“Charles de Montagne,” she said. Again her voice was unflinching.
He lowered his eyes and nodded again, before vanishing behind a velvet curtain the color of a dark sky.
***
An hour later, she was given a bank check for an amount of money worthy of a pasha, while inside her satchel was a little velvet pouch with her emerald butterfly clasp tucked inside.
“Monsieur de Montagne must have had great affection for you, madame,” the sales clerk informed her. “The patriarch of our store himself sold them to him. They were one of the most prized possessions in our vault when he bought them for you.”
“Thank you,” she answered as she placed her hand over her bag.
“No, thankyou,” he said, clearly oblivious to the knowledge that Ichiro had shared with her about the burgeoning cultivated pearl trade in Asia. We are happy to have them back in our collection.”
Around her, the mirrors and the glass cases with sparkling gemstones were blinding. She had always loved to be surrounded by reflections of beauty. But now she wanted nothing more than the soft shadows of her apartment.
Marthe met the eyes of the sales clerk before departing.
“It is a comfort to return them to where they were first bought,” she told him. She did not look at a single jewel under the store’s glimmering lights. She simply adjusted her gloves and gathered her skirt, making her way swiftly out the door.
37.
Solange
March 1940
My grandmother now sat across from me, a strand of pearls encircling her neck, the glimmering butterfly clasp resting just above the nob of her collarbone. Having relayed the story of how Ichiro convinced her to sell the pearls, and of her success in having sold them before the cultivated pearl market reduced them to a fraction of their original value, a deep satisfaction came over her. Just retelling the story had clearly pleased her.
“But then what are the pearls you’re wearing now?”
She touched her neck; a sly smile emerged on her lips.
“These,” she said with a soft giggle, “are actually cultivated pearls. I bought them years later and had them strung with my butterfly clasp that I could never part with.”
I was speechless. Had it not been for the guidance of Ichiro, who knows where Marthe would have ended up. It was no secret thatmany women under similar circumstances could easily have landed in homes for the impoverished. Or worse.
“You were very lucky your friend gave you such good advice.”
“Yes, and I received enough money that I was actually able to return to his store and buy back many of my favorite porcelains just before he set sail to Japan.”
I pushed myself back into the chair; my mind was still spinning from her story.
“I hope you have enough to fill your notebook, my dear. I’ve now divulged all the high points of my life... Do you think I’ve given you enough inspiration?” A throaty laugh escaped her.
“I think enough for at least two novels,Grand-maman.”
I placed down my pen and pad. How different the air now seemed between us. In the beginning of our relationship, I sat in Marthe’s parlor intimidated by her elegance and in awe of her apartment. Now, a true friendship had developed between us. She had shared her life story with me and, now more than ever, I was inspired to craft the material into a novel. With Father away and the war forcing most of us to stay indoors, it seemed like the time was ripe to begin.
“You know, Solange, since I’ve been spending so much time with you, I’ve begun to reflect on my own mortality. I look at you, a girl at the peak of her youth with her life ahead of her, and instead of making me feel older, you bring me a surprising sense of comfort.” Her gaze traveled toward mine and then lifted toward the window. Outside, the sky had turned a chalk blue.
“I suppose because I never had children around me, ones that I could mark time by the way they grew or the milestones they achieved, I didn’t feel the passage of time like most women.” She reached over to pour water into the small drinking glass Giselle had left by her side. With Marthe’s recent coughing spells, Giselle had been vigilant in making sure there was always a filled pitcher nearby.
The water slid down her throat, and the sound of her swallow was slightly perceptible.
“It has been strange for me to look at a young and bright girl across from me for the past year and a half. It’s made me feel more alive to have someone visit me and hear my stories, but it’s also forced me to recognize that I am not eternal. I won’t be around forever.”
I lowered my eyes. Marthe had never appeared sentimental with me before, and I was unsure how to respond.
I shifted my gaze toward her painting.
