City of Darkness and Light(76)
I was interested to see that the paintings they had bought were all rather more modern than my taste—blue faces, flying cats. There was one of a young girl with enormous dark eyes, peering into a dark empty room that I thought was well-done, but strangely disturbing and was glad it wouldn’t hang on my wall. I stacked them one by one, then finally packed the painting Gus had been working on. Luckily the paint had now dried. It really wasn’t great art, I thought as it went into a crate. I could see why Reynold Bryce hadn’t wanted to include her work and it had nothing to do with her companion being Jewish. I picked up the postcard that Reynold Bryce had written two days before he died. “Absolutely not,” it said. The definitive answer when Gus had begged him to reconsider his rejection of her work. I dropped the postcard on top of the paintings and shut the crate.
I was hot and perspiring and ready for a cup of tea when the carter came at five. I held Liam safely out of the way as trunks and cases were carried downstairs. Madame Hetreau appeared to have a good snoop and made sure that I hadn’t packed anything belonging to her. I noticed her nod of satisfaction when she saw that an armchair and a lot of cooking equipment were being left behind.
“You will give the ladies my regards,” she reiterated as the carter helped me up to the seat on the wagon. I said I would and thanked her for letting us stay, which was ridiculous, but at least it meant we parted on good terms. “Bonne chance, good luck,” she called after me.
I saw Madeleine waving from her upstairs window, her baby in her arms. The Nouvelle Athènes was crowded with people as we passed. I wondered if my artist friends were still there and when they ever did any work. I wondered if the morose Monsieur Degas was sitting alone, sipping his absinthe. I realized I’d be sad to leave this lively neighborhood and go to a more sedate part of town. Perhaps there would be a time when Sid’s name had been cleared that we could move back here again. I toyed with those words. So easy to say and yet I had no idea how I would ever manage to save her. If it was indeed a young Jew who had killed Bryce, then the police might be able to find the culprit through interrogation and intimidation at the local synagogues. If it was someone else, then I didn’t see how I could possibly find out who that might be. It seemed I had no way of infiltrating Bryce’s inner circle, since I was not admitted to the American Club and could hardly call upon the ambassador. Tomorrow I’d try to talk to the housekeeper and see if she’d let me take a look at Mr. Bryce’s rooms, but I didn’t even know if the housekeeper would still be in residence or if the police would still be stationed outside. I let out a big sigh. I had been through days of sickness and worry. I was tired. I wanted a rest, not a mammoth task.
Paris was at its liveliest as we moved away from Montmartre. Streets were full of evening commerce. A church bell was tolling for a six o’clock service while people stopped for a glass of wine at the outdoor cafés. I heard snatches of song from inside bars and cabarets. It seemed that everyone was having a good time, glad to be alive on a warm June evening. We passed the Saint-Lazare station where I had first arrived, so full of excitement and hope, then crossed the wide Boulevard Haussmann with its fine stores and elegant women. I looked longingly at those enticing shop windows. What fun it would be to have the money and leisure to go shopping here, like two young American women we passed, their arms full of packages.
“We can’t go back to the hotel before we visit Worth,” they called to two older women ahead of them.
Then we crossed the Champs-Élyseés with its fine carriages and dangerously fast automobiles and came at last to the Rue de Marignan. Celeste opened the door to me with such a strange, disapproving look on her face that I wondered whether she had been against her mistress inviting me to stay. “Ah, you have returned with all your belongings,” she said loudly. “You do not travel lightly, madame.”
“But these are not…” I had been about to say “not all mine” when she cut me off. “Not too much baggage for a lady from America. I understand.” Then she held up a hand for me to be quiet. “Madame is in the drawing room with a guest,” she said. “An inspector from the Sûreté.”
“Ah.” I understood now. “Should we go straight up to our rooms then? We have no wish to disturb.”
But at that moment Mary called out, “Molly, have you returned? Come and let me say hello to little Liam. I’ve been dying to see him again.”
I went through into the salon and saw that Inspector Henri was now seated on the brocade sofa. He stood as I came in and then his expression changed as he recognized me. “I know you,” he said. “You’re the woman who showed up at Bryce’s house the other day. You said you were a relative of his with a message. And now this lady tells me you are a relative of hers. Are you related to the entire American art fraternity here in Paris?”