Capturing Paris (18 page)

La Coiffure

Annie spent the following day at the Liberal Arts Abroad offices. The students
were on winter break. Mary was still away and there was no one to interrupt her, for which she was grateful. By the end of the afternoon she was totally discouraged. She'd forgotten what a huge task it was to prepare the transcripts, made all the more discouraging because some of the necessary documents appeared to be missing. She'd had a terrible time keeping her mind on her work, and when she heard the neighboring church bells ringing at six, she knew she couldn't stand it another minute. It would be good to get out to God House, to see Daphne and forget about her job for a while.

On her way home she'd stopped at Saint-Eustache church. She loved the beauty and grandeur of Notre-Dame Cathedral, but it was Saint-Eustache that lured her for reflective moments in her largely secular life. She walked up the center aisle of the nave, now fairly empty, only a few people in the pews. The building revealed years of love and abuse: stained-glass windows in need of repair since the Second World War, the stone floor worn and gritty from tired feet, and the soot-darkened walls reaching for the heavens. Pigeons fluttered high above, trespassers in the sacred space. Annie breathed in the smell of ancient stone, burning candles, and a faint odor of incense.

She sat down in one of the creaking rush-seated chairs lined up like pews. Her thoughts mingled with the hushed voices and low murmured prayers of those around her. The architecture, a glorious mix of Gothic and Renaissance, rivaled that of Notre-Dame, but unlike Notre-Dame, which was constantly encroached on by tourists, this was a hardworking place of worship, a truly comforting church, that
embraced all who entered. Writing the poem about this church had eventually brought her to Paul Valmont and the chance to write many more poems.

Saint-Eustache was Wesley's favorite church. Annie bent her head and folded her hands in her lap. How could she and Wesley, happy for so many years, suddenly feel so differently? Or was she the only one who had changed? Certainly people survived career changes and moving to new places. She knew that. But there were other factors too. There was Daphne. “You've got to do what's right for you, Annie. You don't go anywhere in life without taking a few risks.”

Annie considered Daphne's life. Could she live like that, in a world free of husband or family? Perhaps after some time apart, she could be more patient with Wesley; maybe she would feel better about moving and setting up a new life in Washington.

A dark figure in layers of rags shuffled by, mumbling to himself. He smelled of urine and the sickening ripeness of the unwashed. Honestly, what was she worrying about? Annie got up and looked at the rose window high above the nave. Barely visible in the evening darkness, there it was, a forgotten jewel right before her eyes, offering her a glimpse of peace.

Annie couldn't see. Her eyes no longer worked. The blackness was fierce, confusing. She tried to push her hair off her face. Then the sharp noise, where was the noise? She needed to find it. She was suddenly awake. The phone, on Wesley's side of the bed, was ringing. She must have been dreaming. She crawled across the covers, pushing aside magazines, notebooks, typed manuscript pages, and a pot of herbal tea on a tray. Her legs were tangled in the sheets. Something clattered to the floor. She found the receiver.

“Annie?”

“Yes,” she said. Her mouth was dry, sandpapery. It must be the middle of the night. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and reached for the light. Two in the morning. She'd been dead asleep. “Wesley, why are you calling so late? Is something wrong?”

“Sorry, sweetie. We just got back from dinner. You're never there when I call.”

She tried to think. What did he mean by that? He hadn't left a message. He continued on, animated, explaining some kind of long complicated brief, something he had done for the Washington law firm. It had gone well. He had brought in a new client. The senior partner was due back from Hong Kong next week. He was the last person that Wesley needed to meet—a final formality.

Annie tried to focus on what he was saying. It was evening in Washington. She tried to imagine Wesley in his hotel room, seated on the edge of a vast bed, a room in dull shades of maroon and brown. For a moment she couldn't even picture his face. She sat up further. The tray with her cup of tea had overturned onto the rug.

“You woke me up,” she mumbled into the phone. What was he talking about?

“The firm isn't as big as Wilson & James, but it's right for me. The other partners are terrific.” He sounded like a stranger. “Please try to understand how important this is for me.”

“I know it's important. I'm glad you like it. Wesley, it's late.” She tried to clear her head. “Did you get my message? Valmont wants me to write the poems for the book.”

“I don't see how you're going to have time to do that. Once this is definite, I'll need to be here full-time. We'll need to find a place here, sell the apartment—”

“You said we didn't need to move right away.” Now she was totally awake.

“Look, Annie. There will be other opportunities.”

“You mean not write the poems for Valmont?”

“I didn't say that. Let's talk tomorrow.”

“I'm leaving early for God House. I'll be there for the rest of the week.”

“Why are you going out there?”

She looked again at the clock. It would be difficult to get back to sleep. “I plan to work. Daphne said I could have the days to myself. It's where I need to be right now. No interruptions.”

“What about your job?”

“I was at the office all day. All I have to do is finish the transcripts for Mary.”

“That's a huge job. How are you going to do that and write poems? Listen.” He sounded businesslike, as if he were talking to a young associate in his law firm. “I think you're taking on too much.”

“I'll be able to get it done.”

“I don't know.”

“You …” She was furious. What did he have to do with this? “Wesley. This is my job, my life. I don't need your advice. For that matter, I don't want your advice.”

“You don't need to get so angry. For Christ's sake, I only called to tell you about this job. I thought you'd be happy for me. It's going to change everything for us.”

It already has, she thought. “Look, in case you've forgotten, it's the middle of the night.”

“We need to talk, Annie.”

“We'll talk when you come back.” She tried to regain her composure. “This is not the time for this.”

“Annie—”

“Please, Wesley,” she said quietly. “Good night.” Annie put the phone back in its cradle and bent down to pick up the teacup and pot still on the floor. Thankfully, the pot hadn't broken. The cup looked fine, but when she ran her finger around the rim, she felt a jagged edge where it had chipped.

Annie closed her eyes. The pressure of a passing train thundering toward Paris seemed to suck the air right out of the railway car where she sat. Once past, she listened to the steady rumble as they shot over steel tracks. Her train carried her in the opposite direction, and at midmorning it was almost empty. She shared the compartment with a young mother holding a sleeping infant. She looked tired but content, and she held her baby close in her arms, rocking with the gentle rhythm of the train. Annie opened her book and tried to read. She didn't want to sleep, fearful of missing the stop for Villandry.

She looked out the window. The high-speed train created a monotonous gray ribbon of landscape, making it impossible to focus on any particular scenic detail. When she awoke that morning, her fury at Wesley had been replaced by sadness. She watched the young mother across from her. The baby slept deeply and the mother periodically kissed the top of the downy little head.

She remembered her own pregnancy. She and Wesley had planned to have children one day, but it had happened sooner than expected. She had worried about Wesley's reaction to her news.

She'd left the doctor's office on a glorious October afternoon. The results were conclusive. She was healthy and she felt wonderful. She had gone to find Wesley in the library. She would never forget that day. The sky was an intense blue, and the leaves of rich crimson, bold yellow, and gold sailed to her feet. She hurried along the sidewalk by the Charles River. The water glimmered with an intensity of almost unbearable beauty. A day of pure magic.

She ran up the endless marble steps of the library and headed to the place where he usually studied. She found him at a heavy oak table, books and papers piled high about him. She was out of breath. Her heart fluttered in her chest. He smiled when he saw her, took off his glasses, leaned back, and stretched.

“What's up?” He whispered. “You look funny.” He grinned fully, the dimpled smile she loved.

“I can't tell you here.” She panted.

“Shh.” Someone hissed from the next table.

“Write it down.” He pushed his notebook across the table to her. She scribbled the news and slid it back. Wesley looked down at the pad. His hair was longer then and she couldn't see his face. He looked up and, with his lips sealed, motioned for her to follow him. He led her out the door and into the stairwell to the stacks below. Then he turned, pushed her gently to the wall, and gave her the deepest and most passionate kiss ever.

Annie descended from the train carrying a flower-printed duffel bag in one hand and clutching her worn leather briefcase in the other.

Knowing that her poems and photographs were inside renewed her confidence. The very weight of the bag gave her a sense of purpose. She loved the intensity of this project. It was so much more interesting than working on one poem, then another, sending them off, then waiting months and months for a response.

Although it was still early January, the air was fresher in Villandry, and Annie thought she detected a hint of spring in the brisk wind and almost cloudless sky. She'd forgotten how a blue sky could lighten her spirit and lift the worry from her heart. She turned off the main street lined with small shops, a post office, and a real estate business, all closed for the noon hour, and began the short walk toward God House. The buildings grew farther apart and the street turned into a country road. The sidewalk became a gravel path. Her comfortable brown walking boots crunched on the pebbles. She avoided the puddles that had so recently been icy reminders of winter. Under her green loden coat she wore jeans and the new black sweater. Her stride became longer and more relaxed as she neared her destination, enjoying the walk.

Turning into the drive at God House she heard Daphne's car come up behind her.

Daphne opened her window and called out, “Well, my timing is off. I'd meant to get you at the station.”

Annie leaned down and spoke through the open window, “I never told you my exact arrival time. How are you?”

“I'm great. I figured you'd be on this train or the next. Hop in. I left a pot of Berthe's soup on while I fetched bread from the village. Let's hope I haven't burned the house down.”

Annie came around, tossed her things into the backseat, and got in beside Daphne for the last few hundred feet up the drive. The car smelled of old leather and a fresh citruslike perfume she didn't recognize. Daphne's thick hair was tucked behind her ears, and she wore the same baggy pants and sweater that Annie remembered from her last visit.

“I'm so glad you're back,” Daphne said. “You'll have plenty of time to work. It's just you and me, and we don't have to answer to anyone. No guests, and Berthe has gone to her sister's house in Aix.”

Annie smiled. She did feel better. The image of the mother and baby on the train remained with her, and she wondered what her baby, her Sophie, was doing now. Daphne drew the car to a stop in front of the house. The old gray walls looked warm and inviting, less imposing than on her first visit.

Annie followed Daphne up the front steps. The black-and-white floor, the peach walls, and the antique chest were now all bathed in a softer light, infused with sunshine. Today there was a round pot of rosemary sitting on the chest. Annie brushed her hand across the spiky branches, releasing the pungent fresh scent.

“Nice, isn't it?” Daphne said.

“Rosemary for remembrance. It always makes me think of Aunt Kate. She had a dear little herb garden just outside the kitchen door.” For a fleeting moment Annie regretted having sold the old house in Vermont.

They pulled off their boots in the hall and hung their coats on the pegs under the staircase. This time Annie savored the familiarity of it all.

“Go ahead and put your things upstairs while I go and serve the soup.”

Annie went up to her room, the one she had recently shared with Wesley. She looked at it with new eyes; the walls covered in the pale pink floral paper and the fabrics of cream-colored taffeta were so distinctly feminine. She hadn't thought of this on their last visit. Other than the library with its leather sofa and mahogany desk, God House had clearly been decorated with the comfort of women in mind.

She stood at the window and looked down at the garden and the river, now glimmering in the sun. This room, now hers alone, felt like a sort of sanctuary. Deep down she must have needed this space. Suddenly she wanted to cry. She was relieved to be away, and yet she wondered if it could solve anything. She brought her hand to her face and could still smell the rosemary on her fingers. Aunt Kate wouldn't have accepted this kind of brooding.

Annie got her brush out of her bag, swept her hair back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, and fastened it with a tortoiseshell barrette. She frowned in the mirror, noting the circles under her eyes
and the fine lines around her mouth. She needed a good night's sleep, though she knew it would only go so far.

Daphne had set the table in the glass room off the kitchen, and a large bowl of vegetable soup steamed at each place. There was a basket of freshly sliced bread and a dish of grated Parmesan cheese on the table beside it. Daphne carried a bottle of red wine in from the kitchen and poured some into their glasses. The soup was thick and delicious, and in no time Annie was in a better mood. The wine brought color to her cheeks, and when they finished eating, they agreed on a big walk along the river. Annie started to clear the dishes but Daphne pulled her away. “Come on. The sun is out now. We can do these later.”