City of Darkness and Light (36 page)

She smiled shyly. “Thank you.”

“I also saw a picture of you that Monsieur Noah painted. Are there any more for sale?”

“He does not like to paint me,” she said. “He does not like me to be a model either.”

Then of course I wondered why I had been so dense. This was surely Jojo, the mistress of whom he’d been so protective.

“I understand.” I nodded. “He does not like other men to see you. But he allowed Monsieur Bryce to paint you with no clothes on.”

She was looking away now, one hand playing with her hair like an embarrassed child. “He did not know,” she whispered. “The money was good. I thought there would be no harm.”

“But there was harm, wasn’t there?” I said sharply. She looked up with frightened eyes. “That’s why you were upset and ran away that morning.”

“Who are you?” she asked. “Why do you come here?”

“A friend,” I said. “A friend who knows about the history and nature of Reynold Bryce. I know that he liked young girls. And he couldn’t keep his hands off them.”

“There were others?” she asked.

I nodded. “I know of another girl, about your age. He forced her to do bad things.”

“He tried to force me,” she said. “He said nobody need know and he’d pay me even more. Such a thing had never happened to me. I was terrified. I fought him, madame. I grabbed my clothes and fled. I went down the back stairs, the way I always had to come and go. Then I dressed myself rapidly and ran home. I was afraid he would come after me, but thank God he did not.”

I could understand her indignation but her naïveté was rather surprising. She did, after all, live in sin with a painter. “Did you tell Maxim when you came home?” I asked.

She nodded. “He saw how upset I was. So I told him what Mr. Bryce had tried to do. He was furious. I’ve never seen him so angry. He stormed out and was gone for hours.”

“Where is he now?”

“He has gone, madame. Gone to England.”

“To England? But I saw him on Saturday evening, at a party.”

She shook her head. “That is not possible, madame. He has been gone for several days now. He has friends over there who wrote to him and said he should join them. They will help him find somewhere to live, and then he will send for me. He said that Paris is not the right place for us. That the people here have no morals and it was not the right place for a young girl like me.”

“And yet you live with him? You’re his mistress?”

“His mistress? Who told you that?” she demanded, those dark eyes blazing suddenly. “I am his sister, madame. His little sister. The only family he has. He takes care of me.”

“Maxim Noah is your brother?” I asked.

She nodded. “My brother Jakob. A wonderful brother too. He brought me safely out of Russia when they burned our village. He promised to look after me the way our father would have done. We will have a good new life in England.”

“I hope you will, Josette,” I said. I looked at those big, wistful eyes and my heart bled for her.

*   *   *

As I left Le Bateau-Lavoir I tried to control my racing thoughts. If Maxim Noah was Josette’s brother, newly arrived from Russia, then he was definitely not Sid’s long-lost relative who had been in Paris for generations. So why had he tried to pretend he was her cousin? And why had he lied to his sister about going to England when he was still in Paris? One thing was sure—Maxim Noah was not to be trusted. It began to dawn on me that
he
, not Sid, was the young Jewish man seen running away from Reynold Bryce’s house. I had to go to the Sûreté immediately and tell them what I suspected. Inspector Henri would be angry with me, but he wouldn’t ignore what I had to say.

I started down the steep little lane, stepping carefully on the uneven cobbles. There were more people around now: children playing—singing as they turned the jump rope in high little nasal voices—women with shopping baskets hurrying to buy something they had forgotten for dinner. And then ahead of me I caught a glimpse of someone I thought I recognized. The Russian-style peasant’s cap, the shock of dark curls. It had to be Maxim Noah himself!

Thirty-five

Maxim Noah moved swiftly down the hill. I quickened my pace. If he wasn’t staying any longer with Josette at Le Bateau-Lavoir I should try to follow him and see where he was hiding out. It was precarious walking in my dainty pointed shoes over the cobbles as the road dropped steeply. He turned to the left, taking a narrow alley between buildings. I followed and came out to see him crossing the road and entering what seemed to be a cemetery. Perhaps he had found a good spot to hide out among the dead, I thought.

I crossed the street after him and went through the gate into the cemetery. It was not like our graveyards in Ireland, with their low granite tombs and Celtic crosses, but full of impressive monuments, angels, cherubs, statues, and mausoleums—veritable houses of the dead for whole families, all piled close together. I looked around but could no longer see him. I took a step or two forward then stopped. Even in daylight I didn’t fancy poking around in a cemetery on my own, especially on the trail of a dangerous man. I turned to leave and suddenly there he was, blocking my path.

“Madame Sullivan,” he said. “What a pleasure to find you here. You enjoy visiting the dead, do you?”

“As much as you do, obviously, Monsieur Noah,” I said. “You find inspiration for your painting here, do you?”

“Sometimes. But today I have other reasons for being here.”

“Yes?”

He nodded. “Such as luring you to a place where nobody can see us. I have been keeping an eye on my sister, you see. Such a rickety old building, it’s easy to listen to what is being said. I realized that you have discovered the truth.”

“The truth that you are Jakob Klein and in no way related to my friend Elena Goldfarb. Why did you claim to be her cousin?”

He looked at me scornfully, as if I was particularly dense. “She’s a rich American. I overheard her talking about looking for her family in Paris and I decided she’d be helpful to a poor struggling cousin.” He shrugged. “It was easy to convince her. She herself had supplied all the details.”

“You deceived her,” I said angrily.

“One does what one must to survive. They burned our village. They killed our parents. We came here with nothing. I had my sister to protect.”

“And yet you let her model for Reynold Bryce? Was that protecting her?”

I saw anger flash in his eyes. “I had no idea that he would behave in that way. He saw her with me at a showing
Chez Vollard
. He said he’d like to paint her, and if I agreed he would include some of my work in his exhibition. The money was good, and the chance to be in his exhibition—well, it would mean everything. We could not turn it down. But I did not know that he would paint her in the nude. And when she came to me, sobbing hysterically and saying he tried to rape her, I was beside myself with rage.”

“So you went to see him.”

“And do you know what he said? He laughed and said, ‘Do you really think I was going to include a painting in my exhibition by a filthy Jew? I only wanted a way to your little sister.’ And I said, ‘But she’s a Jew too. You didn’t mind touching her.’ And he laughed and said, ‘Sometimes even Jews are enticing enough that one makes exceptions. There is no logic in the desires of the flesh.’”

“So you killed him.”

“The knife was lying there on the table. I was in a red rage. So angry I could not control myself. I grabbed it and plunged it into his chest.”

All the time we talked I was horribly aware that he stood between me and the gateway from the cemetery. I knew I had to play for time. Sooner or later someone would come past and I could escape.

“Your sister believes you have gone to England—or was she lying to me as well?”

“I told her I had gone. She is young and innocent. I do not want her implicated in this. And I do plan to go, as soon as I can get enough money together and find a way to ship my paintings.”

“Aren’t you worried about getting caught if you linger here too long? If I’ve worked it out, I am sure that others have too. And what about your sister if you get caught? Who will protect her if you face the guillotine?”

He shrugged again. “There will be no guillotine, madame. I was defending the honor of my sister. Any court in France will understand this. They make exceptions for the crime
passionel
. I shall be considered a hero.”

“Then I wish you good luck.
Bonne chance,
” I said. I had noticed a couple approaching the gateway to the cemetery. Soon they would be close enough to hear if I shouted for help. I gave him a curt bow and tried to move past him. He put an arm around my shoulder as the couple came closer. “But
ma chérie
, you did not think I’d let you go, did you?” he said and pulled me close to him.

“Don’t be foolish,” I replied. “I am not your
chérie
.” I tried to shrug him off and instead felt a sharp prick of pain at my side.

“I am efficient with a blade,” he whispered into my ear. “One wrong move and it will be your last. We will take a walk, you and I, among the graves.”

“Why should I walk with you?” I demanded, my voice sharp with fear. “You’ll only kill me anyway, and without the risk of anyone looking on.”

“You will walk because you have no choice,” he said, and I felt the pressure of that knife digging into me. “And maybe all I want is your money to help me get to England. We shall see how I feel.”

And he propelled me forward, one arm draped around my shoulder like a lover, while the other one held the knife firmly at my side. I tried to think how to struggle, to throw him off guard without allowing him to stab me first. He half pushed, half carried me between two mausoleums. Then I heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel path. Someone was coming. Someone really tall. I could see his head over the top of the roof of the mausoleum. And I recognized him.

“Monsieur Degas!” I called. “It’s Madame Sullivan.” And I jerked my head back into Maxim Noah’s face, hearing a grunt of pain as I connected with his nose. I followed this with my elbow into his stomach and took that brief moment of surprise to wrench myself free. I ran over to Degas. “What a pleasure to meet you again,” I said, going up to him and taking his arm.

“I have been visiting the family tomb,” he said. “It is the anniversary of the death of my mother. I always take flowers.”

“What a fine sentiment,” I said. “I have been examining the graves with Maxim Noah.”

I tried not to look back, to see if Maxim was still behind me. If Monsieur Degas thought it was odd that I was behaving in this familiar fashion, he was too much of a gentleman to say anything. We walked a few yards up the path when he said, “Madame, is something wrong? What is that I see?
Mon dieu
. Can it be that you are you bleeding?”

I looked down at the ground and saw bright splashes of red on the yellow gravel. I put my hand to my side. It came away warm and sticky. “Maxim Noah. He…” And I realized I didn’t know the French word for “stab.” “He wished to kill me,” I said and everything started to go black.

I must have sunk onto a tombstone. From a vast distance I could hear Degas’s voice booming out, “Help! Murder! Police!” Then a whistle blowing, then strong arms lifting me. The next moments were a haze. I was being carried, seated. Given cognac to sip. Then hands were examining me.

“You are fortunate, madame,” a voice said. “It is merely a flesh wound.”

A woman hovered over me. Warm water sponged my side. Then a policeman arrived, asked questions. I tried to answer when all I wanted was to be safe at home. Finally I said, “Find Inspector Henri. Maxim Noah must not escape to England. And I want to go home now.”

The policeman ran off to find a telephone.

The woman stood beside me, looking worried. “You do not think you should be taken to the hospital, madame?”

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Just call a cab for me.”

A cab was summoned. The initial wound had not hurt at all, but now the bumping along the street made every breath painful. I was still bleeding and held whatever I had been given as a pad pressed to my side. It seemed like an eternity until we pulled up outside Miss Cassatt’s house. Celeste appeared at the door, took one look at me, and started wailing as she helped me upstairs. “Mademoiselle, come immediately. Madame Sullivan is dying!” she called. They were in the salon together, Sid and Gus on the floor with my son, building him a tower of blocks. Mary had been watching from the sofa. Now they all jumped up. My one thought was that I shouldn’t frighten Liam.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just get me up to my room and help me out of this dress.”

I could see their expressions as they looked at the blood-soaked pad on my side.

“Celeste, summon a doctor immediately,” Mary said. She came over and took my arm, helping me up the stairs.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I met Reynold Bryce’s killer. He tried to stab me.”

“It looks as if he succeeded,” she said. “Now no more talking. Let’s get this dress off you and we’ll see how bad it is.”

She worked efficiently and her calmness calmed me too. Although I must admit I got a shock when I saw the slash along the side of the dress and the great red stain spoiling the light silk. At that moment I believe I was more upset by the loss of the expensive dress than the size of my wound. When Mary had me undressed and washed the wound we could see that it was a gash, about three inches long, but mercifully not too deep. The doctor arrived, examined the wound, and pronounced me fortunate. “A little deeper and the knife would have struck your kidney,” he said. He produced a salve then applied sticking plaster liberally. “You are not to move until this is healed. No stairs. No walking,” he said, wagging a finger at me. “Bandages to be changed every twelve hours and the wound to be kept clean or it may turn septic. It should heal well but you’ll probably be left with a scar. That can’t be helped. I shall return to examine you tomorrow.”

I lay back on my bed, feeling suddenly exhausted and close to tears. The memory of that knife in my side was suddenly all too vivid. He had been planning to kill me. That was clear to me now. And what would Daniel say when he saw my scar? I had tried to do the right thing and taken foolish risks again. I looked up as there was a light tap at the door. Sid and Gus stood in the doorway, not daring to come in. Gus was holding Liam.