I reached beneath the underpinnings and felt the straight edges of the folder and pulled it out.
“Good, good,” she said hoarsely. “Bring it here.”
I carried it over to the bed and placed it between her open hands.
She closed her eyes for a moment and patted it with her palms.
“This contains essential information for you, Solange. Inside are all my important papers and a few select things that are precious to me. You’ll find the deed for the apartment, and now also my last will and testament. It’s all been notarized by an attorney.”
She struggled to undo the cord tied over the folder. A cough escaped her.
“Here, let me help.” I gently took the envelope from her and unknotted the cord.
The folder was thick with papers. As she searched to find certain legal documents, she placed the other contents to the side.
I saw old black-and-white photographs and smaller scraps of paper, and my eyes strained to glimpse a better view.
“We can look at those afterward, but this is important, Solange. I don’t know how much more time I have,” she said in a hoarse voice.
“This describes the contents of my estate. You’ll need to bring the deed to my attorney, whose name is listed at the bottom of my will. He has drawn up the paperwork so you and your father will inherit everything that I own.”
“Grandmother,” I protested. “You shouldn’t be speaking about these things... You’ll be fine. You just need to rest.”
“I have always been realistic, Solange. That is why I sold my pearls all those years ago. And I was lucky enough to receive some excellent advice from a banker at one of my salons, who told me to put the money in rubber factories in South America. That is why I still have savings in the bank, even now.” She smiled weakly.
“I am happy to be leaving you and your father something to make your lives a bit easier...”
My eyes began to water.
“I have never had an easy time with children. When your father was born, emotionally I was almost a child myself.” She placed the folio to her side and a yellowed, faded envelope slid out from the pile of legal documents and bank forms.
Marthe saw my eyes gravitate toward the envelope. Two black-and-white photographs peeked out from the open flap and a small, unfinished pencil sketch.
She turned her head to see what had captured my interest.
“Ah, yes, the pictures.”
Marthe reached over and pulled the small formal portraits out of the envelope.
“This is Charles,” she said, handing me a photograph of a man in a black wool coat and top hat. He was as handsome as I had imagined, with sharp aristocratic features and dark eyes.
“It is hard to believe he’s been gone now all these years.” She pressed a fingertip to his faded image. “He was only forty when he passed away. I became old but he never did.” She placed the photograph down and reached for the pencil sketch.
“He never had the chance to finish this...” Her voice broke off. “But I kept it all these years.”
It was the half-finished drawing of Marthe, her profile captured in a few shaky lines.
“You were fortunate to be captured by two wonderful men.” I placed my hand over hers.
She smiled and I could see she was forcing back her tears.
“And the other photograph; who is that one?”
She lifted the second portrait from the bed. This one was not of Charles, but rather of a couple with a small child. The woman, dressed in a somber black jacket and long skirt, held her hand over the child’s shoulder. The husband, heavyset with light hair and a full beard, looked wholly different from the elegant Charles. But as he stared into the photographer’s lens, his eyes appeared kind.
I studied each of the faces. And I knew as soon as I looked into the little boy’s eyes exactly who he was.
“This one is of Louise Franeau and her husband. The boy...”
