“Oh, you’re going to get together with them again? When?”
“Next Friday night,” April said. “And I’m to invite you. And Margaux, if you think she’ll come.”
“Penelope invited me—and Margaux, too? Why?” Victor reached over to take her unwieldy portfolio that kept banging against the ground as she walked.
“Why not?” April looked at him in surprise. “Of course she would invite your fiancée if she’s going to invite you.”
His brows furrowed. “But that she would even invite me is not a very French thing to do. I mean, we’ve only met each other once.”
“I think she invited you because she thinks you’re a great guy for coming to my rescue.” April smiled at him, daring him to deny it. It took everything in him to accept the compliment and not try to deflect it.
“All right. When you put it like that. I’m having dinner with Margaux's family on Saturday night, and I’ll see if she’s free to come.” He pressed the button at the crosswalk.
“That’s great,” April said. Her voice sounded faint.
Chapter 17
Victor rang the doorbell, dressed in khaki pants and a navy blue blazer. He had debated on, and finally rejected, the tie. Margaux's father opened the door, stepping back to allow Victor to enter before reaching for his hand.
“Well, Victor,” he said, his voice a mix of what sounded like severity and affection. “It’s good of you to come. We’ve gone as far as we can without your input on planning the wedding.”
Taken aback by the softened greeting when Margaux's father was usually aloof, Victor returned the handshake. “I’m glad to be here, sir. I’m sorry I didn’t make more of an effort before.”
“Well,” Mr. De Bonneville said gruffly, “the important thing is that we’re doing this now. Let me take the time to address this while Margaux is upstairs with her mother and the baby. What did you get her in the way of rings?”
“Rings?” Victor swallowed, feeling his heart plunge.
“Yes. I imagined that, being the resourceful fellow you are, you would’ve already gotten the engagement ring and wedding band. When I asked Margaux about it, she didn’t seem to know. I appreciate this kind of thoughtfulness.” Mr. de Bonneville took Victor by the elbow and steered him toward the living room. “I don’t hold with these modern notions of bringing the fiancée to look at the rings. A man needs to know what he wants, and he needs to understand the lady enough not to make a mess of it.”
He sat, indicating the other chair for Victor. The armchair to his side, rather than the hard-backed sofa across the room. Mr. De Bonneville poured two scotches on the rocks and handed one to Victor, whose mind was now racing.
“Sir, I just want to warn you that I didn’t come prepared to do an engagement ceremony tonight. I have the ring—” Liar, he thought. “—and was planning to give it to her when it’s just the two of us.” He had to stop himself from begging for her father’s approval. No. Better to state it as if that were his intention all along. Where am I going to get a ring? The same place as before, I suppose. But what does she want? Do I get her the same style as last time? She said no last time, you idiot.
“—prepared to give a generous sum for a lavish wedding. You need only pay for the civil ceremony celebration and the honeymoon. My baby will have everything she wants, even if we have to pay extra to have it done on short notice.”
Victor struggled to catch up. “That’s good of you, sir.”
“Where are you taking her on the honeymoon? If Matthias is weaned by then you can leave the baby here, and we’ll hire a nurse to help us. I remember hearing you wanted to go to Singapore.” Margaux's father leaned back and sipped his scotch.
“Yes, I had thought that perhaps…”
“I think Margaux is not opposed to traveling to other places, now that she’s gone off to Monaco. It was her first time leaving the Paris area, you know, except for her yearly trips to her grandmother’s country house. It did her a world of good, because she’s finally ready to grow up and settle down.”
Victor didn’t know how to answer that, so he just said, “Yes, sir.”
It seemed an eternity before Margaux joined them. Madame de Bonneville arrived first, saying in that wispy voice of hers that made you doubt she had ever once raised it, “Margaux is just finishing up bathing Matthias and she’ll be right down.” After greeting Victor, she tucked her skirt under her legs and sat on the hard sofa. She looked at the two men, then at her lap, not seeming to feel any pressure to advance the conversation.
Victor heralded Margaux's arrival with relief. She entered the room wearing royal blue pants and a white flowing top with a matching blue scarf in her hair. It was a lot of color for her—a step away from her usual fashion. Matthias was awake, for once, and cradled against her shoulder, looking around and trying to find his fist to shove in his mouth. When Victor rose to his feet and walked over, Matthias studied him gravely. Feeling foolish, Victor took Matthias's hand with two fingers and shook it. Matthias continued to examine him.
Margaux turned her cheeks to be kissed, and Victor felt the first softening toward her since she’d reappeared in his life. Here she was looking pretty and dainty and holding their baby. He couldn’t imagine her giving birth, that she could be anything but perfectly put together all the time. She seemed approachable like this. Victor remembered how it was when they first went out, when she somehow appeared to choose him over all the men vying for her attention at the select party Victor had been invited to. He had fallen hard.
“Shall we go into dinner, Papa?” she asked. “Can you carry the bouncing seat, Victor? We might be lucky enough to have dinner peacefully without Matthias needing to be held.”
Victor picked up the seat, dutifully, and set it next to her chair. Then, upon second thought, he put the baby seat between his chair and Margaux's. He may as well begin to get to know his son.
“I had our cook prepare mussels and French fries, knowing how much you like them,” Mr. de Bonneville said. “Pierrette, why don’t you go see about bringing in the entrées.”
His faded wife hurried toward the kitchen while Margaux's dad sat. Victor waited until Margaux had settled Matthias in his seat, and was seated herself, before taking his own place.
“Victor and I have not made much headway discussing the marriage,” Mr. de Bonneville told his daughter. “We haven’t gotten to particulars, but he’s figuring everything out. The ring, the honeymoon—everything. I think we’ll set you up in an apartment in the 16th. A quatre-pièce ought to be good enough for a starter apartment since you won’t want more than the two bedrooms for now.”
“Sir, I don’t want to be far from my grandmother. I thought we could stay in my apartment.” Victor leaned back so Margaux's mother could set the cucumber gelatin appetizer in front of him.
“Nonsense,” Mr. de Bonneville replied. “She will understand that young people need to start out fresh. It’s all about looking forward.”
“She would understand it, sir. But I don’t want to do that. My grandmother is the most important person in my life.”
“Young people need to start out properly with their own place. The one they’ve built together,” Mr. de Bonneville insisted, and Victor felt his blood rise. He’d almost forgotten how high-handed her dad could be.
Margaux, always the one to soothe tensions—more, he suspected, from an aversion to conflict than a real desire for peace—cut her father’s imminent tirade with a few quiet words. “We’ll worry about that later, Papa. Let’s start talking about the marriage ceremony.”
As if tamed, her dad shifted gears immediately. “I’ve spoken to the priest at the Madeleine, and he said he has very few dates open in the timeline we want. He’s looking at nine months from now and said you may want to consider baptizing Matthias first. He also said Victor will need to take classes since he’s not Catholic.” He shook his head. “With all these impediments, we’re not going to be ready in the six months we were shooting for.”
>
“I don’t have to be married in the Madeleine,” Margaux said, pushing the cucumbers around on her plate.
The baby started cooing at Victor's side, and he longed to reach over and pick him up, but he didn’t dare. Margaux and her father continued to weigh the benefits of being married in the best church in Paris versus having a speedier option, with her father, surprisingly, opting for waiting. Victor had been certain it was her dad who was pushing for a quick wedding, but now he was not so sure.
Madame de Bonneville brought the mussels to the table, and Victor listened to Margaux and her father discussing the merits of having a reception right in Paris in one of the restaurants overlooking the Seine versus borrowing the chateau of one of their family’s friends. The guests would have to drive an hour and a half after the ceremony, but they could see about putting the more important guests in the chateau itself and finding bed-and-breakfast rooms for the rest of the guests nearby. Victor thought a chateau might be more charming, but no one asked him. The longer they talked without asking him anything, the more perverse his desire was to see how much they would actually plan without his input they had so insisted upon.
He looked over at Margaux’s mother, who was picking the meat out of each mussel shell, not using the empty shell as clamps as his grandmother had taught him, but with an escargot fork. She was quiet as she ate, and looking for all appearances to have no other thought in her head than what she was eating. He wondered what would happen if he pushed his chair back, walked over to her, and shook her by the shoulders. Would she set her mussel down and pick up another?
Victor's thoughts bounced along in this manner throughout the dinner, the salad, the cheese platter, the macarons and the digestif. Amazingly, Margaux and her father did not solicit his opinion once, except to ask how many people he planned to invite. He had prepared that list, at least. It was not extensive. His grandmother. His father and whoever his father’s plus one would be in six—or nine—months’ time, depending on whether they waited for the Madeleine to be available, a few former colleagues from the time before he began training under his father…and he would invite his high school friend, though he had indeed run off with Victor's girlfriend at the time. The humiliation had lessened now that he had Margaux to show for it. A somewhat hollow victory, on second thought.
After dinner, with Matthias making happy noises in his bouncy seat, the four of them sat in the living room for one round of cards, after which Mr. de Bonneville rose and indicated for his wife to do the same. “I will leave you two lovebirds to spend some time alone together. I’m sure you have much to discuss.”
“Thank you.” Victor stood and grasped the older man’s hand. “Bonne soirée, Mr. de Bonneville.”
“You may call me Baudouin,” Margaux's father replied. “You’re marrying my daughter.”
Victor almost fell over in shock. He thought her father would remain Mr. de Bonneville until the day he died. “Well. Goodnight then, Baudouin.”
Mrs. de Bonneville faded away behind her husband, and he and Margaux were left alone with the baby, who started to fuss. Margaux picked Matthias up and leaned over to hand him to Victor. “Here. You’d best get used to this, I think.”
Victor took the baby by his soft, pliable torso, terrified that he would drop him. He held the baby aloft in front of him, the baby’s eyes level with his. He watched as Matthias put his fingers in his mouth, his unblinking stare on Victor.
“Bonjour, bébé,” he said in a silly voice, feeling for all the world like a fool. The baby continued to examine him, and Victor settled him more comfortably on his lap, leaning the baby in the crook of his arm and staring at him. Margaux watched them quietly. “Mah-tee-yas,” Victor said, enunciating each syllable of the baby’s name. “Mah-tee-yas.” He forgot Margaux was there, lost in the expressive eyes of his son.
Then Victor's world shifted. Matthias gurgled and gave a wide, toothless grin. Stunned, Victor wondered if the smile could be meant for him. “Mah-tee-yaaaaas,” he said again, drunk with the victory of making the baby smile. Matthias's gurgle turned into a shriek of laughter, and he kicked his legs. Victor was so surprised he stopped making faces and peered at the baby.
“He’s laughing?” he said. “He can laugh?”
Margaux shook her head with a smile of her own. “He’s laughing. And yes, you did it.”
Having expended the energy, Matthias appeared sleepy and lifted his fingers to his mouth again. Victor guided the baby’s hands to help him along. “He’s really cute,” he said.
“We should spend more time together,” Margaux said. “We’ve not had much of it between you taking care of April and me planning the wedding. But if we’re going to get married, we need to make up for the lost time. Are you working a lot this week? Any new deals?”
Victor shifted the baby when he started to fuss again, then gave up and handed him back to Margaux, who soothed the infant with automatic movements. “Actually, I may as well tell you. I’m talking with the owners of Martin et cie—a subsidiary of Brunex. We’re discussing my coming on as a manager for the business when they give up full control.”
“Manager? What do you mean? When would you find time to do that? I mean, I can understand taking on more work than what you currently have, but how many hours a week would you have to put into it?”
“See, that’s the thing.” Victor exhaled, unsure of how much to share of this quiet dream of his. He supposed if they were going to be married he should be forthright. “I’m thinking of taking a year’s sabbatical from turning companies to try to manage one. I think I would be good at it, and I might even take it further than if I just sold it as is—”
“That’s a crazy idea,” Margaux said. “What would we live on?”
“I do have savings…”
“Yes, but they’d get eaten up before we can blink. I have a baby now. It’s not about just the two of us.” Margaux bounced Matthias in her arms in short jerking motions.
We have a baby now, Victor thought, but he was too tired to argue. “Well, it was just a thought.”
Margaux remained silent, as she put Matthias back in the bouncing seat and turned on a gentle rocking motion. “Shall we plan to go out and do something together soon? I don’t know, dinner or dancing? Like I said, I think we should be spending more time together.”
“We’ve been invited to dinner. I’ve been meaning to tell you. It’s hosted by one of April’s friends from the art studio, and she made sure to say that both you and I are invited. We don’t have a lot of friends in common, so why don’t we go?”
“April again.” Margaux's eyes snapped. “She appears a lot in our conversations.”
“April is my friend, nothing more.” Anxious to change the subject, Victor added, “Her friend, Penelope Duprey, is really nice. I think you’ll like her.”
“Penelope Duprey?” Margaux shot him a look of surprise. “I think I know her. We might have gone to school together. How old is she?”
Victor shrugged. “She looks about our age, I guess.”
Margaux smoothed the embroidered velvet on the arm of her chair, and Victor found himself holding his breath, hoping she would agree to the plan. He couldn’t explain to himself precisely why he wanted to go.
Finally, Margaux looked up, apparently decided. “I haven’t seen her in years. When is it?”
Victor quietly exhaled. “Friday next week.”
“All right,” Margaux said. “Because it’s Penelope, I’ll go.”
Chapter 18
The studio opened up again a week later, and by now, April’s fear that her painting was missing had reached a fevered pitch. She hadn’t told anyone about it, hoping that Penelope had just overlooked it among the other paintings. Penelope arrived five minutes later and came to stand beside April as she pulled the paintings, one by one, out of the stock. When April reached the last one, she swallowed in fear and disappointment. “It’s not here. Do you think Françoise might have moved it?”
“We’ll
ask her when she gets in,” Penelope replied, troubled. “It’s got to be here somewhere. Who would have taken it?”
April turned to look at her. “I’ll be honest. I’m afraid Lucas figured out where I study, and that he broke in and stole it. He knows which painting is mine since he watched me work on it.”
Penelope shook her head. “I don’t think so. We would’ve heard something if there was a break-in. Does Ben know it’s missing?”
“I haven’t seen him all week, although he called a couple of times, and I haven’t had a chance to call him back. I’m not sure what’s going on with him, though. He’s been weird around me lately, and even before the break, he was skipping some of the classes. It’s like he’s lost interest in studying or something.”
“Maybe he thinks you lost interest in him, so painting is less fun now.”
“I was never interested in Ben, you know.”
“Oh yes, I know.”
April decided not to ask what that tone of voice was meant to imply and carried her other painting to the easel in the corner where she could work undisturbed. She couldn’t do anything about her lost painting until she’d spoken to Françoise, but she could work on completing this one, and maybe sort through how she was feeling about everything. She just needed a little time alone to think and paint. Penelope didn’t seem to pick up on her need for solitude, though, because she eventually came to where April was and stood over her canvas.
“How are your cooking lessons with Mishou going?”
April finished filling in the edge of the green shrub, then looked up. Penelope had put her canvas on the easel next to April’s and was smiling at her. April felt a rush of affection. Solitude could be overrated at times, and she was glad to have Penelope for a friend. “Good. I’ve learned two dishes, and I’ll be bringing a tarte à la moutarde on Saturday night.”
A Friend in Paris Page 14