wanted.’
I thought about this for a few seconds.
‘Yes,’ I conceded. ‘I suppose I did.’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ Why ? God, why did she have to ask me that? ‘Because I loved him,’ I replied, ‘that’s why. And because …’ I felt my throat constrict ‘ …I just wanted him to be happy.’
She nodded. ‘Well, what shall we do today?’ she said, briskly changing the subject.
‘We can do whatever you like,’ I said, bleakly. ‘We’ll be tourists.’
And we were. That first morning we walked along the Seine then crossed the Jardin des Tuileries into the Rue de Rivoli. People strolled under the colonnaded passageways or sat outside, smoking in the warm sunlight. We crossed the Place du Carrousel and walked towards the Louvre. Helen gasped when she saw the glass pyramid, its triangular panes glinting and flashing in the midday sun.
‘It’s incredible!’ she said. ‘It’s like a gigantic diamond.’
‘Yes,’ I replied flatly. I fiddled with my engagement ring – a solitaire – which I still wore, on my right hand.
‘Let’s find the Mona Lisa ,’ said Helen as we made our way inside. We walked up the wide balustraded stairway on to the first floor of the Denon Wing. We paused before paintings by Botticelli, Bellini and Caravaggio, and altarpieces by Giotto and Cimabue. In one gallery was a painting by Veronese, so vast it filled one wall.
‘It’s the Wedding at Cana ,’ said Helen, looking at the guide. ‘That was Christ’s first miracle, wasn’t it, when the wine ran out?’
I found myself wishing He could have performed a similar stunt for me when my husband-to-be ran out. We passed through a long, window-lined corridor, which glowed with rich paintings. Mantegna’s martyred St Sebastian, pierced with sharp arrows, couldn’t have been in more pain than I. My shards were psychological, but no less sharp for that.
We followed the signs and found the Mona Lisa behind bulletproof glass in Room 6. A bank of people stood in front of her, discussing her elusive smile.
‘– Oh, she’s so cute !’
‘– Che bella ragazza. ’
‘– Sie ist so schone. ’
‘– That’s real art , Art.’
‘– Elle est si mystérieuse, si triste. ’
‘– her child had just died, you know.’
‘God, how awful,’ said Helen. Then she read from the entry in the guide:
“‘When Leonardo began this portrait, the young woman was in mourning for her baby daughter; this is why she wears a black veil over her head. To lift her spirits, Leonardo brought musicians and clowns into his studio. Their antics brought a smile to her lips, a smile of indefinable sadness and great gentleness which made the portrait famous.” So she was feeling terrible,’ Helen added. ‘And yet she managed to smile.’
That’s what I’ll do, I thought. I’ll erect my own bulletproof glass, and shield myself behind that. And I’ll wear a smile, so that no one will detect my pain. I decided to practise. I straightened my shoulders and raised my drooping head. Iopened my eyes wider, and turned up the corners of my mouth. And it began to work, because as I looked up I caught the eye of a young man and, to my surprise, he smiled back. It reminded me of the lovely smile that Charlie had given me in church. And I suddenly remembered wishing that it had been Dominic who’d smiled. And now I knew why he hadn’t.
‘You’re well out of it,’ said Helen again, as we wandered downstairs. I was too weary to reply. In any case, I didn’t have the energy for anger – I was still anaesthetised by shock.
‘I mean, why go that far – that far – and then say “no”?’
‘He’s in the risk-business,’ I said bleakly. ‘He was unhappy with the small print so he decided not to close the deal. He exercised the ultimate get-out clause.’
‘Yes, but why was he unhappy?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What a cad ,’ said Helen. ‘You should sue him for breach of
I thought about this for a few seconds.
‘Yes,’ I conceded. ‘I suppose I did.’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ Why ? God, why did she have to ask me that? ‘Because I loved him,’ I replied, ‘that’s why. And because …’ I felt my throat constrict ‘ …I just wanted him to be happy.’
She nodded. ‘Well, what shall we do today?’ she said, briskly changing the subject.
‘We can do whatever you like,’ I said, bleakly. ‘We’ll be tourists.’
And we were. That first morning we walked along the Seine then crossed the Jardin des Tuileries into the Rue de Rivoli. People strolled under the colonnaded passageways or sat outside, smoking in the warm sunlight. We crossed the Place du Carrousel and walked towards the Louvre. Helen gasped when she saw the glass pyramid, its triangular panes glinting and flashing in the midday sun.
‘It’s incredible!’ she said. ‘It’s like a gigantic diamond.’
‘Yes,’ I replied flatly. I fiddled with my engagement ring – a solitaire – which I still wore, on my right hand.
‘Let’s find the Mona Lisa ,’ said Helen as we made our way inside. We walked up the wide balustraded stairway on to the first floor of the Denon Wing. We paused before paintings by Botticelli, Bellini and Caravaggio, and altarpieces by Giotto and Cimabue. In one gallery was a painting by Veronese, so vast it filled one wall.
‘It’s the Wedding at Cana ,’ said Helen, looking at the guide. ‘That was Christ’s first miracle, wasn’t it, when the wine ran out?’
I found myself wishing He could have performed a similar stunt for me when my husband-to-be ran out. We passed through a long, window-lined corridor, which glowed with rich paintings. Mantegna’s martyred St Sebastian, pierced with sharp arrows, couldn’t have been in more pain than I. My shards were psychological, but no less sharp for that.
We followed the signs and found the Mona Lisa behind bulletproof glass in Room 6. A bank of people stood in front of her, discussing her elusive smile.
‘– Oh, she’s so cute !’
‘– Che bella ragazza. ’
‘– Sie ist so schone. ’
‘– That’s real art , Art.’
‘– Elle est si mystérieuse, si triste. ’
‘– her child had just died, you know.’
‘God, how awful,’ said Helen. Then she read from the entry in the guide:
“‘When Leonardo began this portrait, the young woman was in mourning for her baby daughter; this is why she wears a black veil over her head. To lift her spirits, Leonardo brought musicians and clowns into his studio. Their antics brought a smile to her lips, a smile of indefinable sadness and great gentleness which made the portrait famous.” So she was feeling terrible,’ Helen added. ‘And yet she managed to smile.’
That’s what I’ll do, I thought. I’ll erect my own bulletproof glass, and shield myself behind that. And I’ll wear a smile, so that no one will detect my pain. I decided to practise. I straightened my shoulders and raised my drooping head. Iopened my eyes wider, and turned up the corners of my mouth. And it began to work, because as I looked up I caught the eye of a young man and, to my surprise, he smiled back. It reminded me of the lovely smile that Charlie had given me in church. And I suddenly remembered wishing that it had been Dominic who’d smiled. And now I knew why he hadn’t.
‘You’re well out of it,’ said Helen again, as we wandered downstairs. I was too weary to reply. In any case, I didn’t have the energy for anger – I was still anaesthetised by shock.
‘I mean, why go that far – that far – and then say “no”?’
‘He’s in the risk-business,’ I said bleakly. ‘He was unhappy with the small print so he decided not to close the deal. He exercised the ultimate get-out clause.’
‘Yes, but why was he unhappy?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What a cad ,’ said Helen. ‘You should sue him for breach of
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