“So... ,” he said as he leaned into the table. “You go to your grandmother’s a few times a week?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “The strange thing is, I only met her for the first time last year. Before that, I didn’t even know she existed...”
“Really?” His eyes widened. “How unusual your family is, Solange. You arrive at our bookstore holding two rare and valuable Jewish books, and you tell Papa and me that you only recently learned you were half Jewish. And now an unknown grandmother appears inyour life...” He leaned closer. “I wonder what will be revealed to you next?”
“I don’t know...” I was amused that he saw any part of my life to be of such interest. I had always believed it to be rather dull.
“Well, my grandmother is certainly a character... I think that’s why my father waited so long to introduce her to me. He kept her hidden because he was embarrassed by her, but since my mother’s death, he was at a loss on how to keep me occupied.” I touched my napkin briefly. “I suppose knowing that I wanted to be a writer, he thought she might provide some good source material for me...” I laughed. “It does sound crazy, though. There is so much more to my family than I had previously known.”
“It’s all rather fascinating to me, really. I know too much about every member of my family... not just my father, but my aunts, my cousins... their husbands and wives. Your family is far more interesting.”
I looked at him and smiled. Hours before, I could hardly button my coat or tie my scarf around my neck, I was so nervous Alex would find me boring and that I’d have nothing to say. But here I was sitting across from him with his eyes bright upon me.
“Tell me about your grandmother, Solange... Tell me about your writing...” A big smile swept over his face. “Why, just tell me everything about you!” He placed his hands around his coffee and laughed.
“How much time do I have?” I asked as I lifted the cup to my lips. Small puffs of steam floated between my breath and the coffee. And as I raised my eyes, his own were staring back at me.
24.
Solange
November 1939
Itold him everything Marthe had shared with me so far. The story of her bleak childhood. Her relationship with Charles. And now the beginning seeds of the Boldini painting.
“A woman of the night, how wonderfully scandalous.” An impish grin crossed his face.
“Hardly,” I said.
“A courtesan, then?”
I laughed. “She doesn’t seem to have kept her dance card quite that full over the years.”
“I’m intrigued.” He leaned in closer. “Another one of your family’s many secrets.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” I nodded my head, agreeing with him.
“Yes... but I think I’m still going to insist that owning the Barcelona Haggadah to be the biggest.”
I smiled. “Who knew that my mother was in possession ofsomething so rare and valuable. I suspect it’s worth more than all the other contents of our apartment.”
“I’ve never seen your apartment,” he teased.
“One of these days I should invite you, and if you’re very good, I’ll even take down the Haggadah and show it one more time.”
His eyes flickered. I had never flirted before, but I was surprised how naturally I took to it. Perhaps it was my grandmother’s influence.
“I’d like that very much,” he said as his fingers reached out and grazed my own. Just the slightest touch of his skin against mine made me tingle from head to toe.
My mind traveled to Marthe and the butterflies embroidered in the silk above her headboard, the emerald clasp around her neck. The feeling of the first signs of attraction, I was beginning to recognize, was always accompanied by the sensation of wings.
***
We made a date to meet again a few days later. I gave him the address of our apartment and told him to come by after ten a.m. when I knew my father would already be at the pharmacy.
That morning I had tried not to appear suspicious to my father, as I knew I could not tell him I was inviting a young man back to our apartment even if it was just to give him a second opportunity to look at a very rare and valuable book.
I said good-bye to my father and began to straighten the apartment so it appeared as neat as possible. The day before, I had attempted to do some dusting, but I still needed to fluff the couch pillows, hide the piles of paperwork on my father’s desk, and run downstairs to the florist to buy a fresh bouquet.
