I Looked for the One My Heart Loves (19 page)

32

Anne returned to the
task
of searching for a place with renewed energy. Each day, she poured over real estate ads and called agencies. She still couldn't find what she was looking for. What she saw was either too big or too small. Or the amount of work to be done to the place was overwhelming. After a few days, she convinced herself that she had to abandon the idea of finding something in the Saint-Germain-des-Prés neighborhood. But as she was about to begin exploring the area north of Boulevard Raspail, a listing for a private sale caught her attention. It was a rather small place on Rue du Cherche-Midi. Immediately, she phoned to obtain more information, and she made an appointment with the owner for early that evening. As soon as she walked into the shop, now occupied by a frame maker, Anne knew it was the place. As for the price, it corresponded to her budget and the loan that the bank was willing to give her. Knowing that she didn't have time to waste, she made an offer right on the spot. The owner accepted it.

Her head was almost spinning when she got home. The first thing she did was call Benjamin in San Francisco.

“I have terrific news!” she said.

Excited by what he was hearing, Benjamin asked her for more details.

“Next time you go,” he said, “take some pictures.”

After she hung up, Anne thought she should tell François about what she had done.

“You decided to buy a space without even showing it to me first?” he said, looking annoyed.

“I had to act quickly …”

For the first time, she read resentment in his eyes. As well as suspicion.

“Please don't think that I—” Anne said.

“I don't know what to think anymore,” François interrupted.

“Listen, François, let's not spoil—”

“You should talk! What have you been doing for months now except spoiling things? You've become so distant. It's like I don't belong in your life anymore.”

“You know that's not true!”

“Stop lying to yourself and to me. You've changed, Anne!”

“I`m preoccupied because of work. Wouldn't you be if you had to leave Dassault?”

“Of course I would! But I'd talk to you about it. I'd ask for your advice. …”

“I was wrong,” Anne said in a tone she meant to be appeasing. “Forgive me. …”

“Let's be completely honest here. This is not just about your career. You're always elsewhere. It's like I'm never in your thoughts anymore.”

“That's not true. …”

As she uttered the words, Anne walked toward François. But he stepped back.

“I never would've imagined that you and I could become so far apart from each other. I was so naive!”

To see her husband so unhappy made Anne feel even worse.

“You didn't want us to buy an apartment, and you don't want me to invest a cent in your gallery! What do you expect me to think? You don't want anything to do with me.”

The last sentence was like a cold shower for Anne. How could she have convinced herself that François wouldn't notice that their relationship wasn't the way it used to be?

François shook his head and then stormed out of the room, leaving Anne standing there, lost in her thoughts.

The following day, she contacted her attorney and her banker. Then she wrote Alexis, giving him all the details about her future gallery. She couldn't wait to show it to him! Writing the letter made Anne enthusiastic all over again.

“I found it!” she told Amanda.

Looking relieved, Amanda said, “Tell me about it.”

“It's on Rue du Cherche-Midi and it's perfect!”

“When are you going to take me there?”

“How about tomorrow?”

Anne was finishing up some paperwork when the phone rang. It took only a few seconds for her exaltation to vanish.

“I'm so sorry to let you down,” the shop owner said, “but I changed my mind. The frame maker who's been renting the place for a long time decided to buy it after all. When he saw that I was about to sell the shop to you, he thought about it some more. I've known him for more than ten years. I didn't deposit your check. I'm sending it back to you. …”

From that day on, Anne felt the weight of the world on her shoulders. Not only did her hopes falter, she felt more and more uncomfortable with François, even though he refrained from making any more comments.

“It's never going to happen,” Anne told Agnès.

“Of course it will,” her friend said in a distracted manner.

Since she had decided to remarry, Agnès had a hard time caring about anything that didn't have to do with her. The ceremony was to take place on December 6. She was getting ready to quit her job at the stationery shop and move in with her future husband. Thomas was coming along. According to Agnès, the teenager was fine with the move. He got along well with his future stepdad, especially since the latter had bought him the moped of his dreams.

As she, François, and their daughters drove to Saint-Claude, Anne still hadn't found anything. They arrived at their destination at nightfall. Gilles lived in a house on the outskirts of town. Agnès had insisted that Anne and her family stay there instead of in a hotel.

Thomas was the one who greeted them, holding an excited Lab by the collar.

“Mom is in her room for one last fitting,” he said. “As for Gilles, he should be home soon.”

He showed them to the living room, where a fire was crackling.

“Did you have a good drive?”

Within just a few months, Thomas had turned into a friendly young man. He offered his guests seats next to the fireplace. Then, he got everyone something to drink. Watching him go, Anne could see that Thomas felt at home under this roof, and that made her feel happy. She was also amused by the way her oldest daughter was eyeing him.

Then the front door opened, and Gilles walked into the house. Short and bald, he broke into a huge smile and asked their forgiveness for being late.

“Where's Agnès?” he asked.

“Upstairs with the dressmaker,” Thomas said.

The conversation was hard going at first, as Gilles found it a bit odd to be in the presence of Agnès's childhood friend, as well as François, who had known her first husband very well. But he soon became comfortable. By the time Agnès arrived downstairs, they were planning a hike around Lake Saint-Point the following morning.

“I'm so sorry I couldn't introduce everybody,” she said.

“We knew enough about one another to figure who was who,” Gilles said with a wink.

Throughout the evening, Anne analyzed the situation. Agnès seemed happy and relaxed in the presence of the type of man she normally wouldn't have paid attention to. In this warm and unpretentious house, she had found her own place, and so had her son. As they all ate fondue, Thomas talked enthusiastically about his high school and new friends.

“We haven't touched your room,” François told him. “And we'll be happy to welcome you for a weekend if you ever feel like a vacation.”

“That's very nice of you. Thanks.”

Not feeling talkative, Anne listened to the others around the table, thinking how strange life could be. Just as Agnès was finding balance in her existence and starting a new family, Anne was in the midst of great turmoil. Since their fight, François had distanced himself from her. Something had broken, and she knew her husband well enough to know that there would be no turning back. And even if she wasn't worried about her own fate, she didn't want to think about what would happen to Isabelle and Aurélie. …

For now, the two of them were far removed from their mother's preoccupations. Thomas had decided to teach them how to play poker.

“He's very good at it,” Agnès said. “He can even beat Gilles!”

As he handed François a cigar, Gilles said, “The kid is great at bluffing. I'm an amateur compared to him.”

“Agnès and Thomas seem to be happy here,” Anne later told François.

“They really do.”

“I never thought she'd find such a nice man.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She was always good at choosing creeps that treated her like garbage.”

“Things change. … For everybody!”

Anne wasn't sure what he meant by that exactly.

“I like Gilles,” her husband went on. “He seems like a real solid guy. And I like the way he is with Thomas. Nothing better could've happened to the kid.”

“I wonder what happened to his father.”

“Who cares?”

“He was your friend!”

“We were in our twenties. There's been a lot of water under the bridge since then. … And a lot of booze down his throat!”

The wedding at city hall was followed by a cocktail party, and then dinner. Anne, who hadn't seen Agnès's parents in an eternity, thought they looked older than their age. They, too, had left Montmartre to settle in the country. They had behaved totally selfishly during their daughter's difficult years, giving Agnès and Thomas no support whatsoever, emotional or financial. It was a surprise they had accepted the invitation to the wedding. Was it curiosity? Relief that their daughter was finally settling down? They had met Gilles at the end of the summer, and they seemed to think he was a nice enough fellow. …

Dinner was a joyful affair, with good food and excellent local wines. Anne hadn't felt so at ease in a very long time. Across the table, François also seemed to be in a cheerful mood, chatting with the flashy blonde sitting next to him. And then he invited her to dance, after the bride and groom had whirled around on the dance floor for a bit. It was the first time Anne had ever seen her husband flirting with another woman. Upset, she decided to ignore him and listen to what a cousin of Gilles's was saying. She could also see Isabelle hanging out with some of Thomas's friends. Tired, Aurélie was yawning. Her dress wrinkled, her hair a mess, the girl was obviously dying of boredom.

Then she heard, “Anne … I'm the worst dancer … but I'd still like to invite you.”

Smiling, she followed Gilles. Then other men asked her for a dance. Not once did François come near her. He danced with other women. Was he trying to make her jealous, or did he want to give her a glimpse of things to come?

33

Back in Paris,
Anne
felt overwhelmed. She missed Alexis so much that his letters no longer gave her comfort. Thankfully, just before Christmas he wrote to say that he had been transferred to the Lycée Français in Vienna. He was going to be there for the 1971 school year. And over Easter break, he would go to Austria to start settling there. Would she be able to free herself then so they could meet up? Anne began to think. Since their trip to Saint-Claude, Isabelle and Aurélie kept saying how much they had loved it there. Their enthusiasm for the Jura region was very timely. On top of that, the house in Cormery would be undergoing some major renovations. Anne hadn't been surprised when she had learned that her parents wanted to settle there permanently. But since Monique's arthritis and rheumatism were getting worse, they had decided to fix up the house before moving to Cormery. The last time her mother had come to Paris, Anne had rented a wheelchair to take her to the Salon des Arts Ménagers. In a mirror, she'd seen herself pushing an old lady. Shriveled up in her chair, Monique was a sad sight. Pain had made her retreat within herself, and she paid little attention to her children and grandchildren. Stuck in a situation over which he had no control whatsoever, her husband did his best to make her feel as comfortable as possible. …

Over the course of the next few weeks, the Galerie Kircher emptied itself of its content. As the auction had gone extremely well, Amanda was looking for a villa to buy on the Riviera, preferably in Mougins. …

As the gallery's closing date approached, Anne got more and more worried. Frequently, Benjamin asked how her search was going. From a legal standpoint, everything was ready for their partnership.

In March, a real estate agent gave her a call. He had something to show Anne, he said. The place he described was so pathetic she refused to go see it.

“What was it?” Amanda asked.

“Some sort of decrepit warehouse,” Anne said. “Coal has been stored in there for the past twenty years.”

“Where is it?”

“Rue Guénégaud.”

“Call the agent back and make an appointment. I'll go with you.”

On Rue Guénégaud, the real estate agent unlocked the steel gate, and then pushed the front door open. Once inside, he turned on the lights, and a narrow and long room appeared. It opened on a larger room, where the coal was piled.

“And back there,” the agent said, “you have a courtyard.”

As Amanda asked a few practical and financial questions, including the co-ownership regulations, Anne went down to the basement.

Back upstairs, the agent told her about a small, hidden room on the mezzanine floor.

“In case you needed an office,” he said.

After walking around the premises for a while, Anne and Amanda decided to leave.

“At first glance,” Amanda told the agent, “we're not interested. There would be too much work to be done.”

“You can still make the owner an offer and see what he says. …”

As soon as they were alone, Amanda said, “You have to buy it!”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely! It's a great site!”

“But it's so depressing.”

“It's on a great street, and the size of the place is perfect. The basement would be your storage room.”

Amanda then talked about an architect she knew.

“There's no reason you can't ask him to look at the place and give you an estimate.”

After a moment of silence, she added, “And someone else who could be very useful is Simonetta.”

The architect checked out the walls, the floors, and the ceilings. Everything was sound. Then he proposed some solutions, some expensive, others less so. Simonetta was the one, however, who helped Anne make up her mind.

Walking around the place for the first time, the decorator offered no comment. Then she took a sketchpad out of her handbag and began to draw. For the first time, Anne pictured
her
gallery. The room opening on the street would be where the visitors would be welcomed. Then, the larger room, the show room, would be lit by a couple of skylights. Simonetta's pencil made everything look warm and harmonious.

“What about that small, hidden room?” she asked. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I haven't thought about it yet.”

“You could make it into your own private room.”

Anne shuddered. How could she not have thought of making this room into a private hideaway for herself? A place where Alexis could come visit her. A place that would be theirs?

After having phoned Benjamin to inform him that they might soon be in business, Anne talked to François, describing her future gallery.

“You must feel relieved,” François said. “When do you plan on opening it?”

“Mid-October. If all goes well. …”

Without asking any more questions, François headed for the TV set and turned it on. Feeling as offended as if he had slapped her, Anne had a hard time controlling her anger. Since they had come back from Saint-Claude, their relationship had taken a turn for the worse. In spite of the front they were putting up to keep from upsetting the girls, they didn't share much. And they no longer had sex. For the past several weeks, François read the paper before falling asleep. Was he waiting for her to make a move? He must have known that she didn't have any desire to. They didn't talk about the situation, and Anne let events unfold as they may. And why launch into a fight that would only make things worse between her and her husband? Instead, she took refuge in the bedroom and dreamed about Simonetta's sketches.

The deal was done, all the paperwork taken care of. With the keys to the gallery in her handbag, Anne walked into a café and ordered a glass of champagne. She took quick sips of it, wishing herself good luck. In spite of all she'd have to do on Rue Guénégaud, she felt light as a feather. At a brisk pace, she walked over to the Maison Angelina, where she was having lunch with Simonetta.

Her friend was already there when Anne arrived, looking over the menu.

“You come here so often,” Anne said with a smile, “you should know that menu by heart!”

“I keep hoping that they're going to add something! A new cake … a new mousse … But they're totally lacking in imagination.”

After they ordered their food, Anne took the keys out of her purse and dangled them.

“I am now the owner of my very own gallery, in debt up to my eyeballs, but floating on air.”

In a happy tone, she added, “I'm going to go along with all your decorating suggestions.”

“The most important thing is lighting,” Simonetta said. “People walking into your gallery will have to feel comfortable right away.”

“Amanda was the best when it came to creating a warm atmosphere.”

“When she wasn't there, you always managed to offer the same impression of intimacy. That's what I liked about you. I saw that you loved your work, and that you knew how to communicate your enthusiasm.”

After a few seconds of silence, Simonetta asked, “Are some of Amanda's artists going to follow you?”

“They're probably going to wait to see how I do first.”

“What have you planned for your first exhibit?”

“I have a few drawings and watercolors of my own. Later, I plan on exhibiting the work of an artist I know who lives in California. And my American partner is going to send me some paintings.”

“I've been thinking … You like the work I showed you, right?”

“A lot.”

“Why don't you launch your gallery with some of my stuff that we'd select together?”

“You'd let go of your pieces?”

“I already did with Amanda. And everything was sold. …”

“I know all about that!”

“So, let's do it again. You like the bedroom series …”

“I adore it!”

“You can have it.”

Anne knew that Simonetta was giving her the tools that would enable her to create an event. With this first show, she wouldn't look like some beginner. Instead, the entire profession would be interested.

“How can I thank you? What you're doing for me is so amazing!”

“You've always been there for me, so pleasant. Since we've met, I feel less alone in this world. … So you don't have to thank me.”