He hands her a polished rock with a metal handle and leads her to an already complete figure of a cow with small areas of gold gilding on its harness and saddle blanket.
She dons a pair of white cotton gloves. Though they are too big for her, and stained from use, they make her feel elegant, like a lady. Léon shows her how to run the smooth, cool stone along the gilt to bring out a high sheen.
“And now,” he announces, pulling off his own gloves with a flourish,“c’est l’heure vert.”
“It’s the ‘green hour’?”
“Exactament. Time to meet my friends for an absinthe.”
Maëlle looks up at him expectantly.
At that moment, Monsieur Maréchal walks in, making his last rounds of the factory for the evening. His sharp eyes flicker back and forth between the two of them; he does not seem pleased to see them standing so close to each other.
“Keep your mind on your work, little girl,” Maréchal says. “You must burnish this cow tonight before you are done with your workday. And remember: Gold gilt is delicate, and precious. It can be ruined far too easily.”
“Oui, monsieur,”says Maëlle. “I understand.”
Maréchal casts a severe look at Léon, who merely smiles and wishes him a good night. Then the foreman takes his hat and jacket from the peg near the door and walks out.
“One last thing to know about gold gilt,” says Léon in a quiet voice, his gaze returning to linger on Maëlle’s face. “It should never be left without its proper ending; only burnishing will bring out its true luster. See you tomorrow, little girl.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
PRESENT DAY
PARIS
Cady
Late in the afternoon on the following day, Cady returned to the Musée Carnavalet carrying a pink box tied with rough twine and sealed with a gold foil sticker from the Pâtisserie des Rêves. She had spent a good fifteen minutes perusing the displays in the gloriously pink, sweet-smelling shop. Each pastry was more beautiful and enticing than the last, but she finally settled on a pastel rainbow ofmacarons, an elegantfraisier—a tiny white cake topped with crème brûlée—and a slice of Black Forest cake with shaved dark chocolate and sprinkled with powdered sugar.
“Just a little thank-you for setting up the meeting with Jean-Paul Mirassou,” Cady said to Madame Martin. “He was very nice.”
“He is single,” Madame Martin said knowingly.
Cady’s mouth open and closed, guppy-like.
Madame Martin laughed. She held the pink box to her nose, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. Setting it to the side, she patted it as though it were a cherished pet.
“I apologize for being so forward. I am very fond of Jean-Paul. He was engaged to be married, but they broke up on the eve of thewedding. The poor man needs someone to take care of, and I have always thought he would make a very good husband. I have known him since he was a child. He acts very serene, but in reality...” She trailed off with a shake of her head.
“Jean-Paul mentioned that the current owner of Château Clement is a novelist,” Cady said, to change the subject. “Have you read his work? I bought a translation ofThe Château, but even in English it’s a little...”
“Difficult to understand?” Madame Martin scoffed. “To say the least. I never cared for that sort of experimental fiction. Give me a good romance any day.”
“I was hoping it would give me some insight into the history of the château. Jean-Paul said that around the turn of the twentieth century Yves and his wife commissioned a carousel from the Bayol factory. An entire carousel for just one family. Hard to imagine.”
“Today’s wealthy families might own a private jet, or an island retreat. Different times, different indulgences.”
“True.”
“Of course, most of the châteaux owners lost everything over the course of the World Wars. Not only were many buildings damaged and looted, but afterward economic changes and increased taxes meant huge landholdings were no longer profitable. Unless, of course, the owners could produce wine, or turn their homes into hotels or resorts.”
“Is that why so many were left to fall into ruin?”
She nodded. “The wordchâteaumeanscastle, though it is applied to everything from a massive medieval stone fortress to a delicately detailed, slightly large house. The government stepped in to salvage some of the more noteworthy or historic châteaux, but can’t afford to restore them all, much less maintain them. It is a great shame.”
“You said your husband is from Provence. Has he been to Château Clement?”
