I Looked for the One My Heart Loves (18 page)

30

Anne dreaded the evenings
she had to spend alone with François. Making love became more and more painful. Not only did she not want to have sex with her husband, but going along with it felt like an embarrassing masquerade for both of them. The worst part of it was that François had done nothing wrong. Did he perceive that their relationship wasn't the same as before? No …

Yet, he should have noticed that Anne was always on the go. She still didn't know whether Alexis had been right when he suggested she open her own gallery, but Anne used up most of her free time attending exhibitions, networking with collectors, gallery owners, and artists.

Since she had first invited Simonetta to lunch, the two of them had started getting together on a regular basis, especially since Anne had offered to create an inventory of the work the decorator had kept.

“I'll type the list and send it to you,” Anne said.

“That's nice of you,” Simonetta said, “but I know pretty much what I have.”

“Not everything.”

Receiving news from her lover once or twice a week had improved Anne's appearance, made her look happier. Simonetta noticed. She was more intuitive than Amanda and François combined, and she figured that a man was responsible for the glimmer in Anne's eyes. Not knowing whether she should be happy for Anne or worry about her, she decided to refrain from harping about men's flaws. Her own experience didn't give her the right to discourage those who believed in true love.

Anne planned on going to Cormery to meet her nephew once spring arrived. A few days after Alexis's departure, Bernard and Odile had welcomed a baby boy. Unfortunately, some bad news forced her to leave earlier than planned. Her grandmother had died in her sleep. Even though she had known the old woman didn't have a whole lot of time left, Anne was devastated by the news. With her passing, Anne's most precious link to her childhood vanished. Her grandmother had never judged her, and she had loved her unconditionally. With François driving the car, Anne cried the entire trip. Once in a while, he put a hand on hers, hoping to console her a little. Anne knew she could always count on him. In Cormery, he was by her side as she walked into her grandmother's room. The shutters were closed, and a few candles were burning. Hands clasping a rosary on her chest, Yvonne had become almost unrecognizable to her granddaughter.

Anne didn't stay in the room for long.

“I want to remember her the way she was when she was alive,” she told François. “How nice she was. The way she smiled all the time …”

In order to protect Anne from Monique's overwhelming pain and the incessant visits from family members, friends, and neighbors, François had booked a room in a nearby hotel. As soon as they settled in, they phoned their daughters.

“How's Mama?” Isabelle asked her father.

“She'd like to talk to you girls. …”

Hearing her oldest daughter's voice gave Anne some comfort.

“We shouldn't have stayed in Paris,” the teenager said. “Why did we listen to you?”

“Grandma wouldn't have liked it.”

“You really think so?”

“I'm certain of it. The important thing is that you think about her.”

“We think about her. A lot.”

As soon as she came back to Paris, Anne informed Alexis of her loss. He wrote back a long letter, each word touching Anne's heart.

Though she was still hurting, family and professional duties forced her to get on with her life. Between the death of their great-grandmother and Thomas's departure, the girls were shaken up and in need of attention. Anne made sure to spend Sundays with them. She took them to concerts, on an outing to the Château de Chantilly. Together, they baked the cakes and pies they ate for dessert. It made all three of them feel better.

In early May, Alexis's article on the Bateau-Lavoir was published. He didn't just describe the golden age of the famous building, he managed to bring its bustling atmosphere to life. By a strange coincidence, a fire destroyed most of the Bateau-Lavoir a few days after the magazine went on sale.

Anne wrote her lover:

You almost never got to see the Bateau-Lavoir. They might build it back, though I doubt it. Even if they did, it would be nothing but a pale imitation of the original building.

Anne didn't want to go to the site of the blaze, but Amanda did.

“It's completely destroyed,” she said. Then, talking almost to herself, she added, “Everything I've known is disappearing. …”

“What do you mean, everything?” Anne said.

“Why kid ourselves? I'm from another era. People's tastes change. Hyperrealism is what people are into now.”

“Some people …”

“More than you think. And it's for that reason, among others, that I've decided to sell the gallery. I didn't want to talk to you about it until I'd made up my mind for good.”

“I thought you might want to do that,” Anne admitted.

“Of course, I'll make sure you get a position at another gallery.”

Anne hesitated before saying, “Shouldn't I take the opportunity to open my own gallery? Something modest …”

“I think that's a great idea.”

“I'd have to think about it some more.”

As she said the words, Anne realized that it truly was what she wanted to do. Opening a gallery of her own would give her the freedom she needed.

“If I can do anything to help,” Amanda said.

“No doubt, I'll need your advice.”

Following their conversation, Anne thought about what she could and could not afford. In the early part of the 1970s, most of the top galleries in Paris were on the Left Bank, between the Seine River and Place Saint-Germain-des-Prés. In a perfect world, she would set up shop there, but the rents were way too high. Just to make sure, she consulted a few real estate agents. Everything was out of her price range. And so she considered other parts of town, the Saint-Séverin neighborhood, Montparnasse. Desperate, she turned to the Right Bank. Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré was out of the question, and so she looked into the Ninth Arrondissement, all to no avail.

As the summer break approached, she decided to put her search on hold temporarily. Anne didn't want to go to Cormery because of the painful memories of her grand­mother's passing, and so she and François decided to rent a place in Saint-Jean-de-Luz, on the Bay of Biscay.

“It's a two-story house,” Anne told Agnès. “You and Thomas are more than welcome to join us.”

“That's so nice of you,” Agnès said, “but we were invited to go to Saint-Claude in the Alps.”

“Why Saint-Claude?” Anne asked.

“I met someone. I think it's serious.”

“Why you little sneak! Tell me all about it.”

“Well, he walked into the shop one day, and I helped him pick a photo album … and he asked me out for a drink. The following day, he came back. …”

“He's a free man?”

“His wife dumped him. He's been living by himself for the past two years in Saint-Claude.”

“What was he doing in Paris?”

“He works for a company that sells small refrigerators. Hotels buy lots of them to put in their rooms.”

“Are you in love?”

“No. But I like him a lot. He's loyal, calm, together. I've had it with affairs that lead nowhere.”

“What about your son?”

“They've met. Thomas seems to like him. He agreed to spend part of the summer with us.”

Anne hadn't told François about the gallery. Not knowing that Amanda was getting ready to retire, he wondered why Anne never mentioned forthcoming exhibits anymore. When he finally asked, Anne felt obligated to tell him the truth.

“I find it very strange that you'd keep all that from me,” François said.

“You have enough problems with your planes as it is.”

“What does that have to do with anything? We're talking about you. Your future …” Staring at her with a frown, he said, “Very strange …”

“Don't take it badly.”

“I just don't understand.”

“I wasn't really sure what I wanted to do.”

“And now?”

“I'd like to start my own gallery.”

“It's not a bad idea at all. And I'm ready to help you out.”

He had just uttered the words she'd most feared. How could she make him understand, without hurting his feelings, that she wanted to start her business on her own? Of course, everything would have been easier with his financial support, but she didn't want their lives to be further intertwined.

“Let's see first if I can manage by myself. I have some savings. … And I do own a few artworks.”

Since she had started working at Amanda's, she had made a few wise purchases of drawings, watercolors, and charcoal sketches.

“Why would you want to turn down my offer to help you?” François insisted.

“I just want to see if I can fly with my own wings.”

For the first time, Anne perceived that François was looking at her differently. Was he thinking that his wife no longer corresponded to the image he had formed of her fourteen years earlier? In order to cut the conversation short, she glanced at her watch.

“I have to go pick up Isabelle and Aurélie from tennis!”

Anne did all she could to please her husband during their vacation. Trying to play the part of the perfect wife, she did everything she knew he would like her to do and say. On a number of occasions, she caught him observing her. What questions was he asking himself? Maybe he felt guilty for having dedicated more time to his career than his family … No doubt he thought his wife had become too independent while he had been away on his numerous business trips. With his usual sense of duty, he was probably thinking of ways to make things better, without imagining that it was a lost cause already. In spite of the distance between them and the passing days, Anne breathed, walked, and lived in Alexis's company. Nothing would ever turn her mind away from the painful longing she had for him, which reduced almost everything else to nothing. What she felt for him wasn't so much a connection, but an ongoing dialogue that could not be explained. Did her lover feel the same way? She would know once she opened the letters that were waiting for her in Paris. …

31

On September 1,
Amanda
put up for sale the art gallery that bore her name.

Thanks to word-of-mouth, a few visitors quickly showed up. Anne recognized some colleagues among them. Were they coming to buy the place, or simply to check out the artwork that Madame Kircher would have to sell? So as not to have to answer their intrusive questions, Anne pretended like she was busy on the phone.

She was stuck in this painful situation when a man walked into the gallery.

“Benjamin Baxter!” Anne exclaimed.

“How are you?” Baxter said in English. “My trip to Italy was shorter than I thought, and so I decided to come up to Paris before flying back to San Francisco.”

Anne left her seat to greet the gallery owner and then show him around Amanda's shop.

“There's a feel to this place that I love,” Baxter said. “Very bohemian …”

“Madame Kircher always has done things her way,” Anne said. “All she ever cared about were the artists that she believed in. Once or twice she bent that rule, and that's when things didn't go well.”

Anne walked over to a closet, from which she pulled out an armful of catalogs.

“Those will give you an idea of the artists she launched or promoted over the years.”

Baxter didn't hide how impressed he was as he flipped through the pages.

“If you're not in a hurry,” Anne said, “Madame Kircher should be here soon.”

Thrilled by the American's enthusiasm, Amanda invited him up to her apartment.

When the gallery closed, Anne went up to join them. She found them, glasses of whiskey in hand, standing around a Kandinsky drawing, discussing it.

“Anne prefers white wine over Chivas,” Amanda said, heading for the kitchen to get a bottle of Pouilly.

As the evening went on, Anne realized that her relationship with Amanda would last forever. No matter what happened in the months to come, their mutual respect, affection, and loyalty would prevail. Just as Anne owed Madame Kircher for her introduction into the Paris art scene, the latter could thank her employee for her unwavering dedication all those years.

Benjamin was fascinated by what he was learning about his French colleagues' way of doing business. He was startled to learn that Amanda was selling her gallery.

“What?” he said. “You have no right to do that!”

“I have the right to think about myself and my own health,” Amanda shot back. “I don't have any children to pass the gallery down to. Only a godson who's more interested in money than great works of art. If I don't sell the gallery myself, he's going to get rid of the art any which way. And I'd like to give a few paintings to the nation. That's what my late husband would've wanted me to do. …”

Looking Benjamin straight in the eye, she added, “What prevents you from buying it?”

“This may be my second glass of whiskey,” he kidded, “but my mind is still clear.”

“Wouldn't you like to have a branch in Paris?”

“Yes, but not one as big as your gallery.”

The following day, Anne joined Benjamin at the Café de Flore. Sitting at the terrace, he was enjoying the warm Indian summer air.

“I'm glad I didn't go back to California right away,” he said.

As Anne remained quiet, he continued, “I went to see someone in Naples, someone I was in love with. Things didn't go well at all, and so I left. I figured that a visit to Paris would make me feel better.” Watching people go by, he said, “I just love this neighborhood.”

“Me too,” Anne said. “I'd love to work in this part of town.”

“There are plenty of galleries around here.”

Anne then began telling him all about her project and the steps she had taken.

“Everything is too expensive,” she concluded.

“Find yourself a partner!”

“Like you, for instance?”

Benjamin reacted to her comment the way she had hoped.

“Me?” he said. “Well, that would depend on the actual investment …”

Anne pulled from her handbag the notebook in which she had jotted down all the steps she had taken so far. Benjamin listened closely to what she said, and wrote down a few things in a notebook of his own.

“No doubt, it'd be a good thing for me to have a home base in Paris,” he said.

“The only problem is that we're not putting together the same kind of shows.”

“I wouldn't ask you to do the same as I do. What my collectors buy doesn't necessarily correspond to what I like and what I think is going to be important in the future.”

“I don't have any artists under contract, you know,” Anne said

“We should continue this discussion in a quieter place. Why don't we have dinner together? How about tomorrow?”

Anne studied Benjamin's expression and figured he had other things to do for now. And, as a matter of fact, a young man walked into the café and sat just three tables away from them. …

François was working late, and so Anne invited Benjamin to her place for dinner.

He showed up with a huge bouquet of flowers.

“What a charming apartment!” he said.

“My husband would like to move, but I love this neighborhood. So do our daughters.”

Interrupting their activities, Isabelle and Aurélie came over to quickly say hello to Benjamin.

“It's a bit odd for me to see you as a mother, as a wife,” Benjamin said, once the girls were back in their room.

“What makes you say that?”

“I don't know. … The first time I saw you, you didn't look like a woman stuck in a particular role.”

“That's interesting. …”

So as not to embarrass Anne, Benjamin didn't add that he actually thought, the first time they met, that she looked like a woman who was enjoying a love escapade. It was the glimmer in her eyes, the joy she exuded … Were there two Annes? He was inclined to think so.

While drinking an excellent Château Haut-Brion, they talked about their project, especially its financial aspects. Eventually, Benjamin offered to invest 25 percent in the venture. French and American attorneys would make sure that the transaction went smoothly. Then they would have to write down the company's bylaws, and divide up the shares. As for the works of art, some of them would be exhibited both in Paris and San Francisco.

“We could sign your artist friend from Sausalito,” Benjamin suggested. “It'd be a good start.”

“You're going to have to see his work first. To make sure you like it.”

“Do you think he'll show me his paintings if you ask him to?”

“I think so.”

“In that case, why don't you write him a letter?”

Anne liked the way Benjamin made quick decisions. She also loved his culture and his open-mindedness.

“We hardly know each other,” she said, “and we're about to become business partners!”

“I just feel like I can trust you,” he said.

When she heard the apartment door open, Anne quickly slipped her notebook between the pages of a magazine. This didn't escape Benjamin's notice. He got up to be introduced to François.

“Anne told me you were coming over,” he said. “I would've liked to come home earlier, but my business dinner dragged on forever.”

“We drank an excellent wine,” Benjamin said. “Anne tells me you're a connoisseur.”

As the two men chatted, Anne took the magazine to her bedroom and stashed it in a dresser drawer. As long as things weren't officially settled, she wanted to keep them secret. Since she had not told her future partner not to discuss their project, she was hoping that he wouldn't say anything about it to François. Especially since her husband was going to offer him a glass of cognac. …

Struggling not to fall asleep, she listened to them talk about aeronautics until two in the morning.

“If you're interested,” François told Benjamin, “I could take you on a tour of our factories.”

“I would love that.”

Two days later, Amanda received an offer to buy her gallery. The potential buyers were a couple who were very well known in the art world and who wanted to leave their site on Rue Mironmesnil for a larger gallery in a better location. Amanda turned down their offer.

“You're playing with fire,” Anne told her.

“I always have. And I advise you to do the same when you're running a business of your own.”

Three days later, Amanda received a higher offer from the same couple.

“This time,” the gallery owner said, “I'm going to accept it.”

Before Benjamin headed out to visit the Dassault factories with François, Anne asked him to remain quiet about their possible business partnership. Embarrassed, she said that her husband was in the habit of meddling in her affairs. She probably shouldn't have invited the American over the other evening, she thought. Thankfully, he would soon fly back to California. In two days, he would be walking the same streets as Alexis. Maybe they even went to the same restaurants sometimes. Would the two men meet through Phil and Lizzie? In a letter, Anne informed her lover about her future professional partnership.

Without me even really trying, certain elements are coming into place to shake up my life and give me freedom. By selling her gallery, Amanda is forcing me to make decisions …

To keep from scaring him, she didn't confess that she made every decision with him in mind. As the months passed, being away from him became more and more unbearable. Alas, there was no hope on the horizon of a possible reunion. He was still teaching on the American West Coast, and she was dealing with the Galerie Kircher in Paris. …

Day after day, she had to inform the artists Amanda had supported about the sale of the gallery, give back unsold works, put aside paintings that would be auctioned off. She spent most of her days in the storeroom. Kees van Dongen, André Derain, Pablo Picasso, Joan Miró, Pierre Soulages—two or three generations of artists shared the same space, out of public view and protected from light. She took a long look at René Magritte's two drawings. What would become of those mysterious
Lovers
? The idea of them being in the possession of someone else made her sick to her stomach.

“You're going to sell them, aren't you?” she asked Amanda.

“Yes.”

“I'd love to buy them. But this isn't a good time …”

Amanda stared at Anne.

“I've noticed your interest in them,” she said. “You like the drawings that much?”

“There are no words …”

“I was planning on giving you a painting that you liked when we finally hand the new owners the key to the gallery, as a thank-you present for the fifteen years we spent together. If you'd like those two drawings instead …”

“I feel embarrassed,” Anne said. “I didn't say that about the
Lovers
so you'd …”

“I know you well enough not to think that. Not at all! So it's a done deal. I'm happy to make you happy. Very much so. …”

Seeing that Anne's eyes were welling up with tears, Amanda added, “And please don't cry. If you do, I will, too. …”