—
When Theo got back to St. Paul de Vence after his successful show in Paris, he started work on a new portrait of Natasha, but this one was different. It was much darker, tainted by everything she had told him over lunch about her early life in Moscow. It was the more painful side of her life experience, and her face was less recognizable in the new portrait. Marc saw it on his easel when he came to see him, and didn’t realize who it was. And Theo worked on it less frenetically. The subject of the portrait was so soulful that he found he couldn’t work on it as often or as intensely, or it depressed him, and he was working on two other paintings at the same time. And a part of him didn’t want to paint her again. His head told him to release her, but another part of him didn’t want to let her go. He was wrestling with the obsession this time, and not giving in to it as he had before. He knew he couldn’t, for her sake, as well as his own.
He had been back for a week when he got a text from Inez. Predictably, she said she didn’t want to see him again. She thought his life was too unstable, he was too steeped in his work. He had no plans for the future, other than for his career as an artist. He wasn’t interested in marriage, and she said she needed someone more solid. She added that whether he admitted it to himself or not, she was convinced that he was in love with Natasha, a woman he couldn’t have. She told him it was all too complicated for her, she thought their relationship was a dead end that would go nowhere, and she preferred to stop it before it went any further. He was sorry but not crushed. He liked her, but he didn’t love her, and they both knew it. He sent her a text saying that he regretted her decision, but he understood. And in some ways, it was a relief. He had no room for her in his head or his heart, and she knew it.
Although he didn’t fully agree with her about Natasha. He was intrigued by her, and fascinated by her, and had been obsessed with her at various times while he was working on her portrait, but how could he love a woman he barely knew? He would have liked to spend time with her and get to know her better, but he knew there was no possibility of that. But in quiet moments of introspection, he admitted to himself that he had never been in love. He had had infatuations and affairs and a number of wild flings, and dated a few women for extended periods of time, and even lived with one woman for a year, but he had never loved any of them passionately, nor been heartbroken when it was over. He wondered if there was something missing in him. The only woman who had seized him in her grip, to the point of distraction at times, was the one he didn’t really know. He stopped working on the portrait for a while when he thought about it, to give his obsession with her time to cool again. He said something about it to his mother when she asked who he was dating. She’d had the feeling recently that he wasn’t seeing anyone, and she was right. After Inez, he didn’t go out with anyone for a while.
“So what are you up to?” she asked him over Sunday brunch when Gabriel was in Paris for a few weeks. His daughter had been complaining that he never came to the gallery anymore, so he was planning to spend some time in Paris for a while until she calmed down.
“Just painting,” Theo said, looking peaceful. His work had been going well. It usually did when he had no distractions. He always found it hard to juggle women and work and be fair to both. And the women in his life never liked it.
“Are you seeing anyone?” He shook his head and didn’t look bothered by it.
“No, I was seeing a girl from Cannes for a while. She hates artists, she says I have no stable plans for the future, other than for my work, I’m not interested in marriage, which is true, I don’t want children for the moment, also true, or maybe ever, I haven’t decided. And to be honest, I stood her up for another woman when we were in Paris for my opening. I just totally forgot she was there. It was very rude. She left, and then told me it was over. I don’t blame her. I would have dumped me too.” He smiled at his mother.
“Who did you stand her up for?” his mother asked with interest, and he hesitated before he answered. That was harder to explain.
“Actually, I did a portrait of Stanislas’s mistress, from memory, and put it in the show in Paris. Gabriel was crazy about the painting, and so was Pasquier. She showed up at the opening by coincidence, and loved it. So I took it to her the next day, and we had lunch.” He tried to make it sound as casual as it had been and not as intense as he had felt.
“Was Stanislas there too?” She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him.
“No, he wasn’t. I think he was away, or out or something. I didn’t see him.”
“I’m surprised she had lunch with you. Men like him usually keep their women on a very short leash.”
“We didn’t have sex at the restaurant. Just conversation.”
Maylis went straight to the point. She always did. “Are you in love with her?” Her eyes bored into his.
“Of course not. She seems happy where she is. And as you pointed out before, I can’t afford her.” He didn’t want to get into it too deeply with his mother. And she knew him too well. She’d see through him if he didn’t tell the truth.
“You’re playing with fire if you are in love with her,” she warned him again. “Unattainable women, or men for that matter, are dangerous. You can never win them, and they break your heart. Whatever the reason, and not just the money, you can’t compete with Stanislas if she’s happy where she is, if that’s what she says and she’s telling you the truth.”
“I think she is happy, and seems totally willing to accept the limitations of her situation with him, in exchange for what she gets, in terms of security and protection. It seems like a sad life to me. He owns her.”
“That’s how it works. And in your case, wanting someone you can’t have is very romantic, but it’s an agony you don’t need,” she said wisely. “You need to forget about her, Theo. You need a real woman in your life, not a fantasy. She’s lovely looking, but she’ll destroy your life if you let her.”
“Or I hers.” And he didn’t want that either.