Chapter 14 #2
“No. Even though it gives me great pleasure, I neglect it. I get busy working on people’s houses, I drive the minibus for my cousin Pierre, I get moody …”
“You? Not possible.”
“I hate that I’m not doing it. I know my life will be better if I do, but I don’t, and then I hate me and everything else more. I used to be known for portraiture, but I abandoned it.”
“Can I see?”
He looked through some canvases and pulled one out. It was of an older woman sitting on a stone windowsill, in the sunlight. The painting caught her warmth and personality.
Marlow drew in a breath. “Is it Madame Belleville?”
Luc nodded. “About twenty years ago and a lot less grumpy than she is now. She posed for my final project in art school. It won first prize in the competition.”
“Why did you stop?” she asked.
Silent, he put away the painting.
“So,” she said, feeling bold from the wine, “you can’t lecture me on not making a film.”
“Of course I can.”
“And since when are you the boss of me?”
“Since I saw you kiss Guillaume.” They locked eyes, and then he walked out of the studio. “Let’s have dinner.”
“I can see you want to talk about it,” she said, following.
“Your love life is your own. Your foolish choices, too.”
“There’s nothing foolish about kissing Guillaume. He’s a catch.”
Luc waved her off as he entered the kitchen.
“Please tell me one way in which he isn’t,” she said.
He unwrapped the chicken and put it on a cutting board.
“See? You can’t. He’s handsome. He’s kind. He’s smart. He’s generous.”
“He’s rich.”
“First off, I feel very judged. Second, you say rich like it’s a bad thing.”
Luc laid the table with cracked plates of different patterns and mismatched cutlery.
“Oh my God,” she said. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m just saying that maybe your kiss was not about the man but the things around him.”
“You don’t think very highly of me in that case.”
“I don’t mean to say you would pursue him only for his money. I mean …” He trailed off, eyeing his humble surroundings. “Let me ask you this. Was the kiss good?”
“Are you saying you’d kiss better?” she asked. Was that a dare? What was she doing?
He stepped closer, only an inch between them. So close, it made her tingle.
“You tell me,” he whispered. She could smell the wine on his breath. Her knees went weak. He leaned towards her, and—
There was a knock at the door. Luc broke away from her and went to open it.
“Bonsoir,” said Guillaume. “Je cherche Marlow.”
“You’ve found her,” said Marlow, willing her jelly legs to step forward.
“Look who I have with me,” said Guillaume. “It’s Ruth, from Cincinnati. She was passing through and asked to see Maison Perdue.”
Yves, Aubin, and Sabine walked through the Quartier Latin into the evening, eventually landing on Yves’ doorstep. He gave them the code for the front doors, they buzzed in, crossed the courtyard, and entered a hall with large circular stone stairs up to a second-floor apartment.
The salon was spacious and elegant, with wide-planked wooden floors covered by Persian carpets.
Artwork covered the walls, and antique furniture looked aristocratic under high ceilings of ancient rafters and stucco.
The front windows overlooked the Seine, statuesque Notre Dame on the right, the rest of ?le de la Cité, and Rive Droite beyond it.
“The apartment belongs to my parents,” said Yves.
“They have retired to the country and come into Paris only for appointments. I gladly accept their generosity because I don’t always have money of my own.
The self-employed man’s predicament. Sometimes you live like a king.
If you’re smart, you save. If you’re not smart, like me, you put your money in your next film and never keep a dime.
Become doctors and lawyers, that is my advice. ”
He took them through a dining room with a crystal chandelier, a sideboard lined with china and silver, and a large table with heavy carved legs covered with paperwork, a laptop, and seven crumpled cans of Diet Coke. “My office,” he said with a smile.
He led them down a hall, past the small kitchen, to a guest bedroom.
“You’ll sleep here,” he said, gesturing to the double bed surrounded by bookshelves of dusty books. Sabine flushed. Did he mean you as in “both of you,” or you as in Sabine?
“I’ll leave the Wi-Fi code on the table.
In the morning, you can check for the next train to Haute-Marne.
And Sabine? If you have not decided on a school, why not go to La Sorbonne?
I am a terrible parent, as you know. I come, I go …
but I have this flat. There are months when I am here.
We could get to know each other. And months when I’m gone, so you’d be independent in the best city in the world.
The school is close—five minutes from here. ”
Her heart stopped. Could this be real?
“I’d love that,” she said in a little voice.
“I’d love that, too,” he said. “Bonne nuit.” He squeezed her arm and pulled the door shut behind him. Sabine smiled wide at Aubin. Her whole body coursed with joy.
Maison Perdue was not ready to show—Marlow and Luc had dropped everything that morning to head for the springs.
“It’s a terrible mess,” she stuttered to Guillaume and Ruth. “Luc and I ran errands today and left the plaster drying. We got back just before you arrived and were having a bite.”
“I’m awful to drop by with no notice,” said Ruth, taking in the mounds of furniture under sheets, the tools and plaster buckets, “but I grew up with three brothers. Mess means nothing.”
She gasped at the panoramic view out the living room windows. She loved the rope for a banister up the circular stone stairs. She thought the bedrooms were sweet.
“I adore it,” said Ruth. “Would it be an imposition to have a moment in here, alone?”
“Not at all,” said Marlow, hiding a sports bra and a pair of cotton underwear. Couldn’t they have been lacy and impractical? She and the two men stepped out the front door.
Luc sat on his step, leaning back so his torso muscles contracted under his shirt.
Guillaume stood, hands in pockets, relaxed but more formal, gentlemanly.
Night was falling. Marlow was glad for shadow to cover how awkward it was to be with both of them, each so different and yet so interesting in his own right.
She had not anticipated, when she’d arrived weeks ago, being attracted to not one but two men in this tiny French village.
But for now, the sexual tension was a bit exhilarating, house mayhem or not.
“Before I forget,” said Guillaume, “Sabine texted. They’re at a party with Aubin’s friend Chloe, who offered to take them to her farm tomorrow. Sabine hoped to sleep over.”
“A sleepover. Hmm. Do I need to worry?”
“I don’t think so … Aubin may be occasionally lazy and a bit of a rebel, but he is honorable. I trust him.”
“So do I. I think. I hope. I just know what happens when teenage libido takes hold.”
“But you’ve had those conversations, I’m sure.”
“Oh yes. About a billion times.”
“Then your work is done, no?”
“Probably. And, to be fair, all Sabine ever did in Toronto was go to school and study. I want her to live a little.”
“I will text them back when I get down to the square.”
“And thank you for bringing Ruth,” said Marlow. “Even if she doesn’t decide to buy the house, I really appreciate your help.”
“It’s my pleasure,” said Guillaume, “although I hope she doesn’t take it … Is that terrible? I’d miss you if you went home.”
Guillaume shot a look at Luc. Marlow couldn’t help thinking this was like those BBC Earth mini docs where one male fox sees another invading his territory, vying for the single female fox, and does something to show his dominance.
“Agreed,” said Luc. “Mirabelle could use a sixth citizen.”
Uh oh. Yup, Luc was definitely the second male fox and she was the female fox and Guillaume was a bigger fox than Luc—the leaner fox but just as fit—and she was going to stop thinking about foxes right now.
She had been fought over … never. Two men, each with his own distinct charms and world view, vying for her hand.
Maybe less BBC Earth and more Victorian novel? Whichever. She’d take it.
The Maison Perdue door opened. “I’ve made a decision,” said Ruth.
“I’m going to the Sorbonne,” said Sabine, elated. Her future was finally set.
“Brilliant,” said Aubin.
“Oh God. You were supposed to go there. I’m sorry.”
He took her hands. “I may go one day but not now. I’m not ready. But you will go and do so well. You will live with Yves and make up for lost time. It is all wonderful.”
She and Aubin were close. She could see his chest rise and fall with his breath. See his heart beating. A current passed through them. They looked at the bed and burst out laughing.
“My father is a bit relaxed about the rules,” said Sabine. “My mother, however, would have a meltdown if she knew we were sleeping in the same bed.”
“I’ll sleep in the living room.”
“It’s fine,” she blurted. Were they really going to share a bed? What if they got carried away? She’d never slept with anyone and intended to keep it that way for now. “I don’t want my dad to think we had a fight, and I don’t feel like telling him you’re not my boyfriend.”
He gazed at her. “Am I your boyfriend?”
She swallowed, not knowing where to look. “I mean—you’re a boy. And you’re a friend. And I kissed you—”
“A lot.”
“But now we’re not kissing.”
“We could.” The mere possibility made her heart do a little dance. But she needed to control it. This. All of this.
“You will take the cushions from that big chair and sleep on the floor,” she said.