Chapter 18
18
NEW YORK, 1962
‘Can I help you?’ said Allegra to the man who’d wandered into the gallery without so much as acknowledging her as she sat behind the desk at the back of the room.
He was older, around her father’s age she guessed, and about as short and round. ‘I’m looking for something for my wife; she told me to come and buy her a painting.’ Not once did he look at Allegra when he spoke. ‘How much is this one?’
Allegra got up from the desk and went to join him as he stood, looking at the picture. ‘That’s a wonderful piece, painted by a young up-and-coming artist.’
‘But it’s just a blue canvas, isn’t it?’ The man put his face close to the painting.
‘Well, yes… if that’s what you want to see. For some, it’s the colour of melancholy and despair but for this particular artist, it’s the colour of the cerulean blue skies of the Mediterranean. He was born in the South of France.’
The man shrugged. ‘I don’t get it.’ He pointed to another painting beside it. ‘What about this one?’
Allegra steeled herself, concentrating on keeping the smile on her face. She looked at the canvas, one of her favourites currently in the gallery. It showed streaks of different colours from green to blue, red to yellow, varying in shape and texture. Some were fine lines, others seemingly smeared across the canvas. For Allegra, simply looking at it made her feel more connected to the world around her. ‘The artist is a landscape painter, she’s American but has been living in France for a few years. She’s very much influenced by the great French Impressionist painters of the nineteenth century, particularly Matisse.’
The man stepped back and cocked his head to one side, squinting as he looked at the painting in front of him. ‘That’s a landscape?’ He shook his head. ‘I really don’t get it.’
Allegra was about to give up and go and sit back at the desk, leaving him to no doubt dismiss all the other works of art hanging on the walls, when he reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a chequebook.
He waved it in front of Allegra. ‘How much?’
‘The price is right there, on the little sign below.’ She tried not to show her surprise.
He leant in and whistled as he read it.
Allegra smiled as he turned back to face her.
‘I’ll take it.’
‘Really? That’s wonderful!’ Allegra couldn’t believe she’d misread him. Normally her ability to identify a serious buyer was spot on thanks to watching and learning from Val over the last few months.
‘She likes those colours. If you like it, I think she will too.’
‘I can give you more information about the painting, I’m sure your wife would like to know. Please, come and have a seat and I can take your details.’
The transaction done, Allegra closed the door of the gallery behind him as the man walked back onto the street, turning left towards Madison. When Val came back from her customary lunch with her husband, Allegra couldn’t wait to tell her about the unexpected sale.
Looking at the ledger book on the desk, perfectly filled in with the details just as she’d taught Allegra to do, Val closed it and put her hands on Allegra’s shoulders. ‘That is wonderful news. I knew you had an instinct for it.’
‘But that’s the funny part. I hardly said a word,’ said Allegra, her eyes wide.
Val laughed. ‘The thing is, people either like buying from you or they don’t. You’ve just got it, along with a natural feel for the artists’ work.’
It had been almost three months since Allegra had started working for Val. Her birthday had been and gone and as desperate as she was to get back to Paris, Allegra had barely any money to her name – not to mention no passport. She often wondered if Etienne had gone to the place they’d agreed to meet, picturing him standing in the spot under the Eiffel Tower just as he’d looked that first night when they’d met.
Instead, Allegra had thrown herself into her work, resolving to return just as soon as she was back on her own two feet. She’d quickly worked her way up from general gallery dogsbody, cleaning the floors to making coffee, to helping Val with the paperwork and organising the transportation of artworks between artists and buyers. Now, here she was being left in charge of the gallery every now and again and this had been her biggest solo sale to date by quite some way. Allegra thought she might cry with happiness on the spot.
‘Thank you,’ she managed.
Val hugged her tightly. ‘We are very proud of you. I think we need to celebrate tonight. Let’s go to Lutèce for lamb and lots of red wine,’ she said, laughing.
The French restaurant around the corner from Val and Robert’s apartment had quickly become Allegra’s favourite place to eat, not least because it reminded her of the food she’d eaten when she’d been in France. Almost everything came cooked in butter and garlic was a given.
When she’d received her first pay cheque from Val, Allegra had already started to look for an apartment to rent nearby in the West Village but Val, who’d insisted on coming with her to view them, had refused to let her spend her hard-earned money on such miserable digs. Instead, Val and Robert had persuaded her to stay with them for a while longer and save up some money, insisting they loved her company. Their three-storey red-brick house had plenty of space and an almost constant flow of visitors, often artists and friends. The long oak dining table in the low basement kitchen was a carousel of conversation, from the first coffee in the morning to the last whisky (always Scotch for Robert) at night.
Allegra loved the way Robert and Val could communicate without words, their actions so clearly borne out of love and respect for one another. The atmosphere at home with her parents had been cold in comparison. They had only ever conveyed facts, never feelings, as far as she’d been able to tell. As they sat around the table in the restaurant that evening, Allegra retold the story of her first sale to Robert as instructed by Val and he promptly ordered a bottle of champagne. They toasted her success and Allegra thanked them, as she did often, for their kindness.
Their food arrived, along with a bottle of Bordeaux ordered by Robert and more toasts were made. ‘I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you,’ said Allegra, looking from one to the other.
‘Don’t be silly, we love having you. Now,’ said Val, as she heaped another spoonful of potatoes dauphinoise onto Robert’s plate before putting more on her own, ‘I know you don’t like talking about it, but have you thought about going to see your father?’
Allegra put her fork down on her plate. ‘I have been thinking about it.’ She wiped her mouth with her napkin. ‘But I just don’t think I can.’
Robert topped up their glasses with more red wine. ‘You should try and make peace with him. Go and see him, explain what you’ve been doing, what you want to do.’
‘And,’ said Val, ‘you can ask him for the letters from Etienne.’
Allegra had written every week without fail since being back in New York, long letters telling Etienne what she’d been doing, her work at the gallery and how much she missed him. She loved describing the paintings in the gallery, the new artists she was discovering through her work there and the people she was meeting. But still she hadn’t heard back from him, despite giving him her new address. There was no way of knowing if he’d written back to her at her home address without seeing her father and much as she had told herself she would be happy if she never saw him again, she knew deep down he would always haunt her. She should at least try, especially now that she had a job and was on her way to being able to have enough savings to return to Paris, even if it was going to take a little longer than Allegra had hoped.
‘I know, I will,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow. I’ll go tomorrow.’ Maybe it was the wine making her feel brave but suddenly it seemed clear and she knew what she had to do.
* * *
The following morning Allegra left the house before either Val or Robert had surfaced and decided to walk across town through Washington Square Park and take the 6 Train uptown. Despite the slight chill, spring was definitely in the air and the park was coming alive with bulbs peeking through the grass on the ground. A few brave daffodils had already revealed their petals to passers-by, not that many seemed to notice. She sat for a moment on the bench by the fountain collecting her thoughts, then walked under the arch and across to Lafayette and the subway station.
Allegra’s plan was simple: she would go to the reception at her parents’ home and ask them to call her father to let him know she was there to see him. Then it was up to him whether to allow her to come up or not. If the answer was no, she would leave knowing she’d tried. And as much as she was desperate to have any letters that may have arrived from Etienne, it made no real difference one way or another. Allegra would return to Paris just as soon as she had enough money to do so.
Standing outside her old apartment looking at the forest green awning of the building, Allegra told herself to put one foot in front of the other but she felt rooted to the spot. Looking up at their floor, she felt the familiar knot in her stomach she’d had when thinking of her mother lying sick in the bed upstairs. The one comfort was the closeness they’d enjoyed just before her mother had died. Too little, too late. This time, she had nothing to lose.
Allegra was greeted with the usual cheery hello from the doorman as she walked through the heavy oak and glass doors into the building. She went straight to reception and waited for someone to appear.
‘Hello, Ms Morgon,’ said the old man on the other side of the dark wooden desk.
‘Hey, Alfred, how are you?’
‘Good thank you. We haven’t seen you for a while, how’ve you been?’
Allegra smiled, grateful for him not asking why she’d disappeared so suddenly. ‘Fine, thank you. I’m working round the corner now, at the gallery on East 74th.’
‘Fancy! Good for you,’ he whispered, winking at her. ‘Now, you going up to see your father?’
‘Can you call him and let him know I’m here?’
‘Of course, one moment.’ Alfred picked up the telephone on the desk and dialled the number. ‘Mr Morgon, sir. I have Ms Allegra down here. Shall I send her up?’
Allegra watched as Alfred listened, nodding his head.
‘As you wish, sir. I’ll let her know.’ He put down the phone and looked at Allegra. He was clearly reluctant to relay the message.
‘It’s okay, Alfred. Just tell me.’
‘I’m so sorry, Ms Morgon, he says he’s very busy.’
Allegra bit her lip hard, not wanting to let him know how much those words hurt.
‘I’m sure he’ll come round,’ said Alfred, shrugging his shoulders.
‘Thanks, I’ll try another time perhaps.’ She sighed and looked around the hall with its polished marble floors. The smell of the lilies in the vase on the table in the middle of the room reminded her of her mother. Suddenly she wanted to cry.
‘There have been some letters for you,’ said Alfred. ‘Not that I have them here, I’m afraid. Your father takes them with his post.’
Allegra’s heart leapt. ‘Did you happen to notice where they were from?’
‘Obviously I don’t look at the post in detail, it’s not my place,’ said Alfred. ‘But—’ he leant towards Allegra ‘—I happened to notice they did have an unusual stamp on them. I think they were from France.’
‘Could I ask you a big favour?’ She put her hand on his arm. ‘Next time something arrives for me, please can you put it aside? I’ll come and pick it up.’
He looked about. ‘They were coming every week but there hasn’t been one for a while.’
‘Please? My father won’t ever know. Besides, they belong to me. He shouldn’t be able to keep things from me.’
Alfred thought about it for a moment, then nodded his head. ‘Okay, sure. I will. But if I get into trouble…’
‘You won’t, I promise. Thank you, Alfred. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I’ll come back next week.’ Allegra turned to leave. Just as she got to the door, she heard him call her name.
‘Ms Morgon?’
‘Yes?’
‘Look after yourself.’ The old man smiled at her.
‘Thanks, Alfred, you too.’ She walked back through the revolving doors onto the quiet New York street and made her way to the gallery, happy in the knowledge that Etienne hadn’t forgotten her. If her father had his way maybe she’d never get her hands on those letters, but it didn’t matter. Sooner or later, she was going to return to Paris and there was nothing he could do to stop her.
* * *
New York sweltered as preparations were made for a new exhibition at the gallery. Allegra had been flat out for weeks organising the logistics that came with putting on a new show. There was already a buzz about it but Val had been tight-lipped about the artist in question, even with Allegra. It was to be a Minimalist sculpture show featuring works by a female artist and Allegra couldn’t wait to write to Etienne, knowing how much he’d love the idea.
Late one morning, when Val had left for lunch with an artist she was trying to get on board for an exhibition later that year, Allegra was working at the desk cataloguing artworks. The gallery door was locked, as it sometimes was when she was alone. It took a few seconds for Allegra to realise someone was knocking gently on the glass window, trying to get her attention. Looking up, she saw Alfred on the other side, waving at her. At first, she didn’t recognise him, used to seeing him in his uniform.
Allegra crossed the gallery floor and opened the door. ‘Alfred, nice to see you. Come on in.’
‘Hello, Ms Morgon. I won’t stay long. I came to give you this.’ He handed Allegra a small cardboard tube.
Taking it from him, she looked at the typed label on the front. She recognised the tube but couldn’t quite place it. ‘When did this arrive?’
‘Yesterday, late afternoon.’ He pointed at the stamp. ‘It’s from France. It was posted a while ago though, maybe it got lost on the way.’
Allegra took it from him and studied the postmark. ‘Thank you so much, I’m truly grateful.’
He looked around the gallery. ‘So, this is where you work?’
‘Yes, I’ve been here for a while now. I love it.’
Alfred looked around at the paintings on the walls. ‘Bet these are worth a pretty penny.’
‘Hopefully but until they’re sold, I get to enjoy looking at them. That’s the best bit.’ She hugged Alfred. ‘Thank you, I really appreciate you coming.’
‘My pleasure. Well, I’d better get going. And if your father ever asks, I wasn’t here.’
‘Never saw you,’ she said, winking at him. ‘Thank you.’
After locking the door behind him, Allegra went back to the desk and sat down. With trembling fingers, she lifted the brown wrapping paper from the tube, then carefully opened one end. Reaching inside, she slipped out the rolled-up piece of paper and unfurled it gently on the desk. She stared at the drawing for a few seconds before registering what she was looking at. ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered. There in front of her was the sketch she’d bought in the flea market for Etienne, the one she’d given to him that Christmas. She looked at the lines on the paper, the curves of a woman’s body depicted with just a few strokes of the artist’s hand. She instantly recalled his face when he’d first seen it. How she missed those eyes. He’d loved it, so why was he returning it?
She looked again inside the tube and saw there was an envelope. She took it out and tore it open, desperate to see his words on a page. As soon as she saw his handwriting, small and precise just as she remembered it, her eyes filled with tears. She read the words, her heart beating faster with every sentence. When she finished, she dropped the letter to the floor and wept.
‘What’s going on?’
Val had let herself into the gallery to find Allegra sitting on the floor beneath a painting, her knees to her chest, a faded piece of paper in her hands.
Allegra looked up, her face streaked with mascara. She held out the drawing to Val. ‘It’s from Etienne.’ Her voice was weak.
Val took it from her and turned it up the right way. She stared at it, her mouth dropping open. ‘Where did he get this?’
‘I bought it for him in Paris. It was his Christmas present.’
‘Where from?’
‘A flea market, I forget the name.’
Val couldn’t take her eyes off it. ‘You know what this is?’
‘A Rodin,’ said Allegra, flatly.
Val went to the desk and sat down, placing the drawing in front of her. She opened the drawer and rummaged around for a pair of glasses. ‘But how on earth did you get your hands on it?’
‘That’s what Etienne said when I gave it to him.’ Allegra shrugged. ‘I just bought it. I assumed it was a print.’
Val examined the drawing, a magnifying glass now in her hand. ‘I think this is an original.’
Allegra laughed, but her face was stony. ‘It is.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because Etienne wrote to me.’ Allegra held up a letter. ‘I just got it. He checked with his friend, a neighbour of his parents. He’s an artist. Serge said he’s 99 per cent sure it’s an original.’
Val was obviously confused. ‘But then why are you crying? This could be worth a lot of money.’
‘Etienne says I shouldn’t go back to Paris.’ Allegra wiped the tears from her face. ‘He says he can’t offer me the life I deserve there but wants me to have this so I can start the life I should be leading here instead.’
Val thought for a moment. ‘Don’t you think he’s doing you a favour here? He must really love you to do this.’
Allegra closed her eyes. ‘That’s the point. He doesn’t love me. That’s why he wants me to stay here.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because he says so.’ Allegra pointed at the letter on the floor. ‘Read it for yourself.’
Val picked up the letter from beside the desk where Allegra had dropped it and, without looking, simply folded it over. She stood up and went to sit down on the floor next to Allegra, handing her the letter.
Allegra took it, holding it in her long fingers. ‘How could he be so cruel?’
Val put her arm around the distraught girl. ‘Listen to me, honey. Letting you go back there would have been cruel. He’s been honest and as painful as it might be right now, you’ll be thankful one day that he was. And he feels guilty enough to give you a damn Rodin drawing.’ She laughed and squeezed Allegra’s shoulder.
They sat together on the floor for a while, Val gently soothing Allegra until there were no tears left to cry and later that night, as they sat around the table in the basement kitchen, Allegra sipped on the double measure of whisky as instructed. The Rodin drawing was propped up at the end of the table and as they ate supper, a chicken pie made by Robert, Val attempted to persuade Allegra that this could all be a blessing in disguise.
But Allegra knew better. Her heart had been broken twice over, first by her father and now by Etienne. And she was determined not to trust it to anyone else ever again.