A Friend in Paris Read online

  Victor awoke a couple hours later and woke her up, too, as he pulled his arm from behind her back and shook it. He went to check on Mishou, then came back and sat next to her, leaning his head against hers, but keeping his arms on his lap. She did the same, and found it wasn’t awfully uncomfortable, dozing upright in metal hospital chairs. Not when she was sitting next to him.

  “Mishou’s sleeping,” he murmured. Then they both fell asleep too.

  At six in the morning, Victor breathed in and stretched his arms, and April shifted and started rubbing her neck. “Victor, I need to get home. Can you let me know how Mishou is doing and whether I can come back to visit this afternoon?”

  His heart lifted at the sight of her at his side with her disheveled hair, pink cheeks and luminous eyes. Victor nodded and caressed her cheek before leaning over to give her a quick peck on the lips. He really needed to get a hold of some coffee. And maybe a toothbrush.

  “Thank you for coming and for staying here with me all night.”

  “Of course.” April turned to meet his gaze. “What else would I do?” Picking up her beaded purse and silk wrap, she said, “Give Mishou a kiss for me when she wakes up.”

  After April left, Victor looked in his grandmother’s room. She was still sleeping, and he went in search of some breakfast. By the time he’d eaten and come back upstairs, he found his grandmother awake and beaming at him from the hospital bed. “I guess I’m getting old.”

  “Non, Mishou. Not yet.” And please, God, may we have many more years together. “But you know, I do think it’s a good idea that you move into my apartment.”

  He expected a little bit of resistance, but he didn’t expect his grandmother to lay her hand on his, with more strength than he could imagine her having, and give an emphatic no. “It will not be good for you to have me in your home while you’re there with your young wife. It’s not healthy for the marriage.”

  “Mishou, I was on my way to tell you…many things, but one of them was the fact that I wasn’t getting married, and the baby is not mine.”

  “Of course you’re not getting married to that girl. I was talking about April.” Mishou patted his hand kindly. “You’re a sweet boy, and I’m glad you’ve found someone who is perfect for you.”

  Victor’s jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

  His grandmother didn’t deign to answer that but just said, “The ring I promised you is at the jewelers being cleaned, and you can pick it up tomorrow.”

  “Mishou, I hadn’t even had a chance to ask you for it.” And then disbelief, surprise, admiration…all held his tongue in check for a moment before he added, “We can’t really get engaged this soon. I mean, I only told her how I felt last night.”

  “Foolish young man,” Mishou said fondly. Then she raised an eyebrow. “Foolish in love, I mean. You can’t see it as clearly as I can with a lifetime of love and a few missed opportunities behind me. The two of you were adrift until you found each other, and you both fully come into your own when you’re together. Go and get that ring. The receipt is in my wallet.” She patted the side of her bed, searching for her purse, then pointed to it on the window ledge.

  “And put me in the assisted living on Avenue Foch where Antoinette Vaudrat lives. I know I can’t stay on my own anymore. It’s not practical, and I’ll be as happy at Foch as I will anywhere. Go with April to China for six months. She needs this. April needs to fulfill her dreams before she can settle down happily. I promise to stay alive until you get back. The doctors will tell you that I still have plenty of force.”

  “How do you know about China?” Victor felt like a puppet in the strings of a master. His whole world was being planned before his eyes, and normally the feeling would make him want to run. For once in his life, however, he just wanted direction. He wanted this to work out and to be with April, wherever she was.

  “Two women can’t live in the same apartment for several weeks without learning a few things about each other.” Mishou chuckled. “Even if her French is almost impossible to understand.”

  “I can’t leave you for six months,” Victor said, but he was torn.

  “Nonsense, mon fiston.” Mishou reached up and laid her hand on his cheek in a gesture that was filled with the tenderness of a lifetime of love. “I’ll be disappointed if, for once in your life, you don’t do the thing your heart is telling you to do—to take a risk.”

  “Alors, Madame Brigot. How are we feeling today?” The doctor entered with two interns in his wake, and Victor and his grandmother weren’t able to speak anymore. They would need to discuss all this in more detail, but Victor was pretty sure that, once again, his estimable grandmother was right.

  April took a seat at the auction in the back of the room where she saw the other students congregating. She hadn’t seen Victor since she left him yesterday morning because the doctors had ordered tests for his grandmother and thought it would be wise to have no visitors for the rest of the day, apart from family. So he stayed with his grandmother, and she stayed away.

  April hoped he would respect her wishes and not come and try to buy her painting this morning. She’d been unable to touch breakfast, she was so nervous to know whether her artwork would sell, whether it was worth something, and whether she would have enough money for the next phase in her life.

  The Commissaire Priseur opened by bringing out the first painting—her own.

  What? she thought. That’s not supposed to happen. This is too fast. Her scattered thoughts took her in every direction, and she slumped in her seat. Maybe it’s because he thinks it’s the worst painting, and it’s not likely to sell. Her heart was beating in her throat. Well, here it goes, anyway.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I present April à Paris, painted by April Caleigh, une fille d’artiste. She’s the daughter of Henry Caleigh, the postmodern painter. April à Paris is done in a contemporary realism style, and the setting is on a residential street in Paris, the courtyard of a Haussmannien building in the eighth arrondissement. As you can see, if you’ve gotten a glimpse at the artist back there, this is a self-portrait that includes all the whimsy of a first-time visitor to the City of Light, set in a more traditional Parisian environment. I’ll start the bidding at five hundred euros. Five hundred euros, ladies and gentlemen.”

  “A thousand.” A man in the seat directly in front of her raised his white board.

  “Three thousand.” This came from a woman on her left, a telephone plastered to her ear.

  “Three thousand, five hundred euros.” A third bidder was standing on the side of the room.

  April held her breath as the silence stretched. Then, from the woman on the phone, “Seven thousand euros.”

  There was a collective gasp, and even the auctioneer looked surprised. It did seem to April to be an unreasonable jump. Why not bid four thousand? Would it end there?

  But no. The man in front of her bid “Eight thousand, five hundred.” April looked more closely at the back of his head. He looked like the Colombian man who’d asked her about doing portraits.

  “Nine thousand.” Again from the woman on the phone.

  “Nine thousand, five hundred.” From the man on the sidelines.

  “Ten thousand.” April’s gaze shot over to the woman on the phone, and then to Mr. Chambourd, whose profile was visible toward the front. He had an arrested look on his face, then one eyebrow lifted.

  “Fifteen thousand.” The Colombian man spoke up in a loud voice. April glanced at the woman, who was speaking into her phone, but she finally shook her head. The man on the side remained silent.

  “Going once. Going twice. SOLD to bidder number twenty-three.” There was polite clapping as April felt a few eyes on her. The only thing she could think of was how fast she could get out of there. She needed to leave as soon as possible, but that would probably be rude.

  Fifteen thousand? It seemed like a great price, but April could hardly revel in it. The art school in Shanghai was ten thousand for six months. It was well-k
nown and did not come cheap. And then there was the flight. She might get one for one thousand, but what about food and lodging and just general living expenses? Four thousand for six months. Impossible to live on. And—she had forgotten to ask what percentage the auction house kept.

  “SOLD!”

  April snapped to attention at the hit of the gavel. The next painting had sold for four thousand, so hers had been a good price, after all. But it was not going to be enough. Her thoughts flew from one consideration to the next, one worry to the next.

  She flexed her fingers, reflectively. Stop, she thought, at once. A sense of peace came over her. I earned money from my art. That is incredible. And the rest will somehow work itself out.

  The applause for the last sale ended, and April felt she had been there long enough not to attract attention. While the auctioneer brought out the next painting, she slipped out. She’d expected to see Penelope, but she was not there. Instead, April exited onto the street and began to walk toward the métro. Victor had sent her a text before the auction to wish her luck and to ask her to come to his apartment afterwards. Mishou was well enough that he could come home, and he wanted to see her. It was an effort not to break into a jog.

  “April.” She whirled around at the sound of her name.

  She stilled when she saw who had called her, her heart in her throat. “Ben. What are you doing here?”

  He came forward, his usual cockiness replaced by a look of embarrassment. “It was me in there. Well, not in there, but I was one of the ones bidding on your painting.”

  She couldn’t help the displeasure that she knew covered her features. “Why, though? Did you win?”

  He shook his head. “I tried. I had a certain amount of money, but the bidding went beyond that. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I wouldn’t have wanted you to buy it. I wanted a stranger to buy it. I need for my painting to be bought on merit, not on pity.” April thought back. “So you were on the phone with that woman?”

  Ben tried to catch her eye, his gaze pleading. “Yes. I wanted to make amends and make sure you had enough money to carry out your dream of traveling. As for myself, I’ll be heading home. My parents weren’t too happy when they found out that my painting was pulled. I had to explain why.”

  “Mmm.” April was not going to be overly sympathetic.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to say goodbye.” Ben leaned forward in the usual way to kiss her cheek, but she shook her head.

  “Why don’t we just shake hands.” April saw his misery and softened. “Listen. I forgive you, and it all worked out well for me. Don’t let this one thing ruin your life.”

  Ben turned to go, lifting his hand halfway in farewell, and April headed to the métro.

  Chapter 27

  The old apartment building was the same as it had always been. No lingering nightmares of Lucas or getting attacked. She’d not even suffered feelings of oppression in returning to the place where she’d lost her father’s paintings—the greatest loss she’d experienced after the loss of her father himself. At least the pain was not too fresh. April closed the distance to the entrance and pulled herself up, her stride lengthening. My father lives on no matter what happened to his paintings. Her eyes filled with tears of awareness and gratitude. His mark is everywhere throughout my own work.

  She opened the wooden door and entered the courtyard. There was the spot she had painted—the painting she’d sold! She still needed to process that bit of good news, along with the surprising emptiness of no longer having it in her possession. How did artists bear to part from their work? Her dad had always told her to disassociate her feelings from her work, but evidently this was a learned process.

  Victor buzzed her in as soon as she hit the intercom, and as she climbed the stairs, her thoughts took a different turn that had nothing to do with art or emptiness. Her breath quickened in anticipation. The last time she’d seen him, they had fallen asleep side by side in the hospital lobby, and her feelings had run the gamut from wild butterflies to a cocoon of serenity.

  Victor opened the door and wasted no time in pulling April into a hug, lifting her up off the ground. It would’ve felt like a brotherly bear hug if he hadn’t shoved the door shut with his foot, set her down, and kissed her until she was breathless. Whoa! Her pulse raced as he held her, and her knees turned to jelly.

  “Come.” Victor pulled away, and she stumbled forward, stunned by the sudden change and the space that was now between them. He grabbed her hand, leading her into the living room. “Let me tell you about Mishou. Then I have something to show you. Well, two things to show you.” He grinned.

  “Mishou must be doing better or you wouldn’t be looking like that,” April announced, feeling as giddy as he looked.

  “Mishou is fine. She’ll be discharged in another week, and she said to give you a kiss, which I obeyed as soon as you walked through the door.”

  “Although I don’t think she meant that sort of kiss,” April said.

  “Oh no, I think that’s exactly the sort of kiss she meant.” Victor laughed. “Okay, sit. No. Stand here. I have too much energy to sit.” He grabbed both her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m nervous. What I wanted to tell you is that Mishou is completely herself and that she had some advice to give me, which I’ve taken to heart. I plan to do exactly what she suggested, except that it involves you, and you get to decide too.”

  April was breathless. “It involves me?”

  Victor stared at her for a long moment without answering. Then he took her hand and led her to his office, where he opened the door and walked through.

  “What—” April gasped in shock as soon as she got a full view of the spacious room. Victor’s modern paintings had been removed, and in their place were all six of her father’s paintings, repaired so meticulously, you could only see the damage when you walked up close. She wasted no time in doing that.

  There was the Chilean fishing boat with the dock covered in beige chipped paint, the toddler running through the bluebells and purple wildflowers, the cocker spaniel looking up at the small boy, and the scenes of their garden painted in summer, fall and winter. Each one had been set in a frame to match.

  “How did you…?” April started crying, and that was Victor’s cue to pull her into another embrace. They stood like that, the months of friendship bringing them to this moment, where it teetered on something deeper. She drew a long, slow breath and basked in the feeling of being cherished.

  “My painting sold, you know,” she said, her voice muffled in his sweater.

  She felt him nod. “Fifteen thousand.” And before she could ask how he knew, he added, “Penelope gave me Arthur’s number so I could follow up.”

  “And you didn’t bid. You left it alone.” She felt him nod again. “And instead of trying to save me from financial ruin, you just gave me the most important thing I could possibly have on this earth.”

  He squeezed her tighter, and she could hear the grin in his voice. “When you put it like that, I sound like a regular hero.”

  “Nothing regular about you, Victor. But yes, you’re a hero.”

  Out of the blue, she felt his heart speed up—felt it pounding through his shirt. He gripped her harder but didn’t say anything, and she began to feel a little alarmed. “Um…is everything—”

  “And you’d marry a hero, right? Someone you considered a hero?” Victor sounded as though he had something stuck in his throat.

  At this, April pulled back, slipping easily out of his embrace as his hands fell to his side. She looked at him closely. “I don’t understand.”

  With shaking fingers, Victor reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a ring, which she didn’t dare look at. Instead she kept her eyes trained on his.

  “It’s Mishou’s ring.” Victor swallowed. “She always promised it to me when I found the right girl, and she had it cleaned before she got sick—”

  “For Margaux.”

  “No.” Victor gave a shaky laugh. “Not fo
r Margaux. For you. She just knew. I mean, I don’t want to pressure you, April. It’s sudden, I know. Who gets married after only a couple months of knowing each other? But then sometimes you just know. Please say something.”

  “Victor, I—”

  “I’ll come with you to China.” It all came out in a rushed breath, and Victor put his hands on her arms, his gaze meeting hers. “I haven’t had time to put everything in place, but I’m planning on taking a position in Shanghai with one of the subsidiaries, so I can be with you when you go.”

  April’s mouth dropped. “You will come with me?”

  “I want to. If you’ll have me. It’s just…I know you’re the right one for me. Your dream is the one that can’t wait very long. You need to do it when you’re this free and this determined. I just know this relationship won’t work if it means sacrificing your dream.”

  Victor looked down, suddenly unsure. “Maybe one day I’ll need you to follow me somewhere, and I hope you’ll be willing to do that. But we can start with following you, and that’s fine.”

  April realized her mouth was still open and she shut it, but her eyes were fixed on the stubble on his chin. Victor wants to marry me. I would get to be with him forever. He would be my home. The words kept looping through her brain, but it was too overwhelming to give an answer.

  At her silence, Victor took her by the waist and pulled her close. “You once said you’d never live together without getting married, and I can’t really come to China with you and not live with you. Plus it would…” He cleared his throat. “It would be hard to wait.”

  The spell that had kept April speechless broke. “Yes!” she squealed, jumping up and throwing her arms around his neck. “I will marry you, and we’ll go to China, and then…and then we’ll see from there. I mean, yeah, I want to see other places, but we can figure out the timing on all that. I just need to at least begin the adventure. And never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I’d get to begin it with you.”