“Would he recommend a painting by Vincent to them?”
“I am working on it. I am working on all these things.”
This is true. While I help Jo keep the books and organize the work, she is the one whispering in ears and planting the seeds of Vincent’s genius.
“I do expect that prices will continue to rise and until then we must be very careful about what we have available. These Americans like to believe they are getting something very unique, something one of a kind. Can you imagine how they would balk if they knew Vincent painted a dozen pictures of sunflowers? They need to think the work is singular. That it is theirs alone.”
“I have no doubt you can convince them of that.”
“I enjoy your unwavering confidence in me.”
“Oh, I waver.” I laugh to let her know it is a joke.
“I do not blame you. My moods have been so mercurial lately. But I find that Johan calms me.”
“He is good for you.”
“Indeed. I will have to make a trip to Paris soon. Several trips, possibly. The Americans are more likely to come there than here and I want to meet them in person.”
“What about a visit to New York?”
“That is also a possibility.”
“And you do not think Johan will mind.”
Jo laughs again. “No. But also it is none of his business what I do.”
Johan eventually proposes. He andJo are wed once their marriage contract is finalized. Both of them will retain the property they came into the union with and earnings after the marriage will be shared. Jo carves out a special dispensation for Vincent’s paintings. They belong to her and young Vincent and all of them will pass on to her son in the event of her death even if Johan outlives her.
She moves out of the boardinghouse and leaves me to run things, which I already enjoy. The new couple purchases the Villa Eikenhof, a sweet home with a studio for Johan to work in. He needs his own manageable world, as does Jo. They are often both content in their separate spheres.
It is not long before Willem Steenhoff makes a bold declaration inDe Amsterdammerthat he believes an entire museum should be dedicated to Vincent van Gogh.
“Vincent’s works have risen in status considerably,” he writes. “And there’s already greater demand for them. And so it may bethat ultimately his works will be scattered far and wide. There is an opportunity here for a patron to do something really laudable at a cost that will not be that huge. A collection of works by Vincent van Gogh would be of very great benefit to artists and art lovers. I hope that I will not be alone in thinking like this or expressing such a desire.”
He is playing right into Jo’s hands. It is miraculous.
The letters between the brothers have mostly been translated and cataloged, but not all of them. And I still fear that one will appear that reveals my relationship with Theo.
Jo, ever the voracious reader, carefully selects from Vincent’s ramblings to make him sound more astute, more interesting, vaguely profound. He wallows in self-pity for most of his correspondence and yet Jo will pull out a gem like “Someone who strives for feeling in his work must first feel and live with his heart.” She rightfully leaves some things out, such as “Painting and fucking a lot aren’t compatible; it weakens the brain and that’s what’s really damned annoying.” I know she holds things back as well. There have been times when I have reached across the table for a letter and she has pulled it back and tucked it into her dress. It happens whenever the correspondence is about Vincent’s time in Arles. I carefully broach the subject and she dismisses me every time with a few basic facts. Vincent had a row with Paul Gauguin. He was drinking and his mood was erratic. He harmed himself and after that he needed to be hospitalized. It certainly does not sound like the tragic and unspeakable episode Agostina made it seem to be.
The more Jo includes quotes from Vincent in the shows and in exhibition catalogs, the more are sent to us. People from all parts of Vincent’s and Theo’s lives have been sharing their correspondence with the brothers. We now have letters that Vincent and Theo both wrote to their sister Willemien, as well as correspondence Vincent had with many other painters. For a time I let go of my fears about seeing my name in the letters. We had readthrough everything Vincent and Theo wrote to each other. But then the new letters began appearing. And then there were the threats from Isaac.
Now I constantly worry that if and when we do face the truth of my previous relationship with Theo, it will break us. I have no idea how right I will be.
21
Emma
I lightly stalkMatthew for a week after returning from the island. Stella told me he regularly has lunch at that café he’d taken me to, so I make sure to post up at the bar there most days.
He finally strolls in one afternoon with his terrifying sister on his arm. They settle at the same table I shared with him in the far corner. I drop my fork to make a little scene, letting it loudly clatter onto the tiled floor, and as I straighten back up I glance toward Matthew. A small wave, a sheepish smile when our eyes meet. I return to my drink at the bar and promptly ignore him for an hour.
His stare cuts through me even though I don’t catch his gaze again. When I stand to leave, I walk over to the table.
“I’m so sorry about Stella,” I say to him. “I called.”
“I got your messages,” he replies. “It’s been…” He trails off.
