Paris: The Novel (79 page)

“Perhaps we should give it to you,” said Marie.

“Oh no. You must enjoy it,” he said quickly. “But I shall be content to envy you.”

Aunt Éloïse mentioned a few of the other paintings in the apartment that Hadley had liked. Then she rose.

“I must leave you with Marie, Hadley,” she said. “I have something to attend to. But I shall be back in a moment.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds.

“Your aunt has a wonderful collection,” said Hadley, still trying to make out what had changed in Marie.

“Yes.” Marie paused. “Hadley,” she said, “I think I had better tell you, I know all about Marc.”

“Oh?”

“The letter, the woman and the baby.”

“Oh.”

“My aunt Éloïse decided it was time I grew up.” She smiled. “But don’t tell my parents that I know.”

“No.”

“I think in America, it’s different. American girls are not so sheltered.”

“It’s not that different.”

“Well, my aunt thinks it’s absurd. I’m quite old enough to be married.”

“Yes.”

“But I’m kept in a state of idiotic innocence. So that’s over. Perhaps you disapprove.”

“Oh, no.”

“It was very nice of you to take the letter from my brother, the way that you did. I think you’re a very good friend. Though I don’t think he should have done it.”

“I’d have done the same in his place,” he lied.

“Are you telling me you have a mistress who’s trying to marry you, and an illegitimate child as well?”

“No.” He laughed. “Not at all. Neither.”

“That’s good,” she said.

Aunt Éloïse reappeared.

“Shall we have some tea?” she asked.

“I must go,” said Marie. “I’d like to stay, but I’m on my way to the Rochards’. I only looked in to deliver a message, Aunt Éloïse, that you are invited to lunch on Sunday. And as I have found you, Monsieur Hadley, would you please tell my brother he should also come? You are invited too.”

“That’s very kind.”

“Until Sunday then.” She kissed her aunt, and was gone.

After tea, Hadley rose to leave. He thanked Éloïse for a delightful time.

“I’m glad you like my pictures,” she said.

“Very much.” He paused at the door. “I was rather amazed at the change in Marie.”

“Well, it’s time she married. So it’s not too soon for her to … wake up. She’s a lovely young woman. Don’t you think?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps.” She spoke very quietly, but he was sure he heard her say: “Perhaps you should wake up too.”

Aunt Éloïse was pleased. The family lunch was going well. Everyone seemed to be getting on very well. Even Gérard was being pleasant. Marie was looking radiant. And if she was not much mistaken, Éloïse thought, Frank Hadley was watching her niece with more than usual interest.

All that was needed was an opportunity for them to spend some time together. It presented itself during the dessert.

They had been discussing the statue of Charlemagne. Jules had been rather pleased with the results of his committee. “We raised all the funds we needed,” he remarked. “I’m sorry that the Vicomte de Cygne didn’t live to see it, because he’d have been pleased. We even got an excellent contribution from that lawyer, Ney, whose daughter you painted.”

“Talking of sculpture,” remarked his wife, “I hear there’s a scandal about Rodin the sculptor in the newspapers. Is this right?”

“Rodin’s
Kiss
and his
Thinker
have even become quite famous in America, you know,” Hadley remarked. “I didn’t know there was a scandal, though.”

“It’s not exactly a scandal,” said Marc. “Nearly ten years ago, he was commissioned by the author’s society to do a big statue of Balzac. As most people think he’s our greatest novelist, something monumental was called
for. And Rodin’s been at it ever since. He’s had to ask for fifty extensions to complete the work. And now they’ve seen it, they’ve rejected it.”

“Why?” asked Marie.

“I heard it was a monstrosity,” said Gérard.

“
Ah non
, Gérard,” said Aunt Éloïse.

Marc laughed.

“Actually, he’s right. It is a monstrosity. But a magnificent one. Faced with such a heroic task, Rodin attempted to depict the soul of the writer, rather than the literal man. The result is a shape like a tree trunk wrapped in a cloak, with this great head, with a neck like a bull, bursting out of it. They were all horrified. So Rodin’s taken the plaster model back to his studio. Perhaps it will never be cast.” He smiled. “Personally, I’d have preferred it if they’d put it in Père Lachaise instead of that rather boring head that sits over his grave at present.” He turned to Hadley. “You remember the one I mean?”

“Do you know,” said Hadley, “I’ve never been to the cemetery of Père Lachaise.”

“You haven’t?” Aunt Éloïse was astounded. “My dear Hadley, you must go there.”

“You should,” agreed Jules. “Certainly worth a visit.”

“I propose,” said Aunt Éloïse, seeing a beautiful chance, “to take you there myself. Marc and Marie, you must come too. I insist. We shall go this very week, while the weather is still so mild.” She looked at them all.

“Why not?” said Marc.

And Aunt Éloïse was feeling quite pleased with her cleverness when Gérard intervened.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. We should love to come too.”

“We should?” said his wife, looking puzzled and not especially pleased.

“My dear Gérard,” said Aunt Éloïse, “I think you might be rather bored.”

“Not at all,” said Gérard. “We’re coming.”

It seemed to Hadley that Marc was looking a little pale when he came by to collect him.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Hortense,” said Marc.

“You spoke?”

“You could call it that.”

“You broke up with her?”

“I did.”

Hadley gazed thoughtfully at his friend.

“I guess you know what you want,” he said.

“She wasn’t too pleased.”

“I don’t suppose she was.”

“She called me a lot of names.” Marc sighed, then shrugged. “However, I’m used to that.”

“I’d imagine you are.”

“Let’s go to Père Lachaise,” said Marc.

It was such a perfect afternoon. The weather was still pleasantly warm. The leaves were on the trees. But there were hints of gold in some of them, and now and then, as a light gust of wind made them tremble, a few leaves floated down to the ground.

The two men, Aunt Éloïse and Marie shared the Blanchard carriage. Gérard and his wife were meeting them at the cemetery.

But it wasn’t Gérard and his wife they found waiting for them.

“She couldn’t come,” Gérard explained. “The children needed her. So I have brought a friend of mine instead. May I present Rémy Monnier.”

He was a well-dressed man of about thirty. Medium height. Alert hazel eyes. Hair cropped very short, rapidly balding. But there was a brisk, almost dynamic energy about him that was quite impressive. He seemed like a man who shaved close and knew all the markets.

He bowed in a friendly way to them all, and immediately paid his addresses to Aunt Éloïse, as good manners demanded.

Meanwhile, Gérard was murmuring to Marie.

“Rémy is a very good man. The family’s rich, but he has several brothers. So he’s determined to make a fortune of his own. And he will. He’s in banking, has a huge talent for finance. And he’s not Jewish.” He nodded. “I think you’ll like him.”

Marie said nothing.

“Oh,” Gérard continued, “and he knows his wines. Collects pictures, too. Old Masters mostly. Loves the opera. Very cultivated. God knows what he’s read.”

“Poetry?” she asked, not that she cared.

“Probably. All sorts of stuff.”

Marie gazed at the banker. Not that she knew about such things, but she imagined that Rémy Monnier was also an accomplished lover. He would have seen to that.

It was pleasant enough visiting the famous cemetery. They showed Hadley the monument to Abelard and Héloïse. They found the grave of Chopin, and of Balzac, with its impressive if rather conventional bust. They saw graves of Napoléon’s marshals and they went to the Mur des Fédérés, where Aunt Éloïse explained the tragedy of the last days of the Commune to Hadley.

The banker came and made himself agreeable to her as they walked along. He asked her about how she had passed her summer, spoke interestingly about the château of Fontainebleau, which he knew well. They talked about the grape harvest.

“I usually go down for the
vendange
on our little property,” she told him, “which will be quite soon. But I haven’t decided whether I’ll go this year.”

“Not to be missed,” he said. “I shall have to be in Paris, but I’d much rather join you and pick grapes.”

She also noticed that when she told him where the family vineyard was, he guessed at once exactly which grapes they harvested, and how they made the wine. He knew his subject thoroughly.

And although she wished he were not there, and that she could talk to Frank Hadley instead, she could see that the supremely competent Rémy Monnier would be very interesting indeed to many women.

When they had seen all they wanted of Père Lachaise, Aunt Éloïse announced that she and Marie were going to the charming Parc des Buttes-Chaumont nearby.

“You and Marc will come with us, of course,” she said to Hadley.

“We’ll follow in a cab,” said Gérard.