“Mr. Stanislas?” he asked, worried, and the concierge in the house dress and slippers shook her head.
“No. Another one.” That didn’t surprise Theo either. It was what his mother had said when they first talked about her. Women like Natasha had to move on to another man like the last one. It was the only way they knew to survive. And he didn’t condemn her for it. He just hoped that this one was a better man than Vladimir. It hadn’t taken her long to replace him. “He just sold the apartment,” the concierge volunteered then. “The maid left yesterday. She said she wouldn’t be coming back here.” He nodded, sad to have missed Natasha. He would have liked to say goodbye to her and to wish her well. But all roads from her past life were dead ends now. He had no idea where to find her, and no one to ask. He thanked the concierge and she closed the door soundly, and he walked back out to Avenue Montaigne, and wandered slowly toward the restaurant where he had had lunch with her. It felt like a thousand years ago, and had only been January. A lot had happened in seven months, and her life had completely changed.
He walked past the restaurant and smiled at the memory of her there, and wondered where she was now, and with whom.
He caught a flight back to Nice that night, with all the families leaving on vacation. People were wearing beach clothes on the plane. They all looked happy to be on holiday. And as soon as they landed in Nice, he got his car out of the garage and drove home.
—
Theo spent the rest of the summer painting furiously, and whenever his mother spoke to him, he said it was going well. She was back in full swing running the restaurant again. It was their best summer ever, and Gabriel spent many evenings with her there. In mid-August, she decided to close the restaurant for the rest of August and September, and possibly longer. She and Gabriel wanted to travel, but first she wanted to spend part of September with him in Paris, at his apartment. It was the first time she had ever done that. And the first time in more than thirty years she had gone back to Paris. Gabriel was thrilled. They had acted like honeymooners ever since they’d come back from Florence, and Theo was happy for them. He promised her he’d check on the restaurant and the house every day, and there were still two security guards there every night, and Maylis planned to keep them there. And before she left, she shared a new plan with Theo that she and Gabriel had been talking about for a while. She was thinking about closing the restaurant entirely by the end of the year, and turning the building into a small museum of Lorenzo’s work, which was what it really was anyway. And Gabriel was going to help her set it up.
“We’ll need someone to run it on a day-to-day basis. I don’t want to be tied down here all the time. We want to spend time in Paris, and be free to move around.” She sounded like a new woman, and was much happier than the old one who had mourned Lorenzo for so many years. And although she still honored him, Gabriel was her main focus now. She fussed over him like a mother hen, and he was thriving. And Marie-Claude was thrilled they would be in Paris together in September.
They left St. Paul de Vence at the end of August, and Maylis was excited about all the things she and Gabriel wanted to do in Paris, the exhibits she wanted to see, the museums she hadn’t been to in years, the restaurants Gabriel promised to take her to. And the day after they arrived and settled into his apartment, which suddenly seemed small for both of them but very cozy, they had dinner with Marie-Claude and her husband and children on Sunday night at Marie-Claude’s apartment. There was lots of laughter, and jokes, and good food and the children interrupting, and one of them brought a friend to dinner. Maylis made a hachis Parmentier for all of them that everyone said was delicious. She had learned to make it from the chef at the restaurant. They felt like a real family, sharing Sunday-night dinner together.
It was exactly what Marie-Claude had hoped for her father for all these years, while Maylis had been worshipping at Lorenzo’s altar, and forgetting who was beside her. Maylis was fully cognizant now of how important Gabriel was to her and always had been, and how much they loved each other.
“Thank you,” Marie-Claude whispered to her when they kissed each other goodbye and Maylis thanked her for dinner.
“For what? I’m a very, very lucky woman,” she said, glancing over at Gabriel, who was talking to his son-in-law and his grandson. “Thank you for putting up with me for all these years. I was blind.”
“We all are sometimes,” Marie-Claude said, and hugged her again before they left.
—
The month of September was busy for them, with exhibits to see, places to go, and antique fairs they loved prowling, and they stopped at his gallery on Avenue Matignon often. His health had never been better, and they were both happy. They had plans to go to Venice in October, and Maylis told Gabriel she hated to leave Paris, and he laughed at her.
“Well, that’s a new song for you.” She was so relaxed and happy these days that he hardly recognized her. For years there had been an underlying sadness about her as she continued to mourn Lorenzo, now she had finally laid him to rest. She still cherished the memories and talked about him, and was dedicated to the body of his work, but he was no longer a saint, and her memories of him were more accurate and still deeply affectionate. But she was fully present in Gabriel’s life now, and had allowed him wholly into hers.
“Now, there’s something that might be fun for you,” Gabriel said one morning in mid-September, when he opened his mail and handed her a catalog. It was a sale of vintage and new Hermès bags, and the one on the cover was a gorgeous red. And when Maylis flipped through, there were Birkins and Kelly bags in every color, both alligator and leather. The sale was taking place at the H?tel Drouot, the city’s most illustrious auction house, where they had fifteen auction rooms and forty-five auctions a week. Gabriel loved to poke around the exhibits where people could see the auction items before the actual sales. “Why don’t we stop by and check it out?”
“The prices are crazy,” she said wistfully, looking at the estimates. “They’re as expensive as they are new at Hermès.”
“Most of the bags at auction are new too,” he commented. He was familiar with the sales at Drouot and went often. “The only difference is that you don’t have to wait three years to get them.” Maylis was sorely tempted to take a look.
She left the catalog on his desk, and the following week, on a Friday, he reminded her that it was the day of the exhibition and asked her if she would like to go.