“I would expect no less from him. Always the perfect gentleman...”
Boldini leaned forward. “And I am always the perfect rogue.”
She let out a little squeal. “You really are far more entertaining than I ever imagined! You’ve made this hour holding a torturous pose a pleasure!”
“And you, my dear, are a magnificent model. I’ve filled my sketchbook with enough drawings to start the portrait.”
“So my work here is done?” Her voice lilted ever so slightly. Marthe had missed playing the coquette and, as much as she loved Charles, the attention Boldini showered upon her soothed her.
“Hardly. I will need a few weeks to start the preliminary bones of the painting... Then you will have to return for another sitting.” He closed his sketchbook. “May I write to you when I’ve managed to create something worthy of your approval?”
She flushed. “I would like that very much.”
“Then that’s another thing we have in common, Madame de Florian.”
***
She left Boldini’s studio flooded with excitement. The artist also considered himself reinvented. Instead of judging her as an imposter of sorts, he had revealed his own vulnerability. As her coach pulled through the bustling Paris streets, she felt a need to thank him for this gift of kindness.
“Thirty-one Rue de Seine,” she ordered the driver. It was the address of Ichiro’s store.
She hadn’t visited in several weeks, but she knew it would be the perfect place to purchase something to show Boldini her appreciation, as well as cement their friendship.A gift of beauty, she thought to herself, something that would communicate her feelings far beyond a simple note card filled with a few polite words.
18.
Marthe
Paris 1898
Ichiro stepped forward from the dark purple curtain and greeted her with great warmth.
“Madame de Florian, it has been far too long.” His head dipped into a deep bow. “You have missed many beautiful things that have come in and out of the store in the past few weeks.”
She could see immediately as his eyes, so expert in appraising things beautiful and rare, fell upon her neck, encircled in her priceless set of pearls.
Marthe raised a finger and touched them lightly. “You notice everything, don’t you,” she said sweetly. “These were a gift from someone with the most exquisite taste.”
“Indeed,” Ichiro said. “They are Japanese, too,” he said as he came closer. “How beautiful for me to have the opportunity to see something that has come from my native sea.”
She smiled. “I was told how difficult it is to find these many pearlsthat exactly match in color and size... That’s what makes the necklace so rare.”
“Yes, whoever told you that is right.” She could see how he was unable to take his eyes off the pearls, and it delighted her to have their roles reversed. Ichiro now coveting something that she possessed, instead of the other way around.
“It is a shame I wasn’t trained in the pearl business,” he said with a smile. “I think it’s far more lucrative than antiques...”
She laughed. “But I would be lost without your help. Just today, when I was thinking I needed to purchase a gift for someone with a strong artistic sensibility, I knew I couldn’t find what I needed at La Samaritaine. I needed, instead, to come to you...”
“That is most kind of you.” Ichiro clasped his hands in front of him. “So, how can I help you?”
“I have a new friend who shares my love of Asian porcelains. Perhaps you have a few things to show me?”
He nodded knowingly, and his eyes brightened with a liveliness she hadn’t realized how much she missed.
“I do. I have quite a few things to suggest.” He brought his hands together and gestured a small bow. “Give me a few moments to bring them up from the storeroom. In the meantime, please let me prepare you some tea.”
He excused himself and disappeared behind the curtain.
***
