I decided not to push my luck again. I had done my best and it appeared that Maxim and his friends were not here. I would have to wait until they returned to their weekday routine at the Nouvelle Athènes.
When Celeste let me in to Mary’s house I detected a faint odor of paint and turpentine. Mary appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Oh, you are painting?” I asked her.
“Not me, Augusta,” she said. “She decided to try and capture the rooftops and chimney pots from my attic window. So how was your quest?”
“Impossible,” I said. “There was nobody in Le Bateau-Lavoir and someone suggested they were all at the ball at the Moulin de la Galette.”
“Of course. That’s where they’d be on a fine Sunday afternoon. I used to go there myself when I lived in the neighborhood.”
“I went but I didn’t see them,” I said. “And I had to fight off a forceful young man who wanted me to dance with him.”
Mary laughed. “Yes, you always find a few of those. Well, never mind, you’ll find him when he’s back at work, I’m sure.”
“I can’t really make any progress until I know the name of that model,” I said.
“You can always ask at the model market in the morning,” Mary said so casually that I thought she was joking.
“Model market?” I saw she wasn’t smiling. “There really is a market for models?”
“Absolutely. Every Monday morning. In the Place Pigalle. Artists come from all over Paris to find the right model for the subject they want to paint.”
“The models just stand there, like cattle in the market at home in Ireland?”
Mary laughed at my indignation. “Well, some of them sit. And they chat together and share stories on which artists can be trusted and which can’t.”
“Fascinating,” I said. “I’ll go there tomorrow then. Now that Reynold Bryce is dead this girl may be looking for new work.”
Mary nodded. “Of course the girl might not want to talk to you. They are highly suspicious of anything to do with the police.”
“I can pretend to be newly arrived and looking for work. That Spaniard Picasso already said that he wants to paint me.”
Mary snorted. “I’d stay well clear of him, my dear. He has a mistress with a temper, so we hear. You might wind up with a knife stuck into you.”
I laughed too. “I observed that for myself. Don’t worry, I’ve no intention of actually serving as a model. I don’t think Daniel would approve.”
“Well, there’s nothing more you can do today,” Mary said. “And it’s a lovely Sunday afternoon. Would you like to take that son of yours for a walk in his buggy? I’m dying to get out of the house myself. We could walk down to the Trocadéro gardens and maybe even across the Seine to the Eiffel Tower. I know a little ice-cream shop and there’s a merry-go-round that you could take Liam on.”
“It sounds wonderful,” I said. “I’ll go and get him ready. It’s only too bad that Sid and Gus can’t join us. I hate to think of them trapped inside on a day like this.”
“I know. It must be hard for them, but with your astute detective skills I’m sure it will all be solved satisfactorily soon and they can start enjoying Paris again.”
My “astute detective skills”! I just hoped I was getting somewhere. To me it felt as if I was one of those little mice in a cage, running around and around in circles. Maybe tomorrow would be a turning point, I tried to tell myself optimistically.
I tried to put aside my concerns as we pushed the buggy through the gardens and Liam delighted in watching sparrows and dogs and children playing. Celeste served a delicious dinner but I found it hard to eat. Only the meringue with chestnut stuffing slipped down easily, and I was glad when it was finally time for bed.
I awoke at first light, my nerves taut and my brain telling me to get up as there was work to be done. A mist from the river hung at the end of the street and hid the rising sun, but it promised to be another fine day. I looked down at Liam, still sleeping peacefully in his crib. No cares in the world, I thought. He probably won’t even remember that he nearly died in a bomb blast, that his nursemaid covered him with her own body as the roof came down. He doesn’t know that his father’s life is constantly in danger or that his mother has to try to find a murderer. I went to the bathroom to complete my toilet before he awoke, then nursed him and carried him down for the boiled egg that had become his new favorite food.
When he was finally settled on a rug in the salon with Sid and Gus I slipped away, joining the morning crowds on the Métro back to Place Pigalle. I came up to see that the area around the fountain in the middle of the Place was now full of young women, some of them skimpily clad, one actually wearing a bustier and fishnet stockings, others dressed more demurely. One or two were smoking. Others were drinking coffee or something stronger as they sat chatting with artists. I walked among them, looking for the girl in Reynold Bryce’s painting, but didn’t see her.