Paris Kiss (8 page)

She told us about the young Rodin, who had been sent as a child to
Le Petit École
to learn a useful trade in the decorative arts. His family had little money and he was expected to earn a living as a craftsman working on the ornamentation of the city's churches and public buildings. At sixteen he tried to get into the Beaux-Arts, but his sculpture was considered grotesque because he preferred to depict the beggars and cripples of the back streets of Gobelins where he'd grown up. When he couldn't get in to the Beaux-Arts, he went to work as an apprentice in the Sèvres porcelain factory.

‘When I met him,' Rosa said, ‘he hadn't given up his dream of becoming the world's most famous sculptor – that's how he put it, without a trace of humour. He would find ways to learn what he needed by himself, so he took anatomy classes at
L'École des Médecins
, hanging around with his drawing pad while the young doctors carved up cadavers.'

Camille and I exchanged a glance. I knew we were thinking the same thing: Rodin had had to educate himself, just like we did. If he could make it, against the odds, through hard work and determination, then so could we.

‘For his work at the porcelain factory he needed to know how to render animal forms,' Rosa said. ‘So he took lessons with Barye, the best animal sculptor of modern times – other than me, of course. By the time I met Auguste, he'd graduated from sketching animal skeletons in the basement of the Natural History Museum and had a permit to draw the carnivores in the
Jardin des Plantes
. I saw at once he was gifted.'

I imagined the young Rodin and his frustrations as he tried to gain a foothold in the art world.

‘He had to struggle so hard,' Camille said. ‘It's why he helps us, Jessie and me. Rodin knows what it's like to have talent, but have the doors slam shut in your face.'

I nodded. ‘Camille is right – it's why he gave us a chance in his
atelier
.'

Georges smirked. ‘Nothing to do with your pretty faces and pretty figures, I suppose?'

Camille and I turned on Georges, ready to tear a strip off him. He could always rile us, going from ally to cynical enemy in a capricious turn, as if to amuse himself with our furious reaction. But Rosa shushed us.

‘No squabbling,
mes enfants
,' she said. ‘Although, you must admit, girls, Georges does have a point – Rodin loves to be around attractive young women.' She raised her palms as we started to protest again. ‘However,' and here she looked at me, ‘I'm sure you can take care of yourself. After all, you have Georges to protect you – although that's a bit like putting a fox in charge of guarding the hens, eh
Monsieur Reynard
?' Georges looked so innocently pained we couldn't help laughing and our quarrel was forgotten before it began.

It grew dark and the café owner lit the lanterns hanging from wires above us. We did not notice how late it was until a sleepy busboy started sweeping around us and piling chairs onto tabletops.

Rosa stood up. ‘
Alors,
it's time these young women were safely in their beds and out of the clutches of rogues like us. What do you say, Georges? We don't want their reputations ruined – not yet anyway.' She winked at him and ground out her cigar on the sole of her shoe.

Georges slapped her leg down. ‘Rosa, if you are going to dress like a gentleman, you should at least behave like one.'

‘Oh ho! Am I to take lessons in
galanterie
from you, my pretty boy? Come, Jessie. As punishment I will deprive this pup of his little playmate on the way home. She stuck out her tongue at Georges and dragged me laughing out of my seat.

‘You'll have to make do with me,
mon ami
,' Camille said to Georges. ‘Shall I be English to pique your interest? Frightful weather we're having, old chap. Would you like a little
rosbif
and marmalade with your tea? How is Queen Victoria?'

‘I had tea and crumpets with Her Majesty only last week,' Georges said in a ridiculous accent. ‘She sends her regards and asks that you return her galoshes.'

‘You are both preposterous,' I said. ‘Not everyone in England is on speaking terms with the Queen, although Rosa is by her own account. You know, Rosa, I think I will walk with you after all.'

But on the way back to the river, Rosa stopped to tease Georges some more and Camille fell into step beside me. She stumbled a little and laughed when I caught her. I realised she was a little drunk.

‘Jessie, do you want to have children?'

I laughed, but she pulled at my arm. ‘I'm serious. Have you thought about it?'

‘No, but then who thinks about it? Of course I want children.'

She shook her head. ‘I don't know if I will ever be a mother.'

She sounded so sad that I squeezed her arm as we walked. ‘Surely every woman wants to be a mother?'

‘To have a child with the man I love – it's what I want, of course, but also what I most fear.' In the darkness I couldn't see her face, but her voice was thick with tears. ‘It would mean the end of everything for me. You can't be an artist and have children. At least, that's what Rodin says.'

I bridled. It was the usual argument I'd heard a hundred times from male artists and critics, that women would never be great musicians or artists because of their need to have children. ‘Stuff and nonsense,' I said. ‘That may have been true for the last generation but these are different times. Think of how hard we've worked to get this far, why should we have to throw it all away as soon as we become mothers?'

Of course, I was young then, and childless, and knew nothing.

‘Perhaps you are right, Jessie,' Camille said. But she still sounded so sad.

At the riverbank, Georges insisted we return to Paris in the same boat. ‘Rosa, after your performance on the river I forbid you to touch the oars. I don't want Jessie at the bottom of the river.'

Rosa and Camille sat together with the travel rug over their knees, weighing down the stern, while I sat next to Georges and took an oar. He protested but I soon showed him I knew what I was doing.

‘I've been on boats since I was a child. My father taught me,' I said.

‘Don't tell me – you can shoot too,' Georges said.

‘And ride – a horse and a bicycle.'

Rosa stood up again, making the boat sway. ‘Behold the New Woman, Jessie Lipscomb,' she called to a pleasure boat as it washed past us. Some of the passengers cheered and waved.

Georges and I settled into a rhythm. Occasionally our arms brushed against each other as we turned the oars and we glanced at each other and looked away. Desire sat between us like another passenger as we rowed silently, the oars dipping in and out of the inky water trembling with reflected stars. Too soon we drew alongside streets with gas lamps that threw broken shards of light onto the river. By the time a cab deposited us at 135 bis boulevard Montparnasse it was well past midnight.

While the others were distracted, Georges caught my hand and pressed it to his lips. ‘
À la prochaine
.'

So he would try again. ‘Yes, until next time,' I whispered.

Camille and I crept upstairs, holding our shoes in our hands. Madame Claudel opened the door to the apartment. She stood there, glowering at us, her arms crossed over her white cotton nightgown, a plait of grey hair over one shoulder.

‘What time is this for two respectable girls to come in? I've been worried sick.'

‘Maman, I'm sorry, but we had a boating accident,' Camille said. ‘Our boat nearly sank and we had to wait for ages to get help.'

Madame Claudel looked at me. ‘Is this true, Jessie?'

‘Yes it is. Camille was extremely brave. I fell over the side but she pulled me to safety. You could say she saved my life.'

She narrowed her eyes. ‘But your clothes are dry.'

I thought quickly. ‘Fortunately, we were able to dry off in the sun.'

Madame Claudel looked sceptical but was obviously too tired to question us any further.

‘I suggest you drink some warm milk before bed. I don't want you getting a chill. Now, I must go to bed, I can feel one of my migraines starting.' She turned to leave us, but stopped at the hall table. ‘Jessie, I nearly forgot, an English gentleman called for you today. He left his card.'

I took it over to the gas lamp and went cold. The day before I would have been overjoyed to receive this, but now, after what had happened with Georges, a wave of guilt washed over me. The calling card was William's. And on the back, written in a familiar hand:

My dearest Jessie, I wanted to surprise you but this will have to serve. I will call on you tomorrow morning.

Fondly,

Your affectionate William

Chapter 13

The next morning I waited in the drawing room for William to arrive. I was trying to read
Le Figaro
, but Louise was playing a Chopin étude over and over again and I couldn't concentrate. I kept jumping up to look out of the window.

Camille put down her anatomy book. ‘What's got into you, Jessie? You're as nervous as a cat. I know he's your beau, but you've known William since you were a child.' She narrowed her eyes. ‘Or is there something else bothering you?'

I wanted to tell her everything, how I had let Georges kiss me, how I had encouraged him instead of putting a stop to it. Now I'd betrayed William and misled Georges. I'd spent the night unable to sleep, thinking about what Georges had said:
you and I are the same…neither of us give a damn for convention…I've never met a woman like you before…
William too was unconventional, passionate about his calling, but when it came down to it, he was, well, William. I'd known him all my life and I couldn't imagine him not being there, but I didn't feel the same frisson of excitement with him that I did with Georges. I wondered if it were possible to love two men, at once. But everyone said – all the love songs, the novels and poems – there could only be one true love, the grand passion that was supposed to sweep all before it. I threw down the newspaper in disgust and buried my face in a cushion. Camille threw another at me and we both laughed. The doorbell rang and we froze.

Louise looked puzzled. ‘That must be your William. It's Eugénie's day off. Aren't you going to let him in?' When I didn't move she crossed the room. ‘I'll go, since you both seem to be stuck to your seats like one of those dreary statues you're always droning on about.'

I could hear the front door being unlocked, Louise prattling in the hall, the low murmur of William's voice. I pressed my hands together to stop them trembling and tried to compose my expression, but as soon as I saw his dear face peeking around the door I forgot all about Georges and rushed forward and threw my arms around his neck.

‘Oof, Jess! What a welcome!' he said, staggering back like a music hall comic. He smiled and held me at arms' length. ‘Let me look at you. Paris certainly agrees with you. You seem different, but I can't say in what way.'

‘I've changed my hair.'

‘No, it's not that.'

He searched my face and I cursed the heat I could feel blooming in my cheeks. I hoped he couldn't read the guilt in my expression and forced myself to meet his eyes. I would have to brazen it out. ‘I'm probably as fat as a pig,' I said. ‘The food is heavenly here.'

‘You're as perfect as ever,' he took my hands and kissed them.

I turned to Camille. She was standing at the window, watching us.

‘William, I want you to meet my friend, Camille Claudel.'

He strode towards Camille and pumped her hand. ‘Mademoiselle Claudel! A pleasure, an absolute pleasure.'

She removed her hand and made a show of flexing the fingers. Her expression was unfriendly, her tone more so. ‘Please, call me Camille. I hate these ridiculous bourgeois formalities, so like a straitjacket.'

‘You're quite right, manners can be tiresome. Camille, then, and you must call me Monsieur Elbourne.' She scowled and William grinned. ‘Just my little joke, please call me William.' He put an arm around my waist and Camille frowned. For a moment, I could have sworn she was jealous but William didn't seem to notice her coldness. He babbled on happily, pulling me closer all the while until I gasped and pushed him away with a laugh.

‘My darling Jess writes so warmly about you,' he said to Camille, ‘I feel as though we are already acquainted.'

Camille put her hands on her hips. ‘
Ah oui?
In that case, why don't we get to know each other better? Come with us now to the
atelier
and you can see where Jessie and I work.'

Camille was being imperious, trying to intimidate him. I had so hoped they would be friends, but my William had never been one to be overawed. I held my breath while he looked at her for a while. Then he bowed. William never bowed. He was teasing her again. I breathed out. William was too good-humoured and intelligent to be drawn into one of Camille's dramas.

‘I should be deeply honoured,' he said with an affable smile. ‘But, your studio will have to wait until later. First, I need to stretch my legs after spending yesterday on trains and boats and more trains.' He held out his arm to me. ‘Jess, will you take a stroll with me? I haven't been to Paris for years. On the way, you can tell me all about what you've been up to.'

Before Camille could object, he gave the Claudel sisters a cheerful wave and pulled me out of the room. I could hear Louise laughing softly and Camille barking at her.

Once we were outside I said, ‘William, you were teasing Camille.'

‘Me? Never!'

‘William Elbourne, don't you think I know when you're teasing?'

‘Oh, well, she deserved it. She's quite a handful, and I pity any chap who takes her on, if there's one brave enough. Luckily, I've had plenty of practice dealing with bossy women.'

I pinched his arm, hard.

‘Ouch! I didn't mean you of course, dearest heart. I have three formidable sisters and an even more formidable Mama. You, on the other hand, have a sweet and easy nature, except when you're doing your impression of an exploding volcano.' He batted his eyelids at me and I pushed him off the pavement. He skipped over a pile of horse dung. ‘That's no way to treat your betrothed.'

‘May I remind you that we are not engaged, not officially anyway?'

He waved his hand in the air. ‘A technicality. Now, stop being so stuffy and give us a kiss.'

He pulled me into his arms. It was comforting, like going home. I was enveloped in his familiar smell of sandalwood soap. I kissed him back and a messenger boy on a bicycle whistled as he rode past.

‘Eh, Monsieur, can I have a go next?'

William grinned. ‘Cheeky beggar.' He didn't let me go. ‘I've missed you, Jess.'

‘I've missed you too.' But I wondered if that was quite true. I'd been too busy, too entranced with my new life, to give him more than a fleeting thought. I changed tack. ‘I hope you can be friends with Camille. She is rather forthright, I admit, but she's been a good friend to me since I arrived in Paris, like a sister really. Besides, she's spirited and pretty – I thought you liked those qualities in a woman?'

William swung my hand as we walked. ‘She's quite attractive, I suppose, if you like those dark, continental looks. I find them a little overstated. Give me a fine English girl any day.' He raised my hand to his lips. ‘Jess, you haven't forgotten me, have you?'

‘Of course not, how can you ask such a question? I love you as much as ever.' There was that wriggle of doubt again as I found myself comparing him to Georges. They were so different: William, clever, a crackling whirlwind of energy, who teased me like a brother and didn't always take me seriously; William who I had known since childhood. But Georges, Georges with his languid charm, who spoke to me as an equal and trained his attention on me like a lighthouse on a vessel out at sea, or, as Rosa would have it, a wild animal on its prey. He was dangerous, unknown, intriguing and left me breathless, excited, disturbed. William, on the other hand, I knew like I knew myself and he kept me safe, loved, untroubled. William would never hurt me.

I shook my head impatiently; the sun was shining and we were in Paris. I took William's arm. ‘Where do you want to go?'

‘I do of course want to see your work, so I'll obey Miss Claudel's imperial command, but first will you come with me to the
Jardin des Plantes
? I've been told there are some fascinating exhibits in the mineralogy museum.'

My heart sank: a dusty collection of rocks was a less than thrilling prospect. I was used to being free in Paris with no man my master. But I swallowed my resentment – after all, this was William's day and he should spend it as he wished. I would have plenty more days ahead of me to do as I wished I consoled myself with the thought that I would see where Rodin had spent his days as a young artist, drawing with Rosa. As we strolled through the Luxembourg gardens, the sun streamed through the leaves in a haze of green and gold and my mood lifted.

‘Let's find a bench.' I said, leaning into William. ‘It's so lovely to see you.'

We sat down and watched some children in starched white dresses and sailor suits chase a kite while their uniformed nannies chatted in the shade of a tree. Old men played boules in a sandy enclosure and the click of the balls mingled with birdsong and the children's cries. William fished inside his coat and handed me a bundle of letters.

‘I nearly forgot,' he said. ‘Letters from home.'

My mother had sent news of small hiccups in the rhythms of domestic life at Wootton House, while Papa asked about my work and suggested Paris exhibitions he had read about in
The Times
. William's sisters' cheerful letters were dotted with exclamation marks and heavily underlined in places. I laughed and dried my eyes as I read out snippets. Suddenly home seemed so far away.

William put his arm around me. ‘You're a gentle girl, darling Jess. We all miss you. When are you coming home?'

‘I'll be back in Peterborough next summer for a few months. Be patient, we both have our work – and the rest of our lives together.'

William heaved a dramatic sigh. ‘You're right, duty calls. You must swan about in Paris with that she-devil to make Great Art, while I toil in my laboratory for the Advancement of Science. Give me strength for the battle ahead.' He leaned in for a kiss, pouting and closing his eyes.

I pushed him away with a laugh. ‘Don't tease. You love your smelly laboratory as much as I love my dusty studio. Come on, let's go and see your minerals.'

As we left the park, an older couple passed us, their faces turned upwards to catch the sun bathing the gardens, and the man said, ‘
Régarde les jeunes amoureux
.' He raised his hat and William smiled at him and held my arm tighter. I remembered Georges' arms around me, the warmth of his throat as I kissed him there. I was such a fraud. I looked around the park, which was one of Georges' favourite haunts and dipped my parasol to hide my face; it would be awful if we met Georges. We'd be less likely to bump into him in the museum than out in the open. I quickened my pace and William hurried to keep up.

‘Steady on, Jess, I had no idea you were so interested in mineralogy.'

‘There's a lot you don't know about me,' I said.