Chapter 10
‘Here.’ She passed Lucien a piece of kitchen paper and he dabbed it on the tree he’d painted. The bulk of the colour was absorbed into the tissue and the too-dark green he’d applied to the tree was brought back to light.
‘Merci,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘I need to focus more on what I’m doing.’
‘It’s fine – easily done,’ she said lightly.
They were working on gradually bringing a darker hue to the picture: going over the backwash with deeper patches of colour, adding definition, light and shade.
He’d dipped his brush into the water, then taken too much of his blended green, creating a dark splodge where a light touch was needed.
It was after six and the windows were dark, but she’d lit several lamps and the overhead light to create enough brightness to work by.
Lucien looked different, dressed in a pair of blue overalls, scattered with sawdust – today was one of his days in his workshop and he’d come here without having time to change.
‘I have too much on my mind,’ he said, washing his brush and blotting it on a scrap of paper before dipping it lightly into the green.
‘Work stuff?’ she asked, keeping her tone light. It was difficult to define what her relationship with Lucien was. Were they friends? The trip to the market had seemed to solidify something between them, but she didn’t want to overstep by asking too many questions about his private life.
‘Home stuff,’ he said, glancing up at her and giving her a wry smile.
‘Want to talk about it?’
He sighed deeply. ‘Perhaps sometime. Right now, I think I’m better trying to keep some corners of my life free from the stress.’
That didn’t sound good, but she decided not to probe further. ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘Well, I could put on some background music, if that helps. I find it calming when I’m painting, and it kind of distracts the part of my brain that would be chewing over problems otherwise.’
‘Good idea.’ He nodded.
She flicked through her phone to find her ‘classical ambience’ mix and streamed it through the small speaker she had on one of the nearby shelves. Soon a soft undertone of stringed instruments filled some of the silence in the room.
‘Try adding a patch of light,’ she said, and he looked up.
‘To the painting?’
She grinned. ‘To the painting.’ Although it was good advice for life too, she supposed.
Her life had been a bit bleak lately, but there had been moments of light.
The market, finding her kitten, the fact that the last of the snow had melted away and things seemed more accessible, possible now.
She’d managed to send Steven’s Christmas present too – although it was unlikely to arrive on time.
She was moving forward, slowly but surely, and accepting that she’d just have to cope with a lonelier December than usual.
Yesterday she’d received an email from Harriet, confirming what they’d both already known:
Mum said it was a lovely idea, but maybe next year. And Dad agreed. I just don’t think Mum’s ready to fly, and there’s no way Dad’s up for driving for ten hours. I’m so sorry.
Nicola had replied with an upbeat No worries! although the confirmation that her last ship had definitely sailed was a bit galling.
Still, she had her business to build and the work enquiries were gradually increasing.
Lucien had told a couple of friends about his lessons and she’d had a few more calls over the past few days.
She was looking into the practicalities of running art retreats next year, to try to broaden their offering.
When Steven finally arrived, the plan was that they would create some guest bedrooms before he began his transfer to the local hospital.
She had everything to plan for, every reason to hope.
There was a small chirp and Gabrielle suddenly appeared on her lap, pawing at her leg and purring loudly. Lucien looked over and grinned. She’d found herself telling him all about finding the kitten when he arrived – including the faux pas she’d made with Monsieur Rémi.
Brightness broke over Lucien’s face as he laughed. ‘I can just imagine,’ he said. ‘He must have been horrified.’
‘Yes, although I suppose it helped in some ways.’
Lucien raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
‘Because I was so horrified at what I’d said, I bought him some cakes from the patisserie and took them round. Mind you, he was much more taken with Gabrielle than he was with me.’
‘Well,’ Lucien said, reaching out to stroke Gabrielle’s head, ‘she is very cute.’
‘Do you like cats?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. And my son – he’s just three – would give anything for us to get one.’
For a moment she wondered whether he was hinting that he’d like to adopt Gabrielle and she felt a sudden, fierce protectiveness. But no, his eyes had returned to his painting.
‘And you don’t want to?’
‘Non. It’s not a good time for us.’
Nicola sensed it was a good idea not to follow this conversation any further. Instead, she turned her attention back to the painting. ‘And you’ve painted this for Annabelle?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I’m sure she’s going to be really pleased with it.’
Lucien didn’t answer, but dipped his brush into the water, flooding it with dark green. He blotted it on the paper, then dipped it in the brown he’d mixed earlier, adding flecks of the colour between the green leaves and creating the illusion of branches behind the foliage.
She was about to say something else when she realised that Lucien’s eyes were shining slightly, that he was close to tears.
The last thing she’d wanted to do was upset him, although she wasn’t sure exactly what she’d said that had made him tearful.
‘Do you want a drink?’ she asked, standing abruptly, her chair skidding back. ‘Maybe a tea?’
‘No, it is fine.’
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes.’ He put his brush into the jam jar of water and straightened. ‘I should probably go. It’s time.’ He nodded at the clock – he was right, their lesson should have finished half an hour ago.
She nodded and helped him clear away his paints, stacking up his mixing trays and brushes. ‘I’ll clean them.’
‘Thank you.’
As she walked him to the door, she felt a sudden wave of unease. ‘I hope I didn’t upset you?’ she found herself blurting.
He turned, looked at her. His eyes had lost the sheen of moisture. ‘It’s fine,’ he said again. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about.’
‘OK.’ She gave him a little smile and he returned it.
‘It’s been a long day.’
She nodded.
But as he picked up his coat from the hallway hook, he cleared his throat. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you told me. About feeling alone, being sad about Christmas and your family.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Oui. And I wanted to tell you that when I am sad, I try to do small things. Kind things for other people. I tidy Matthieu’s toys, maybe.
Or fix my neighbour’s broken fence. Maybe I give someone a lift, or make a phone call.
’ He shrugged. ‘It seems trivial, but those things, they help. They make someone else feel good, and that makes me feel a little better. I don’t know why. ’
‘Like taking me to the market?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Although that wasn’t my only objective. I needed to buy Christmas presents. And maybe right now I needed my own escape too. I enjoyed it.’
‘Well, it was appreciated.’
He nodded acknowledgement, then opened the front door and stepped out into the crisp cool night. Moments later he was in his car, making his way slowly along the drive and out of sight.
Despite the cold, she stepped out after him to look at the stars shimmer in the dark sky. She could make out Orion’s belt – three stars that shone in a straight line.
There was that song, wasn’t there, about two lovers looking up to the stars (or was it the moon?) and feeling reassured that they were both looking at the same sky despite their distance.
She thought about Steven who would be midway through his night shift right now.
Would the stars be visible from the windows in his ward?
Would he take a moment to look, think of her?
She thought of what Lucien had said. He was right, she supposed.
Taking the cakes to Monsieur Rémi had made her feel a little better.
Rescuing Gabrielle had helped her enormously.
They were small things, but they still mattered; gave the illusion of control in a situation that felt out of her hands.
Then she thought of Lucien – his happy smile, but the shine in his eyes when he spoke about his wife, his family. She wondered what he was running away from.
A tiny mewl at her feet alerted her to the fact that Gabrielle had once again left the house with her. She bent and scooped the tiny kitten up. ‘Look at the stars,’ she whispered to the tiny creature. ‘Don’t they make you feel small!’
The kitten looked at her as if to say I’m ten centimetres tall – everything makes me feel small, and she nodded.
‘Good point, puss.’ She brought the kitten back inside and set her down on the kitchen tiles. Then she shut the front door against the night and set about clearing up the art things that they’d left scattered on the worn wood of the table.
She’d meant to ask Lucien about other Christmas markets tonight, but something in his manner had been off and she hadn’t felt able to.
Perhaps it was the fact he’d come straight from work – people often had a different persona in the workplace, didn’t they?
Or maybe he just hadn’t gelled with the painting tonight.
Whatever the reason, she hadn’t broached the subject. And perhaps that was for the best. Maybe it was time she stood on her own two feet. Explored on her own. And began to be braver about creating a life here.
She sent a quick message to Steven, wishing him a good night, then made her way to bed.
Gabrielle, following her, curled up on the edge of the duvet and began to purr.
Nicola placed the corner of a blanket over the tiny cat, turned off the light and closed her eyes, hoping to wake up tomorrow with a new sense of determination.