Gala, III

Bonnie must have breathed the name out unconsciously, because Vanna broke off what she was saying, and turned to her excitedly. "Really? Where?" She didn't wait for an answer, but followed Bonnie's gaze eagerly, and lit up at the sight of Trev striding in their direction.

Trev was also grinning ear-to-ear, and, as he drew closer, he simply held out his arms, and, with a fine contempt for decorum, caught Bonnie up in a hug that stopped just short of lifting her off her feet. Her arms slipped around him, too, for balance, and then, with a hearty buss on her temple, he was pulling back, his hands bracing her shoulders between them, and his eyes laughing down into hers. "You had me worried for a minute, there, Bonita Angel! I thought I was going to have to come over here and introduce myself, like a stranger."

Bonnie thumped him soundly on his blue satin shawl lapel. "It's no less than you deserve, showing up without a word to anyone, and practically in disguise!" She reached up and tugged playfully at a scraggly pinch of beard. "You look like some primitive mountain man."

"Which is just what I was 'til this morning." He ran a self-conscious hand over his stubbly cheeks and jaw. "The game plan was to score a seat on an early flight, and get back here in time for a last-minute hair cut and shave, but my luck was out, and I didn't leave Denver until just after noon. It was either turn up like this, or miss out on tonight, and I wasn't having that."

He took possession of one of her hands, and, holding tight, turned to greet Vanna with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek. "Vanna. You look especially lovely tonight. Enjoying the gala?"

"Immensely," she said, pink with pleasure. "I'm so glad you made it."

He thanked her with a twinkling look. "It was a near-run thing. And Baer." He extended a hand, which Bear accepted civilly. "Here you are with the evening's two most stunning creatures all to yourself, and I come in, crashing your party."

"Not at all." Bear's manner was on the cool side of courteous; correct, but distant. "Your timing couldn't be better, in fact. We were just going in to dinner."

Trev cast an assessing glance over his shoulder at the exiting throng, and turned back, unconcerned. "It'll be a while, yet, before they're all through. No need to rush."

"Not for you or Vanna," Bear allowed, "but Bonnie and I have a number of guests at our table we're expected to help entertain…"

"Bonnie's actually working here tonight," Vanna reminded Trev in a whisper.

He looked instantly contrite. "Oh, right! Sorry! In all the excitement, I completely forgot."

Bonnie gave his arm a comforting pat. "We'll have plenty of time to talk later, after dinner, if not during," she said, as much for her own consolation as for his. "I'm really, really glad to see you, Trev — you have no idea how much! — and I'm dying to hear everything you've been up to these last ten weeks, but…"

"People are counting on you," he finished for her, with a quick nod of understanding. "I should've realized, but I didn't think… or, no, I did, but only of myself, and not of how awkward a spot I'd be putting you in." His smile twisted ruefully, his eyes begging her pardon, and then, summoning a cheery air for her sake, he gave her hand a last, encouraging squeeze and let go. "You go on and take care of business. I'll still be here when you're done, whenever that is."

Vanna closed the small distance between herself and Trev, and laid a light hand on his elbow. "Have you have a chance to see the champagne fountain? It's really something special, and just over this way…"

Trev welcomed the suggestion gratefully, and, promises of "later" having been exchanged, he and Vanna set off, against the tide as it were, back into the largely-deserted cocktail area. Bonnie watched after them a long moment, one part wistful to three parts relieved, and then, turning back to find Bear waiting to start toward the dining room, she smiled and fell into a slow, deliberate walk beside him.

They didn't speak, at first; Bonnie could see that Bear, while not precisely brooding, was preoccupied with thoughts or feelings of his own, and she was careful not to intrude on them. She supposed, in any case, that he was wrestling with a fit of bad humor — denial notwithstanding, he'd clearly been annoyed by Trev's appearing out of nowhere — and so, when, at last, he looked up from his shoe tops and across at her, she was not at all prepared to hear, "There's your cousin's seat at our table."

She did not immediately take his meaning, and, when she did, it was all she could do not to thread her arm through his, and tuck herself into his side. She settled, instead, for shaking her head decidedly. "Eddie was always going to sit with our uncle and aunt Booth. He was filling in for my grandfather, you see, and Gramps made the choice to have his dinner with family and friends. More comfortable for him, less distracting for me." She measured out a few more steps, then added a heartfelt, "But, thank you. It was a kind thought."

He made no more reply to this than a nod, and they ambled on in silence, Bear, unaccountably, retreating again into his own sober reflections. At length, he flashed her an uncertain glance, and, carefully, as if weighing every word, brought out, "You can switch to Wyndham-Pryce's table, if you want. I'll clear it with Cummings."

This time, she did slip her hand inside his elbow, propriety be damned. "What I want — since you ask — is to sit with people whose primary reason for coming tonight is to celebrate La Coupe d'amour and this very proud moment in the Institute's history. This is our painting's big send-off, its formal debut, and I want to be front and center, savoring every toast and tribute, every presentation. I was assigned Table One, and there's no table anywhere in the dining room I'd willingly trade it for."

She delivered this statement with a look so plainly defying him to misunderstand her that he couldn't quite suppress a smile. "Table One it is."

It was just as well that nothing remained to be said on the subject, as, their turn to pass through into the dining room having come at last, Bonnie's breath was stolen away by the scene that met her eyes. If the upper stretch of the Hall had been converted into a forest glade, the lower had been transformed, by the ingenious use of towering, cut-branch centerpieces, into a fairy grove of young, vigorous trees. The leafy boughs, fountaining high out of tall, crystal cylinders, arched gracefully over the tables and dripped, at the end of fine, silver wires, an enchanting array of delicate glass baubles, each cheerful with the glow of a tiny white candle. The columns down the sides of the space were thickly wreathed about with greens as well, but there was color, too, in the garlands of flowers festooning the walls, the fragrant rings of tea roses, hydrangea and baby's breath at the base of every vase, and, at the far end of the room, the huge, bloom-packed floral arch that stood framing a rustic garden, realistically rendered in paint.

Bonnie had the leisure to admire these details and the gleam and glint of fine china and stemware as she and Bear wended their way down the entire length of the Hall to their table. They were, unsurprisingly, the last of their party to arrive, and so late, servers were hovering nearby and waiting only for them to find their seats before bringing out the first course dishes. Bonnie had drawn Dr. Cummings as one of her dinner partners, and, hastening to his side so as not to keep him standing, she saw that the ill-assorted couple she'd noticed earlier in the evening had also risen from their chairs to receive her. "Here she is," Dr. Cummings said heartily, an unspoken finally nonetheless clearly implied. "Geneva, Marc, my young colleague, Miss Booth-Hodgins…"

"Bonnie, please," she insisted, holding her hand out to the woman. Close up, her age-softened features and faint smile lines proclaimed her age as nigh on sixty, but she carried her years well, and wore her silver taffeta evening suit with style. Bonnie was just reaching her hand out to the woman's escort - a good-looking man of no more than thirty — when Dr. Cummings continued, "Geneva Duchesnay, Bonnie, and her son, Marc. Our special guests for the evening."

Bonnie drew in a sharp gasp of delight. "Oh! This really is a pleasure!" she said, clasping Marc's hand in both of hers, and beaming from one to the other. "I'm so honored to meet you!"

Geneva Duchesnay inclined her head amiably and with grace. "Thank you. But, you should know, it's actually my late mother-in-law, Adrienne Duchesnay, whose generosity is being recognized tonight. Any honor we accept is strictly in her name."

Marc, leaning in toward Bonnie, murmured, "We'd've kept the painting, if we could."

She laughed as she was meant to, and then, Dr. Cummings pulling out her chair for her, she took her place at the table, and Geneva, with Marc's assistance, did the same. The gentlemen slipping back into their seats, Dr. Cummings remarked, "The Duchesnays have been very much looking forward to speaking with you, Bonnie."

Startled, Bonnie turned toward mother and son, no more clever response than "Oh?" rising to her lips.

"That's right," Marc said, his dark eyes bright with mischief. "Mother's been waiting impatiently for the chance to tell you how very lovely you look."

"I was hoping to introduce myself earlier," Geneva confirmed from her son's far side, "but you were always surrounded, and I didn't like to intrude."

Bonnie was a tad disappointed, if flattered. "That's very kind…"

But Marc hadn't finished. "We've got a question for you, too. Or, not a question so much as a theory. Mother's persuaded, y'see, that you took your inspiration for your dress and hairstyle from the painting. As an homage to it, so to say."

A thrill of pleasant surprise so electrified Bonnie, she might have hugged Geneva had Marc not been squarely in the way. "You're exactly right, Ms. Duchesnay! That was precisely my intent. I'm so glad you saw it! You're only the second one who has."

"Well," Geneva said with a modest smile, "I have the advantage of long acquaintance, after all. The painting was a permanent fixture in my in-laws' living room for all the long years of my marriage. I must have seen it a thousand times!"

"Not to mention," Marc interposed dryly, "the private view of the restoration we had a few short hours ago. Refreshed the memory wonderfully."

"You've already seen the painting?" Bonnie hadn't known of any previews, but, as a special courtesy to the honorees, it made sense. "What did you think? Were you pleased?"

Geneva didn't hesitate. "Oh, yes! Enormously! Who knew all that glorious color was lying locked away under centuries of grime! I tell you, if Adrienne could see her painting today, she'd be prouder than a peacock! She always wanted to believe, you know, that the family lore was true, that the painting was an original Lebrun."

"Romantic old girl, was Granny," Marc quipped, raising his glass in what struck Bonnie as a somewhat ironic salute.

Their salads were set before them, artful arrangements of micro-greens, melon balls and heirloom tomatoes almost too pretty to eat. Rather than talk across her son, Geneva turned her attention to Bear, and Bonnie was left with only Marc to ask about the Duchesnays' history with the painting. It was soon apparent he could tell her no more than she already knew, and even Geneva, rejoining the conversation between courses, had to shake her head regretfully. "That information — who bought it, from whom, where, when — all that was lost generations ago. I doubt even my husband's grandparents could've told you. The only thing faithfully handed down the years was the claim that the painting was an important work of art."

Over beautifully-plated servings of lobster thermidor, Geneva steered the talk away from the past and around again to Bonnie's tribute to the painting, which, she said, had given her so much pleasure. "It was like seeing that exquisite girl brought to life. I don't mean to say you look like you just stepped out of the picture. It's more that you've captured her spirit, somehow; her essence. That painting, for me at least, has always been about the girl. She never fails to draw and hold my eye. That innocence and joy, that vulnerability… I can only assume, considering the trouble and expense you've gone to, that she must fascinate you, too."

"Oh, yes," Bonnie admitted easily, and then, after a moment's hesitation, confided, "I've been trying to identify her, actually. The young woman who posed for Lebrun."

"Have you really? How extraordinary! And have you managed to learn anything about her?"

Bonnie began with the intention of relating only the bare bones of Madeleine Lavallière's biography, but Geneva, leaning forward and almost into her son in her eagerness not to miss a word, was so thoroughly engaged, and so genuinely interested, Bonnie found herself recounting the whole, convoluted story, even to her speculations and wishful conclusions. Caught in the middle, Marc followed the back-and-forth without interrupting, a smile of mild amusement, likely at his mother's enthrallment, playing on his lips. When Bonnie'd wrapped up her tale with Madeleine's probable removal to Paris after Blanchard's death, Geneva said on a sigh, "That's as good as a novel! And you have no idea, as yet, what became of her in Paris? Or how and when she died?"

"Not at this time, no, but the inquiry's still ongoing." Her grandmother had reassured her of it only that morning.

"Then, would you do me the favor of letting me know if you discover anything more? I'd really like to know how it all turned out for her. Dr. Cummings can tell you how to contact me."

"Or…" Marc drew a slim metal case from his jacket pocket, and, slipping a business card out of it, presented it to Bonnie. "You can call me at this number — anytime — and I'll arrange a meeting."

"Oh!" Geneva looked quizzically from her son to Bonnie, and then, a light suddenly flaring in her eyes, she smiled radiantly. "Oh, yes! That's a much better plan."

The second course plates were cleared expeditiously, and, Margaret Schilling's image having taken the place of woodland scenes on the screens above and to either side of the floral arch, an expectant hush fell over the room. The Jeffersonian's Assistant Secretary of Advancement kicked off her emcee duties by expressing the Institute's sincere appreciation for the Jeff Society's loyal and indispensable support, and carried on from there to single out for special recognition the corporate sponsors whose generous contributions of funds, materials and services had made it possible for the Jeff to achieve its vision of a truly spectacular event. The French Cultural Attaché, representing his country, received the Institute's gratitude for the expert advice and invaluable assistance provided by the Louvre delegation, and Geneva was called up to the podium to accept, with the Jeff's profoundest thanks, a replica of the bronze plaque that would, henceforth, hang in the gallery next to the painting, commemorating and honoring in perpetuity the magnanimous gift of the Duchesnay family.

Geneva gave a pretty little speech on Adrienne's behalf, emphasizing the pride and gratification her mother-in-law would have felt in having restored a masterpiece to its rightful place in the world. And then, at long last, the time for the great reveal was upon them. At a signal from Ms. Schilling, the trompe-l'oeil panel was slowly hoisted out of the way, the drama unfolding on the screens, as well, for the benefit of those at the back of the Hall. When it had come to rest and been secured, what appeared to be a section of wall glided out of the shadows and into the floral arch, the once-lost treasure framed like a jewel in its center. "Ladies and gentlemen, Antoine Lebrun's La Coupe d'amour."

There was a moment of silence, a collective intake of breath, and then, people were rising from their chairs and breaking into applause, the ovation growing in force and enthusiasm as it swept up the Hall. Beside Bonnie, Dr. Cummings stood rocking on the balls of his feet, barely able to contain his elation, and Bear, too far across the table for Bonnie's liking, was accepting Geneva's congratulations on a job well done. It was, however, Bonnie's eyes he sought to catch, his smile for her a celebration of what they'd achieved together, a shared triumph even as their work had been shared. Bonnie's heart, in that moment, expanded with such happiness, it was a wonder it didn't burst.

When the applause had died a natural death, Ms. Schilling announced that there would be a lengthy interval before dessert to accommodate anyone who cared for closer look at the painting to make their way forward. Alternately, she said, for those who preferred a different sort of interlude, the band had finished setting up in the cocktail area and would begin playing dance music shortly.

Marc smiled affably down at Bonnie. "I could certainly stand to stretch my legs a bit. How about it, Bonnie? Would you give me the pleasure of the first dance?"

Bonnie, thinking of the promise she'd made to the Senator and Freya, grimaced apologetically. "I'd love to, Marc, but as it happens…"

"I'm number one on her dance card," Trev said, popping up like a jack-in-the-box at her elbow. "Ready to go, there, pumpkin? They're playing our song."