CH 77 Pitches
"Out of the question."
"But why?" Bonnie heard the plaintive note in her voice and could have bitten her tongue.
She'd taken great pains over what had remained of her weekend to build what she hoped would prove a solid case for being allowed to present her findings at the Lebrun symposium, and it was demoralizing to be shot down right out of the gate. As a sort of trial run, and because she valued his opinion, she'd laid her arguments and evidence before Bear first, and, while he'd given her a fair hearing, he'd made no bones about his objection.
"In the first place," he said, "asking the committee to reshuffle the program at this late date shows a real lack of consideration and respect for the work they've already put in. They've had their hands full whipping this conference together on short notice, and now that everything's in place, you want them to reconsider their arrangements? I could maybe understand if all you wanted was to swap topics within the same discipline, but you're proposing to go from giving a technical talk to weighing in on art history. That's a major adjustment.
"Look," he went on in a milder tone, "I appreciate that you believe you're on to something big, something that could seriously impact Lebrun studies, but, to be candid, I'm not sold." He leafed again through the printouts she'd supplied showing Madeleine's profile in both Lebrun's and Blanchard's paintings. "I grant that you've identified Lebrun's model — no mean feat — and you can show she later went on to become Blanchard's mistress but to extrapolate from those facts that Lebrun and Blanchard were romantic rivals, and that Lebrun losing the girl to Blanchard triggered the change in La Coupe d'amour's composition…" He shook his head. "That's a leap you can't justify."
"Given the way Lebrun painted her, it's not unreasonable to assume he was in love with her…"
"Artists fall for their models all the time," he agreed, "But it's not true in every instance, and might not be true of Lebrun. I could just as easily argue from your evidence that Lebrun's original drawing was inspired by Blanchard's infatuation with the girl, and that he later reworked the male figure, not from any personal bitterness, but because he realized the pose was awkward and anatomically dubious."
"All right, but then how do you explain Lebrun's suddenly breaking off his friendship with Blanchard?"
"Lebrun could've been attached to the girl — again not for personal but professional reasons — and resented Blanchard's swooping in and carrying her off into the depths of the country out of his reach. He could've seen that as betrayal."
"And the sea change in Lebrun's artistic style and ambitions? His abandoning a promising academic career for a life of catering to a rich clientele's baser instincts?"
Bear shrugged. "He wasn't a wealthy man like Blanchard and didn't have the luxury of producing art only for art's sake. He may've been seduced by the prospect of quickly amassing a large fortune. We may think less of him for prostituting his talent, but if he valued hard cash over academic fame and honors, that was his affair.
"What I'm trying to say is, you've created a narrative that's coherent and plausible, but light on historical fact. All the parts that touch directly on Lebrun are pure speculation and, as such, don't contribute anything substantial to what we know about the man. I'd be doing you — and, importantly, the Jeff — a disservice if I encouraged you to pursue this further. As it currently stands, your theory, in my view, is not worth presenting."
Bonnie had one last card up her sleeve — Lebrun's possible marriage to Madeleine — but before she could play it, a knock sounded on the office door, and a tall, silver-haired gentleman let himself into the room. He pulled up short at the sight of Bonnie sitting across from Bear, and looked to him in consternation. "I beg your pardon, Baer. Am I early?"
Bear pushed back from his desk and stood. "No, Piers. Come in. I just lost track of time." He gathered the loose printouts into a rough pile, and passed them back to Bonnie. "Piers, you may remember my assistant on the Lebrun conservation, Bonnie Booth-Hodgins."
Piers turned to her with a warm smile. "From the gala cocktail party, yes." He held out a large, raw-boned hand. "I was sorry to have to leave that night without introducing myself. Piers Vanderhoven."
"From the Winterbourne Museum." Bonnie took his hand with pleasure. "I attended your lecture last year on preventative conservation methods. It was fascinating."
He laughed lightly. "I'm sure it was dry as dust, but it's kind of you to pretend otherwise." He released her, and, turning back to Bear, said, "Do you need a few more minutes? I don't mind waiting…"
"No, it's fine. We were finished here. Right, Bonnie?"
She forced a smile to her lips. "Yes, all done." She tucked her sheaf of notes and supporting materials against her chest, and made to move toward the door. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Dr. Vanderhoven."
He stepped back to let her pass. "Likewise, Bonnie."
She walked quickly away, back toward the workroom, and then on past, taking the stairs to the lower floor and the sanctuary of the departmental library. It being several minutes past noon, she found the room as deserted as she could have wished, and settled down in a corner to grapple with her inner turmoil. Bear's harsh critique of her theory played over and over in her mind, and, though she tried to find a chink in his logic, she had to concede he was right: she'd based her argument on feelings she'd attributed to Lebrun without evidence and as a result, it was fatally flawed. Without proof that Lebrun had loved Madeleine, her account of what had driven him might as well be fiction. It certainly didn't rise to the level of art history.
And yet, even with that damaging strike against her, something in Bonnie rebelled at not pressing on. She felt in her bones that there was still something of value in her findings, and, after a period of careful reflection, she decided it lay in being able to supply not only a name but also the compelling human-interest story behind the face immortalized by La Coupe d'amour. There was always a certain fascination, especially among the general public, with the real-life men and women behind the painted images, and Madeleine, as a woman whose beauty inspired sublime work in one artist and great love in another, was a figure bound to captivate the popular imagination. Bonnie had only to remember Geneva Duchesnay's hanging on her every word and begging to be kept apprized of developments to be convinced she was right: there would be an audience, intrigued and entranced, by the dramatic twists and turns of Madeleine's life.
Newly resolute, she fortified herself with a sandwich and some coffee, and, taking an elevator up to the administrative offices, went in search of Dr. Cummings and his as-yet unbiased ear. Her luck was in: he had just returned from lunch and was happy to spare her a few minutes. Mindful of her missteps with Bear, she limited herself to reporting only that, after some months of research, she'd succeeded in discovering the identity of Lebrun's model and in learning a good deal about her. Dr. Cummings reacted with a gratifying show of interest, and invited her to fill him in on all the details, which she promptly did. When she'd finished, he took one last look at the images ranged before him on his desk and shook his head in wonder. "This is really incredible work, Bonnie! I'm flabbergasted that you could dig this all up."
"I had expert help, sir, on both sides of the Atlantic. You might say it was a team effort. The question I have for you, now, is what should I do with this information? Is it any kind of contribution to Lebrun studies, and, if so, would I be justified in bringing it to the attention of the symposium selection committee?"
"Ah!" Dr. Cummings sobered as he considered the question. "I see your dilemma. The Louvre celebration of La Coupe d'amour would be the ideal setting to share your results, but you're well past the submission deadline." He fixed her suddenly with a penetrating gaze. "You've already been through all this with Baer, haven't you? You didn't like what he had to say and so you've come to me, right over his head."
Bonnie's flaming cheeks betrayed her but she didn't let her eyes drop. "I respect his advice, but I didn't completely agree with him. I wanted a second opinion."
"And why not?" he said equably. "You've put a lot of yourself into this project. You're entitled to fight for it. So..." He studied her thoughtfully a moment. "I'm guessing he advised against approaching the committee?"
Bonnie nodded. "He thought it would be grossly inconsiderate of me to ask to switch topics."
His eyes rounded in astonishment. "Heavens! Is that what you were proposing? Then, of course he was right: that would never do! No," he continued more evenly after a pause, "changing the program is out, but they just might be open to scheduling a supplementary talk at the end of a session. There's no harm, in any event, in giving them the option. So…" He drew himself up, suddenly all-business. "Here's what we'll do: I'll need a written summary of your inquiry and findings - no more than a page. Tomorrow morning should be time enough. Can you get it to me by then?"
"Yes, of course."
"Good. I'll get in touch with our old friend Perrin first thing, and run it past him. If he likes what he hears, chances are good he'll take the matter up with the committee himself, and, if he doesn't, he'll be perfectly plain about it. In any case, whatever he decides, I propose we take his yea or nay as the last word on the subject. Agreed?"
"Agreed," Bonnie said, without hesitation. She was so elated and relieved, she felt strangely limp and wobbly. "Thank you so much for supporting me in this, Dr. Cummings. It means a lot to me."
He handed back the last of her printouts, and, standing, smiled at her kindly. "I like to see initiative and persistence rewarded, Bonnie, and you've shown plenty of both. Now, get to work and bring me back a summary that'll knock Henri's socks off!"
Returning to the workroom, Bonnie was so flying so high, she hardly felt the stairs beneath her feet. She knew a momentary twinge of conscience when her eye caught on Bear's door, but she ruthlessly tamped it down and pressed on to her station. Her passage caused some heads to turn, but happily no one remarked on her lateness and not even Gabby asked where she'd been. She was able to settle immediately at her computer and apply herself to her assignment.
She'd completed her first rough draft, and was wondering if she dared refer to the possibility of Lebrun's having married Madeleine when, as if in direct response to her question, an update appeared on her screen, alerting her to an incoming email from Richard. She clicked excitedly on the link, and the email popped up, bearing the disquieting subject line of "Good news / bad news."
"Dear Bonnie," Richard had written, "I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long for information which, as we anticipated, was easy to discover but which, unfortunately, has proved to be not as conclusive as we could wish. Let me explain: I was able to locate Lebrun's death record without difficulty, and I believe it does attest to the astounding acuity of M. Booth's instincts, but there is an unfortunate catch in that Lebrun's widow is not named as Madeleine Lavallière but as Magdalene Lavallée. This is, to my mind, nothing more than a regrettable misspelling, an instance of a clerk's having misheard the name and recorded it incorrectly. In my experience, such errors, or variant spellings, are all too common and can generally be dismissed as irrelevant but, in this case, where you will want to leave no room for doubt, it obliges us to go the extra distance of proving the two names designate the same person. To that end, I have already begun a search for Lebrun's marriage record, which, as you know, will give not only the bride's name but also those of her parents. That will eliminate any possible confusion, for better or for worse.
"I must counsel, then, a little more patience. I have not been able to discover in what year Lebrun married, so, if by chance you have that information, please forward it to me at your earliest convenience as that will greatly facilitate the search."
Bonnie read through Richard's message twice, and found herself more rather than less torn as to what to do. She was sorely tempted to jump the gun and include the bombshell marriage in her summary, for then no one, not even Bear, could dispute Madeleine's importance in Lebrun's life, and she'd be guaranteed a hearing. But, without the solid backing of proof, there remained the small but irreducible risk that the claim could blow up in her face and expose her and the Jeff to embarrassment. The danger seemed so slight, though, and the pay-off so enormous… Should she take the gamble?
A.N.: Reader, what would you recommend she do?