Chapter 10
Hope had never stolen anything in her life before.
Not a sweet from the grocer, not a biscuit from her mother’s oven tray, and certainly not anything of value.
But as she sat on the train and felt for the little pouch in her pocket, she didn’t feel any sense of shame about the coins she’d taken from her father’s drawer before she’d run away.
As far as she was concerned, he’d left her no choice.
When she’d set off in the early hours of the morning, the house still quiet, her belongings were packed in one bag and her art supplies in another.
Other than the money, the only other thing she’d taken that belonged to her parents were two slices of bread and some cheese, because she hadn’t known when she would next eat.
Hope hadn’t even intended on taking the money, until she’d touched her tender cheek and been reminded of what her father had done to her, and what else he might do if she stayed and didn’t obey his orders.
She leaned her head against the glass, staring out at the scenery seeming to fly past, and wondering if she’d ever return home again.
It was familiar, and all she’d ever known, but at the same time, she couldn’t find it in her heart to mourn what she was leaving behind.
Even her brothers, who’d once been so fun, had turned their backs on her when she’d told them of her dreams, teasing her and belittling her ideas.
Pierre had shown her some kindness of late, but not enough to make her want to stay.
Even he had frowned and told her she was living a fairy tale if she truly thought she could make her own way in the world.
She’d wondered if he might change his mind if he saw her bruised face, but in the end, she’d decided to go without waiting to see his reaction.
Her stomach leapt with nerves, but Hope only straightened her back and lifted her chin, refusing to give in to her worries.
She’d fought for her independence, and now she had it.
The only thing that was uncertain was precisely what she was going to do with her new-found freedom, because she didn’t have the first idea about where to go in a city that was mostly unknown to her.
She’d pored over books and newspaper articles about Paris, and she had visited twice with her family years earlier, but it was all so new to her.
I need to find somewhere to live, then a job and a studio to paint in. It’s as simple as that.
As far as she could imagine, Paris would be filled with people like her who wanted to create a life around art, just as she did. All she had to do was find those people, and she’d be on her way. That, and find a job so that she could afford to pay rent.
Because she didn’t even want to think about what became of young women with no means to take care of themselves.
The very idea sent a shudder through her, and made her more determined than ever to be a success, no matter how hard she had to work.
As far as she was concerned, failure was not an option, not when she didn’t have the luxury of going home.
Three days later, Hope stood in the centre of an apartment in Paris, trying not to show how disheartened she was.
Earlier that day she’d struck up a conversation with another artist, Celine, at a studio she’d stumbled upon and now, only a few hours later, she was being shown a room the size of a broom cupboard, trying to pretend that it was everything she’d been looking for.
The cheap hotel she’d been staying in wasn’t much better, and she’d been terrified there might have been bugs in the stained sheets.
She’d needed to get out of there and into something more permanent as quickly as she could.
All of this is still better than marrying a stranger. It’s still better than letting my father control my life. It’s still me choosing for myself rather than being told what to do.
She steeled her jaw and turned, looking around again and feeling more hopeful as sunshine slipped through the narrow windows.
‘It’s not much, but I think you’ll like it here.’
Hope turned and looked around. ‘You’re all artists?’ she asked.
‘Artists and one writer,’ the other woman said, lighting a cigarette and shrugging. ‘All poor, all struggling for our art, but we get on. If you want to move in, we can introduce you to our friends and show you around the city, too.’
Hope nodded, as if trying to convince herself. ‘I’ll take it.’
‘Great. Come by with your things later and we’ll go out for a drink. Have you discovered the green fairy yet?’
Hope knew she wore a blank expression, but she had no idea what her new housemate was talking about. ‘Ah…’
Celine placed an arm around her shoulder and grinned. ‘You’re young and still full of creativity. The rest of us have been doing this for so long, we need a special little drink to help us. You’ll learn soon enough.’
‘How long have you been trying to get your work seen?’ Hope asked.
‘Too many years to count.’ Celine sighed. ‘But it’s not that bad, not once you’re used to being so poor. We make enough to have fun, and there are enough starving artists around that it’s quite the community.’ She laughed. ‘I mean, are you even an artist if you’re not starving?’
Hope held her smile, hoping it appeared genuine, while at the same time she was horrified that there were so many struggling artists in the city.
She would give herself a year, and if she hadn’t succeeded by then, she would search for a proper job.
Because this tiny, grubby apartment was bearable for now, but it wasn’t the life she’d imagined for herself.
This wasn’t the kind of life she could live forever.
But it’s still better than what I left behind.
Just.