Secrets of Paris_ A Novel - Luanne Rice [45]
Michael cocked his eyebrows. He waved his arm in a half-circle. “What do you think so far?”
Two walls had been torn out and makeshift partitions erected; the floor had been taken up. A pile of slate rested in one corner. Cartons holding tiny mosaic squares were stacked at Michael’s feet. A dropcloth covered a nondescript oak desk. Plaster dust was everywhere.
“Well, it’s not splendid yet,” Didier said. “I hope you don’t mind honesty.”
“Actually, it’s a relief to hear some,” Michael said. “So far I’ve been impressed by how much the French can bullshit. They are great smilers. I’ve been promised things you wouldn’t believe that never materialize—I have the feeling the Minister’s main function is to say ‘yes’ to your face while saying ‘no’ behind your back.”
“Yes, that is true,” Didier said. “We are extremely diplomatic, aren’t we?”
“Extremely,” Michael said.
“What problems are you having?”
“Name it. Finding contractors everyone agrees on. For example, I interviewed a carpenter who seemed fine. He’s worked in museums before—the Marmottan and the old Jeu de Paume. He had good references. I submitted his name to the ministry for review, and Charles Legendre takes a walk down to tell me the guy is a bum, a neighbor of some deputy minister’s cousin. His wife divorced him, and he never sends her alimony.”
“So, they forbid you to hire him?” Didier asked.
“No, but the message is there. I’ll make an enemy of the deputy minister if I do,” Michael said.
“I see,” Didier said.
“Another thing is the infighting that goes on here,” Michael said. “It’s more complicated than the U.N. Do I answer to Charles Legendre or Pierre Dauphin …”
“I know Pierre,” Didier said. “What’s your problem with him?”
“He’s curator of the Salle Hubert, and he has control of a painting by Poussin that I’d like to hang in here. Legendre supposedly wants me to have it, Dauphin wants to hang on to it. They’re playing Capture the Flag. Do you know that game?”
“No, but it sounds simple,” Didier said. “I was a boy when the Germans occupied France, remember. Possession is power. Yes, I can see Pierre playing the game.”
“That’s just one example,” Michael said. “I want two major paintings for the Salle; also a tapestry and several less important works. No one will part with anything. The easiest thing I’ve done is commission a cabinetmaker to build a table. He lives a quiet life in Burgundy, so no one here knows him or has a bone to pick with him.”
“To you, this business with the Poussin symbolizes the troubles you are having,” Didier said. “I am a peace-loving man, but to achieve peace, you must think like a general. The Poussin is France. Legendre is DeGaulle. Pierre is Hitler. You, my friend, are Eisenhower. I, of course, am Churchill.”
“How do we get the Poussin, Winston?”
“You must ask yourself one question,” Didier said, leaving no doubt that he was about to present a brilliant strategy. “Who will be curator of the Salle des Quatre Saisons?”
Michael frowned. His exhaustion made him feel amazed and thick. He realized that he didn’t know the answer. “I have no idea. Its period is the seventeenth century, so I suppose Charles. On the other hand, it adjoins the Salle Hubert …”
“Then consider it unclaimed turf. Come, let us put a bug in Adolf’s ear.”
On the way to Pierre Dauphin’s office they met Anne. She was hurrying down the stairs, her gaze directed at her feet. She banged into Didier.
“Excusez-moi,” she said, blushing. Glancing around Didier she caught sight of Michael and beamed. Michael introduced them. Forming a little triangle on the stairs, they made polite small talk.
“My wife admires your work,” Didier said.
“How delightful!” Anne said. “I am so pleased.” Although speaking to Didier, she kept looking at Michael. She stood on the step above him. Even so, she had to tilt her head up to look into his eyes. His longing for her was so great, and hers for him, that it had to be obvious