Chapter Eighteen #2
‘Yes, but look in the right corner. There’s a shadow, some of the colours there are greyer. It felt like you, I don’t know why. It made me think of you.’
Emmett tilts his head. ‘Not so strange, I don’t think. I had the same thought.’
‘You did?’ I’m surprised. I just assumed that I was living in my Emmett-centric world as per. But he nods.
‘What is that Earl used to say? That art is about what you feel, not what you see. Well, I feel longing when I look at that. And love. And wanting things to be different. I’d say that’s a pretty accurate description of how I felt back then.’
Oh.
Emmett is looking right at me, those green eyes, those eyelashes… they’ll be the death of me. I think he’s about to say something more when Mari, the curator, comes bustling into the space.
‘Ah bonjour! Welcome to MAM, though you have been here before, yes?’
I’m being kissed by a tiny French woman and reminded of the last time I saw her. Like two days ago, she has many buttons on her suit jacket, they’re all gold and shiny.
‘Bonjour,’ I say. ‘This is my friend Emmett, he knew Earl when we were younger too.’
Mari looks at Emmett and smiles.
‘Bonjour, madame,’ he says, charming to the last.
‘You are happy with the painting?’ She gestures behind her.
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘it’s brilliant.’ I wish I’d said something more impressive, but I feel self-conscious. Does describing a picture of yourself as gorgeous make you an egomaniac?
‘Luna is an artist too.’
I shoot a look at Emmett. Why is he telling her that? I’m not an artist.
‘C’est fantastique. Tell me, what do you paint?’
I can’t very well accuse Emmett of lying, so I’m forced to answer in the present tense.
‘Er, anatomical drawings. Hearts especially.’
‘Ah, I see. They are very technical, are they not?’
I laugh, because that’s what I love about them. Loved about them, I remind myself.
‘Yes, they’re incredible really. It’s almost like we’ve reduced them to less than they are, making it seem like all they’re capable of is love. They’re more than that.’
Emmett is looking at me a certain way. His eyebrows are slightly raised and I know I’ve said too much. He can tell, I’m sure, that I still care about art. That that’s not the reason I gave it up.
‘How wonderful,’ Mari says. ‘And you knew Earl? This is also wonderful.’
It feels good to be talking about something safer.
‘We both knew Earl before he was discovered. We saw him paint almost all of the paintings that you have here.’
‘Then you are very lucky. I wish I could meet him in real life, yes. I am a big fan of his work.’
I like Mari. She just has this sense of calm self-assuredness about her which is nice. It’s making me be calm, too. I’m doing lots of smiles, hoping that it’ll entice her to tell me where the painting came from.
‘Yes, we were lucky. He was a great artist, but he was a great person too. We’re travelling around Paris, visiting all the places he painted,’ Emmett interjects.
Mari smiles and laces her fingers together. ‘A beautiful way to see a beautiful city.’
‘We wondered, though, if you could tell us where this painting came from? We know a collector had his other works, but is it true that this one just turned up?’
Mari gestures to the bench, and the three of us sit.
‘The truth is,’ she begins and I think that this has been way too easy – she’s just going to tell us, just like that. ‘The truth is that I have no idea who owned the painting. Everything has come through a broker. A Mr Gregor, I believe.’
‘Gregor,’ I repeat back to her. Earl’s art dealer. There is no way that man is still alive.
‘Yes.’
‘Okay, but where did Gregor get it from?’
Mari shakes her head. ‘I do not know. It took some time to verify.’
Emmett sighs next to me. It does feel pretty hopeless.
‘How did you know for sure that Earl, I mean, Spencer, had painted it?’
‘The style and the signature mostly. This Mr Gregor had dealings with Spencer before, I believe too.’
‘Do you have a contact for Gregor?’ I ask her hopefully as she shakes her head and wrinkles her nose.
‘We would rather not have dealings with him. He is a drunk, I think you would call him.’
Yep, that’s Gregor.
I never really thought I’d find out where the painting came from, but it’s disappointing to know for sure that I’ll never know.
‘It’s so odd,’ I say. ‘To think that Earl sold a painting so long after he died.’
With that Mari looks at me quickly. Reminding me of a meerkat, twisting it’s head this way and that between the painting and me.
‘Oh no, no, no. We did not buy the painting. Only loaned it. The owner, Mr Gregor said they would never give it up. I don’t know.
We pay to loan it, but we would have paid much more to buy it. ’
So much new information takes me by surprise.
‘Wait, what, someone still owns the painting of Luna?’ Emmett asks, articulating my thoughts.
‘Yes, exactly.’ Mari answers.
‘But you can’t tell us who?’
She shakes her head. ‘Mr Gregor would know.’
‘But you don’t have a contact for him?’ The thought of someone that I don’t know having a painting of me after I’m dead is strange and uncomfortable.
Another head shake. ‘He said he would be in touch. He is very unusual man.’
‘Will you tell us?’ I ask, talking quickly. ‘If he contacts you, you’ll tell us?’
‘If you like. We have the painting for six months at least.’
I try to do the maths in my head. Maths was never my strong suit, but I know that I’ll be cutting it fine.
MAM is open to the public now, and I’m keen to avoid another swarming. But I don’t want to go either.
The Answer is Always in the Art.
What answer? What was Earl trying to tell me?
He could have made this a little easier. Emmett is standing next to me, staring intently at the painting.
‘Before, when you said Earl would have wanted us to be friends. I think you were right.’
I might be imagining it, or maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I’m almost sure that when I say we’ll be friends, some of Emmett’s smile wanes.
That’s all we can ever be, though. Because whatever happens beyond Paris, whatever questions remain unanswered, I am leaving.
Ultimately, I’m leaving to a place that no one can follow me to. And that’s the truth of it.