I examined the beautiful creature sitting opposite me. There was no chance that she had been sent to Paris to find someone like me, which took a lot of the pressure off. She was fun to talk to.
‘Do you have a job?’
‘Yes. I am working for my uncle in an insurance office. He arranges insurance for unusual shipments; it sounds dull, but it is actually quite interesting. I use my English: I speak it much better than my uncle. I have learned a lot, business is booming, I was doing more and more for him, developing business with English-speaking insurers, in fact things were going so well that he employed an English-speaking man to do my work. Now I’m back to filing.’
‘That’s rotten!’
‘It is,’ said Sophie, two spots of angry pink on her pale cheeks.
‘Did you say anything to him?’
‘I did. It hadn’t even occurred to him that I could do the job, or that I was doing the job. I also got the impression that he was afraid of what my parents would say if he gave it to me.’
A brave seagull dived for Sophie’s bread, but I batted it away just in time. The bird hovered a few feet above us, squawking. I glared at it and it swooped down to the harbour.
Sophie popped the bread in her mouth. ‘I do envy you. Getting to read all that history.’
‘Actually, I think I’m going to give it up.’
‘Really? Why? You clearly love it.’
‘I’m planning to switch to medicine when I get back in October.’
‘Can you do that?’
‘It’s tricky, but possible. I need to pass some science tests. I’ve been working at it over the summer.’
Sophie looked disappointed. ‘Why are you changing? I know medicine is a noble profession, but...’
‘It is. My father was a doctor, and he was determined that I should become one too. But I am just as stubborn as he, so I did what I wanted to do. History.’
‘Was? Is he—’
‘He died in my first term at the university. Eight months ago. Nine months next Tuesday.’
‘I’m sorry.’
I shrugged. An English shrug, not a French shrug. A shrug pretending it was nothing to worry about, that I was untouched, that my life would carry on regardless. When plainly it wouldn’t.
I glanced at Sophie. She understood the shrug and the lie it represented.
‘He was a wonderful man,’ I said. ‘That was so clear at his funeral. I have been to hardly any funerals, thank God, but they give you a view of a person’s life, their whole life. And many viewpoints. To his family, him being a doctor was just a job, albeit a job that meant everyone in our town knew him. But doctors make a difference to lots of people; for some they mean the difference of life and death. For others it is just comfort, psychological as much as physical. But it’s a life worth leading. I know it’s obvious, but I only really realized that about my father after he had gone.’
‘So now you are doing what he wanted you to do when he was alive?’
‘Yes, I suppose I do.’
‘Are you sure that’s what you want to do?’
I was surprised by the question. ‘Yes. Yes, of course it is. I have thought hard about it.’
Sophie looked at me closely, and I felt a sudden fear that she was going to question my decision. Why be afraid of that? She didn’t know me at all; I didn’t need her approval.
But she let it drop. ‘Let’s go and see this chapel.’
I paid the bill and we walked around the harbour, the rigging of the fishing boats clattering in the breeze. We passed a man in front of an easel painting the boats and the harbour, and the tall old houses behind them. I spotted the restaurant we had just eaten in; Sophie was immortalized as a dab of blue, I was an indistinct grey.
‘Not bad,’ I said.
‘No,’ said Sophie. ‘But I think that view has been done before.’
‘If Tony Volstead was here he’d be behind the houses painting their rubbish.’
Sophie giggled. ‘You’re right. I can see the painting now. Part of an exhibition. The Trash of Honfleur.’
‘It’s an interesting idea,’ I said. ‘At least Tony thinks it is. I can’t believe he will really start a whole artistic movement.’
‘He does think it’s interesting,’ said Sophie. ‘But he’s the only one. He and Alden. He’s been trying to get Gertrude Stein to buy one of his paintings, but she takes no notice of them or him. The problem is, he’s not very good at the painting bit. Did you look at his pictures closely? He paints an aubergine spilled on the street, and it looks like a hole in the pavement.’
‘But Alden supports him?’
‘Alden likes having an artist as a best friend. He is also very loyal.’
‘I like Alden,’ I said. ‘He’s very generous. Very friendly. He made us feel at home right away. And he loves France.’
‘Do you know why he loves France so much?’ Sophie asked.
‘The people? The art? Because Paris is so beautiful?’
‘Because of the sex.’
‘Er...’ I wasn’t sure what to say.
‘Alden likes sex. Lots of it.’
‘Right,’ I said uncomfortably. ‘And does your sister?’
‘Oh, yes. But that’s not enough for him. Is it?’ We had left the harbour and were walking uphill along a narrow street of stooped houses.
‘Isn’t it?’ I said, swallowing.
‘He took you to the Panier Fleuri the other night, didn’t he?’
For a moment, I considered lying. But then I remembered what Alden had said about Madeleine. How he would have brought her along if she hadn’t had to look after Elaine.
‘Yes. He did. But he said he brings Madeleine to places like that.’
‘Bof.’ Sophie snorted. ‘Quel idiot! He asked her to go and she refused. Alden has the idea that all Frenchwomen are happy for their husbands to have mistresses or to go to brothels whenever they feel like it. It might be true for some people, but I tell you it is not true for my sister. She hates it.’
‘Has she told him?’
‘But of course! He doesn’t listen. He doesn’t want to believe it. You heard him say she approved of it. It’s a real problem.’
‘Is she going to leave him?’
Sophie shrugged. A French shrug. ‘I think she will. I hope she does.’
I shook my head. ‘And I thought they had a perfect marriage.’
‘She loves him, that’s her problem,’ Sophie said. ‘And he just takes advantage of that.’
‘You are right, he is an idiot. If I were married to your sister, I wouldn’t spend my nights in brothels.’
‘Quite right,’ said Sophie. Then she looked at me slyly. ‘Did you enjoy it? Your night at the Panier Fleuri?’
‘I left early,’ I confessed. I wasn’t sure how she would take this, pleased that I had not sinned, or dismissive that I wasn’t man enough to take my pleasure.
She laughed. She had this way of laughing at me that I was growing to like.
‘Angus?’ she said. ‘Have you ever...?’
‘What?’ I asked, shocked and embarrassed by the question.
Sophie shrugged, a half smile on her lips.
‘No,’ I said. And then, emboldened. ‘Have you?’
She shook her head. ‘Madeleine is always encouraging me to. She says I won’t know I have found the right man until I know what the wrong man is like. But that doesn’t seem to have worked for her.’
We walked in silence, our breath coming heavily as we climbed the steep hill, I reflecting on the extraordinary turns the conversation had taken with this extraordinary girl. The truth was, I had not really spoken to many girls. Joyce, my younger sister, and some of her friends, of course, but very few during my all-male schooldays or at my all-male college. I rather liked talking to this one.