Page 41 of The Velvet Hours
“Solange?” Alex had seen me as soon as I walked in, and as he started toward me, he opened his hands to greet me.
“I was in the neighborhood, and I couldn’t pass by without saying hello,” I said quickly. “You and your father were so kind and generous to me during my last visit, I wanted to bring you something to show my gratitude.”
I handed him the box of cookies.
“This wasn’t necessary... I know my father was happy not only to meet you, but also to see your grandfather’s Haggadah again.”
I smiled. “And I was glad to learn more about my grandfather.”
“Come... ,” he said, making a small gesture toward the back. “My father isn’t here today, but we could have some tea.” He tapped the box from the bakery. “And I wouldn’t want to be left alone to eat these all by myself.”
“They’re only a few cookies, I’m afraid. The selection in all the bakeries now is quite sparse...”
He nodded. “One of the first casualties of the war,” he answered playfully.
“My grandmother somehow always manages to still get the best pastries, but I’m not sure how she does it.”
“How lucky you are to have such a grandmother...”
“Yes, she is rather remarkable.” I let out a small laugh. “You’d probably find her quite charming. She lives as if time has stood still.”
“And what time period has she maintained?”
“The Belle Époque.” I smiled.
“The peak of decadence, then.” He was clearly amused.
“Yes. Originally I thought I was going to write a play about her. But now I’m thinking I have enough material to write a book about her life.”
“So I’m about to have tea with a budding novelist?” He pulled out one of the chairs for me to sit down.
I lowered my eyes, slightly embarrassed that the discussion had turned toward me. “Writing her story gives me a distraction from the war...”
“You are full of surprises. The last time you came, you showed us a priceless Haggadah, and now you tell me you are at work on a book yourself. May I ask how old you are, Solange?”
“I’m nineteen.” I felt myself blush when I answered him. I had never had someone flirt with me before. “And you?”
“Far older.” He returned my smile. “Twenty-one in fact.”
“A veritable older gentleman...”
“Indeed.” He placed his hands on the table. His fingers were white and slender, more delicate than I had imagined. I remembered how my grandmother had said it had been the moment she saw Boldini’s hands that she first discovered the artist’s beauty.
“And now this gentleman must get the lovely lady some tea.”
He stood up and went back toward the storeroom, returning minutes later with the tray.
***
I must have stayed with Alex for well over an hour. He went back at least twice to refill the teapot with more hot water, and the box of cookies I brought were soon finished to nothing but a few remaining crumbs.
We talked about our favorite books and the writers we most admired. I also told him about my grandmother and how she had begun life as the daughter of a laundress yet was now ensconced in an apartment of silk and velvet. “You have the material of a nineteenth-century novel there, don’t you?” Alex said, impressed.
“Yes, I suppose I do,” I laughed.
“You have my utter vote of confidence, Solange.” He smiled. “I can’t wait to read it.”
“I have to finish it first,” I laughed. “That’s the hard part. I’ve been taking my notebook to one of the cafés near our house and trying to work there. Somehow it’s easier to work there than when I’m at home.”
