Chapter 13 – Coffee and Orange Juice

On the last day of vacation, a new caretaker arrived at Hawthorn Mansion. He said that Mr. Robert had left for Laurent in a hurry due to urgent business, without even saying goodbye.

“He’s the nephew of the Baron, the owner of the mansion. At the Baron’s request, he came down here just for the summer holiday. Surely a kid like you wasn’t rude to him, right?”

Instead, he left the key to the garden-side door leading to the atelier in the mailbox, saying Sasha could use it whenever she wanted.

“So, what about Mr. Robert? When will he come back here?”

“How would people like you or me know that? If you’re lucky, maybe next summer.”

“And if I’m unlucky?”

“He won’t come back at all.”

Sasha was saddened by this hopeless news and pleaded for Mr. Robert’s address so she could at least send him a letter, but the caretaker, flustered, firmly refused.

Summer vacation ended that way, but Sasha still waited for him. After school, instead of going on outings to the Manolie forest with other children, she would run to Hawthorn Mansion. But Mr. Robert never appeared in the garden’s beach chair where he often sat. As time passed and winter approached, Sasha, distracted by playing with friends, eventually forgot about the man.

* * *

The atelier at Hawthorn Mansion was filled with light. When the shadows of leaves outside fell across the wooden floor, the sunlight shone through like glass, breaking into small fragments.

Colorful tulips and hydrangeas, pebbles picked up by the water, bird feathers, several carpets with unusual patterns. In the two years since the owner had been absent, Sasha had changed the once tidy space as she pleased. Like a bird making a cozy nest with her favorite things, she moved things around over a long time.

Robert paused as he entered the half-open atelier door. The girl, surrounded by unfinished canvases, was deeply asleep, unaware someone else had come in. Closing the door, he stepped inside and stopped in front of the golden clock.

‘What an odd taste. Is this one of her collections?’

The hands of the clock were stopped. It had completely lost its original function of telling time. Anyway, time was probably measured by the light coming in from outside.

Robert knew that Pierre-Auguste, Sasha’s patron, had permitted her to stay in Manolie instead of sending her to the Royal Academy of Art. The shopkeeper had mentioned he was a landscape painter in his youth. Well, she probably didn’t want to leave Manolie either. She was lucky. Robert raised his eyebrows. Still, if she wanted to succeed as an artist, she would have to leave Manolie for Laurent someday.

Fine dust floated in the sunlight. Removing his hat, he admired the canvas on the easel. It was still unfinished. Was it the Manolie coast? Pebbles wet from the broken waves sparkled gold in the sunlight. He stared at the painting for a long time. Tiny dust settled on his shoulder. The sixteen-year-old girl knew how to capture eternity in her paintings, even in moments she wasn’t aware of.

Sasha, who had been sprawled on the sofa, finally heard the presence and slowly opened her eyes. The man, holding his hat to his chest, turned and greeted her.

“Hello, Sasha.”

Deep, beautiful ultramarine blue. Rich viridian green… And, and… a frock coat! Something never seen in Manolie. Sasha, not fully awake, tried to sit up and bumped her forehead against the armrest, letting out a scream.

“Robert!”

“You need to use an honorific, Miss Sasha.”

He gently advised Sasha, who had fallen noisily to the floor. Sasha grabbed Robert’s hand and stood up. Her lips parted in a wide smile, showing even teeth. Mr. Robert had returned to Hawthorn Mansion. It had been exactly two years since he had suddenly appeared and then disappeared from this place where he knew no one.

* * *

When their hands brushed, Robert instinctively stepped back. Mr. Robert disliked being too close. Reminded of this forgotten fact, Sasha tried to keep an appropriate distance.

There was no maid to help with kitchen work at Hawthorn Mansion. Robert expertly brewed hot coffee and brought the cup back to the sofa. Sasha, staring at the orange juice placed before her, felt as if he had left for a few days and only just returned.

“Have you been in Laurent all this time?”

“I spent it doing boring work.”

“Why do you do that?”

At Sasha’s innocent question, Robert let out a faint laugh.

“Because there are things you have to do even if you don’t want to.”

Sasha didn’t understand why. Robert was sure, but he tried to help her understand. He lightly touched the wrinkle on the frowning girl’s nose and added,

“Those things don’t bring me joy, but they do give me satisfaction.”

Shrugging, he offered Sasha juice. She emptied the pretty orange glass in one go, and the concentrated orange scent burst at her nose. It was juice sold at Mr. Deni’s shop next to Manolie’s train station. Thick and lukewarm, with the taste of sitting in a coat pocket under the sun for a long time. Sasha glanced at the pocket of his frock coat hanging on the chair.

“Is that why you couldn’t come see me all this time?”

“Who knows. I don’t come here to see you. I come for summer vacation.”

“But I thought we shared a special friendship. I didn’t expect you to disappear for two years without a word.”

Robert started to say something, then stopped.

“My story wouldn’t interest you. So tell me yours, Sasha.”

“I hardly left here for two years! You don’t want to hear about school boring enough to make you faint, do you?”

“Of course not!”

Why was he laughing? Mr. Robert always looked pleased no matter what Sasha said. To be told her story would be boring by a man who laughed so easily. How dull must Laurent be?

“Of course not. Sasha, I heard you’re being sponsored by Pierre-Auguste.”

“How did you know?”

Sasha’s eyes widened in excitement.

“I heard it so much on the way here. That Sasha Vinoche is being sponsored by a famous noble from the capital.”

Robert, watching Sasha’s cheeks flush with shyness and joy, asked,

“Why didn’t you go to the Royal Academy of Art? With the Baron’s recommendation, you could have gotten in.”

“I went for a bit. But I couldn’t adjust, so I was quickly kicked out.”

Recalling that time, Sasha quickly became dejected. She struggled with following the techniques of masters and the rigid method of drawing assigned models. Sitting in a studio, painting indoors was unfamiliar. Sasha was used to setting her easel in the Manolie forest or darting between Hawthorn Mansion’s atelier and garden.

“The professor said my paintings were little more than rough sketches. He said bad habits should be corrected early.”

It was the first time Sasha had honestly told Robert what she’d heard there. Mr. and Mrs. Vinoche worried so much about sending young Sasha to Laurent alone, she hadn’t wanted to add more worries.

Sasha, being judged for her art outside Manolie for the first time, was deeply discouraged. According to the professor, the only truly meaningful paintings were religious or historical works. She tried to learn, but failed. She had no talent for such paintings. Her last religious painting at the Royal Academy had visible brush marks, and her model’s body was criticized for being too realistic.

“If you’re just going to erase all flaws and draw everyone with perfect proportions, what’s the point of painting? And I like landscapes more than people.”

Sasha protested timidly. Robert might think it was nonsense, since he was surely a gentleman from Laurent. She glanced at him, but couldn’t read any change in his expression.

“Still, my patron is generous. He said if I don’t want to, I don’t have to attend the Royal Academy, and can paint here in Manolie as I like.”

“I see.”

Robert recalled Pierre-Auguste’s excited face, boasting about Sasha’s painting. More than generosity, he probably realized the academy’s method wasn’t right for her. The Baron was a good patron, not blindly insisting on conservative Laurent society standards.

“So now I’m learning from Mr. Bertland! He was a landscape painter in Laurent when he was young.”

Sasha puffed her chest and spoke proudly.

“It’s all thanks to you, Mr. Robert. Because you lent me the space, I could paint freely. All the money the Baron sends is spent on paints!”

“That’s good to hear.”

Robert nodded, looking at the canvas full of blue paint. Lately, she seemed obsessed with painting the sea. He looked around the blue-filled atelier, lifted his cup with thumb and forefinger, and drank.

Sasha remembered Grandma Elodie saying gentlemen in the capital sometimes add a little alcohol to their coffee. There was a hint of cognac in Robert’s cup. Sitting with his long legs crossed, Robert was much kinder than before, but for some reason, sitting across from him made Sasha’s shoulders shrink. Sasha was proud she’d grown a lot in two years, but looking at him now, she wasn’t so sure.