“Mon dieu—I hope they will not think of returning here, bringing a dreadful disease with them,” she said.
“They will not. They have decided to stay in the village, and now that the quarantine has been lifted, they want me to join them. A man will be coming for their belongings. They have asked me to pack their trunks for them.”
“So they will not be returning to this house?”
“No, madame. Feel free to let the rooms again,” I said.
“They will just be taking their personal effects, no?” she asked. “I know that they purchased some items of furniture, but they will not need this out in the country…” She spread her arms expressively.
“They only want their personal effects,” I said. “Anything else they donate to you.”
“Ah,” she said, really looking pleased now. “Please give the ladies my best compliments when you see them and tell them I hope they will have fond memories of their stay in Paris.”
“I will do that,” I said.
“If you need help with the heavy trunks, my husband will be home later,” she said.
“Thank you, but I understand the carter will be bringing a boy to help him.”
As I started up the stairs she called after me, “So how did they finally contact you? They sent no letter here.”
“They were not allowed to send a letter, owing to the quarantine and the possibility of contamination on the envelope,” I said. “Those postcards led me to an acquaintance who knew where they had gone.”
“Ah,” she repeated and I couldn’t tell whether she believed this story or not. It didn’t really matter. I hadn’t identified the village or given her any name she could pursue. I carried Liam up the stairs, set him down with his toys, and started work. The weather had improved and the sun shining though those French windows had made the apartment warm and muggy. I opened the windows and stood on the balcony for a moment, taking in the scene one last time. As I dragged trunks from a closet, I could see that my task was going to be a daunting one. Packing up my own clothes only took minutes. Dismantling Liam’s crib was not hard. But Sid and Gus had a multitude of clothes, books, Gus’s paintings and art supplies, as well as paintings they had bought from other artists and other souvenirs they had acquired. There were some good pieces of Limoges china plus a delightful small sculpture of a ballerina, several mirrors, a camera, and a coffee set, all of which required careful wrapping and packing. I found tissue paper in one of the drawers and set to work.
I was interested to see that the paintings they had bought were all rather more modern than my taste—blue faces, flying cats. There was one of a young girl with enormous dark eyes, peering into a dark empty room that I thought was well-done, but strangely disturbing and was glad it wouldn’t hang on my wall. I stacked them one by one, then finally packed the painting Gus had been working on. Luckily the paint had now dried. It really wasn’t great art, I thought as it went into a crate. I could see why Reynold Bryce hadn’t wanted to include her work and it had nothing to do with her companion being Jewish. I picked up the postcard that Reynold Bryce had written two days before he died. “Absolutely not,” it said. The definitive answer when Gus had begged him to reconsider his rejection of her work. I dropped the postcard on top of the paintings and shut the crate.
I was hot and perspiring and ready for a cup of tea when the carter came at five. I held Liam safely out of the way as trunks and cases were carried downstairs. Madame Hetreau appeared to have a good snoop and made sure that I hadn’t packed anything belonging to her. I noticed her nod of satisfaction when she saw that an armchair and a lot of cooking equipment were being left behind.