Chapter 3.
The Photographer Grimaud
I.
Grimaud Martin had lived the past twenty-five of his long fifty-two years in the same apartment on the Rue Servandoni in the Luxembourg neighborhood of Paris. In those many years he had many times traveled to the Luxembourg and its adjoining park to further his hobby, passion, and work in photography. Grimaud had started out in commission work, mainly weddings and work functions, but as he continued he found himself more and more bored with people and started to turn the focus of his work to nature. Animals always made interesting studies, when they would cooperate, but he found that plant-life was what he found truly fascinating. Tracking the progress of the same tree or flower over the course of several months, seeing the minute changes build up to extraordinary developments gave Grimaud great joy. Second to the joy was the present enough popularity of these case studies that he was able to make enough of a living that he could focus on just photography.
The Luxembourg park was Grimaud's favorite place to photograph, especially in the early mornings. There were fewer people milling about in the budding hours of the day, fewer loud conversations breaking his concentration, fewer bothersome pointless passerby. This made it less likely that his work would be interrupted by bystanders unwittingly walking through shots or, more bothersome yet, tourists asking him to take their picture.
Today Grimaud was revisiting a patch of white heather whose progress he had been following for the past two months. There was photo showing at the park's orangerie soon and he was hoping to have this particular study finished in time to display. As he had turned down the gravel pathway towards what he often referred to as his "children" he had come upon a most curious sight. Lying across one of the oft neglected stone benches was a young woman her posture supine and limbs spread wide, was indicative more of her being left on the bench, and less of her having chosen the space for sleep. A large travel bag was tucked carefully up under the bench, perhaps to make it less tempting for someone who would feel compelled to steal it. Strangest of all, at least to a simple man like Grimaud, was the strange, almost uniform like outfit she wore. The clothes appeared to be of quality make, but from the military-like cut of the shirt, to the slender high boots, hardly seemed like the latest fashion. Grimaud Martin may have been an old man, and quite comfortable with the fact, but he was at least observant enough to know what was currently "en vogue." The strange scene had piqued his interest and so, figuring it wouldn't hurt to make his children wait a little longer for their portraits, sat himself down next to the mystery woman.
And so Grimaud had sat, for nearly an hour, waiting for the young madame to awaken. As he waited many possibilities and flights of fancy ran through his mind regarding her potential identity, though he disregarded the last one just as fast as the next appeared. Grimaud had an eye for what was in front of him in the real world, the here and now, but we was no story-teller, and so any idea he thought of; be it aristocrat, boarding school runaway, lost cosplayer, or princess even, felt like nothing more than nonsense to him, silly ideas to be ignored. Suddenly, as he was desperately trying to convince himself of the princess idea, she started to stir, letting out some tired confused mumbling and stretching her cold and sore limbs.
Louise, her head throbbing, her body painfully stiff and aching, was abruptly coming back from the abyss of unconsciousness. She slowly stretched her limbs, feeling them hanging out in the empty space that her mind was desperately trying to come back from. As she cracked open her eyes, the waking world came flooding back into her senses with the soft morning light as it poured into her eyes. Blinking back the kind illumination of the early morning, Louise desperately tried to decipher where she was. As she looked up from her lying down position most of her field of vision was dominated by a large tree stretching its branches out overhead. It was still that nebulous time between the end of winter and the beginning of spring, so though the wooden appendages were many, the leaves and buds were nearly nonexistent. Louise slowly turned her head to take in more of her surroundings, her equilibrium rebelling at any and all movement. As her eyes passed over the many bushes and shrubberies around her they soon came to rest on a kind old face smiling gently at her.
Though he himself was a kind and relaxed man, the years had not been kind to Grimaud as he had reached the later years of his life. Deep wrinkles crisscrossed the lines of his features, each ravine cutting another year, and another experience into his soft mahogany skin. Louise was drawn to his dark brown eyes, the scenery around the two of them reflected in the calming, understanding feelings behind his gaze. He wore clothes that showed he was more interested in comfort than anything, the thick tan vest over his black sweater that kept him warm in the cool morning, a flannel patterned drivers cap covered the thinning black hair on top of his head.
"Strange place for a nap madame." Grimaud smiled comfortingly at Louise as he addressed her. "I don't know that I'd have picked the gardens of the Luxembourg to pass the night, but to each their own I suppose."
"Ehhhmm..." Louise attempted to reply but was only able to let out a pained noise as her dry throat tried to emit the words. "I. Uhhmm. Do you have any, ergh, water?" Her voice was quiet and pained, but Grimaud understood.
"Ah of course, here you are." With a light chuckle Grimaud handed a water bottle from his camera pack to the disoriented Louise, who immediately took a long, eager draw off it.
"Ahh. Many thanks monsieur. I am in your debt twice now." Louise handed the bottle back as she spoke.
"Twice? How so miss?"
"The second time for the water to revitalize me, the first for watching over me."
"I watched over you? Why do you have that impression of me?"
"Simple. When I awoke you were comfortably seated on the bench next to me and you had a look more of concern than curiosity. You could have passed me by, or only stayed around for a few minutes before giving up and leaving me to fend for myself upon waking. But you had clearly made a point of waiting for me to wake, waiting to see that I was alright. This level of kindness is not like what one should expect when visiting a foreign city."
"A foreign city indeed. I thought I detected a Provencal accent. And I must admit you guess correctly of me. I would be a rather rude person were I to just leave a young lady to sleep in the park alone. A girl of means like you," These words punctuated with a motion indicating the Saint-Hermine family uniform "would not need to sleep outdoors if she chose to. Clearly you have had some adventure last night." Louise started to speak, but Grimaud silenced her with an outstretched hand. "An adventure who's details you are under no obligation to share with me. Your business is not yet mine."
"You do not ask an explanation of me?" Louise was confused by the man's blase attitude about the whole situation.
"I do not even know your name, and I would be, once again, a rather rude person if I were to interrogate such a new acquaintance."
"Oh! Of course. Introductions. My apologies monsieur. I am Louise Saint-Hermine. I have come from Gordes to Paris on family business."
"And I am Grimaud Martin. Humble photographer of Paris who has lived far too many years in the same home in the Luxembourg neighborhood. There! Now we have been introduced, and from here on out, I may feel inclined to ask the business of my newest friend."
"Monsieur?" Louise was becoming even more confused by Grimaud's behavior.
"Indeed. And the first thing for new friends to do, is to breakfast together." Grimaud handed Louise the water bottle once more along with a small bag of crackers as he stood up. "You wait here my dear, I'll only be a minute as I check on my children and then we shall go get a real meal."
"Children?" Louise sat, dumbstruck the water in one hand, the crackers in the other, as she watched Grimaud's retreating form head further into the park.