‘When do we leave?’
16
FRANCE, 1937
Hope lay back on the grass, oblivious to anyone else around them as Gus’s fingers interlaced with hers. They were lying in the sunshine, soaking in the warmth of the late afternoon, and she couldn’t imagine being any happier anywhere else in the world, and certainly not with anyone else.
It somehow felt as if they’d known each other forever, even though in fact they hardly knew each other at all. But when she thought about it, she’d opened up to Gus more than she ever had anyone else—they’d talked endlessly at times, and other times, like now, they were happy to be silent. His hand in hers, or her fingers laced with his—they were content so long as they were touching.
When she turned her head and saw that Gus was staring at her, Hope felt her cheeks flush. So many times already she’d hoped he might kiss her, but so far all she’d received was a soft peck on the cheek or a warm hug. Even after so long apart, when she’d thought he might pull her straight into his arms, he’d been unfailingly polite. Almosttoopolite for her liking. Although she had no idea how to tell a man to be less of a gentleman.
‘Tell me what you’d usually be doing today,’ he asked.
Hope sighed. ‘On a day off like today, I’d be in my studio, painting.’ In the beginning it had been her favourite thing to do, but lately she’d struggled for inspiration, wondering if it truly was her calling or nothing more than a hobby. Her lack of sales or interest in her work would suggest the latter, and if she was honest with herself, she wasn’t sure that painting was her great love. What she loved most was the idea of independence, and art had been one of the only ways she’d been able to think of that might give her what she yearned for. ‘It’s always been where I go and what I do, whenever I can.’Until lately. Lately, she’d almost been avoiding it.
‘I can imagine you in paint-sloshed overalls,’ he said with a grin.
Hope opened her mouth, about to reply, but Gus spoke again before she could.
‘Your studio, is it far from here?’ he asked. ‘I’d love to see it.’
Hope let go of his fingers, suddenly nervous. Her process wasn’t something she’d ever shared with anyone before, and she wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to now.
‘I, ah?—’
‘Let’s have something to eat first, and then you can decide,’ he said, as if sensing her discomfort. ‘I packed a bottle of wine, cheese and a baguette. We can just sit here all afternoon if that’s what you’d prefer.’
Hope sat up and watched him take the items from his basket, grateful that she had some time to think before she had to answer. But the longer she spent with Gus, the more she listened to him, the more her heart and stomach fluttered with every long look and brush of their fingers…it was making her inclined to think that if there was one person she might share her art with, it would be him.
Even if art wasn’t the key to independence she’d once thought it might be, her studio was still her sanctuary and shestill loved creating, which made the idea of sharing it feel akin to baring her soul.
Hope found that her hand was shaking as she tried to turn the key in the lock to her studio. Gus stood behind her, close enough to make her nervous and wonder whether it had been a good idea to bring him. But when he’d asked to see the space, she’d felt a tug inside her, wanting to show it to him.
By the time they’d finished lunch, she’d quietly taken him by the hand and led him the short distance.
‘This is it,’ she said, throwing one arm out as they stepped into the small, light-filled space. Hope was suddenly self-conscious and wrapped her arms around herself as she watched Gus move through the room. Showing one piece to a prospective gallery owner was one thing, but letting Gus browse her raw work in progress felt like something else entirely. Besides, she genuinely cared about his opinion.
‘It’s beautiful, Hope,’ he said.
‘Well, it’s not much, but?—’
‘I mean the paintings,’ he said, going to stand in front of her latest work, which was still placed on the easel. ‘They’re stunning.’
Hope didn’t say anything, because what was there to say? She’d thought her work was good, too, but there were so many artists and only a handful of opportunities to find a gallery to display them. Which meant that almost every penny she earned paid for her rent, both here and for the apartment. She swallowed. And almost every penny was now gone, although she wasn’t about to tell Gus just how bad things were for her.
‘I only have the studio until the end of the month,’ she said. ‘I just, well, I think it’s time to focus on something else.’
‘What will you do with all your paintings?’ he asked.
Hope shrugged. She didn’t even want to think about it, but she’d made up her mind and there was nothing more she could do. There was only so long she could hold on to a childhood fantasy.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘All I know is that it’s time for me to find a real job, to make my way in the world, and I don’t think that involves art anymore.’
Gus turned back to her, still standing in front of her painting. ‘Even though you love it so much?’
‘It comes down to finances, Gus, that’s all. I can’t afford the luxury of a studio, if it’s never going to make me an income.’ She looked away as tears pricked her eyes. ‘The only thing worse than giving up my dream would be going home. It’s time to find a new dream, and I worry that if I keep doing this and not succeeding, I’m going to start to hate the hobby I love.’ Hope sighed. ‘Maybe all it was ever supposed to be was a hobby, not a job.’
They hadn’t seen each other for almost a month, after he’d left Paris to return home, but Hope already felt closer to Gus than to anyone else. He was so easy to talk to, and she felt that if she were to see him every day for the rest of her life, they still wouldn’t run out of things to talk about. The only hard thing about seeing him again was knowing that he’d only be in Paris for a few days, before he went back home.
