Seeing him in the doorway with Marsden, something in my mind clicked. I understood that Sebastian wasn’t supposed to be with a woman. He was attracted to men, specifically in this instance to Marsden.
I had known quite a few homosexual artists in Paris while at school and then in New York. There was more tolerance in France, our easy lifestyle allowing a subculture to thrive. The third sex, some called it. But being a nonconformist, even in our country, even in the most liberal times, could still be a terrible burden to bear. I had no prejudice, and if my brother preferred the company of men in his bed to women, it was fine with me. But why hadn’t he told me?
Watching him say that second good-bye on the veranda, I thought perhaps the two were not yet lovers. Perhaps Sebastian didn’t even yet know himself where his attractions pointed, although I doubted that.
Sebastian joined me in the car moments later. Once we were on the road, with the wind whipping through our hair and the lavender-scented air blowing all around us, I brought up his friend.
“Marsden is fascinating. His work is, too. Have you known him long?”
“A few months.”
“He is the real thing. I can see it in his work. He’s arrived and is only going to get better now.”
“I quite agree. You’re a good judge, Delphine. Not every artist is an astute reviewer of other artists. Too often, there’s some jealousy that gets in the way,” he said.
“I envy that he can observe a scene and only see what’s in front of him. My life would be simpler if I didn’t have the burden of learning such dire and dark things about people.”
“But then you wouldn’t be as special. You’d be just another painter struggling to make it. You’d have some awful little studio in Montmartre, burning coal and wearing gloves without fingers during the winter so you could still paint without freezing.”
I laughed at the image he painted. “Maman and Papa would never let me! You’d never let me.”
“Quite right. We’d all save you from such an existence. We’d never put our Delphine in danger.”
He turned from the road to look at me and smile. It was true. I could no sooner imagine him or my parents allowing me to suffer than I could imagine myself allowing him to. Yet he had told Marsden my secret, and that was unlike him.
“You told Marsden a lot about us,” I said, not quite sure if I was actually as annoyed as I sounded.
“He’s spent a good amount of time in Cannes. He’s had dinner with Maman and Papa several times. It’s not as if I told a stranger.”
“Regardless, you know I don’t like being discussed. We don’t like being discussed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want to be different from anyone. I don’t want people to think of my peculiarities when they look at my art. It keeps me on the outside of things. The power we have is unnatural to most of the population, even now. I don’t want to be misunderstood or seen as a threat to anyone. You can’t have forgotten.”
My temporary blindness had been no accident, you see. At age eight, I had not yet experienced the consequences of our legacy. I didn’t know how dangerous it could be to show off my psychic abilities. I’d learned a spell and wanted to impress my classmates with my trick. During lunch, I lit a crust of bread on fire. Tales of my witchcraft spread. My classmates and I had all grown up on the same fairy tales. Everyone knew about wicked witches, sorcery, and magic potions. I became an oddity. An object of scorn and ridicule and curiosity. One of my classmates, who had become convinced that I was giving her the evil eye and causing her to do badly on tests, took matters into her own hands. Her father owned a laundry service. She pilfered a bottle of lye from his store and threw it in my face one morning in the schoolyard.
I didn’t go back to a traditional school for years after that. My mother taught me at home after I regained my sight and enlisted tutors for the subjects that she wasn’t capable of teaching. I remained in a kind of social exile until I was thirteen and returned to the lycée.
Sebastian, who had witnessed my assault, was quiet for a moment now and then said, “I am sorry. I’m sorry for failing you. First when that awful girl attacked you. And now.”
I exhaled, exhausted by my current anger and memories of my painful past. But at the same time, I was reminded of the gift I had in Sebastian. My temper settled. “It is what it is.”
“I don’t like that phrase. You picked it up in New York. It’s defeatist.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“How badly did that fool in New York hurt you?” Sebastian hadn’t asked me much about Tommy on the ship coming home or since I’d gotten back.
“In retrospect, I don’t think I was ever really in love with him. Mostly, he just insulted my pride.”
“But your pride matters to you even more than matters of the heart.”
“What a terrible thing to say about me.” I could feel my temper rising again.
“Maybe, but it’s true, isn’t it? Have you ever been in love?”
I still didn’t want to tell my brother about Mathieu, especially at a moment like this. I realized I had no right to resent him for hiding his love affair when I had done the same exact thing and was continuing to do so.
“Well, the truth is, given the family curse, it’s safer for Duplessi women to have hard hearts,” I said.
“But not much of a way to go through life. Having your heart broken can be quite excruciating, but being in love is exhilarating.”
“Spoken as someone who has had his heart broken,” I said.
“At least a hundred times.” He laughed.
“And who broke it the worst?” I was fishing.
“You, dear one. You. When you ran away to New York. When you separated us. I’m not myself when my twin is three thousand miles away across the sea. I opened my gallery to sell your paintings, and then you abandoned me. You forced me to find other artists—none of whom I loved. I was building a reputation as an avant-garde gallery owner, and then my star disappeared on me. Worse, the other half of my soul departed. Without any thought for me at all.”
When I didn’t answer, he turned and examined my face.
“You’re crying?” he asked. “I’m the one who was hurt.”
“I’m sorry that I hurt you. I didn’t think—”
“No, you didn’t, and that’s what hurt the worst. But it’s water under the bridge now. I survived. Asserting your independence was more important to you. I suppose I understand. You had to prove who you were. On your own without me.” He paused. “That’s not it?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Then what was it?”
“I didn’t leave to become independent.”
“Then why?”
I shook my head again. I was tired of giving Sebastian answers just because he asked questions. “You’ve been pestering me for weeks to accept this commission, and I’m here, aren’t I? You wanted me to scry for Madame Calvé even though I never wanted to put on my blindfold again. But telling Marsden about me broke our covenant, Sebastian.”
“What do you want?”
“I want an apology.”