Page 56 of The Velvet Hours
When she squeezed his hand, it was as cold as wax. She gripped tighter, hoping she could transfer her own heat back to him. To somehow heal him with her touch.
She followed Pierre outside her apartment and into the elevator. When a carriage pulled up to the side of the street, Pierre hoisted Charles into the coach. Marthe only expected Pierre to inform thedriver of the doctor’s address. But he surprised her by doing something more than she expected. He pulled himself into the coach, insisting that he travel beside Charles.
She ran beside the coach for a few yards, before stopping from exhaustion. Slowly, she returned to the steps of her building and began to make her way back to the apartment. Stepping inside the vestibule, she saw something glimmering on the floor and knelt down to pick it up. The gold watch had slipped from Charles’s pocket. She tightened her fingers around it and then opened the casing, her eyes first meeting with the image of the engraved dove. She checked the clock in the parlor. It was 6:14 a.m. Marthe adjusted the dial, and silently prayed that she would have the chance to move the hands once again.
27.
Marthe
Paris 1898
It was Boldini, not Charles, who arrived at her door two days later. Seeing him dressed in black, she knew immediately why he had come.
“I am sorry to be here under such unfortunate circumstances,” he said as he stepped into her apartment.
“It’s Charles...” Her words were barely audible. “He’s the reason you’re here.”
He lowered his eyes and nodded.
“A few weeks ago, he wrote to me and asked that I be the one to tell you when the time came. He wanted to make sure you were informed as promptly as possible.”
She pulled her arms around herself. Her skin now felt terribly cold.
“He passed away last night. I was informed by a mutual friend.”
She remained quiet for a moment as she tried to gather her words.She felt the floor falling beneath her, and she struggled to regain her composure.
“He had been ill for some time.” Her voice faltered as she spoke. “I suppose he was holding on just long enough until you finished your portrait of me.”
Boldini nodded. “Yes, he wrote me saying that was the case. I painted it as quickly as I could, while still ensuring that you were captured with all the beauty and radiance you deserve.”
She looked at the floor, not wanting to show Boldini her eyes. She knew he would read her immediately, that he wouldn’t be fooled by her stoic expression. He was a master of seeing what lay beneath. One glance at her, and he would penetrate every emotion she hoped to conceal.
“Please,” she said softly. “Why don’t you come into the parlor and see how beautiful your painting looks now that it’s been properly hung. It made the delivery men blush; I knew you’d be pleased.”
She motioned for him to follow her, pushing through the French doors and into the room where only days before Charles and she had spent their last moments together.
“It is even more magnificent outside the walls of my studio.” He reached into his breast pocket for a cigar and lit it. The smell contrasted with the Oriental blend of Charles’s pipe, a fragrance she now missed more than ever.
She tried to force herself to smile, but it felt false. For the first time since it had been delivered, she felt at odds with the way Boldini portrayed her in the portrait. In the painting, she was depicted so full of life and warmth. But now, in her grief, a glacial coolness ran through her veins, just as it had when her sister died. It was the same feeling, the sensation that nothing in the world could ever make her warm again.
Giselle, who had overheard the news, brought tea and a plate of biscuits into the room, hoping the tea would calm her mistress. Buteven as Marthe poured the tea for Boldini and filled a cup for herself, she continued to shiver.
“You are a beautiful and clever young woman, Marthe. You will continue to have a good life, I’m certain of it.”
She could see his eyes looking around the room. Even though he made an effort to appear discreet as he exhaled blue circles of smoke into the air, she could see him absorbing all of her little collections that lined the shelves.
“You are not frivolous or stupid like so many other women I’ve met in Paris. Even your collections reflect a great intelligence, a keen eye. To me, this demonstrates you will always land on your feet.”
“I am flattered you have such confidence in me.” His words had a temporary soothing effect on her. “Thank you.”
“I have complete confidence... ,” he said as he extinguished his cigar in a crystal ashtray. Marthe winced slightly. That crystal bowl was where Charles had also always emptied his pipe.
“You must let me help you in any way you need. I hope it doesn’t sound disrespectful during this time of mourning, but I believe we speak a similar language. And that we share a love of beautiful things, too.”
She finally raised her eyes toward him. His honesty and ability to treat her as a peer touched her deeply. “Yes, I do feel we share similar tastes.”
“It’s a shame you can’t openly partake in the rituals of mourning Charles. The Mass is at Notre Dame d’Auteuil this evening. The funeral is the following morning. Émilienne is in perhaps a state of greater shock than you.”
