Chapter 23 #3
If this was truly what Vern wanted, she wouldn’t stop him. Yet when Florrie thought of him and of the painting – that world rent asunder, beyond repair – she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all wrong.
“What seems to be wrong, Florrie?” whispered Prince Ardant. “Are you feeling quite well?”
She’d been repeating the word aloud, of course. As Florrie pondered what sort of polite reply might reassure him, Ceru wove his way around Lord Mauve and Prince Ardant to stand directly in front of the painting.
“Won’t you let me help you?” Ceru asked Vern. “I could carry out the process in a moment, if you wish. It is my gift to you: the chance to live an ordinary life. With her…” He gestured to Florrie. “If that’s more motivating.”
“Oh” was Vern’s only reply.
“Just a moment!” exclaimed Florrie. “Vern…”
“Shall we?” said Ceru, as he looked properly at Vern. Under other circumstances, Florrie knew Vern would be delighted by Ceru’s recognition of him. Now, he hardly moved.
“I’m… sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid… I’m afraid I require a moment to myself. Forgive me, won’t you?”
“Where has he gone?” Ceru tilted his head at the painting, searching the background for any evidence of the Fairy who had just vanished before their eyes.
“Away, I imagine, and I don’t blame him,” said Lord Mauve. “How would you feel if someone interrupted your morning to propose that you become a living paper-doll?”
Florrie smoothed the velvet of her waistcoat, centring herself. For now, nothing would happen to the painting. For now, she must focus on Vern – what he wanted, what he thought, where he’d gone.
“Have I made it worse?” said the artist, his hands trembling.
Once Florrie realised he was speaking to her, she composed a quick and appropriate reply in her head before speaking it out loud.
“It was good of you to share your discovery, Ceru, and I’m sure Vern will let you know what he decides,” she said in her most formal manner. “Whenever he feels ready, that is. I understand that may prove inconvenient, since you expect to return home soon.”
Prince Ardant and Lord Mauve shared a look, but Florrie, under the circumstances, felt too distracted to try interpreting it.
“Assuming you still intend to return as planned, Lord Mauve?” she clarified.
“It’s my pleasure to say that his departure has been postponed,” said Prince Ardant. “Temporarily, that is.”
“We have more work to do,” said Lord Mauve.
“Work?” asked the prince. “Whatever do you mean by that, Mauve?”
“Why, the solemn work of getting to know each other all over again.”
Prince Ardant performed a dramatically besotted gasp, and Aesti rolled her eyes.
“And, more accurately, the actual work of carrying out the gallery improvements your dear prince desires, Mauve,” Aesti said. “A labour to which I must now return. You two ought to join me, too. Do extend my apologies and best wishes to Vern, Florrie. I hate seeing my favourite brother upset.”
“Your what?” The spontaneous outrage in Lord Mauve’s voice, as he followed Aesti out of the room, was astonishingly informal.
Prince Ardant coughed. “She’s correct that we have gallery business to oversee,” he said, nodding towards Aesti’s retreating figure. “But will you be quite all right, Florrie? May I bring you some luncheon later, perhaps? Don’t worry—”
To her surprise, Florrie found she could imagine what he was about to say.
Prince Ardant would tell her to take whatever time she needed, to forget conservation, to look after herself.
That was his nature, after all. How needlessly she’d suffered during those early days at the Commonplace Palace, convinced she couldn’t ask Ardant for help – swept up by her conviction that the Conservators’ Code precisely dictated the actions she must take in any given situation.
Alas, people weren’t like pigments. There was, to Florrie’s disappointment, no way to predict how others would behave or react in every given situation – but getting to know them, even a little, did help somewhat.
“There’s no need for you to worry,” she answered. “I’ll continue examining that ewer in the Ceramics Atrium very shortly.”
“Are you quite certain?” pressed Prince Ardant.
“Yes.” Florrie dared to look into prince’s brown eyes for the first time. “Keeping busy is what I like best, especially under challenging circumstances. Isn’t it the same for you?”
Ardant bit his lip. “Indeed,” he said after a moment. “It is. That never used to be the case, but these days… I do love my museum, Florrie.”
“As do I,” she said with a small smile. “You ought to mention that to Lord Mauve, by the way – your fondness for your museum. And for keeping busy. At any rate, I shall join you soon enough. I’d simply like a word with Vern first.”
“Very well.” Prince Ardant extended an arm to Ceru. “Would you care to view my other still-lives, Ceru? Though I’m sure both Florrie and I would prefer it if you refrained from cracking additional eggs in the galleries.”
“Please tell Vern it wasn’t my intention to upset him,” murmured Ceru to Florrie.
“Do you think he might come around, in time? Perhaps you can convince him. Put yourself in his shoes: if something kept you from living a proper life, fully and fruitfully, and you could change it, just like that – wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t we all?”
Ceru accepted Ardant’s arm and turned towards the door.
“Wouldn’t we all,” Florrie repeated under her breath, but it was nothing more than an unconscious echo. Because, as a matter of fact, she wouldn’t.
She already lived fully and fruitfully, and so did Vern.
Their time together, brief though it had been – that was a life, too.
A sublimely odd life set against the stunning backdrop of a painting like no other.
What more could she want? Despite Ceru’s gleeful abandon with the shears, Florrie found herself disinclined to abandon the painting so easily.
Neither could she abandon the hope that Vern might possibly agree with her.