Page 84 of The Paris Trip

But she wasn’t sensible, dependable Maeve anymore, was she? Mosquitoes be damned. And she wanted to stay out here in the vineyard forever, loving Leo and being loved by him, and not thinking much beyond tonight…

‘Do you really have equations living in your brain?’ he asked.

EPILOGUE

A hand on his arm made Leo turn from contemplating the largest canvas in the exhibition, Maeve Among the Vines, to find Liselle standing behind him. His nerves jolted, his memory flashing back to the dangerous moment when he’d told his manager that he and Maeve were getting married, and she had literally bared her teeth at him. But to his relief she was smiling now.

The prospect of making big money from his paintings seemed to have a powerful effect on his manager these days. And if that made Liselle more inclined to relinquish the past, then he had no complaints. Especially since he would be making money too…

‘This is your best work ever,’ Liselle told him with soft satisfaction. ‘Everyone is saying so. Even the critics, and you know how hard they are to please. Sascha is delighted. You already have ten confirmed sales, by the way. And Blanchy is here.’

His eyes widened, moving past her to search the small but crowded exhibition space, already jostling with buyers and art critics and invited guests. Blanchy was Belgian, and one of the biggest art critics on the Parisian scene. If he gave an artist the thumbs up, they were bound to be lauded everywhere. And if he ever gave an artist the thumbs down, their career could be finished in a matter of hours. In fact, someone should probably save everyone a great deal of heartache and simply remove Blanchy's thumbs...

‘Did you invite him? I certainly didn’t. He hated my last exhibition. He said it was like something from the 90s. And I think he meant the 1890s.’

‘The art of the 1890s was massively influential,’ Liselle pointed out calmly, studying the calculator she’d produced from her jacket pocket, but shook her head. ‘No need to worry. I just left Blanchy looking at that odd little piece, Maeve Distracted. He stared at it for a good five minutes without speaking, then made a note on his phone. When I asked what he thought of it, he said… “Not bad. Not bad at all.” Then he wandered off to look at that one of Maeve in Jean’s café. The smaller piece with the fish in the background.’

‘Maeve Fish-Watching?’ Leo sucked in a breath, trying not to feel giddy with excitement. He wasn’t a young pretender anymore. He was an artist in his prime and he needed to take such successes in his stride. Also, he would soon be a married man, with all the responsibilities that went with that. Talking of which…

‘Have you seen Maeve?’ He had arrived early tonight to oversee the final touches to the exhibition before the launch party for press and interested parties, and hadn’t had a chance to check yet if his fiancée had arrived safely.

With a flicker of her eyelids, Liselle merely jerked her head over his shoulder.

Sure enough, there was Maeve, pushing her grandmother in her wheelchair, accompanied by a slight figure in a grey tracksuit and hoody, the face hidden in deep shadow.

Leo frowned, surprised. Maeve had not expected her mother to attend the exhibition, though she had invited her grandmother, of course. But they must have turned up together, and he could tell by the rapturous smile on Maeve’s face that she was delighted to be able to show them both around the exhibition in person. They had stopped in front of one of his favourite canvases, Maeve: A Study In Blue. It was a portrait of Maeve lying in an immaculate white swimming costume beside the pool in Bordeaux, the dappled light from the water rippling over her body and face, even the costume overcast with it, so that she seemed almost as blue and fluid as the pool itself.

He recalled the day he’d painted that while Maeve posed for him, poolside. They had made love for the first time the night before, almost silently, not wanting anyone in the house to hear them, but with scalp-tingling intensity. And when he’d tried to capture her on canvas the next morning, that knowledge had shone from her eyes, her entire body exuding a bold new sensuality that was the dominant theme of the painting.

‘What does Maeve think of the exhibition?’ Liselle asked lightly, though he felt the weight of a more serious question behind her words.

She knew, better than anyone perhaps, how important it was for him that the woman in his life understood his art and appreciated it. Liselle had been his muse for a few years, though no more. And he still valued her opinion and input into his career. But she was a better person as his manager than she ever had been as his lover.

Now, he was able to look at her in a totally impersonal way and to count her as a friend, nothing more. And Liselle seemed to have embraced that new reality too. Yet they still shared one thing in common, and that was his art.

‘Let’s ask her,’ he said with a smile as Maeve headed their way, pushing her grandmother up the ramp onto the raised platform dominated by his larger canvases.

Her mother, he noticed, had disappeared.

Maeve came to kiss him, and his arm curved naturally about her waist, pulling her close.

‘Hello, darling,’ he murmured against her lips.

Love and desire flooded him, as they did every time they kissed, and he marvelled at how strong the sensations still were. Part of him had been expecting this attraction to fade, especially once she had accepted his proposal of marriage. Instead, it seemed to be growing stronger every day, enhanced by each plan they made for their future together.

‘Not here,’ Maeve whispered, though with a chuckle. ‘Maybe later?’

‘Now there’s a promise… ’

She wriggled free, shooting him a smiling glance to soften her words, and hurriedly introduced her grandmother to Liselle.

While the two women exchanged a few polite remarks, Maeve whispered quickly to Leo, as though having read his mind, ‘My mother couldn’t stay. Too many members of the press here, apparently. She prefers to keep a low profile, she says. And she doesn’t want us to have too much of a public connection, not now I’m going to be staying in Paris.’

He felt a distinct lightening of his mood at her words, for they hadn’t yet decided where they were going to live full-time and he’d been concerned she might choose England. Wherever Maeve went, he knew he must follow. But moving to England would have meant immense upheaval for him, including the handing over of responsibility for his side of the family business entirely to Bernadette, who was capable but still learning the ropes.

‘Paris?’

Her eyes twinkled up at him, catching the relief in his voice. ‘Yes, alright, you win. Paris is the most sensible choice. Besides, I can easily get work here as a teacher of English, whereas it would be far harder for you to adjust to life in a new country. Your English is superb but you’d need to construct a whole new network of art contacts over there. And Liselle would never leave France, and I know how important she is for your career.’

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