Ch 84 Symposium, I

"And then, the speaker and all the honorees left the stage and the lights were turned down low." Bonnie took another slice of pain brioché from the bread basket and set it on her plate. "May I have the marmalade, Grammy? Thanks. Anyway, it wasn't so dark that you couldn't make out that panels were being rolled in and snapped into place, but there was so much movement and all of it so quick, it was hard to keep track of. And they were done, it seemed like, in no time at all. The lights came back up, and there, completely hiding the stage, was this incredible set representing an artist's studio with the two Coupes d'amour front and center on side-by-side easels. The illusion was so powerful, I swear I caught the smells of turpentine and linseed oil on the air."

Angela took a sip of her café au lait. "It sounds like quite the production. I'm not sure I understand the concept, though. Why choose that particular backdrop?"

"The thinking was, I believe, to hark back to the time the two paintings were last together, which would've been in Lebrun's studio. There's evidence to suggest the engraver, Régnier, saw both paintings at once and took elements from each for his image. Of course, he would've seen the paintings without their frames, but they didn't carry the illusion to that extreme."

"And did you visit the exhibition after the unveiling?"

"We did, and, I have to say, it's as outstanding as advertised. My one criticism would be that there's just too much to see. There aren't only paintings and sculpture on display, but period furniture, silver, prints and ceramics. One showcase was filled with nothing but snuffboxes!" She poured herself a second cup of tea. "Are you still planning to check it out tomorrow? With Richard?"

Angela nodded. "We'll stop by for an hour or so before heading over to the Institute to hear your presentation." She pulled off a piece of her croissant and slathered it with raspberry jam. "It's a shame your symposium couldn't be held at the Louvre, too. It would've been so much more convenient."

"True, but it's just a ten-minute walk to the INHA, and you can cut through the Palais Royal gardens to get there. I'm thinking of doing that, myself, this morning."

"You mean, take the metro to the Louvre and walk from there?"

Bonnie's plan was a little more ambitious, but she said only, "It'll be my one chance today to see something of the city. The conference starts at ten this morning and runs right through to seven tonight with just an hour break for lunch."

"That's a long time to be cooped up indoors," Angela sympathized. "And that reminds me: while we're on the subject of your schedule, what're your plans, if any, for dinner tonight? I completely understand," she hurried on, "if you want to go out with your Jeff colleagues or any new contacts you might make during the day. Socializing's an important part of any professional gathering."

"Well, there is a cocktail hour scheduled to cap off the day…" Bonnie hesitated, visions of dining with Bear, even if in company, dancing in her head. "If you really don't mind, I think we'd better plan on me eating out tonight, and if I don't for any reason, I'll fix myself something when I get back. Either way, don't worry about me."

"All right." Angela set her cup back in its saucer and, shooting a conspicuous look at the wall clock, nodded meaningfully in its direction. "And now, if you really mean to walk partway to the Institute, you might want to get a move on."

Bonnie had actually been contemplating covering the whole distance — just over two miles — on foot, but she had lingered too long over breakfast, and had to settle for completing the first half of the journey underground. She got off the metro at the Place de la Concorde, and treated herself to a brisk walk from one end of the Tuileries Gardens to the other, stopping only at the top of the exit stair to turn and snap a souvenir photo of the autumn-colored copse of trees, the formally laid-out flower beds and, in its frame of dramatic statues, the Great Basin with, at its center, its single plume of jetting water. She pressed on then toward and through the monumental Carrousel Arch, turned left at the Pyramid and joined the crowds in crossing the busy Rues de Rivoli and Saint Honoré, and so onto the Palais Royal and the side passage leading into its column-enclosed courtyard and the tranquil garden just beyond. She regretted the necessity of having to hurry past the whimsical sculptures and manicured flower beds along her route, but she was cutting it fine as it was and didn't want to chance being late. Fortunately, she emerged from the little park just the proverbial hop, skip and a jump from the Institute, and presented herself at the registration desk, somewhat breathless but invigorated, with several minutes to spare.

She collected her conference badge and materials, and, as directed, went down a level to the auditorium where the Institute director, a Mme Mansouri, was about to kick off the proceedings with a welcoming address. She arrived to find a small crowd of people flowing in a slow but orderly fashion into the auditorium, and, among their number, bringing up the rear, none other than Bear.

He brightened at the sight of her, and, waving her over, said, "I was beginning to wonder if you were going to make it."

Had he been watching for her? Her spirits rose at the thought of Bear hanging about the foyer until the last minute, waiting for her to appear. "I took me longer to get here than I expected."

She became aware of a man on Bear's other side, sandy-haired, nearly as tall but thin, keeping pace with them, and making no secret of following their conversation. Bear introduced him as Tom Boylston, an old acquaintance, currently with the V & A in London.

The name rang a bell. "You're giving a talk this morning," Bonnie said, taking the hand Tom held out to her. "In La Coupe d'amour: the power of an image session."

Tom smiled broadly. "I'm flattered you remember."

"Your abstract really piqued my curiosity. I'm looking forward to hearing you speak."

"As am I," Bear put in, "but right now we'd better find some seats. The program's about to get started."

They weren't detained for long. Mme Mansouri made the customary remarks about the Institute's being honored to host such a distinguished group of scholars, introduced and thanked the organizing committee and the event's corporate sponsors, and spoke for a few minutes on the importance of continuing to document, preserve and interpret the world's artistic heritage, a mission the Institute had been created expressly to pursue and to which the attendees by virtue of their participation in the symposium had shown their commitment as well. She wished them a stimulating and productive exchange of ideas, and released them to disperse to the morning sessions of their choice.

Bonnie, Bear and Tom repaired to their meeting room, a long, narrow space on the ground floor which, with its tables and folding chairs set up in rows before a video-screen and lectern, had all the charm of a standard university classroom. She was soon grateful they'd been among the first to arrive because the room filled quickly, and by the time the session moderator took the podium to introduce Tom as the first speaker, there was not a seat to be had.

The three presentations did not disappoint, and as a result the next two and a half hours flew by. Tom spoke about Lebrun's work coming back into fashion some fifty years after his death, and of the especial popularity of La Coupe d'amour which inspired any number of decorative items from bisque figurines to necklace medallions. In a similar vein, the next presenter talked about the Love Quartet Tapestry, a Gobbelin-manufactured textile woven to look like a wall hung with four Lebrun paintings, including La Coupe. Bonnie, who'd never heard of the tapestry and thought it marvelous, was equally unacquainted with the paintings discussed by the last speaker, all of which paid explicit homage to Lebrun's masterpiece, either by showing it hanging on a background wall or by the artists picturing themselves studying it or faithfully copying it in a museum setting.

When the session ended, as time for lunch was short, Tom suggested they nip around the corner to the Grand Colbert, a pricey restaurant, admittedly, but a Paris landmark, and, between the ambiance and food, a good value for money in his opinion. Bonnie, who'd dined there several times, most recently with Trev, doubted they'd get a table without a reservation, but luck was with them, and they were seated not only immediately but, as it happened, next to the table where Dr. and Mrs. Cummings sat conferring over the menu.

The waiter made no objection to their closing the small gap between the tables, and, together, the five enjoyed a pleasant meal, their conversation, although largely concerned with that morning's presentations, touching as well on other topics out of consideration for Gwen. If Bonnie had any complaint to make, it was that Tom paid her rather more attention than she was comfortable with while Bear appeared content to sit back and observe. On their way back to the Institute, Bear even excused himself to phone the States, leaving her to continue on with Tom, who remained by her side for the whole of the second session.

There was a short recess before the third and final session, a break Tom proposed they fill by taking advantage of the complimentary snack bar generously furnished for the conference attendees. Bonnie, on the pretext of having her upcoming talk to prepare for, begged off and headed up to the second floor and the meeting room to which she'd been assigned. It being her first foray on this upper level, she had to apply herself to finding the right door, and so didn't register the woman standing patiently outside it until she was practically upon her. "Isabelle!" Bonnie cried with delight, when she saw who it was.

Isabelle laughed, and leaned in to brush Bonnie's cheeks with her own. "After all our work together on La Coupe d'amour, you didn't really think I'd miss your presentation — or Rudolph's — did you? Sébastien wanted to be here, too, but, sadly, he couldn't get away from the gallery."

Bonnie took in the pleasing sight of the ever-elegant Isabelle, who, since her quiet summer wedding to Sébastien, no longer went by the name Auteuil. She was, as usual, impeccably coiffed and dressed, but there was, as well, a new radiance about her, a warmth and ease of manner that amplified her beauty. "It's really lovely to see you, Isabelle," she said, with perfect sincerity. "As for Sébastien, I expect I'll see him tomorrow. He's moderating one of the morning sessions, isn't he?"

"He is, and we'll both be attending your talk in the afternoon, but, really, Bonnie, we'd like to see more of you than that while you're in town. I came by early today on purpose to ask if you — and Rudolph, naturally — could possibly join us for dinner tonight. I know it's unpardonably late notice, but it would give us so much pleasure."

Bonnie would've found it hard to resist such an appeal even had she been so inclined. "Well, I can't speak for Bear, of course…"

"I should have said," Isabelle interrupted. "I've already spoken to Rudolph, and he's free as long as we make it an early dinner. Apparently, he has another engagement for later."

"Oh." The unwelcome thought of Bear meeting up with a certain French redhead popped into Bonnie's mind, but she pushed past it. "Well," she said, smiling at Isabelle, "As for me, I'm happy to dine with you, early or late."

Isabelle beamed. "Excellent! I've booked a table for seven-fifteen at a wonderful boutique restaurant on Rue Vivienne. We can walk over there from here in five minutes, if not less. I have only one concern: how do you feel about truffles?"

"Truffles? As in those insanely-expensive fungi? I adore them. Why?"

"Because if you didn't care for them, I'd have to cancel the reservation. They make it a point, you see, of putting truffles in every one of their dishes, including dessert!"

Isabelle having excused herself to confirm the evening's plan with Sébastien, Bonnie proceeded alone into the room. A woman standing at the lectern glanced up from her notes to smile a greeting, and Bonnie, assuming, correctly, that this was the session moderator, stepped forward to introduce herself. They were shortly joined by another member of the panel, a paper conversator and print specialist who'd be delivering the first talk. Bear was the last to appear, and took his seat beside Bonnie at the speakers' table so close to the session's start, all they could exchange were a very few words. "Ready?" he asked her, and when she gave him a nod, he smiled reassuringly. "You'll do fine."

And she did. She was nervous to begin with, but whether it was because the room was small and accommodated only forty people, or because she was aware of Isabelle, Tom Boylston, Dr. Cummings and Rosa Vincent in the audience smiling their support, she was able to tamp down the butterflies, and do a creditable job of cataloguing the similarities and differences between the two Coupes d'amour. She received a respectable round of applause, answered a few technical questions, and then happily ceded the podium to Bear.

In the general way of things, Bonnie didn't have many occasions to watch Bear openly, and she relished the opportunity. In helping her prepare, he'd given her the benefit of his wider experience, and now that experience was fully on display. She admired the calm, confident way he carried himself, his air of easy authority. He referred to his notes so little, described and documented their treatment process so smoothly, he gave the impression of speaking off-the-cuff, thorough master of his subject, as, indeed, he was. There was not a single creaking chair, no whispered word, or cough; Bear had the audience's full attention, as he had hers, if for a very different reason. The stage-by-stage accounting of the painting's restoration sparked a sequence of memories of their working together, from the early days of mutual wariness through a period of growing trust in her on his part and an increasing understanding of him on hers until, finally, they'd arrived at a near-equal partnership, professionally, and something more than friendship, personally. Or so she'd thought… As Bear summarized his remarks, she resisted the urge to reach for her phone and the photo in her library of herself and Bear on the night of the gala. She busied her hands, instead, with joining in the applause, and clapping as loudly and as long as everyone else.

And with that, and a half-dozen follow-up questions, the first day of the symposium was in the books. The audience members rose to their feet, and moseyed, most of them, toward the lone exit door while others pressed forward to have a private word with Bear or express their appreciation. As she gathered her things and cast an idle look over the crowd, Bonnie happened to catch sight of Rosa at the back of the room, her expression rather wistful as she stood watching Bear. She might've sensed Bonnie's gaze, for she turned; their eyes met. Rosa smiled a bit ruefully, and Bonnie, feeling her pain and sorry for it, smiled back. Isabelle walked up, then, to collect Bonnie for dinner, and when Bonnie looked for Rosa again, she'd already gone.