A Friend in Paris Read online

  The shock of it stole her breath, and a buzzing filled her ears. With the sluggish fog overtaking her that she knew for fear, April walked forward and pushed the door open. Her gaze landed on a scene of pure chaos. Her clothes and belongings were strewn everywhere, and it seemed that all the drawers had been emptied. Worse. Her father’s paintings lay bare against the furniture and the wall. All of them removed from their protective linen. All of them shredded with a knife.

  April staggered toward the first painting. The one of her when she was little. This one had been cut most severely with slashes on the face and neck. It was as if she had been stabbed. With a strangled sob, she scanned the other paintings, turning each one until every torn canvas was in view. Not one was salvageable.

  She slumped against the bed and wept. All her dreams had been wrapped up in these paintings. They were the last link to her father, and they were supposed to pay for her travels and art studies around the world. That was her father’s dying wish, that she would sell his canvases for this purpose. A buyer had already expressed interest in the painting of the dock in Chile, and April had been holding on to it as long as she could before she needed to part with it. She turned the painting and fingered the torn canvas from behind. She could repair it—perhaps. But not enough to sell it. Her dad had been particularly pleased with this one.

  Examining each painting in turn, she took them in her hands, and by habit held them aloft so her tears wouldn’t touch the canvas. None of them could be sold. The damage was too extensive. She shook her head as the tears came afresh. Some she might be able to have repaired and keep just for her. Allowing that thought to console her, April imagined an apartment where these paintings hung on the wall, even had the spot of honor. Could she create an accompanying painting, a twin? What message would that portray? Beauty from ashes. Honoring our scars. Perfect imperfection.

  It had almost calmed her, this thought. But it wasn’t enough. What would she live on? And her even greater chagrin—why hadn’t she taken the insurance, no matter how costly it had been? Now she had only about a month’s worth to live on. There was no way she could afford even a move to a new apartment.

  A sound in the stairwell made April leap to her feet, gasping for breath, her heart racing. Wasting no time, she rushed into the hallway and tried to pull the door shut, but the handle had been damaged and it wouldn’t close. Who cared now? She had nothing in there left to lose.

  That’s not true, she thought. Even in their damaged state, those paintings are the most precious thing I have.

  Circling her way down the stairwell, April paused on the third floor. Should she knock on Victor's door? No. It would only complicate things for him. Surely she could find her way back to the police station and explain what happened. Just as April turned to go, Victor's door opened and she saw him exit. He held the door for his fiancée, who pushed the stroller into the hallway, her face stony. They exchanged a few words.

  Then, both Victor’s and his fiancée’s gazes landed on April, shoulders hunched and tears streaming down her face. She was caught.

  “April, what is it?” Victor asked. He started toward her, and Margaux's gaze hardened.

  April shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. Finally, she raised her hand, a mute gesture of supplication, of sorrow, the polite wave of let me not burden you and began the descent.

  “April,” Victor called again, but she didn’t look back. She heard their exchange, him placating and the fiancée’s sharp, angry retort. She was out the front door, running across the cobblestones. Préfecture. That’s what the police station was called. She just needed an Uber.

  There was already an English translator at the police station, who had been brought in for another case, which was lucky, she was told, because usually she’d need to wait. April explained what had happened, and they checked the police report from the day before. “It looks like we have a suspect. We’ll need to go back to the apartment to document the evidence.” After conferring with the officer handling the case, the translator said, “We’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”

  April nodded, refusing to think about what another Uber car ride was going to do to her shrinking budget. She was in the building minutes before she heard them on the stairs and half hoped that Victor would hear them too and come out of his apartment. He must have left because the lobby and stairs were silent. Three policemen crowded into her small room before one of them shooed the others out to take pictures.

  “Is this how you found the room?” the officer asked, analyzing the room through the camera viewfinder.

  “No.” April shook her head when it was translated. “I picked each of the paintings up to examine them, but I did put them back close to where they were when I found them.”

  He frowned at her. “You shouldn’t have touched anything.”

  “I didn’t think…”

  At last, photographing the broken doorknob, he asked, “Do you have somewhere else to stay?” April understood the question before the translator asked it. She didn’t have another place, but she wasn’t sure the police officers were going to be able to do anything about it, and she didn’t want to face complete humiliation.

  She nodded.

  “Don’t stay here tonight. Until we catch the criminal, you’re not safe here.”

  Nodding again, she watched them walk down the circular stairwell, stopping at Lucas's apartment. His grandmother opened the door only a crack, as if she were afraid the officers would try to shove their way in. “You again? I told you he wasn’t here.” The old woman looked up and caught April staring down at them, and her glare was malevolent. Never had April noticed how unfriendly this woman could be.

  April returned to her room, sat on the bed, and wrapped her arms around her torso. “All right, April.” Her voice was soft. She wasn’t used to talking to herself. “You need to figure out what you’re going to do about this mess.” She stared, unseeing, at the paintings then at her clothes. She could ask Victor to put the paintings in his cave—one of the cement blocks in the basement that belonged to each apartment and that came with a key. But she wouldn’t ask Benjamin or Victor if she could stay with them. She had already seen the strife she was causing between Victor and his fiancée. Ben would just get the wrong idea.

  Penelope. Could she ask her? Hmm. April could at least inquire about youth hostels. Or wait—she could become an au pair. That came with housing and food and even a small monthly stipend. Surely there were families searching even now. Perhaps their first au pair had gotten homesick and left the post. Okay, so maybe that was not very likely since the school year was almost over.

  April stood up, determined. There was nothing she could do about protecting the paintings since the door was broken. Lucas had the key, so he must have acted from pure spite. She would take a few of her most precious items and see if Penelope was at the art studio.

  Victor was entering the courtyard as she headed out. “April,” he called, his voice loud with relief. “Where did you go? What’s going on?” He was alone.

  She went to him, relieved in her turn to have found her friend. “Victor, I need a favor. Can I store my father’s paintings in your cave?”

  His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Yes, sure. Or we can put them in the guest room. I don’t mind. What’s going on? Why were you crying?”

  She didn’t answer right away. “I’m so sorry to have caused you problems with Margaux. I really did not want that to happen.” Fairly certain of the answer, she asked anyway. “Were you able to sort things out with her?”

  Victor shrugged. “We’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” He insisted, “Why were you crying?”

  “Oh, Victor.” April stopped a moment, choked up at the thought of having to explain it. “Lucas—at least I think it was him—shredded all my father’s paintings. They were my last memory of him, and they were also my source of income to travel. I was planning to sell them one by one, and the auctioneer recommended against bringing them with me, but I cou
ldn’t bear to part with them any sooner than I had to. All the paintings were slashed through with a knife, Victor. Some of them are completely destroyed.”

  Astonishment turned to rage, and Victor stepped away, walking a few paces with his back to her. “How dare he?” he ground out. When he strode back, he pulled her into an embrace, caressing her hair, wordlessly. April was shocked into immobility. His arms felt right.

  Victor pulled back suddenly. “Let’s go look.”

  April was still reeling from the physical contact and had to focus to consider his words. Either Penelope was there or she was not, and though she had to get the paintings to his apartment, she also needed a place to stay tonight. “Listen, Victor, can you get them without me? I need to find a new living situation. Lucas also broke my doorknob. And no,” she added when she saw that Victor was about to speak, “you have been so, so kind to me, but I can’t cause your fiancée any more problems, and it will not work to have me staying with you.”

  “I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I mean, if you had no other solution, I wouldn’t care what Margaux thought. But as it is, I do have a solution.” Victor's eyes glimmered, as if with a secret.

  “What?”

  “Come,” he said. He took her by the elbow and led her to the bench in the courtyard by the fountain. When they sat, he said, “I was just visiting my grandmother to see if she might let you stay for a few days. You know, at her place? That will give the police a chance to find Lucas. She said she’d be very glad to have you. To tell the truth, I think my grandmother can get lonely.”

  April didn’t know what to say. Her eyes fixed on his, she finally broke the gaze and leaned forward to trail her fingers in the fountain. “It sounds like a dream come true. Honestly, I’m at my wit’s end. But I don’t know how I can impose like that.”

  “What does ‘wit’s end’ mean?” Victor frowned. “And what do you mean by impose?”

  “It means I don’t know what else to do. Where else I can turn. The paintings were not just sentimental. They were my financial security. They were what was going to enable me to travel and study around the world.”

  “So staying with my grandmother is a good thing, right? You have a solution.” His brows were still furrowed.

  She knew it probably didn’t make much sense the way she was explaining it. “A temporary one, but even that…I’ve never even met your grandmother.”

  “Remember I told you I was going to bring you to lunch? She’s already heard all about you and was waiting for me to give her your availability so she could invite you. Trust me.” Victor laid his hand on her arm. “She wouldn’t offer if she didn’t want to. She’s not like that.”

  April shook her head. “I just can’t, Victor. I hope you can understand.” She saw from his expression that he didn’t. “I need to find my own way in life. I can’t wait for people to rescue me.”

  Victor was still frowning, but he gave her a perceptive look. “Because they might not come?”

  She raised an eyebrow, shrugged, then finally nodded. “I need to prove, if only to myself, that I can come up right again when life knocks me down.”

  Victor sighed. “It seems ridiculous to be so adamant when a perfectly good solution has presented itself, but I understand. I’m the same way. And now that I’m not on the receiving end of this particular solution, I have to agree with Mishou. Stubbornness is not always a sign of strength. Come on.”

  “Who’s Mishou?”

  “My grandmother. I’m still going to take you to meet her for lunch.” He guided her elbow, the pressure of his fingers light, and she had a strange sensation of well-being though everything was falling apart. She also had a strong desire to weep.

  “When, now? I can’t.” Her voice squeaked.

  “No. Next Tuesday if you can. Now I’m going with you wherever you were headed to help you get a place to stay.”

  “Victor.” April’s tears leaked again as they walked, and she wanted nothing more than to stop and sink into him for another hug. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

  Chapter 14

  “I hope Penelope is here,” April said, as they entered the stark room filled with canvases in various stages of completion. “She mentioned the other night she’d be spending extra hours here to get her painting ready for the gallery selection. Also—” April scanned the tops of the easels, looking for movement behind the ones in the back. “I would like to introduce you to her. She and her friends are so great. I think you would like them.”

  Victor hadn’t dared ask whom she was planning to seek out for help but was conscious of a relief that it was not that guy, Ben, she was relying on to save her from her current situation. He was ready to accept that she would not rely on him, but he hated to think it was only because she liked Ben better.

  Not that he had any vested interest in the situation. He didn’t. He was engaged. But I care about April as a friend, and I would hate for her to care for someone who was not good enough for her, he told himself. As soon as that thought crossed his mind, it was replaced with the memory of holding her in his arms. She was soft, and when her chin was tucked into his neck that way, he could smell her shampoo. For a minute, the sensation was so strong he was unable to move from the doorway.

  At the back of the room, April asked the only two students who were present, “Hey, have you guys seen Penelope?” Victor saw them shake their heads.

  “That’s a small setback,” she said, when she returned to his side. “I’d hoped to find her here. But that’s okay. My next step is to look at some of the housing opportunities on the FUSAC website. I’m sure there are hostels advertised there—”

  There was a clatter of shoes in the hallway, and Penelope whizzed into the room as if summoned by April’s wish. “April, you’re here again. Don’t you ever leave? You made a big hit with all my friends last night.” She stopped short when she saw April’s cheek, and she dropped her bag to her side. “What in the world happened to you?”

  April didn’t answer right away and glanced at Victor, her mouth in a straight line. “May I introduce you to my friend, Victor? He’s my neighbor.”

  He found himself being assessed by a petite woman whose shrewd brown eyes seemed to miss nothing. “Nice to meet you,” she said, and with an inquisitive lift to her brow, “Français?” He nodded, and she switched to French. “I assume you’re not the author of the black eye.”

  “Far from it. I’m actually here to give April a hand because she’s had a bad run of luck lately. April?”

  April dipped her head and continued in English. “I’m wondering if you know of a housing situation on short notice. For instance, an au pair situation where the family needs to find one quickly? I was just about to check the FUSAC for short-term rentals, although what I really need is some sort of apartment in exchange for a job so I can make ends meet.”

  Penelope pursed her lips. “All right. But something has happened since we saw each other last night. You seemed perfectly fine, and you didn’t have a big black eye.”

  April set her jaw, fighting back tears. “Everything has happened. I was attacked last night, but fortunately Victor came to my rescue.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “So Lucas didn’t hurt me…much.”

  “You know your attacker’s name?” Penelope looked to Victor for confirmation, and he nodded. “Go on.”

  “So I stayed in Victor's spare bedroom for the night just in case Lucas came back, and apparently he did because my room was broken into and all my father’s paintings were ruined. The paintings were worth a fortune.”

  Penelope’s eyes hadn’t left April’s face, but now she looked at Victor again. “The police are involved?”

  He answered in English so April could follow. “Yes. It should be a clear case because they know who it is—at least for the attack, although it seems evident for the paintings too.”

  April continued, “But in the meantime, my door is broken and I can’t stay in my room, e
ven if I were courageous enough to stay there, which I’m not. And I have no source of income now that the paintings are ruined. I need to get on my feet. First order of business, a place to stay, even temporarily. Even for tonight.”

  “And you can’t just stay with Victor again?” Penelope looked at him, and he shrugged.

  “No. It’s causing problems with his fiancée—”

  “Oh.” Penelope’s mouth went round. “That would.”

  She appraised Victor again, and he felt like defending himself, but what would he say? That he didn’t think he loved his fiancée but they had a baby together, so he was stuck? The thought came unbidden, slid into his consciousness, then whirled around and hit him square in the chest. He didn’t love Margaux. He had been so focused on what he used to want—being tied into a good family with the security he once craved so strongly. Not only did he not love Margaux—at least, he was starting to doubt the fact—he didn’t really like her family either. Her dad was calculating, and her mom was a shadow of a woman, faded into the background. Was Margaux going to become like that too? Or, perhaps worse, would she become like her dad?

  April had continued. “And, so, if you know of anyone, or of a cheap place that you think is reasonably safe, I know I’m asking a favor of you as if we’ve been long-term friends, and we’ve really just met, but…”

  Penelope exhaled. “I can see I’ve been making a fuss over nothing in my own life when I look at the challenges you’re facing.” She put her hand on her hip, then turned her gaze on Victor. “Wait. Why are you here?”

  “April’s my friend. I wanted to help.” He stepped back but toppled a painting from the easel behind him, which he caught before he wreaked havoc.

  “And you don’t have any solutions for her?”

  “I do. I offered one, and she refused it.” April was now giving him a look, and he gave a pointed one back.

  What kind of solution?” Penelope’s gaze narrowed.

  “No, no, not like that. I offered to let her stay with my grandmother.” Victor laughed when Penelope’s look of mistrust turned into shock.