Читать книгу The Little Antique Shop Under The Eiffel Tower - Rebecca Raisin, Rebecca Raisin - Страница 16

Chapter Six

Safely ensconced in my shop with the door bolted for privacy I made some calls about Tristan Black.

Rachelle from the little flower shop near the Notre Dame was usually a hive of information. An unassuming Parisian with russet curls, and wide brown eyes. I’m sure the flower shop was a front for something because she knew too much about everything, but I never asked her directly. Often she tipped me off about antiques that were making their way to Paris from outer regions of France. “Non, Anouk,” she purred. “I haven’t heard of such a man. What did he do? Rob you? Because if so, I know a man who can sort him out!”

My eyes widened. “Non, non, he hasn’t. I don’t need a man to…sort him out, I just wondered if you’d heard anything on the usual channels.”

“Nothing. But if I do, I’ll let you know. And, if he does step out of line, you let me know…” Her voice was as hard as steel, and I smiled. Joshua’s betrayal had made my colleagues protective of me, and it was sweet even if I was a little alarmed at exactly what ‘sort him out’ might’ve entailed.

“And Anouk, tomorrow, if you go the flea markets on Rue des Rosiers, find a man with a carnation in his pocket, wearing a pink bow tie. He has something for you. Tell him I sent you, and he will know.”

“Merci. I’m intrigued.”

“My maman was very happy with the gift you sent. It was so sweet, Anouk. Every morning I hear the music as she warms up; the dedication she has to her ballet is astounding.” Rachelle’s maman had always wanted to be a ballerina, and now finally had the time to try. People thought it was preposterous. At sixty? they’d cried, how silly. But why couldn’t a woman learn to dance at sixty? She wasn’t expecting to grace the stage at Opéra National de Paris!

I’d found some vintage ballet shoes that had never been worn and a leotard and sent them with a note saying Dance your way to happiness. I liked the idea that passion didn’t fade away no matter what age a person was, and if she wanted to plié her way around her living room where was the harm in that?

“Your maman is a wonderful woman,” I said, meaning it.

We gossiped about a few things before saying au revoir.

Next, I phoned Madame Dupont to see what she’d make of the newcomer and what had happened earlier. I fell into a walnut leather wingback chair that I’d rescued from an estate sale. The executor of the estate had wanted to clear the belongings out fast, and had ignored my pleas to save the chair, and other valuables littered on the verge like lost souls. Take it, he’d cried, take it all! And I did. The leather was crazed, and dimpled, and it sighed wearily when I took my place on it. It was like an old friend, and I’d never get it rejuvenated. I loved it, scars and all.

“Anouk, my darling, did you get the cello?” Madame said huskily.

“Oui, not without a little drama.” I filled Madame Dupont in on the morning.

“Ooh la la, I adore him already! Joshua must have been seeing red! What a delight! What does he look like this devilish Monsieur Black?”

I shook my head. I could have bet money Madame Dupont would ask such a thing. “Like a man with too much money.”

“Parfait!”

“Parfait for what?”

“For you, Anouk! Lilou and I are in agreeance on this matter. It really is time to throw yourself to the wolves and see what happens…”

“I’ll get eaten alive!” I laughed. Honestly, they had this idea that I was missing something in my life, but they just couldn’t see I wasn’t made like them. Love did not come first for me.

Madame’s loud drawing of a cigarette filtered down the line. “Is he a collector, or a dealer?”

“I don’t know, he spoke like a collector, but he was out the front of my shop the other day and then he turned up at Andre’s estate as I was leaving, so I suppose he could dabble in both. A way to alleviate the ennui I suppose.”

“He’s a dashing American. A knight in shining armor! I can’t wait to run into him.” In the background the ticking and chiming of various clocks rang out. I wondered how Madame Dupont could stand the disharmonious symphony.

“Oui, and he has that same innate charm, exudes confidence. Eyes the color of the ocean,” I sighed. Why couldn’t men like him be French, staid and solid? That kind of man I could go for.

Madame Dupont let out a sensual sigh. “If I was your age, Anouk, there’d be no stopping me. In fact, even at my age, there’d be no stopping me, because who dares wins. Why don’t you dare, just this once?”

A customer knocked on the door, and I motioned for him to come in. It was Elliot from the wine bar, who often browsed the shelves for décor, and stopped for a chat about business. “Won’t be long,” I said to him.

“No rush.” He moved about with his hands in his pockets, peering at a selection of mirrors hung from gold hooks along the walls.

I lowered my voice. “Madame, aside from your many petit affairs, I’m just like you. I don’t want to be tied down, to follow any particular set of rules, or form. I’ve never really dreamed of walking down the aisle, maybe I never will, and is that so bad? You haven’t, and you’re the happiest person I know.” They were just words, though. I wasn’t sure how I felt about marriage. I envied the idea of it. But I couldn’t see it happening for me.

She tutted. “We’re not the same, Anouk. I could never be as sweet of heart as you! I chose to remain single because I couldn’t commit to one person. But it isn’t easy. There are plenty of times when I wonder if I made a huge mistake with some of the men I’ve loved and let go. Maybe I would have enjoyed love, after the dizzying novelty of that first rapture faded and was replaced with something more fulsome? Truer, deeper? But I never gave it a chance. And that might have been a huge mistake…”

Madame Dupont had never spoken this openly with me about her love life. “Do you really regret it, Madame, or do you just think it’s what I need to hear?” I couldn’t see Madame Dupont as lonely, even now, men flocked to her, but maybe she did crave that more solid love, one that had longevity.

She took some time to answer. “Regret is such a miserable word. But there have been plenty of times alone, where I wished I took the risk and gave someone my heart, and not just a sliver of it. After one stumble you’ve pulled the shutters down. Closed up shop. I’m just saying, don’t waste your life protecting your heart, or you’ll get to the end of it, and realize it wasn’t worth it.” Her words poured out with so much melancholy, it was hard to know what to say, and whether she truly meant me, or if something had happened to make her so forlorn.

Speaking gently, I said, “I see, Madame, I really do. But I’m not ‘closed for business’ I’m just not interested, and there’s a big difference.”

A laugh escaped her. “Listen to me, having an elderly moment. Forget it, Anouk, I don’t know what came over me. Some days, my life flashes before me in the blink of an eye, until I get to the scenes I wish I could change, and they play over again and again, until I can’t see straight. Promise me though, you’ll stop pouring every ounce of yourself into work. Save a part of your life for something else.”

“I promise, Madame Dupont.”

I hoped to ease her anxiety, but really, without work, what else was there? I was grateful work kept me moored to this place.

“And you owe it to that man to go to the gala and have some fun with him. He earned it after dealing with that pig Joshua.”

I smiled at the memory. “Oui, I will, Madame. It’s not often someone reads Joshua so well. It was like he had heard about him already, or he knew what to watch for. Joshua backed down pretty quickly. I think he was intimidated by Tristan…” And that was a first.

When we wrapped up our chat Elliot from the wine bar had found a selection of goods and had them lined up along the front counter. “What can you tell me about these?” he asked, settling on a stool.

“For that we’ll need coffee!” I smiled and went to brew a pot, returning with everything on a tray.

Most of my customers spent hours in the shop, carefully selecting pieces and then making their choice after hearing their stories. It was the highlight of my day when I could impart the histories of each antique and watch the customer’s eyes widen when something resonated with them and the decision was made, as if by someone else.

“So this one –” I pointed to a golden French gilded mirror with cherubs “– is a Louis Phillipe, circa 1890, and once hung in the boudoir of…”