Page 6 of A Life Imagined
The office was located at the far end of the warehouse, and the route there took them past a series of large shelving units.Mathias kept the more delicate pieces in a separate climate-controlled section installed to one side of the main hangar.As they neared the door to the office, Rayan spotted an open crate of smashed clay figurines.It looked like someone had taken to them with a baseball bat.He wondered what lay behind that ominous sight.
“They found all sorts of things when they dug up the area during construction of the new museum.It’s like a time capsule of life in Paris.I’ve always loved that collection.”Elise spoke quickly when she got excited.“The French decorative arts is another favorite of mine.What about you?”
“Sorry?”
“Do you have a favorite collection at the Louvre?”
“I’ve never been.”
Elise stopped to look at him, cocking her head.“Oh.”Then she strode over to the office, gave a sharp rap on the door, and swung it open.“Rayan has never been to the Louvre,” she announced in lieu of a greeting.
Seated at his desk in the corner, Mathias didn’t look up from the papers in his hand.“And…?”
“He should come with us to Paris.I can give him the full tour.”
Mathias gave a disapproving grunt and glanced up at Rayan standing in the doorway.Rayan raised his eyebrows, and Mathias turned pointedly to his appraiser.“Weren’t you leaving?”
Elise held up her hands defensively.“Okay, but think about it.The place is a national treasure, part of our collective cultural education.”
“Go home, Dumont.”
She clasped her hands together and flashed Rayan a smile before bidding them both good night and taking her leave.
“She’s concerned about my cultural education?”Rayan asked when Elise had gone.
Mathias snickered.“You’re a hick from the colonies, remember?She considers it her patriotic duty.”He leaned back in his chair.“The price I pay for employing the only qualified appraiser willing to work in this town.”
“Guess there’s no harm in being eager.”Rayan stepped over and placed the paper bag on the desk.“Thought you might be hungry.”
Mathias glanced down at his watch as though only having realized the time.Then he picked up the bag and took out the sandwich.“Look at this—full service.”
While Mathias ate, Rayan looked around the office.Behind Mathias’s desk were a metal filing cabinet and several shelves heaving with document boxes.On the other side of the room, Elise’s desk was scattered with strange objects affixed with white tags.A labeled display of what appeared to be marble fragments was mounted to the wall.
“It’s not that I don’t want to see it,” Rayan said absently.Naturally, the prospect of exploring one of the country’s most prestigious museums appealed to him.And he’d certainly heard enough about it.
“Ignore her breathless fervor.The Louvre is mildly interesting.”
“But you’d prefer I didn’t come?”
“You’re perfectly capable of making your own decisions.”Mathias tossed the empty paper bag into the trash and got up from his chair.“Come on.I want to show you something.”
“The crate of broken figures?”Rayan replied, catching the way Mathias’s expression darkened.“What happened there?”
Mathias pulled open the office door.“Someone made a bad call.”
He tilted his head for Rayan to follow, and they stepped back into the warehouse.Mathias led him down an aisle between two shelving units crammed with merchandise in marked crates and boxes.Rayan stopped in front of a powder-white sculpture of a woman holding a child to her breast.Behind her head spanned a sort of halo, and the dress that draped her body had been carved to resemble the gentle fall of fabric.
“That’s ivory, late Gothic,” Mathias said from the end of the aisle.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s worth a mint.Some of this shit, you wouldn’t believe.”
Mathias reached a section of shelving that housed a clear container of books and opened the lid to remove one of the titles from the box.He handed the book to Rayan.Its red clothbound cover was slightly faded, and the corners were scuffed to reveal glimpses of the binder’s board beneath.
“You’ll be pleased to know I rescued it from a fascist treasure trove.”
It was an early copy of Albert Camus’sL’Étranger.Rayan couldn’t recall the number of times he’d read it.Someone had stamped the name D.Montecot in the top left-hand corner of the inside cover.Below that, the publishing house and the year it was printed were listed neatly in black type.
