A Friend in Paris Page 21

  Winding around the Concorde, he saw a billboard for China Air. Where April wants to go, he mused. He knew deep down that not only would nothing stop her from going after her dream, but nothing should. It would mean saying goodbye. He passed the darkened storefronts, his reflections somber.

  What if I went with her?

  The thought whispered to him at first, until it grew, took hold, and began to form itself into a plan. Brunex Consulting had its eye on a boutique located in Shanghai. What if I went there? he thought. What if I went to Shanghai instead of taking the branch in Paris? He could put himself in place as director and see how well he did growing a foreign company from within.

  What would that life look like? he wondered. He’d already done research on becoming a silent partner in his own company so he could take over the Paris boutique. This would just be a little further away, but he could still keep an eye on his company from there. And sure, the financial risks might be a little greater since he’d have to start over in a different city, but he had so much saved up. And what a sad life it would be if all he cared about was making more. Didn’t April say that when they first met? There had to be something else motivating him besides money. Now was the time to prove there was.

  Victor began the walk up the Champs-Élysées. That was what he would do. He’d go where April wanted to go and find work wherever it was, and he would live the adventure Mishou always encouraged him to live. And he’d live it with the woman who was meant for him.

  April. He filled his lungs with air.

  She would never agree to this unless they got married. She’d made it clear that she wouldn’t live with anyone before marriage, and that was something he could respect. But would she say yes? And so soon? Victor didn’t even need to ask himself if it was too soon. He was certain April was the right one.

  The people walking on the Champs-Élysées at that hour were dressed to go out. Two women crossed his path, and the brunette eyed him provocatively, which might’ve tempted him at one time. Now it just felt empty. He cut across the broad avenue to reach the side street. There was only one way to know how April felt. He would have to ask. And Mishou had promised him he could have her ring when he was ready…

  Victor faltered. How could he think about leaving Paris when his grandmother needed him? She was getting older, and she had no one else. She had the right to have her family nearby in her later years. He picked up his pace, turning right on his street. He had walked the whole way.

  What was he going to do about this? There was only one thing to do. He needed to ask Mishou for advice.

  Wooden steps led to the gallery, and April went up, early as requested. Mr. Chambourd wanted to speak with her and the other artists who were exhibiting. Her heart thumped with excitement and nerves. She looked around and saw that the room was empty, save the small group congregated at the end of the gallery in front of her painting. She couldn’t keep a grin from her face as she walked toward them. Françoise came across the room to meet her.

  “You’re the only non-French person showing.”

  “So…not Ben?” April rubbed her arms.

  Françoise put her arm around April’s shoulders. “He’s just lucky you said you wouldn’t press charges. Come. Mr. Chambourd started to explain informally how this is going to work. The sales will be done in an auction. Today the interested buyers will come and look, and the auction will be on Monday.”

  “Why separate the two?” she asked. “Why not have the auction the same evening?”

  “I think it’s to create a desire for the paintings. Let people decide which ones are the most important to them and make them impatient to have them. But…why don’t we go hear for ourselves.”

  Two more students walked in, and Arthur came with Penelope and Guillaume. “My friends, Maître,” Arthur called out to his mentor, who gave a brief nod. April smiled at Penelope.

  Mr. Chambourd gave a final glance around and welcomed everyone to the showing. He introduced the artists to each other, pointing out each painting, then reiterating what Françoise had already told her, though he went into more detail. “The reason we’re doing this in auction format is because none of you have a quote on the market to earn a decent price for your painting. The buyers we have coming in are art connoisseurs, and they love to find new artists early on. They’re always looking for the next big talent to develop, no matter what nationality you are. The sales prices are often higher than an ordinary gallery showing would get you, and some of you are going to go far with what you earn. Of course, there are always a few cases where I’ve misjudged the art, and after the auctioneer opens the bid…there are no bids.”

  April sought Penelope’s eye. My worst nightmare, she thought.

  “My colleagues and I generally tend to have good eyes, however. We’re reasonably certain your canvases will sell well.” Mr. Chambourd clapped his hands. “The gallery opens in five minutes. Go have a drink and try not to look too stressed. You’ll want to fit in with the buyers as much as possible, but if someone wants to meet the artist, we’ll bring them to you.”

  Penelope came over while April was accepting a glass of champagne. “Where’s Victor?”

  “He wanted to bring me over, but he didn’t realize I would have to be here early. He had some things to tie up at work, then he plans to visit Mishou before coming over. He wanted to talk to her about something.”

  Penelope nodded. “So…” The one word was pregnant with meaning, and when April didn’t try to enlighten her, she was forced to ask. “Victor has no baby.”

  “No baby,” confirmed April.

  “And?” Penelope waved her head back and forth, eyebrows lifted.

  “And what?”

  “Anything happen? Un petit bisou, peut-être?”

  “Well.” April blushed, but smiled. “I will tell you about my kisses when you tell me about yours.”

  “What do you mean?” Penelope suddenly grew wary.

  “Guillaume is one hundred percent smitten with you.”

  “I have no idea what smitten is, but whatever it is I’m sure he is not.” Penelope folded her arms.

  April shrugged, her grin in place. She wouldn’t tease her friend if she weren’t fairly certain Penelope felt the same way about Guillaume but just had trouble accepting it. “No one believes that except you.”

  Penelope pursed her lips and blew out. “Phbbt.”

  The crowds began piling in at that moment, and April had no more time to talk to Penelope or do more than raise a glass at Guillaume and Arthur. Mr. Chambourd called her over twice to speak to potential buyers, and the other artists who had learned about her father came to ask her about his painting and what he had taught her growing up. Everyone knew who he was.

  She began to feel a growing sense of unease around nine o’clock when Victor still hadn’t showed. He had promised he would come. Maybe he got held up, or Mishou needed him for something. She managed to keep a smile plastered on her face when Mr. Chambourd called her over to meet a third person, a Colombian buyer who wondered if she also did portraits since hers was the only painting that had a prominent figure in the scene. Answering in the affirmative, she gave him her card.

  At ten o’clock, April pulled away from a student who had kept her talking for nearly a half hour, mostly about his own training and how good his painting was, and she cornered Penelope and Guillaume, who were standing close, deep in conversation. “I don’t know why Victor isn’t here. Has he said anything to you?”

  Both shook their heads. “Have you tried calling him?” Penelope asked.

  “I’ve been afraid to leave my place here in case I’m needed, but perhaps I can run to the bathroom and try to call him from there.”

  “Do that. I’ll tell Arthur you’ve stepped away for a moment in case anyone asks.”

  April hurried to the corridor that led to the bathroom and pulled out her phone. There were no messages. She dialed Victor’s number and let it ring. It went to voice mail. She tried a second time an
d let it ring. When it went to voice mail, she hesitated, then left a brief message. “Victor…I’m not sure where you are. I thought you’d be here. Hope everything is okay.” She hesitated again, then hung up.

  Walking slowly back to Penelope, she shook her head, mouthing the words “no answer” before another student came to ask about her father. Suddenly, everything felt futile. The reminder of her father every two minutes, plus the fact that Victor hadn’t come. It was only then she realized how much she’d counted on sharing this evening with him. How much she’d counted on sharing her life with him.

  The night dragged on and more buyers appeared. She supposed that was a good thing. She had no idea whatever happened to Victor, but he never bothered to show up. Perhaps he’d changed his mind about how much of a friend he wanted her to be, now that there was no barrier in place. Perhaps he thought she would get the wrong idea about him now that he had no fiancée. Well, fine. She would be just fine on her own.

  Finally, the last of the crowds left. Penelope and Guillaume had departed a while ago, Penelope giving April a compassionate squeeze on the arm. It was going on midnight, and Arthur was still in conference with the gallery owner who had partnered with Mr. Chambourd. By now, he had a bony woman with a blonde ponytail draped over his arm, who must have been the famous girlfriend. Some of the other students had already taken off, but April stayed. She guessed it was in the mistaken belief that Victor would eventually show. How pathetic was she?

  At last, April went to shake Mr. Chambourd’s hand and kiss Françoise on the cheeks. Pulling her wrap around her, she went toward the exit, her footsteps echoing on the empty stairs. At the bottom of the steps, her phone rang, and she scrambled to open her bag and pull it out. She almost dropped it. Victor.

  “April,” he said, when she answered. His voice was hoarse and almost unrecognizable.

  “What is it?” She was breathless, waiting, but he didn’t speak. “What is it, Victor?”

  “It’s Mishou.”

  April waited, but he didn’t seem capable of speaking further, and she could hear his quiet sobs. Finally, she prodded, “Where are you? I’ll be right there.”

  “Hôpital Cochin.”

  Chapter 26

  April rushed into the hospital lobby and came up to the reception desk. “I’m here to see…” Suddenly she realized she had no idea what Mishou’s real name was—first or last, which was crazy since she had been staying at her house. “I actually don’t know what her name is. An older woman was brought in. I don’t know what she had but it was an emergency.”

  The woman at the desk looked at her like she was slow. “I can’t really help you without more information.”

  April felt a flash of annoyance. The woman could be more sympathetic. She pulled out her phone and sent a text to Victor.

  I’m here. I don’t know Mishou’s name or where to go.

  A second later she got a reply: Wait right there.

  April moved away from the front desk and looked around. People were milling about; some crept along in hospital gowns, while others rushed in for a visit looking the picture of health. She looked toward the corridor that led to the patients’ wards, and the somber lights hit her, along with the faint smell of antiseptic. She had a visceral reaction, remembering her own father’s slow progression of illness. April looked at her feet. She would rather be anywhere but here, but there was no way she was going to let Victor go through this alone.

  In another minute, the elevator doors opened in the middle of the corridor, and Victor walked out, his face drawn. He gave a half wave, and she walked toward him, resisting the strong urge to pull him into a hug. Honestly, she wasn’t sure what he needed the most.

  “What happened?”

  “Thank you for coming.” Victor put his hand on her back to guide her into the elevator. His touch was reassuring. He had not withdrawn completely then.

  They rode the elevator in silence, and she respected his need to speak when he was ready. When they exited on the third floor and turned left, he led her past hospital rooms into a small lobby attached to the ward. They sat, and she was relieved to see they were the only ones in the room. He would be able to talk.

  “She had an AVC. A small one,” he said, at last.

  “I don’t know what that is,” she replied.

  “It must be a French term. It’s when the blood flow to the brain has been cut off. It happened to her, and she lost consciousness. I came to the apartment to talk to her before coming to meet you, and it’s a good thing I did, because no one would have been there to help her if I hadn’t.” Victor pinched the bridge of his nose, and April risked putting her arm around his shoulders. She held it there before pulling it back.

  “A stroke then,” April mused. “A small one. How do you know it’s a small one if she lost consciousness?”

  “Because she woke up before the firemen arrived—” He saw her look of confusion and explained, “In France we call the firemen for medical emergencies because they’re better trained than the ambulances, which are privately owned. So she woke up before they got there and was already starting to talk, but she wasn’t making any sense. She kept asking if the market was still open because she needed to go and buy more fresh fruit.”

  “So you accompanied her to the hospital. What did the doctors say?”

  “They did an IRM.” Again, he saw the confusion and said, “Like a radio but it shows the tissues instead of the bones.”

  “Oh. An MRI, then, instead of an X-ray. That’s how you say radio.” Her medical vocabulary was rapidly increasing, but she would rather not be in the circumstances that brought it about. “What did the MRI show?”

  “That there were some burst blood vessels, and the firemen had already given her blood thinning medicine. They would clear on their own.”

  April thought for a minute before venturing cautiously, “It seems like she’s going to be okay, right? Did she start making sense before…well, I assume she’s asleep, and that’s why we’re in here.”

  “She did start to make more sense, and even told the nurse that he looked tired and not to worry about lifting her because she could climb on the table on her own. It was just like her. And yes, she’s sleeping now.”

  “But you’re still worried,” April said.

  “Yes,” he said, and rubbed his face. “She’s so fragile, and I realized I need to be more present in her life. I need to move her in with me, or into an assisted living if she permits it. She can’t stay in the apartment on her own.” He leaned back on the chair and April followed, her eyes scanning his face.

  So Victor didn’t expect her to stay in the apartment with Mishou forever. It only made sense that it was temporary, but it felt sad all the same that she was no longer going to be part of their lives. Not in an integral, daily way like she’d been. It was time to think about moving home, no matter what happened with the art show, no matter if her painting sold. From there she could figure out her plans for China and all the rest. It was too bad she could no longer ask for any help from Ben. But that bridge had been burned.

  She was so lost in thought, Victor’s hug came as a shock. Without a word, he slid his hand behind her and reached around to pull her into a hug, his head cradled in her neck. All her senses screamed. She’d been holding back her feelings with an iron grip, unsure if he felt the same way, and even now she didn’t know if this was a hug of friendship or something more.

  Victor lifted his head off her neck and kissed it softly. Then he sought her gaze and leaned forward to kiss her. As April responded to it, sparks went off behind her eyelids. She began trembling.

  After a too-short kiss, he pulled away, his glance darting to hers. “I shouldn’t do that. Not here. But I just want you to know I’m not rebounding or anything. I’m a little in shock from Mishou, and even a little from Matthias, but I’m not confused about how I feel about you. I…” He pulled away some, but kept his arm around her back. “I was hoping you weren’t confused about how you felt abo
ut me.”

  A smile trembled at her mouth, and she shook her head. “I’m not.”

  His face brightened. “Well then.” He gave her another kiss, but this one firm and short. “But that’s enough of that.”

  April felt that, perhaps, a little more might not be a bad thing, but she didn’t argue. Mishou was sleeping and recovering in the room two doors down, and there was enough to think about.

  “Do you mind if I sleep a little right here next to you?” Victor asked.

  April shook her head and he settled down, his arm still around her, though in a half hour he was not likely to have any more feeling in it. She gave a smile as she felt him relax into her. So he has feelings for me. She sighed quietly, fighting to calm nerves that were too jumpy. What did this mean? Did he actually love her and want her to stay?

  Victor jerked upright. “I forgot to ask about the gallery showing. Did you sell your painting?”

  “No, it will be sold by auction on Monday morning. So I’ll see then.”

  “Where? And when?” he asked, but he had such a calculating look in his eyes, she had to say something.

  “Victor, I forbid you to buy my painting.”

  “Mais, pourquoi?” He snuck another small kiss.

  “Because I need to see that my painting will sell even with strangers. That it’s good enough for people who have no vested interest. And this is the only way to know.”

  “All right, I’ll respect that,” he said, a cross between a grumble and a murmur. “Je t’aime.” That was definitely mumbled, so she wasn’t even sure she heard him correctly.

  She felt him relax into her again. Would she stay? No, I don’t think I can. I mean, maybe six months or so while I save up and plan, but I can’t give up my father’s wish for me. It’s become my own desire as well. I wonder if Victor would wait for me. She sighed again. Probably not. But she felt herself relaxing, too, and decided that now was not the time to worry about it.