connection to Vita, and he spotted them in an archive among Quimbyâs papers.â
âHe stole them, for you?â
âBorrowed, Mr. Lambert,â she says firmly.
Nonsense, I know those places, you canât turn a page without a pair of white gloves. As if theyâd let this girl bring them halfway around the world. Christ, all this time, these photos have been floating around? âIt was just aâwell, it was a shock to see Vitaâs face again after all this time. I canât help you.â¦â
âBut you must!â The color rises in her cheeks, a gorgeous bloom. âIâm going ahead with the story whether you like it or not.â
âNot.â
âPlease, Mr. Lambert.â She tries to control her frustration. âFor me it is about family, as much as anything else. Youâre the only one who was there with Vitaââ She stumbles, realizes what sheâs said.
âIâm the only one alive, you mean?â
âI donât mean to be tactless.â Sheâs too young to know how to handle this. âIt must have been a terrible time for you. Everyone knowsâ¦â She chooses her words carefully now. âEveryone has heard how you lost your son, and Vita. I just hoped youâd be able to help me find the truth.â
I close my eyes for a moment and rub the bridge of my nose. The afternoon sun has burned a vivid red-and-gold corona behind my lids. The truth? I donât even know what this is anymore. Vita, Vita, Vita ⦠Christ. Days go by now, weeks, even, when I donât think of that name.
âI canât help you.â
âCanât or wonât?â
Damn, sheâs cocky. âWhy donât you just clear off back to the city?â
Good, Iâve shocked her. âThatâs not very nice.â
âNice?â I rail on her, then lower my voice. âWho the hell said artists were supposed to be nice ?â Look at Varian, at everything he did for the artists whose work he loved. How did they repay him? Sure, there was the odd exceptionâlike Lipchitz, he was the best of the lot and a good friend to Varianâbut most of them turned their back on him once they didnât need him. Lipchitz never forgot what Fry did for him, but Chagall wouldnât even sign the print Varian practically had to beg him to put into the Flight portfolio. After all Varian had done for him. I stare at the girl, and she flinches. Maybe thereâs still something in my gaze after all. Iâve rattled her. âLetâs take a walk.â
I usher her on around the house toward the beach. I follow the trail of pine needles to the lean-to where we stack split logs every autumn and the boys have left the Christmas tree. Her high heels are sinking in the sand, and as she pauses to slip them off, I see their red soles flash like a warning. My chest is tight, and once sheâs walked on ahead, I search in my pocket for my inhaler. Iâve left it in the studio. I start to panic, but Annieâs voice comes to me: Easy, Gabe. Thatâs it, try and relax. Easy now. Breathe. Once my lungs have eased, I catch up with the girl and she turns. âItâs beautiful here,â she says. âI can see why you love it.â
I hesitate. She canât sweet-talk me, oh no. âYou came out here alone?â What I want to say is: Who knows youâre here?
âIâm a big girl.â She takes a deep breath of cold sea air, guileless, and shrugs off her jacket. âWhen I heard you had a cottage down here on the beach, I was expecting somethingâ¦â Her voice trails off, aware that sheâs said the wrong thing again.
âSomething grander?â
âI just meant,â she says carefully, âsomething different, what with your success, and reputation.â
âItâs not much, but Annie and I built this place ourselves the summer we moved out here, 1951.â I run my
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