father—the family name. The old man was a collector, a connoisseur in the true sense of the word, even if I didn’t think much him or he of me. Jules knows he can’t afford to follow in his footsteps, so at least he has preserved the collection.’
Our shadows moved over the rows of bottles to the walls beyond. At the very back of the cellar, there was a room where some empty barrels, pipettes, a press, and other wine-making things were stored. From there, a door and a stone staircase led outside to the garden, and when I opened this, shaded sunlight entered.
Gingerly, I lifted the cloth. My friend caught her breath. ‘Lily … Ah, mon Dieu, it’s so beautiful.’
It was. ‘In my anger, in my jealousy, yet have I done this. Sometimes fate brings out the best in us.’
I’d made a sculpture in wax, in the style of Rodin, a perfect likeness of Janine posing nude before that drawing class. Even her expression was there.
Slowly, I turned the wheel on which I’d sculpted the piece. It was as if Nini’s soul had been bared: the trace of mockery on her lips, the hint of debauchery in her eyes, the taunt. My little sister.
The depths of the wax had suggestions of blue, and at first Simone thought this had been accidental, but then she realized with a start, that it wasn’t so. Like the organs of the dead, the blue showed through the translucency of the wax.
‘What will you do with it?’ she asked.
‘Show it to him, of course, but only after I’ve escaped to England with the children.’
‘And for now?’
I knew she would hate to see me go, but upstairs in Jean-Guy’s room, I’d realized that I absolutely had to leave. ‘For now, I’ll do nothing. I’ll let them have their weekend, for it will be good, will it not, to see my husband playing with his mistress and thinking he’s putting one over on me?’
At Dr. Laurier’s earnest knock, I open the door to hear her saying, ‘Lily … your name is Lily de St-Germain. That firm in London has said they’ll reply in the morning. I think we should wait until they do.’
‘I can’t. I have to go back. My sister …’
‘Was she also killed?’
‘In a hail of bullets. I saw her smashed to pieces. She died, and they wouldn’t let me go to her.’
‘Is that why you were crying? I could hear you from down the corridor.’
‘Yes … yes, that’s why. For her, for Simone, for all of us.’
‘The night’s too long to be alone, Lily, the room too dark. Let me stay with you. Talk to me. Please try. You’ll feel so much better. Someone has to listen. That’s what you really want. Pick up the story wherever you left off. Let the memories come.’
* * *
The memories … that weekend … I was sitting in front of the fire when my sister came up behind me. ‘You’re being too quiet tonight. Don’t you want to join us?’ she asked.
I shook my head. ‘I’m tired. It’s the children, Nini. They take the stuffing out of me sometimes.’ I forced a smile, then drew the shawl more closely about my shoulders.
‘Want another vermouth?’
‘I think I need it. Has Simone taken Jean-Guy up to bed? Check for me, will you? He’ll procrastinate, and you know how she is with him.’
Janine gave my cheek an affectionate touch. ‘You do look tired. Has André spoken to you yet?’
‘Of what?’ I asked, sitting up in alarm.
‘About the tonic he wants you to take. He says you look as though you need iron.’
‘ Ah, merde! Am I to be dissected like one of his patients? I’m quite all right. André does not have children.’
‘You’re angry with me.’
I turned away. ‘Of course not. Why should I be?’
Neither of us said a thing. Janine didn’t move but kept her hand on the back of my chair. I wished we could have a little tête-à-tête like old times, but that could never be. Not now. ‘Nini, what will we do with them tomorrow? Sit around all day worrying about the war? Let’s take them to Pincevent, to the sand pits, and then, why then
Our shadows moved over the rows of bottles to the walls beyond. At the very back of the cellar, there was a room where some empty barrels, pipettes, a press, and other wine-making things were stored. From there, a door and a stone staircase led outside to the garden, and when I opened this, shaded sunlight entered.
Gingerly, I lifted the cloth. My friend caught her breath. ‘Lily … Ah, mon Dieu, it’s so beautiful.’
It was. ‘In my anger, in my jealousy, yet have I done this. Sometimes fate brings out the best in us.’
I’d made a sculpture in wax, in the style of Rodin, a perfect likeness of Janine posing nude before that drawing class. Even her expression was there.
Slowly, I turned the wheel on which I’d sculpted the piece. It was as if Nini’s soul had been bared: the trace of mockery on her lips, the hint of debauchery in her eyes, the taunt. My little sister.
The depths of the wax had suggestions of blue, and at first Simone thought this had been accidental, but then she realized with a start, that it wasn’t so. Like the organs of the dead, the blue showed through the translucency of the wax.
‘What will you do with it?’ she asked.
‘Show it to him, of course, but only after I’ve escaped to England with the children.’
‘And for now?’
I knew she would hate to see me go, but upstairs in Jean-Guy’s room, I’d realized that I absolutely had to leave. ‘For now, I’ll do nothing. I’ll let them have their weekend, for it will be good, will it not, to see my husband playing with his mistress and thinking he’s putting one over on me?’
At Dr. Laurier’s earnest knock, I open the door to hear her saying, ‘Lily … your name is Lily de St-Germain. That firm in London has said they’ll reply in the morning. I think we should wait until they do.’
‘I can’t. I have to go back. My sister …’
‘Was she also killed?’
‘In a hail of bullets. I saw her smashed to pieces. She died, and they wouldn’t let me go to her.’
‘Is that why you were crying? I could hear you from down the corridor.’
‘Yes … yes, that’s why. For her, for Simone, for all of us.’
‘The night’s too long to be alone, Lily, the room too dark. Let me stay with you. Talk to me. Please try. You’ll feel so much better. Someone has to listen. That’s what you really want. Pick up the story wherever you left off. Let the memories come.’
* * *
The memories … that weekend … I was sitting in front of the fire when my sister came up behind me. ‘You’re being too quiet tonight. Don’t you want to join us?’ she asked.
I shook my head. ‘I’m tired. It’s the children, Nini. They take the stuffing out of me sometimes.’ I forced a smile, then drew the shawl more closely about my shoulders.
‘Want another vermouth?’
‘I think I need it. Has Simone taken Jean-Guy up to bed? Check for me, will you? He’ll procrastinate, and you know how she is with him.’
Janine gave my cheek an affectionate touch. ‘You do look tired. Has André spoken to you yet?’
‘Of what?’ I asked, sitting up in alarm.
‘About the tonic he wants you to take. He says you look as though you need iron.’
‘ Ah, merde! Am I to be dissected like one of his patients? I’m quite all right. André does not have children.’
‘You’re angry with me.’
I turned away. ‘Of course not. Why should I be?’
Neither of us said a thing. Janine didn’t move but kept her hand on the back of my chair. I wished we could have a little tête-à-tête like old times, but that could never be. Not now. ‘Nini, what will we do with them tomorrow? Sit around all day worrying about the war? Let’s take them to Pincevent, to the sand pits, and then, why then
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