I Looked for the One My Heart Loves (28 page)

48

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spen
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the night
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t her friend's.
Simonetta, shaken by the tragic event, remained at Anne's bedside. Though she had figured out that Anne and Alexis were together, she had no idea that the two had known each other since they were kids.

The next morning, Anne and Simonetta headed for Hôpital Saint-Louis. Stephan was waiting for them there. Like a sleepwalker, Anne stepped into an elevator and then shuffled down a long hallway.

Standing in front of the morgue's door, she turned to Stephan.

“I don't want to see him,” she said. “He has to remain alive in my memory.”

As they walked away from the morgue, Stephan said, “There's some paperwork to be filled out. You want to come with me, or do you want to wait at the front desk?”

“I'll go with you.”

Sitting behind a desk, the hospital clerk handed them the death certificate for the undertaker.

“Today is Sunday,” he said. “Nothing will be done until tomorrow.”

That gave Stephan time to take a plane down to Lyon and come back with Alexis's mother.

They rang Anne's doorbell that evening, just before midnight. Her eyes red, her face grayish, Madame Messager looked like an old woman. Neither she nor Anne said anything to each other at first, but they didn't need to since they shared the same sadness, the same emotions.

“Nobody in the family has ever died of an aneurysm,” Madame Messager finally uttered, her voice trembling. “Was he complaining about anything?”

“He had headaches sometimes,” Anne said.

Though she was exhausted, Madame Messager phoned Guillaume's grandparents in Montreal. The grandfather was the one who picked up. Stunned by what he was hearing, he took a while to react.

“I think you should be the one to tell Guillaume,” Madame Messager told him. “I don't think he should learn about this over the phone. Besides, you'll be there to support him physically. What do you think?”

As the conversation continued, Anne learned that the young man had just undergone an emergency appendectomy. As for Geneviève, no one was to tell her about Alexis's death before talking to her psychiatrist.

In accordance with Alexis's wishes, his mother bought a plot at the Cimitière de Montmartre. The sun was shining when the hearse came to a stop near the grave. Four men slowly carried the casket. Anne clutched Simonetta's arm. The scene was surreal to her, as though it wasn't really happening. She raised her head and saw the pedestrian bridge where Alexis had joked about the dead here being lucky for resting in such a cheerful part of town. In a few minutes, he would join them! Before the casket was lowered into the grave, Stephan read a poem by Goethe. Then he said a few words about Alexis, and he had some soothing words for his mother. She stood next to the grave, surrounded by friends of hers. Anne preferred to stay in the background with some acquaintances of Alexis's who flown in from Vienna. Among them was the director of the Lycée Français, as well as a few teachers. When she walked over to the grave that Alexis's body had just been lowered into, Anne shook from head to toe. While mourners went over to Madame Messager to offer their condolences, Simonetta took Anne aside. Anne wondered how she could have coped without her friend.

So that her relationship with Alexis remained a secret, Anne asked Madame Messager if she could retrieve the souvenirs, photos, and letters that had to do with her.

With dread in their hearts, the two women drove to Montmartre. Though they were trying to be strong, they both knew that stepping inside Alexis's apartment was going to destroy them. Overwhelmed with emotion, Anne had a difficult time unlocking the front door. Only Stephan had been in Alexis's place, to get some clothes for the deceased. While there, he had closed all the shutters. Flipping the switch, Anne lit up the apartment. Everything was in its place. There was a sheet of paper in the typewriter. On the desk, next to a pack of cigarettes, was a bouquet of roses that Anne had picked from the garden. The flowers were withered already. A jacket of Alexis's was lying on an armchair. His mother wanted to see the sunlight, and so she walked over to the shutters and opened them. With something akin to shyness, Anne headed for the living room. With a fingertip, she grazed an apple in the fruit bowl sitting on the sideboard. Everything was so normal, it looked as though Alexis was going to come home any minute now. Did Madame Messager have the same impression?

“You know better than I do where he kept his papers,” she whispered.

Anne opened the filing cabinet's drawers and filled a large bag with letters and photos. She didn't look at any of them as she did so. Then she removed from their frames all the photos of herself and Alexis scattered about the apartment.

“Make sure there's no trace of me in here,” Anne told Madame Messager. “Guillaume doesn't know about his father and me. … Might as well keep it that way.”

Because of his surgery, Alexis's son hadn't been able to attend his father's burial. Overcome by the news, angry at not being able to get out of bed, he had long phone conversations with his grandfather, who was trying to answer the boy's questions.

“I ended up giving him Stephan's phone number so that he could tell him exactly what happened.”

“What about his mother?” Anne asked. “How did she react?”

“Even though things between Alexis and Geneviève were extremely complicated, she's very sad. Thank God, she's not allowed to leave the clinic. I don't think I'd be able to deal with her on top of everything else!”

For Aurélie's sake as well as that of her friends, Anne got up in the morning, got dressed, and went to work with the feeling that she was two people in one. The first one did what was expected of her, while the second was lost in a haze of questions and memories. Every time she was alone, all Anne thought about was Alexis. Sometimes she felt his presence right next to her, as though he had never left! But that was a fleeting sensation. Why should she keep on living knowing that he would never again fall asleep in bed with her, that she would never again hear the sound of his voice? She could hardly breathe when she received Alexis's books, his records, his typewriter, along with a few other items that he had liked from Madame Messager. Spread around her apartment, the objects linked Anne with a past that had become her compass.

In spite of the circumstances, the opening of the Lorenzetti exhibit was a success. Stephan, who was one of the visitors, discovered the impressive breadth of Simonetta's work. Unfortunately, there was a red dot under the watercolor he had seen with Alexis in Anne's basement storeroom. Someone had been quicker than he in buying it.

“You still like it?” Anne asked him.

“I love it. … But it's been sold.”

“No it hasn't. It's yours.”

“What do you mean, it's mine?”

“It's a present. In memory of Alexis and your friendship with him.”

Moved, Stephan noticed that Anne's face had come to life. It was the first time since the tragedy.

A short time before Christmas, Isabelle announced to her mother her intention of marrying an Englishman who was working in an ad agency. They were going to live in London, but the ceremony would take place in Paris. Intensely involved in the wedding preparations, Anne was busy beyond belief. She helped her daughter pick a dress, planned the wedding ceremony and the reception, and sent out invitations. She and Madame Messager welcomed Isabelle's future in-laws at the dinner rehearsal. Things went smoothly between Anne and her ex-husband throughout the entire evening.

“Everything went great!” Anne told Simonetta.

The following day, Anne felt great joy at the sight of Isabelle and her husband exchanging vows. Agnès and Gilles were there, and so was Thomas, who served as a witness, posing for the official photos. In a few weeks, Anne's godson was also going to get married, to the cute brunette standing next to him with love in her eyes.

The following year, Aurélie moved out of the apartment. With Benjamin's help, she had found an internship with a New York–based designer. Anne never would have imagined that both her daughters would be living abroad, and the apartment seemed terribly empty to her. Thankfully, Agnès stayed with her when she visited Paris, and so did Alexis's mother.

Not a week went by without Anne and Madame Messager chatting on the phone. As soon as he had fully recovered from his surgery, Guillaume had gone to visit his grandmother in Lyon. Then, he had spent some time in the Montmartre apartment he had inherited from his father. He was even considering settling there for good.

“His father has become a role model for him,” Madame Messager told Anne.

“What does he plan on doing?”

“He might study law here. Learn Japanese. And stay away from his mother. …”

The year 1981 was coming to an end. At the age of fifty, people still told Anne that she looked young and cheerful, the opposite of what she felt. As a kid, her parents had always told her that it wasn't proper to display your emotions, and she had managed to heed their advice since Alexis's death.

The gallery was still doing extremely well, and Anne's professional reputation in the Paris art world was second to none.

“You did even better than I thought you would!” Amanda told her.

From her home in Mougins, Anne's former boss still provided her with information about up and coming artists. However, Amanda had no desire to go back to work.

“I just enjoy life!” she said.

Anne had almost forgotten the meaning of those words! And yet, almost imperceptibly, her days were punctuated with small moments of joy: smelling the flowers on her balcony, watching children walk by the gallery, inviting friends over and cooking for them. She also stopped taking the meds that had been like a crutch for her. What she couldn't do, however, was go to California, where Phil's work was now in high demand by collectors. On the other hand, she began listening to Mahler's music again, and read once more the book Alexis had written about the artists of the Secession movement. Next to the French edition of the book in her bookcase was Stephan's German translation. That friend through good and bad times had returned to Vienna, where he now worked as a cultural officer for a private institution. Anne would probably accept his invitation to join him at the next Salzburg Festival. Simonetta, who had also become a friend of Stephan's, would go along with Anne. She had no doubt that she would come back with drawings and watercolors that she no longer tried to hide. …

These few steps toward some sort of emotional recovery were shaky. Anne admitted as much to herself, especially as spring was bringing back to her mind the effervescence she felt just before meeting Alexis again at the gallery. It had been fourteen years since she had taken so many risks to draw him to Paris. Fourteen years that she would never, ever regret. …

1982

Ann
e
stared at the
name
engraved on the headstone. What was the link between the name alexis messager in gold letters on the marble and the man who had promised to always look after her? That his memory would be symbolized­ by a piece of stone didn't satisfy her at all. She certainly didn't need such a convention to remember him. Not a day went by without him being present in her life. He was with her when she made decisions, when she took risks. Since she had recovered from the shock of losing Alexis, Anne had chosen to live her life well until it was her time to leave this world. Doing otherwise would be a betrayal of Alexis, whose own life had been cut short so quickly and unfairly.

Anne's musings were interrupted by the sound of steps on the gravel. A few yards away, the young man with the plaid shirt and jeans was walking toward her.

“Good evening,” he said.

“Good evening,” Anne replied, trying to hide her surprise and annoyance at being disturbed.

“You're Anne, right?”

Anne hesitated before whispering, “Yes.” After a short moment of silence, she added, “And you're Guillaume.”

He nodded.

“Every August 26,” he said with a heavy French-Canadian accent, “I find a bouquet of dahlias like the one you just put on my father's grave. But there was nothing today when I got here. Knowing that the cemetery was going to close soon, I decided to wait. I figured you'd come again this year. …”

Anne saw that he didn't look like his father. His features would have been forgettable if not for the sparkle of intelligence in his eyes and a smile that wasn't devoid of charm.

“How do you know my name?” Anne asked him.

“I found a letter in my father's apartment, dated August 15, 1978, and signed Anne.”

She pictured herself writing Alexis after they had returned from Hôpital Bretonneau that day he was stung by a wasp. Anne had noticed that this last declaration of love was missing from the letters she had brought back from Alexis's place.

“Papa put the letter in his nightstand. To be honest with you, it didn't surprise me. Even though Papa never talked to me about you, I knew he was in love. I would've had to be blind not to see that!”

Moved by Guillaume's candor, Anne began to feel less threatened by his presence. She thought that there was no reason to keep him at bay.

“In Lyon,” he said, “I asked my grandmother about this mysterious Anne. She said she didn't know anything. Same reaction from Stephan Goetz—he wouldn't say anything. I asked some of the people who live in my father's apartment building in Montmartre. A couple of them said they remembered that a woman was there sometimes …”

“Why was it so important for you to know?”

“My mother, she was sick, and because of that she was such a drama queen. You know, emotional blackmail and all that. … Until I was old enough to understand that she'd never get better, my father had to put up with so much. I think he deserved another life. …”

Guillaume gazed at Anne's blue eyes, the curly hair surrounding her face, her elegance.

Noticing that her expression had softened, he added, “I wanted to see you for the right reasons, you know. …”

“I believe you. …”

Reassured by Anne's response, Guillaume looked around and said, “We should go before they close the gates.”

As they headed for the exit, it dawned on Anne that she should make Guillaume the same promise Alexis had made to her all those years ago. That way, her visit to her lover's grave might take on a fuller meaning. She would now look after Guillaume.

“You and I have a lot to talk about,” she told the young man. “Let's go to the café where your father and I used to go.”