“Are we celebrating something in particular?” Alice asked her neighbor.
“In a sense,” he said. “I just sold a painting for fifty thousand quid.”
Alice’s eyes grew wide. She put down her glass. “I had no idea your work was so valuable. Will I ever get to see some of it, or is just looking even out of my price range?”
“One day, perhaps,” said Daldry, refilling his glass.
“Well, you certainly have generous collectors.”
“That’s not a very flattering way to talk about my work.” He paused. “I haven’t sold anything at all. The fifty thousand pounds came from my father. I just got back from the reading of the will. The whole family was there this afternoon. I had no idea I meant so much to him. I expected much less, to be frank.” There was a note of sadness in his voice. “The absurd part is that I haven’t the faintest idea what to do with such a mountain of money . . . Maybe I’ll buy your flat,” he teased. “I could set up my easel under that skylight that I’ve dreamed of for so many years. Perhaps the light would allow me to finally paint something that would appeal to somebody.”
“It’s not for sale, and I’m just renting. Besides, where would I live if you were to buy my flat?”
“Or I could travel!” said Daldry.
“If that’s what you want, why not? The world must be full of inspiring intersections just waiting to be painted.”
“Why not the Bosporus?”
Alice looked at Daldry with suspicion.
“What?” he said, feigning innocence, before taking the brochure that had fallen from Alice’s handbag and putting it on the trunk. “I found this in the hall, and I doubt it belongs to the woman downstairs. It would be difficult to find a more sedentary creature. She only goes out to do her Saturday shopping.”
“Well, I think we’ve had enough to drink. I haven’t inherited any money, I don’t have any travel plans, and if there’s any hope of me continuing to pay the rent, I have some work I ought to get back to.”
“I thought that one of your fragrances brought in a little money every month.”
“A little, but that won’t go on forever. Fashions change and I have to create something new, which was what I was trying to do before you came over.”
“What about the man of your dreams? He’s waiting for you! Have you forgotten about him?” Daldry pointed at the brochure.
“Yes,” said Alice sharply.
“Well, then what made you scream like that at three in the morning? You scared me so badly I almost fell out of bed.”
“I stubbed my toe on this trunk on the way to bed. I worked late and wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“You’re a terrible liar, but I can see that I’m in your way. I’ll take my leave.” He got up as though he were about to go and then turned. “Do you know the story of Adrienne Bolland?”
“I don’t know anybody by the name of Adrienne,” said Alice, growing exasperated.
“She was the first woman to attempt flying over the Andes. In an aeroplane she piloted by herself, of course.”
“That was very brave of her.”
Much to Alice’s despair, Daldry settled back into the armchair and poured himself another glass of wine.
“The reason I bring her up has more to do with an extraordinary thing that took place a few months before her flight.”
“I sense I’m about to hear about it in great detail.”
“Exactly.”
Alice rolled her eyes, but she could tell that Daldry needed company that evening. He had been so kind to her when she was sick, it was the least she could do to show a little patience and listen to what he felt he needed to tell her.
“Adrienne went to Argentina in 1920 as a representative of the French aeroplane manufacturer Caudron. She was supposed to meet potential clients and show them the planes. She only had forty hours of flying experience, but her boss, Caudron himself, drummed up a lot of publicity and turned her visit into a big event. He even spread the rumor that she was going to attempt to cross the Andes. She told him before she left that there was no way she would risk such a dangerous flight in the two smaller planes she was taking with her, but that she would consider it if he sent her a more powerful plane capable of flying at higher altitudes. So Caudron promised he would send the bigger plane. The evening she arrived in Argentina, a horde of journalists was waiting for her boat. There was a big celebration, and the next morning, she woke up to read the headline “Adrienne Bolland to Cross the Cordillera.” The very idea threw her mechanic into a panic.
“She sent a telegram to Caudron, who confirmed that it was impossible to send her the larger, more powerful plane he had promised. The French community of Buenos Aires tried to convince her to abandon the plans, telling her it was pure folly to think a woman could attempt and survive such a dangerous solo flight. Some even accused her of being a madwoman, who wanted to mar the reputation of the French nation. But she had made up her mind to go ahead with the flight, and after delivering an official announcement, she shut herself up in her hotel room and refused to communicate with the outside world. She needed all of her concentration to prepare for a flight that was starting to seem like a needlessly complicated suicide attempt.
“Not long afterwards, while her plane was being transported by rail to Mendoza, where she had decided to take off, somebody knocked on the door of her hotel room. Furious at being interrupted, Adrienne opened the door, ready to send the intruder packing. She found herself face-to-face with a shy young Brazilian woman who told Adrienne that she had a gift for seeing the future and had something very important to tell her. Adrienne reluctantly agreed to listen because she knew that such things were taken very seriously in that part of South America. The locals often consulted soothsayers to help them make important decisions. For many citizens of Buenos Aires thirty years ago, undertaking such a risky flight without consulting an oracle would have been as unheard of as going off to war without getting blessed by a priest in other cultures. I don’t know if Adrienne believed in such things, but she knew that for the locals on her team the soothsayer’s predictions would be of utmost importance, and she needed their support. She told the girl she would give her the time it took to smoke a cigarette and then lit up. The young woman told Adrienne that she would survive her dangerous journey on a single condition.”
“Which was?” Alice had started to take an interest in Daldry’s story.
“I’m getting to it! She told Adrienne that at one point on her journey, she would fly over a valley where she would see a lake the shape and color of an opened oyster—an enormous oyster stranded high in the mountains—a sight that would be hard to miss. To the left of this stretch of frozen water, clouds would cover the sky, but to the right, the sky would be clear and blue. A pilot with any sense would fly to the right, but the fortune-teller warned Adrienne that if she allowed herself to take the easy way out, she would pay for it with her life: she would run into a chain of high peaks that would be impossible to cross. When she found herself above the lake, it was essential that she fly into the clouds, no matter how dark they seemed. Of course, Adrienne thought this a very stupid idea. What pilot in her right mind would just put down her head and fly blind? The canvas wings of her plane couldn’t resist turbulent weather and would surely break in stormy conditions. She asked the young woman if she knew the area from having lived in the mountains, but the fortune-teller told her she had never been to the place and left without speaking another word.
“Adrienne left for Mendoza. In the time it took to travel over six hundred miles by train, she had completely forgotten about her fleeting encounter with the fortune-teller. She had other things to worry about. And besides, how could a girl like the fortune-teller know that aeroplanes have maximum altitudes, and that her plane would barely make it across the mountains as it was?”