Chapter 57
"Do you have enough blank canvases in your possession?" I asked Claude as Ruby cleared the table.
"I purchased three more this afternoon," Claude answered. "I felt like a prince walking out of the supply shop."
"How many canvases do you purchase at a time?" Julia asked.
"One every three months if I am fortunate to have saved enough."
That did not seem like a significant number to me, however, I had no idea how much time Claude spent painting or how much time he needed to complete his work. Apparently Julia felt the same because she gasped in response.
"It makes a purchase all the more special," Claude assured her. "At the risk of sounding dramatic, I put my soul into each one."
"What is your occupation?" I asked. Considering Claude had only sold one painting, I realized he had to have a different source of income, meager as it apparently was considering his state of dress and shoes falling apart.
"A factory. We manufacture shoes," Claude answered proudly. "Been there for six years now. Used to work with my mother. After my rent, food and necessities, and a few commitments, I put as much as I can toward my supplies."
"One every three months cannot possibly be enough to continue working," I said.
Claude shrugged off my comment. "Well, as with the one you purchased, I have become accustomed to painting over something if the mood strikes. Besides, when I come in every few months, the seller's daughter accidentally throws in a new brush or turpentine. Last month she threw in red oil paint."
His cheeks turned bright red once he finished speaking, which did not go unnoticed by my wife.
"Ah, red paint?" Julia asked as she raised a brow.
"Yes, Madame. I should paint her roses," Claude replied.
"Does this seller's daughter have a name?" Julia asked, clearly interested in the possibility of romance.
Claude sat back in his chair and attempted to stifle his grin. "Margarite," he answered.
"The sooner you start painting, the sooner you will need more supplies," Julia said, issuing a knowing look as she stood.
"Yes, Madame Kire, I will have to learn to paint faster."
With the table cleared, Julia excused herself to put the children to bed. Claude followed me through the hall and toward the front of the house to collect his belongings in order to attend the second part of the evening.
"Have you ever played gin rummy?" Claude nervously asked as he gathered his coat and hat from the rack in the foyer and straightened his cravat in the foyer mirror.
"I have not."
Charles was an avid player of card games and appreciated lively discussions. It was not uncommon for him to invite a handful of his friends over for an evening of games and talking politics.
On occasion I would hear them enthusiastically argue a point, but for the most part it was hours of raucous laughter. Given that it was difficult for Charles to leave the house and that he always needed Meg to accompany him, he looked forward to their monthly meetings in the comfort of the study.
Charles was kind enough to invite me to their gatherings over the years, but I declined each time, deciding instead to sit alone in my room with the lamps turned low and either compose music or read books I brought up from the library to pass the time while there were strangers in my home.
"I thought it was a two player game, at least in general. Although I suppose I could be thinking of another game. There is rummy, correct? But not a game of gin? " Claude rambled on. "I am not familiar with the rules of the game for rummy or gin rummy."
"Neither am I."
"What if we are paired together?" Claude asked, sounding terribly concerned.
"Then we will most likely lose," I casually responded.
Claude looked petrified by my response. "Are we playing for money?" he asked. "I'm afraid I did not come prepared if that is the case."
"I would not think so," I answered. Judging by the frequency of laughter, I highly doubted they placed a wager on their games.
We walked out the front door and toward the corner, and after several seconds passed in silence, Claude cleared his throat to garner my attention.
"May I ask something?" he nervously asked once I looked at him.
"You may."
"It is just that...I thought you said you wished to see Monsieur Kimmer's artwork, which is why I inquired about the guest list, but then today at supper you were quite unhappy when I mentioned the guest list and-" Claude began to ramble.
"I wish to remain anonymous," I replied before he finished speaking.
Claude momentarily gaped at me, but then quickly nodded. "Yes, yes of course. I sincerely beg your pardon if I have failed to respect your privacy. That was not my intention."
"Merely a misunderstanding." I started to turn away, but Claude held up his hand and pursed his lips.
"Another question?"
"No, not a question, I suppose. I just wanted to say that I understand if you wish to retract your offer," he blurted out. "I would not be offended."
My eyes narrowed. "My offer?"
"Of patronage."
His words caught me off guard. "My offer remains," I replied. "However, I will admit I have no prior experience as a patron nor any professional knowledge of what a painter requires to continue working or at what frequency you desire materials."
"Did you wish to remain anonymous as my patron?" he nervously asked.
Based on his inquiry and the way he cringed before my eyes, I was certain he had already told someone.
"Not necessarily."
He exhaled in relief. "I told my art supplier," Claude confessed. "Well, I told his daughter how many canvases I intended to purchase and he overheard the conversation and asked how I was able to afford three today and put funds toward a future purchase, and I told him I had sold a painting to you. I did not think you might request anonymity as a patron. I should have asked for your permission though."
"We will set forth guidelines for the future. Where do you purchase your supplies?" I asked.
"Bloom's. It is where half the artists in France purchase their supplies. He said he knew of you."
"I have bought ink and paper from Bloom's for years," I answered. I also bought charcoals, pencils, and leather bound books for sketching although I had not dabbled in drawing for quite some time. Alex had used up most of my paper and charcoal to recreate the drawings of ancient Egyptian pyramids and artifacts once I began locking up my finished compositions. Often times he ended his drawing sessions looking like a chimney sweep covered in soot, but he enjoyed himself and sketching kept him out of trouble.
"I will have Madeline request that your name be added to my account so that the balance is paid in full monthly. This way you do not need to wait three to four months in between purchases."
We reached the walkway leading to the Lowry's front door and I saw Madeline through the window with a baby in her arms.
"Thank you, Monsieur Kire."
"You earned the sale," I sternly replied. He blinked at me with his owlish blue eyes like a child receiving praise. "With the proper supplies in hand, undoubtedly prosperity will continue."
"I am fully stocked for the time being, and quite honestly, I can say that this is the first time I have enough canvases and paints, a pantry that contains more than dry beans, and boots in decent repair. My debts do not feel as heavy this month."
"What debts reoccur each month? Rent and food, no doubt," I said.
"A small matter from my mother," Claude answered dismissively. "I will say it a thousand times, Monsieur Kire, I am eternally grateful for your purchase."
I started to speak, but Madeline opened the front door well before we approached, covered the baby's ear with her hand, and whispered that Charles and his colleagues were waiting for us to arrive.
As it turned out, gin rummy was secondary to an evening of discussions and gossip. Given that there were five of us and the card game was generally played between two people, Charles and his friend Oscar Edwards began a game, but they were far more engrossed in discussing aestheticism, particularly with Claude present as his work was easily described as art for the sake of art and lacked political aspects.
"Have you seen Rops' work?" Charles asked me.
"Not that I recall."
"It is not to my taste," Oscar said as he threw down his cards and scowled. "I find it lewd and offensive."
"Art is for expression, not sparing feelings, especially when it comes to the easily offended," Alfred argued.
"Well it should," Oscar bristled.
"Oh, you are impossible," Alfred said with a roll of his eyes.
"Why is his work not to your taste?" Claude asked as he looked from Alfred to Oscar.
His question resulted in nearly forty-five minutes of back and forth arguing between Oscar Edwards and Alfred Kite both for and against Felicien Rops' artwork with the occasional interjection by both Claude and Charles. Apparently Oscar thought Rops' work was unnecessary and Alfred passionately disagreed.
While their discussion continued, I thought of what Phelan might have said if he had been present and how he would react the following evening when Julia and I attended the art show.
Given that the event was sold out, I expected the gallery would be quite crowded, which added to my apprehension. Perhaps we could make our way to the show early in the evening and depart before the crowds swelled. Or perhaps we could attempt to visit in the last half hour after the majority of patrons had walked through and decided to spend their evenings elsewhere.
If Phelan had a habit of showing up late, there was a good chance he would not be in attendance if Julia and I arrived when the gallery first opened. I couldn't decide if it would be better or worse for our paths to cross. I desired to speak with him once more, but not in a public setting.
"Monsieur?" Charles said. "Monsieur Kire?"
I blinked and turned to face him. Claude sat across from me while the other two seats occupied by Oscar and Alfred were empty and the cards put away.
"Did you wish to stay a while longer?" Charles asked.
I looked from him to the clock and realized it was almost midnight. Claude attempted to stifle a yawn and made an effort to widen his eyes and appear more awake, which was something I had seen Alex do on occasion.
"I apologize," I answered. "I did not realize the hour."
"I do hope we did not bore you," Charles said warily.
I shook my head. "I'm afraid my thoughts were elsewhere this evening."
Charles nodded and turned his attention to Claude. "I greatly appreciate your company tonight, Claude. It has been a pleasure to hear the thoughts of an artist. I do hope you accept my invitation to play cards again next month."
"I am flattered, truly, and would be honored," Claude replied as he stood and shook Charles' hand.
Madeline appeared a moment later and offered to show the two of us out, but I declined as I wanted a moment to speak with Charles.
"Are you attending the art show tomorrow?" I asked Claude before he left for the evening.
Claude nodded. "I will be at the gallery all night assisting Monsieur Van Gogh. Nothing more than opening wine bottles and refreshing coffee, but at least I can say I have worked in the art gallery," he answered with a boyish grin. "I look forward to seeing you and Madame Kire tomorrow night."
"We will discuss further details of my offer at a different time then." I turned my attention to Madeline. "See to it that Monsieur Gillis has his name added to my account at Bloom's as well as with the market."
"The market?" Claude questioned. "Monsieur-"
"The one on Poncelet is where most of the purchases are made, correct?" I asked Madeline, ignoring Claude's question.
"Yes, we have used the same one for years," Madeline answered.
"My account is in good standing. I trust he can be easily added as a recipient of goods on a biweekly basis."
"Claude's lips parted. "Th-thank you, Monsieur Kire."
With that, Madeline ushered him from the room and I took the last sip of my lukewarm tea, which was mostly a glob of honey at the bottom of the cup.
"I am glad you joined us, Monsieur Kire," Charles said.
"Present in the room, perhaps," I mumbled. "I apologize for not participating fully in the conversation."
"Oscar is such a wind-bag that he makes it difficult to get a word in. You wouldn't have been able to give your opinion if you tried. Still, having you attend at last is an improvement from a year ago as far as I am concerned," Charles replied. "I am glad my persistence finally paid off."
I grunted at his words. "I appreciate your consistency in asking me monthly for nearly eight years."
Charles shrugged and stirred his half-empty cup of tea. "May I ask what was on your mind this evening?"
I rolled my tongue along the inside of my cheek and thought of the last time we had a conversation in my study regarding our families. Out of everyone I could speak with regarding my brother, Charles was undoubtedly the least prone to hysteria and the most open to simply being an audience.
"Phelan Kimmer," I replied after a moment of hesitation. My hands automatically balled into fists.
Charles carefully set his cup of tea back on the saucer and sat back. "He is the artist, correct? The one whose show you are attending tomorrow evening?"
"Indeed. Are you familiar with his work?"
Charles shook his head. "I've heard the name and seen his photograph in the paper, but I'm afraid I know nothing more. Albert and Oscar might know him, however. Oscar is most opinionated on every artist across Europe and Albert knows practically every citizen within the city regardless of artistic inclination. Next month, if you attend our card game and mentioned Monsieur Kimmer, I'm certain-"
"I cannot wait another month," I grumbled.
Charles slowly nodded. "I see."
I exhaled hard and unclenched my fists. "He is a relative of mine."
Charles looked up suddenly. "I beg your pardon?"
"We are related."
Quite frankly I was surprised Madeline and Meg had not previously mentioned this bit of information as the two of them were quite capable of relaying more news in a single day than the entire postal service of France.
"That is excellent news." Charles waited for me to respond with a smile plastered on his face. When I made no remark, he cleared his throat and frowned. "I suppose I should have known given that your cousin Joshua's last name is Kimmer. Are they brothers?"
"They are cousins," I answered. "Phelan is my brother."
Charles sat in stunned silence for a moment, which turned into stammering for a response. "Forgive me, Monsieur Kire, I was not expecting such an announcement. I was not aware you had a brother."
"Neither was I."
"Have you been introduced to him? Or is tomorrow at the show the first time?"
"We have been introduced twice. At my cousin's home the other night was the most recent."
"Then he is aware of your relation?"
"He is the one who told me and Joshua confirmed."
"He invited you to his art exhibit, then?"
"No," I answered. Charles looked quite perplexed until I explained that Claude had me added to the guest list thanks to the art broker he knew.
Charles folded his hands and nodded earnestly. "I gather your meeting with Phelan did not go as you expected?"
"Quite the contrary. Meeting Phelan went precisely how I have grown accustomed to others reacting toward me," I bitterly answered.
"That is quite unfortunate," Charles said.
I took a deep breath and cracked my neck, realizing anything else I said would be far too personal. "I have taken up more of your time than was necessary. I apologize for keeping you awake at such an hour."
"No trouble at all. I do hope you will consider another night of cards," Charles politely offered. "It would make my entire month to have you teach Oscar a thing or two about composing arias and operas. Confounded old fool thinks he is Mozart reincarnated despite never having picked up an instrument."
"I will consider it."
"Goodnight, Monsieur Kire."
I stood and briefly looked Charles over as he placed his empty cup on the service cart and then tossed his deck of cards into the table drawer.
"After all these years, you have not addressed me a single time by my given name," I said.
Charles looked up at me and narrowed his eyes. "I believe it is because you asked me to address you as Monsieur Kire."
"When?" I shifted my weight.
"The day Meg introduced us."
"That was eight years ago."
Charles turned his empty cup in his hands. "Yes, and I remember our interaction precisely how it occurred. You were sitting at your desk and barely looked at me through our brief conversation. In fact, you barely nodded let alone spoke. I walked out of the room and was certain if I wished to marry Meg Giry I'd have to run away with her as certainly you would forbid our union."
"My opinion would have made no difference," I assured him.
"It mattered to me."
"Why?"
Charles pulled off his glasses and cleaned the lenses with his handkerchief. "Because the girl I adored lived within your home and cared for your son and her mother spoke so highly of you that when I approached the front door with Meg on my arm, I was convinced that I would not be up to your standards."
"My standards," I said under my breath.
"The composer, the E.M. Kire," Charles continued. He spoke as though he were still in awe of the situation.
I dismissed his words with a wave of my hand. "Surely you had no idea who I was as far as my music was concerned."
"I knew enough and of course Madame made certain I was aware of your work. Genius, is what she said, a remarkable genius with a command for sound."
"Madeline has always been one to exaggerate," I mumbled.
"I'm not sure if you were as intimidating as I had imagined or if Madame had me convinced you were a musical deity, but I had no desire to speak out of turn. I believe I stated my intentions of marriage and asked for your blessing in one breath, which went unanswered."
"As I recall, Monsieur Lowry, you walked out before I could say a word either way."
Charles shrugged. "Perhaps I did," he admitted with a wide grin. "However, it was merely because I was quite certain you would toss me out on my ear and tell me never to return again if I did not vacate your home immediately."
"Nonsense. Madeline would have never allowed it. If I had said one disparaging word to her daughter's suitor she would have leapt into the room and pummeled me."
Charles chuckled to himself and shook his head. "Thankfully I have always been in her good graces."
Unfortunately I could not say the same and momentarily shifted my gaze to the clock.
Charles followed my gaze and yawned. "Monsieur, if I may ask before you leave, did I act precisely how you expected when we were first introduced?"
I thought a moment, recalling how I had dreaded Charles entering my home. Meg had been quite smitten with her suitor and Madeline would undoubtedly followed her daughter rather than remain in my company once Charles finished his military obligations and asked for Meg's hand. I knew he would change the dynamics of my home and I had no desire to offer a cordial greeting to such a threat.
"Monsieur Lowry, you were one of the few people I have ever encountered who looked me in the eye and not here," I said as I tapped my index finger against my mask. "You have always had my respect. Of that you should no doubt."
Charles appeared somewhat relieved by my answer.
"Eight years later and thousands of hours spent with Alex and you may drop the formality if you so desire," I said.
"I will do my best," Charles answered. He paused and offered another wide grin. "Erik."
