sad and happy. Sad because he was never going to see JJ again, but also happy because he’d gotten to talk to him one last time and hold his hand. They had said their goodbyes.

  ‘The small box,’ said Anthony, almost forgetting about it. ‘What more could I hope for?’

  Inside, there was only an envelope containing a letter.

  Dearest friend,

  I didn’t believe her for the longest time and even as I’m writing this, I still can’t bring myself to fully believe she’s right. But, when someone feels so strongly about something, despite all the odds, despite everyone and everything, despite death and time and distance, when someone believes in love as much as she believes… how can you not? How can you not at least hope she’s right? How can you not hope she knows something you don’t? And so, I too started to hope against hope, alongside her. Because love is a magical thing. And if one thing can bring two people together, that is true love, even if to everyone else it seems impossible.

  If she’s wrong, I don’t want to know. Then this letter will never be read and you, you are not out there anymore. But if she’s right, it means I too will be reunited with my love: my beloved Demetria. Because in love anything is possible. And I want to believe. For you and for me!

  Alas, time is never on our side and it seems I couldn’t wait for you any longer, but do not be sad, my friend. If you are reading this it means that – wherever I am – I am a happy man.