Chapter 56
Alex moved one of the parlor chairs up against the window and sat on his knees with his arms drapped over the high back as he anxiously awaited Claude's arrival.
"He will be here," Julia gently promised. "Why don't you read a book or work on a puzzle with Lissy?"
Alex crumpled into a dramatic heap in the chair as if the very idea of focusing his attention elsewhere had liquefied his bones. He accented his displeasure by scoffing at Julia's idea.
My wife flashed a look of annoyance in my direction as I sat at my desk. She had no idea I had been occasionally glancing over my son's shoulder as he stared out the window for the same reason.
"Monsieur Gillis will undoubtedly be flattered by his anxious reception," she said with a shake of her head.
"You don't want to wait with us?" Alex asked.
"I have more sewing to finish, I'm afraid." Julia walked to Alex, pushed his hair back, and kissed his forehead. "I'm sure he will be here soon."
Julia had barely finished speaking when the back door creaked open and swung shut.
"No, no, I do not mind one bit, Monsieur," Meg said.
"I look forward to seeing you and your husband later tonight, Madame Lowry," Claude replied.
"He is here!" Alex gasped, his eyes bulging from the sockets. "Monsieur Gillis, we are in the parlor!"
Meg appeared in the doorway first, followed by Claude, who was dressed for supper in a light-colored suit, white shirt, and blue waistcoat. He held his hat loosely in his hand and smiled the moment he saw my son.
"I hope I am not too early," he warily said as he glanced in my direction.
"Not at all!" Alex assured him as he dragged his chair back to its normal spot. "I looked for you out this window, but you came through the back instead. What a surprise!"
Claude chuckled at my son's response. "I had a gift for your aunt and uncle, so I thought it best to visit them first," he explained. "Your aunt was relieved my gift had nothing to do with flying snakes." He flashed a bright smile toward Meg, who nodded.
"What did you paint for them?" Alex asked.
"No painting this time, I'm afraid, but I did bring them a bottle of wine to enjoy later."
"A very thoughtful and generous gift," Meg assured him. "Charles has not stopped talking about playing cards all day."
Julia motioned for Alex to stand. "Let's get you washed up for supper," she suggested.
Alex climbed to his feet and followed Meg and Julia from the parlor, surprisingly without protest. He shut the door behind him, and once the three of them were gone, I turned my attention to Claude and nodded.
"I spoke with the art broker as promised," Claude said as he took a seat across from me. "Monsieur Theo Van Gogh. I am not sure if you have heard of him?"
"I have not."
Well, he confirmed that Monsieur Kimmer was supposed to be in Paris over the last few days."
I nodded, doing my best to seem surprised by this information. "Supposed to be? He did not arrive?"
"Theo saw him on the first night, so he was in town as planned, but he said Monsieur Kimmer was supposed to attend a private opening last night, however, he did not attend."
I cocked a brow and feigned a look of surprise.
"Apparently it is customary for Monsieur Kimmer to arrive much later than everyone else, but he was not seen at all. Nor did he attend a luncheon this afternoon hosted by the gallery owner, which is on the peculiar side."
As Joshua had said to me after our disastrous supper, Phelan had apparently returned home. Quite frankly it surprised me that Phelan had skipped the gallery opening in favor of a private affair hosted by his cousin instead.
"That is unfortunate," I said.
"However," Claude continued. He held up his index finger and gave a long pause. "Monsieur Kimmer has given his word that he will be at the public opening tonight and tomorrow. I will not repeat Monsieur Van Gogh word-for-word, but he was not pleased with Monsieur Kimmer's absence the last two days. Apparently he was supposed to meet with a potential buyer who is now quite upset."
I sat up straighter and leaned forward. "He will be at the Rodez both evenings, then?"
"Yes," Claude answered.
Julia knocked on the parlor door. "Supper is ready if you two would be kind enough to join us."
Before I could question Claude further, he rose to his feet the moment Julia appeared in the doorway, and I followed the two of them out of the parlor and toward the inviting smell of freshly baked bread, beef, and vegetables. Lisette met us halfway down the hall and offered an enthusiastic wave as she trotted to my side.
"You remember Monsieur Gillis?" I asked.
She blushed and nodded, then offered a deep curtsy. "The painter," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Mademoiselle… Lisa?"
"Lisette," my daughter corrected. She blushed bright crimson before she dashed into the dining room and took her seat beside Alex.
Claude came to a stop before he entered the dining room. He inhaled sharply, and I turned to see him grinning. "My painting," he said, clearly awestruck. "You have my painting in your dining room. On the wall. Of your home."
"The first painting I have truly enjoyed," I answered.
"I am beyond flattered," Claude said. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "And I must say, your home smells outstanding."
"Wait until you taste what Ruby has made," Alex dreamily responded. "She is the most wonderful woman in all of France."
Ruby smiled from the kitchen doorway before she swiftly made her way around the table and uncovered various bowls filled to the brim with food as well as a basket of bread.
Claude sat wide-eyed beside Alex and scanned the dishes set on the table before him. He licked his lips and swallowed hard as Julia passed a dish of green beans around the table.
"I do hope you are hungry," Julia said.
"Famished," Claude answered. "I have not eaten a bite all day."
Alex furrowed his brow. "All day?" he questioned. "But it is supper time! How could you miss breakfast and lunch? Or tea? Or afternoon snack? I would not miss a single meal."
"Alex," Julia gently warned. "Do not burden Monsieur Gillis with so many questions at once."
Claude forced a smile. "I must have forgotten, Monsieur Alexandre Jean Kire."
"But how did you forget? I would never forget to eat," Alex persisted.
"Alex, enough," I said, my patience waning.
Alex sank lower in his seat after a second, more harsh moment of being reprimanded.
"I meant to purchase a coffee and croissant for breakfast, but unfortunately I realized I left the house with not a single franc to my name," Claude explained. "I have left without my keys and hat as well. I suppose I should take greater care."
"Yes, you should. And that is quite unfortunate," Alex said. "Thankfully you are here for supper. You should not miss three meals on the same day."
"That is excellent advice," Claude agreed.
Both Alex and Claude proceeded to eat like men who had been starved for weeks. Madeline would have taken one look at Alex and proclaimed he was in the midst of another growth spurt while encouraging him to fill his plate until he had a mountain of food set before him.
Claude, however, was well past the age of growth spurts. The way in which he consumed his meal made it abundantly clear he had not eaten on a regular basis for quite some time. Given the state of his shoes and clothing as well as how thin he appeared, I should not have been surprised that he was unable to afford consistent meals.
One glance at Julia and I knew her thoughts mirrored mine. She looked at me and forced a smile before taking a dainty bite of her meal.
Lisette, however, leaned toward her mother and tugged on her sleeve, "Mother?" I heard her whisper. "Why is he eating so fast?"
"Shh," Julia said. "He is hungry. Eat your food, Lissy."
Claude sat back and put his fork down. He averted his gaze and reached for his wine glass, but did not take a sip. Slowly he looked around the room, focusing his attention first at his own empty plate, then at Julia's, which had barely been touched, and then Lisette's, who was similar to her mother's. He glanced at Alex's plate as my son refilled it yet again, and then at my partially eaten meal and realized his folly.
Over the years I had learned to eat my meals at a much more controlled pace. When I had first met my uncle, I nearly choked on whatever meat, cheese, and bread I could stuff into my mouth and practically swallow whole, such was the extent of my unsated hunger. Beneath my parents' home, it was not uncommon for days to pass between meals, and when food was delivered, the bread was typically stale, the meat turning rancid or covered in flies, and vegetables barely edible. When I escaped, it was always in search of food and music, both of which nourished me.
The Opera House, however, had a plentiful amount of food for the taking, and on many occasions I had gorged myself to the point of nearly being sick. Eventually, with the help of consistent meals, social cues from Madeline, and observing others from afar, I learned how to properly conduct myself at the table-even if I spent two decades eating alone.
"As I was saying about the art show," Claude said. He cleared his throat and broke off a small piece of bread from his plate.
"An art show?" Julia questioned. "That sounds lovely. For your work, I do hope."
"No, no unfortunately not my own this time. Your husband inquired about an artist named Monsieur Phelan Kimmer."
Julia paused, looking from Claude to me with her eyes wide. "I see."
"Who is Monsieur Kimmer?" Alex asked.
"A painter," I answered.
"Is he good? Does Uncle Charles know him?"
"I do not know the answer to either question," I said. I raised a brow at Alex, who nodded and, to my surprise, continued eating without further inquiry.
"As I was saying, the event at the Rodez, but since the show opens tomorrow it is of course sold out. However, I asked Monsieur Van Gogh if he would be so kind as to find a spot on the guest list for you. He said he would be certain to place two tickets aside for you and your wife and he would be honored to inform Monsieur Kimmer that you would be in attendance tomorrow. He is delighted to introduce the two of you."
My heart stuttered and I stared back at him, heat rising up the back of my neck. I pushed my chair back, hands balled into fists, and abruptly stood. "I did not say I wished to attend," I snapped.
The mirth on Claude's face turned to alarm. He gawked at me, his eyes wide and hands in a knuckle white grasp around the arms of the chair as though he considered bolting from the dining room. "I...I apologize. I thought you were interested in his artwork."
"I am not interested in his work," I said under my breath. My chances of gleaning answers from my own brother plummeted exponentially.
"I believe I may have misunderstood your inquiry on Monsieur Kimmer," Claude said, keeping his voice low.
"Indeed," I grumbled.
Frustrated, I turned away from the table and studied the gossamer curtains billowing in the evening breeze, thinking of the previous night in the courtyard and how easily Phelan had dismissed me. I imagined my brother casually strolling into the gallery only to be accosted by the art broker excitedly telling him that the composer Erik Kire, the man who had never been seen in public, had asked to be placed on his guest list. Phelan would undoubtedly think I was a madman infatuated by his work, a pathetic and desperate recluse begging for his time after all these years. Perhaps he was correct on all accounts, but I did not want him to know how much I wanted to speak to him. I didn't want him to know anything at all unless it came from my own lips.
"Monsieur," Claude started to say, but he didn't finish his thought.
"Claude, I hope it was no inconvenience for you to go out of your way for this art show," Julia said. I turned at the sound of her trenchant tone and saw her glare up at me. The look in her hazel eyes made it perfectly clear we would have a private discussion about the art show at a later time.
Claude's gaze flickered nervously from the table to the doorway as he sat in silence before me. He kept his folded hands in his lap and head bowed. "None at all, Madame."
Lisette clutch her hands around Julia's arm as though anchoring herself to her mother while Alex sat with his brow furrowed, clearly unsure of what had transpired. The uncertainty in Lisette's gaze gave me pause, and instantly I regretted raising my voice and frightening her. She has spent far too much time fearful of Louis. I wanted her to think of me as her protector, not a man who would add to her nightmares.
After several moments of feeling utterly foolish for my outburst, I returned to my seat and took a deep breath. "I believe I may have given false pretenses for my inquiry on Monsieur Kimmer. I apologize for misleading you and for disrupting our meal."
"I am not certain how I misconstrued your words, but I will not be so foolish again," Claude said quietly as he continued to keep his eyes averted. "Would you like me to tell Monsieur Van Gogh you will not be attending the show tomorrow night?" Claude asked.
"That will not be necessary," I answered. I could not imagine what Phelan would think if I asked to be added to his guest list and then retracted my request.
"Monsieur, if it any consolation to you, Theo did mention how delighted Monsieur Kimmer would be to meet you at long last."
I started to offer a humorless laugh, but caught Julia issuing a sideways look. Considering she was already displeased with me, I thought it best not to add to her vexation. "Is that so?" I asked.
Claude readily nodded. "He has attended several of your operas from what I understand. Theo said Monsieur Kimmer greatly enjoyed the performances, which should come as no surprise. He admires you and your work greatly. I believe he will be honored to make your acquaintance."
I was certain that if Phelan had spoken of my operas, his words were said in a condescending manner, but I did not push the issue further. "Perhaps I will bring him complimentary tickets to an upcoming performance," I replied. "In exchange for his generosity in graciously adding my wife and I to his exclusive guest list."
"That was very kind of him," Julia agreed. "And Claude as well for asking on your behalf."
Claude still looked uncertain and said under his breath that it was no trouble.
"I did not expect you to go through so much trouble on my behalf."
"Can we all go?" Alex asked, directing his question at Claude.
Wisely Claude looked to me for the answer.
"Another time," I told Alex. "Monsieur Gillis has gone through enough trouble securing two tickets to the show. I would not ask him for two more."
"What does Monsieur Kimmer paint?" Lisette asked.
Her voice was so meek that at first no one acknowledged her. She sank back into her seat, appearing somewhat embarrassed by her question going unnoticed. Given all of our most recent conversations, I had almost forgotten how shy and soft-spoken she was at times.
"I am not familiar with his work, Lisette," I answered.
"Monsieur Gillis, do you know?" Alex asked.
Claude thought a moment. "He paints rooms with very dark colors," he said, clearly tailoring his answer for two children.
"Why does he use dark colors?" Alex asked.
"I'm not certain," Claude answered.
"You do not use dark colors," Alex pointed out.
"I admit my own work is very different than that of Monsieur Kimmer. Perhaps that is the reason he is invited to showcase his work at art galleries and I am not."
"Your time will come soon enough," Julia gently replied.
"You are most kind, Madame Kire."
Lisette pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. "Do you think Monsieur Kimmer is sad? Is that why he uses dark colors?" she asked, her voice still barely above a whisper.
Julia placed her arm around her daughter. "I'm not certain, but it could be he likes the way they look on the canvas or it could be the way he expresses himself."
"Why would he be sad?" Lisette asked. "Has someone been unkind to him? That would make me sad."
Julia frowned. "Perhaps he will explain what his paintings mean at the art show."
I suppressed a shudder at Julia's words and sincerely hoped Phelan would not give a voice to our partially shared past. I had no desire to stand in a room full of other people and hear him describe our parents' drab home. I wanted no further reminders of the hell I had lived in for far too many years.
"Are you going to purchase one of his paintings, Father?" Alex asked.
"I believe I am running out of wall space," I replied.
Alex furrowed his brow and looked around the fabric dining room walls, three of which contained no artwork, then back at me. "But he attended your opera."
"So he did."
I would never bring a piece of my parents' home into mine, not voluntarily in any physical form. I could not imagine walking past a piece of artwork depicting their cellar or the bare room where my mother seemed to stay both night and day. There was far too much of their imposed misery constantly vying for my attention in the back of my thoughts. I had no desire to pass a reminder of those days in my own home.
"What if you like his art?" Lisette asked.
"Then I will tell him as much."
"I would like to be a painter one day," Alex stated.
Lisette stared wide-eyed at her brother. "But you cannot be a painter. You must be a musician or a composer like Papa."
Her thoughtful words made me smile.
"No, I don't," Alex protested.
"Yes, you do," Lisette quietly argued. "You will be a musician and I will have four children like Mother always wanted."
"Four?" Alex questioned, making no attempt to hide his displeasure.
I immediately looked to Julia, who bent and whispered in Lisette's ear that she should talk about something else while Claude sat quietly in his seat and gulped down his wine. Our guest would certainly leave at the end of the night wondering why he had agreed to supper with the Kires.
"But there aren't enough rooms in the house for two more children," Alex groused.
"If I had two sisters we would all share the same room."
Alex appeared horrified. "Sisters?" he gasped. 'But then I would be the only boy! That isn't fair. Father, tell Lisette she cannot have two more sisters!"
Julia gave an exaggerated sigh and looked sternly at our children. "Lisette Angeline and Alexandre Jean, have the two of you forgotten your manners?"
Not only did Lisette and Alex sit up straighter, but Claude and I did as well. I could not recall hearing Julia raise her voice at our children a single time in all of the years I had known her, which made her tone incredibly effective with everyone at the table.
"I apologize, Mama," Lisette meekly replied while Alex murmured his apology as well.
Julia turned to Claude and offered a smile. "I do apologize for the content of conversation tonight."
"No apology needed, Madame. It reminds me of sitting at the table with my mother and sister, actually. It has been quite some time since I have had the pleasure of a proper meal."
"Does your family live in Paris?" Julia asked.
Claude smoothed a crease in his napkin and shook his head. "My mother passed away when I was thirteen and my sister I have not seen in several years now."
Julia's lips parted. "Oh, Claude, how awful. I had no idea."
"My mother purchased three of my paintings before she passed away," Claude explained. "She'd been sick for so long and wanted to make sure I sold something even if I did not ultimately pursue painting."
"It sounds as though she was very supportive of your work."
"She was. In all honesty, I have not sold anything else until you and your husband so generously purchased this one," he said as he gestured toward the painting above the buffet. "She would either be relieved I finally sold another painting after six years or impressed by my tenacity to continue painting when no one has shown any interest in my work." He paused and looked away. "Though I suppose if I am honest with myself, selling three paintings to my mother for five francs does not truly count as a sale."
"Of course it does," Julia said. "And we are honored to be the buyers for your second sale. I am certain you will have many more in your future."
Claude blushed profusely as my wife doled out praise. He was significantly younger than I had first thought, and I wondered if he had been on his own for the last six years or if he stayed with family. I knew all too well what it was like to lose a loved one in my adolescence.
"Where is your sister?" Lisette asked quite suddenly.
"She went to live in a home with other girls," Claude answered, once again tailoring his answer for a child. "She was very young when our mother passed away. The home gave her plenty of other girls her age as friends until she could find a new family."
"A new family?" Lisette asked.
"You were separated?" Alex said, sounding somewhat horrified. He looked at me briefly, the alarm evident in his eyes at the very thought of being taken away from family.
"Do you miss her?" Lisette questioned.
"Always," Claude answered before the interrogation could continue. "But it was for the best. I am certain she is with a family and quite content now."
"With a family?" Lisette asked. "I don't understand."
"She was adopted by new parents. I am sure she lives with a family that has a huge collection of books, just like your father has in his study."
Lisette grinned at his words and nodded her approval as Claude turned his attention to Alex.
"My sister had a very vivid imagination, much like you, Alexandre. She inspired me to paint quite ludicrous situations that no one else would have ever constructed."
"Like a dog on a piano?" Alex asked.
"Yes, precisely. And my sister was as demure as you, Lisette. You remind me very much of her."
"How old would she be now?" Julia asked.
"Apolline would be nine," Claude answered. "She was six years of age the last time I saw her, and the mistress said there were several families interested in adoption."
"Apolline," Julia said. "What a lovely name."
"One day I hope to see her again," Claude said.
"I will pray very hard that you are reunited," Julia said.
The clock in the foyer chimed signaling we had a half hour before Charles expected us for a game of cards in his home, which ended the conversation in favor of finishing supper.
As expected, Alex excitedly mentioned to everyone over dessert that Bessie, who had started to howl forlornly from the garden where she had been banished, had been formally introduced to Claude.
"Alex," Julia admonished. "That was not necessary."
"Madame, I can assure you I enjoyed meeting Bessie more than I have some folks in the park."
"You have a great tolerance for absurdity," I commented.
"It is more of an appreciation, Monsieur," Claude said.
I followed his gaze to the painting on the dining room wall and watched him smile.
"I much enjoyed painting this one," he said. "I actually painted over a landscape in order to create this scene."
"There is a painting beneath a painting?" Alex exclaimed. "Why didn't you use another canvas?"
"Well, I ran out of canvas, and unfortunately I did not have the means to purchase more," Claude answered. "Truthfully I was not pleased by what I had first created, so rather than wait until I could afford another blank canvas, I used it again."
"What was beneath it?" I asked.
Claude sat back. "A very boring tree. The most dull tree ever painted, to be sure. You can see the top of it in the distance still, to the left of the dog. That is the only part that remains."
Alex immediately left his seat at the table, walked to the buffet, and stood on the tips of his toes to examine the painting. He turned to face Claude and smiled. "It's a secret tree!"
"And now you will spot the tree every time you look at the painting."
"Is there anything beneath my snake painting?" Alex asked. He shifted his weight back and forth, clearly unable to contain his excitement.
"You will have to look closely and tell me."
Alex's mouth dropped open. "Father, may I be excused?" he blurted out.
"Me too!" Lisette requested, her tone matching Alex's enthusiasm.
"You may," I answered, and practically before I finished speaking, the two of them ran out of the dining room and into the hall toward Alex's room in search of hidden images.
