I Looked for the One My Heart Loves (22 page)

37

Amanda Kircher used her
connections
to help her former employee. Not only did she encourage critics to attend the opening, she called artists and art collectors.

As Anne spoke with the caterer, a van parked in front of the gallery.

“Madame Chastel?” the delivery man asked.

Alexis had sent her a bouquet of dahlias.
To put in your vase
, he wrote.

And so, in a way, Alexis would be present at the show, though Anne would so much have preferred to have him in the flesh. Glancing at her watch, she was surprised that Benjamin Baxter still hadn't called. He had arrived from San Francisco the day before. After a tour of the gallery, which he adored, he had simply vanished. Knowing that he was a night owl and fearing the effects of jet lag, Anne phoned his hotel. He had just left! Reassured, she welcomed a visitor who, over the years, had bought several paintings at Amanda's gallery. Anne knew that he was a spontaneous collector and so she showed him around.

“Lorenzetti!” the man said. “My wife kept every program that contained her work. Unfortunately, we were in Chile when Madame Kircher had her exhibit.”

The man fell in love with an oil painting and two pastels. After he paid for them and left, Anne stuck a red dot below each piece. She knew the importance of selling on opening night!

Amanda created quite a stir when she walked into the gallery.

To the assembled crowd, she said, “With Anne Chastel at the helm of this beautiful gallery, you can start or enhance your collection. Especially since Monsieur Baxter has decided to join this venture!”

She turned to the American, who was right behind her.

Though he had organized many exhibitions in the United States, Benjamin was obviously thrilled to be introduced to the Paris art world. Anne had planned everything like a true professional. As for Simonetta's legendary reputation, it was as strong as ever. A photo of the absent artist hung from the wall. A cigarette between her fingers, Simonetta was gazing languidly at the public, at once present and elusive. …

Busy making a sale, Anne wasn't able to welcome her in-laws, who decided to attend the opening. She saw them make their way through the crowd, stopping in front of many works. Then her mother-in-law seemed to be looking for a place to sit. Anne asked the usher to set up extra chairs.

“François isn't here yet?” her mother-in-law asked when Anne finally managed to join them.

“He should be here soon,” she said. “Would like a glass of champagne?”

“Dear God, no. Not with my health.”

“Some orange juice maybe?”

“A glass of water would be better.”

In a whisper, Anne's father-in-law said he wouldn't mind a whiskey. Then both examined the crowd of attendees, a group they normally didn't associate with. Along with the folks who used to go to Galerie Kircher, gallery owners from the area and aficionados of Simonetta's work were among the guests. Many critics tried to learn more about this mysterious artist.
Did she live in France? In Paris? Had she really retired from the world of opera? Why wasn't she here tonight? Was she sick? Was she a recluse?

Visitors began leaving the gallery, and François still wasn't there.

“We're not going to wait for him any longer,” Anne's mother-in-law said.

“He's going to be disappointed if you're not here when he arrives,” Anne said.

“It's his fault he's late!” the woman said. Then she added, “What about your parents? They're not coming?”

“My mother has a hard time moving around … Please excuse me. I have to go.”

Benjamin was waving at her from across the room.

“This woman would like to speak to you,” he said, before leaving Anne with the stranger standing in front of her.

“Signora Lorenzetti is a distant cousin of mine. I'd love to meet her. Do you have her contact information?”

“I can't give it to you, unfortunately,” Anne said. “But I will let her know that you'd like to see her. Do you have a business card?”

François finally set foot in the gallery, scanning the crowd for his wife. The previous weekend, he had come to the gallery with Isabelle and Aurélie. Though he had refrained from showing too much enthusiasm, in the end he had complimented Anne on the place. Tonight, he could tell that the evening had been a success. The atmosphere was cheerful, and he saw many red dots underneath a variety of pieces.

“I thought you'd never come,” his mother said. “We were counting on you to drive us home.”

“It's okay,” his father said. “Don't worry about it.”

Benjamin, who'd overheard the exchange, came over to the old couple and said, “I'll get a taxi for you.”

After dinner in a restaurant not far from the gallery, Anne and François went home. They had celebrated the opening's success with Amanda and Benjamin.

“I'm bushed,” Anne said while taking off her shoes.

“It was worth it. Looks like you sold a lot of stuff.”

“Almost two-thirds of the pieces! I never dreamed things would go so well.”

“With Lorenzetti's work, it was a sure thing!”

Annoyed by the comment, Anne said, “Well, I did have to make her go along with the show …”

“You spend so much time with her, she couldn't really say no to you.”

“I wasn't hanging out with her with ulterior motives in mind!”

“Don't get bent out of shape!” François said. And, landing a last blow, he added, “Tonight was a success. … There's no denying that. But let's see how the next show goes.”

In just a few words, he had managed to rob Anne of her pride and her joy.

But refusing to give him the satisfaction, she forced a smile and said, “You're right. Nothing's certain yet. …”

The phone conversation with Alexis was altogether different in tone. He wanted to know everything about the evening, the visitors, the buyers …

“I missed you so much,” Anne said. “I wanted to share it with you.”

“I tried to imagine the scene,” Alexis said.

“As soon as I have pictures, I'll mail you some. And what about you? How was school?”

“Well, I'll tell you one thing, they didn't lie to me! My students are attentive and they're working hard. Some of them are brilliant. I love grading their papers.”

And in spite of having busy days, he had time to do his own research.

“I'm forced to speak German, and so I'm getting better at it. I read local papers, listen to the radio …”

Before opening the gallery to the public at large for the first time, Anne made herself a cup of coffee. Then she put all the checks from the previous evening's sales in the envelope she would take to the bank later that day. The proceeds from the opening would enable her to be financially worry-free until the next show. Whatever she sold in the next few weeks would be icing on the cake.

The door opened and Anne lifted her head.

“I've never seen you up so early!” she said, seeing Simonetta on the threshold.

“I know. But I couldn't wait to know how things went.”

“If only you had a phone at your place …”

“That's asking too much. Come on, tell me about last night.”

“First, count all the red dots.”

Simonetta began to slowly walk around the exhibition room.
Was she going to say something?
Anne wondered.

“When I look at those paintings and pastels,” Simonetta finally uttered, “I have to convince myself that I'm the one who created them.”

“Don't tell me that you're disowning them.”

“No. I don't disown anything. Not my work, not my past.”

This last sentence reminded Anne of something.

“Someone left this business card for you last night,” she said. “A young Italian woman who said she was a cousin of yours.”

As she said that, she opened her desk drawer.

“There it is. You both have the same name. She wanted me to give her your contact information.”

“I hope you didn't!”

“I'd never do that. But she was very insistent. I'm sure she's going to come back here.”

“Tell her that I live abroad and that I don't want to talk to anyone.”

Articles were published, all speaking in glowing terms of both the featured artist and the gallery owner. And so visitors kept on coming. Some of Amanda's artists, who had kept a low profile until then, came to the gallery to “check things out.” It was now Anne's turn to be difficult! There was no reason for her to take any artist under contract. The only one she really had her sights on was Phil. Before officially contacting him, she talked to Benjamin about it. The two men had met in the summertime, and Benjamin had shared Anne's enthusiasm when he saw the painter's work. An exhibition of his work would take place in Paris next January! Anne was already beginning to plan the show.

“You really do like that man's work!” Amanda said when Anne told her about her upcoming activities.

After a moment of silence, she added, “I let you down with that one. … But, after all, it's just as well. You're the one who's going to introduce him to Paris.”

38

When All Saints' Day
arrived
in early November­, Anne didn't know where the time had gone. When there was no one in the gallery, she took care of the administrative tasks. Every Wednesday, Isabelle and Aurélie had lunch with her. Many times, the girls asked that Simonetta join them in the Chinese restaurant that they liked. Since their first meeting, the ties between the teens and the Italian artist had strengthened. Sometimes the three of them went to the movies together. Anne was all for their relationship. Aurélie had even asked Simonetta to teach her how to draw. …

Simonetta's cousin came back to the gallery.

“I sent her your card,” Anne said.

“Do you think she's going to contact me?” the woman asked.

“To tell you the truth, I doubt it. She's a bit of a loner. …”

“I really wish we could meet.”

As she said that, the young woman walked over to a drawing of a room with a ceiling adorned with allegorical figures.

“I slept in that room,” she said.

“Is that right?” Anne asked, to be polite.

“It's in my parents' house.”

Alexis's arrival interrupted the conversation.

“Alexis!” Anne said. “I thought I'd only see you this evening …”

Discreetly, the young woman waved good-bye before leaving the premises.

“I took an earlier train,” Alexis said.

He was arriving from Lyon, where he had stayed at his mother's house with Guillaume. After two days there, he had left his son with his grandmother to travel north to Paris.

Anne and Alexis stayed together until late at night. Blissful, Anne felt like she was floating on air. Was it really possible to be so happy? When she left their room in the gallery, Anne cursed her family obligations. Alexis walked her to her car, and then headed to the hotel room he had rented on Rue Jacob. …

The following day, Anne decided to close the gallery for the afternoon. After lunch at a pub in Versailles, they walked around the royal château's park. Under a low gray sky, the place looked sad. But a stopover at Marie-Antoinette's estate brightened things up a bit. Still, Anne thought Alexis looked preoccupied.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said.

Back in Paris, they headed for their hideaway, where they found yesterday's mess—the unmade bed, the records here and there, the half-burned candles … In spite of their intense lovemaking, Anne was still suspicious. Alexis was keeping something from her.

“Did I say or do something that bothered you?” she asked.

“Of course not!”

“Are you getting tired of me?”

“How can you ask me something like that?” he said, sitting up against the pillows. After a moment of silence, he added, “I'm getting tired of myself. That's different.”

“I thought things were good for you in Vienna,” Anne said.

“Everything would be fine, if a catastrophe hadn't occurred.”

“At school?”

“No. At home.”

“Tell me,” Anne said.

“Geneviève is pregnant.”

Stunned as though she had been slapped in the face, Anne glared at Alexis.

“What did you just say?” she asked.

“Geneviève is about four months pregnant. She told me three weeks ago.”

“And you wrote me letters and talked to me on the phone like nothing had happened?”

“I wanted to tell you in person.”

“We've been together for twenty-four hours now. If I hadn't insisted, you still wouldn't have told me.”

“Well, it's very hard for me to deal with this.”

“It's hard for
you
to deal with this? What about me?”

“As soon as I found out about it I wondered how I was going to tell you. … Even though it doesn't change anything about us. …”

“What? How can you be so naive … and so presumptuous?”

“Please, don't be mad. Things are hard enough already.”

Anne wished it could all be a bad dream and that she would wake up. Was it really Alexis standing there in front of her, grimacing? With what he had just told her, everything they ha d avoided talking about was coming to the surface. By mutual agreement, they had always avoided referring to their spouses, to the point where they were nonentities. But now, not only did the pregnancy humanize Geneviève, it turned Alexis's sexual life with her into an undeniable reality. Of course, Anne had always known that they must have made love from time to time, but she had refused to think about it. But now everything was crumbling. Because of him! While she accepted the fact that he didn't want to divorce an unstable woman until his son was old enough to take care of himself, he had just gotten back into a very long-term contract.

“Maybe you'd like me to congratulate you?” Anne said, her voice cold as ice.

“I'm partly responsible … but not entirely.”

“So what? The result is the same!”

“She forced it on me.”

“Please spare me the details.”

“I mean, she swore to me that she was taking the pill. I believed her.”

Alexis knew that he was losing Anne. If only he could travel back in time and not spend that vacation in Quebec with Geneviève! He should have been suspicious when his wife was so enthusiastic about moving to Vienna.

“Anne,” he said.

In a fog of tears, she saw him take a step toward her.

“Don't you ever touch me again!” she screamed.

“Listen to me …”

“No, I'm not going to listen to you. I'm never going to listen to anything you have to say. You ruined everything. You destroyed everything. I don't want to see you again. It's all over. You hear me?”

“Do you really mean what you're saying?”

Trying not to burst into tears, she nodded.

“I came here to reassure you,” Alexis said. “But you don't understand …”

“Understand what? That you're screwing your wife?”

“Do I say anything about your sexual relationship with your husband? I've never asked you anything about that.”

“This conversation is making me sick.”

“I'm going to go,” Alexis said. “You know where my hotel is if you want to talk about all this calmly. I'm leaving for Lyon tomorrow. …”

“You can go to hell,” she said without looking at him.

She staggered to the gallery's front door and unlocked it. When he tried to grab her hand, she took a step back and, her eyes on the floor, waited for him to leave.

How could he have done such a thing? Horrible images tormented Anne. Alexis and his wife with their newborn in the maternity ward. Alexis looking after his second child, after he had said he wanted to free himself as soon as he could from a marriage that no longer meant anything to him. He had once again gone back on his word to protect her! How could she have been stupid enough to trust him a second time! Looking at all the trinkets and souvenirs that reminded her of their relationship, Anne had to fight the urge to destroy them all. Was she capable of making a clean break from the past and the present?

Unable to drive, she took a cab home. Everyone in the apartment was sleeping. She tiptoed to the living room and, without taking off her coat, slumped on the couch. A sleepless night began. …

The following morning, she felt nauseous and went to the bathroom to shower.

“Are you sick?” François asked her when she walked into the kitchen.

“I might've caught a chill. …”

“You should go back to bed.”

“No. I think I need some fresh air.”

The last thing she wanted was to stay home and mull things over all day! By now, Alexis was no doubt on the train to Lyon. The idea made her shiver. At the same time, she was glad she hadn't given in and called him. Though her decision was taking her to the depths of unhappiness, she refused to continue being involved in a relationship that demanded that she settle for less than what she wanted.

It was early Sunday morning, and the streets were deserted. After crossing the Louvre courtyard, Anne walked along the Seine River to the Pont des Arts. Slowly, she made her way to her gallery. She could have gotten into her car and driven off, but she wanted to see if Alexis had left her a note. And sure enough, there was an envelope in the mailbox. Anne opened it with excitement. The message was short.

Since I did not hear from you, I'm off to Lyon. I beg you to think before making irrevocable decisions. Our future is in your hands.

Alexis's note and the shift of responsibility it expressed made Anne angrier. So she was the one to blame for what divided them! She tore the letter to shreds.

Putting an end to a love story wasn't so simple! If not for her gallery and the well-being of her daughters, she would have sunk into depression. She had to keep it together for the girls. And she had her commitments to her partner and the artists she was dealing with, as well as her financial responsibilities. Teeth clenched, she made it through the holidays and the end of Simonetta's exhibition. At the beginning of January, Alexis sent her a letter, which she sent back to Vienna unopened. As weeks passed, she remained convinced that she had to protect herself. Even at the risk of living an existence without meaning?

“You look sad,” Simonetta once said to her.

“I am. …”

“For reasons you don't feel like talking about?”

“Maybe one day, after the wounds heal. …”