Chapter 18 – From Your Elie

A bicycle with a green ribbon tied to its handle squeaked to a stop in front of the hawthorn tree. Sasha, who braked in a hurry, parked the bike and peered into the open mailbox of Hawthorn Mansion. The careless postman must have just shoved everything in and left.

Inside the mailbox were several letters stamped by the Laurent post office. They were all addressed to Mr. Robert, surely. Sasha took the envelopes out to deliver them to the man inside. Nothing stood out—until she found a lilac-scented purple envelope.

From your Elie.

It was an unusually smooth, high-quality envelope among the thick, stiff ones. There was a friendly signature in one corner below. Elie? Isn’t that a woman’s name? Sasha was suddenly curious. Could it be a letter from the woman who had arrived by carriage at the mansion last time?

Sasha, holding the letter, hurried inside. Mr. Robert was in the study. As soon as she knocked, she was allowed to enter. Sasha delivered the letters to his desk.

“Are they all from Laurent?”

He didn’t answer. After waiting a while, Sasha realized she was being ignored.

“Leave them there and go now.”

Mr. Robert calmly ordered, picking up a letter knife. His voice was dry, like a plank of wood. Sasha quietly turned toward the door.

“Sasha.”

At his voice calling her again, she quickly looked back. But Mr. Robert didn’t even lift his head as he added,

“Don’t touch the mailbox from now on. I’ll check it myself.”

Sasha nodded. With an apologetic smile, the Manolie girl politely promised not to touch the letters anymore. Just before the door closed, Robert unconsciously lifted his head to look at her. The pink in her cheeks had faded, and her complexion resembled the faint, sparkling silver of the Manolie seashore in the afternoon.

* * *

Lunch time had passed. Robert knew Sasha was waiting in the dining room, but he didn’t go out. Taking off his glasses and stretching, his shoulders felt stiff.

He grabbed the letters he had set aside, not very important, and skimmed through them. A letter from Eleonore—no need to reply to that. It was the same old story about the child being sick and their living expenses already running out.

Robert knew that wasn’t true, and most of the money he supported them with went to Eleonore’s vanity. But what mattered was that her child was mentioned in his father’s will, and Robert was obliged to care for Eleonore and her child until the child came of age. He tapped the desk lightly with his fingers as he put the envelope down.

“Are you very busy?”

The sound of someone approaching, and Sasha Vinoche peeked in through the door. The girl, who usually entered without a sound, asked timidly.

“What about the painting?”

Suddenly, Robert realized Sasha had grown a lot. As he leaned back against the chair, her slender face and long limbs caught his eye. She was definitely at an age to attract attention from boys. Unconsciously, his fingers tapped the desk a bit faster. So, in two years, this girl would be an adult.

Don’t excite her… At that moment, Robert recalled Mr. Vinoche’s words. If it weren’t for his own unpredictable whim, he would never have crossed paths with Sasha Vinoche’s trivial life.

“You said before, if I could freely come to the garden, I’d paint a picture for you to hang on the wall. If you tell me what you want, I’ll definitely paint it for you this summer vacation.”

Thinking he didn’t remember, Sasha explained cautiously. Robert fell into thought. This desire was unnecessarily impulsive and irrational. By chance, he was captivated by her painting, perhaps confusing the feeling for the artwork with his feelings for the artist.

Benoît Vinoche’s words were correct. If he couldn’t take responsibility, he should end it at curiosity. It didn’t matter if the painting became special, but it was a problem if the artist did. A wealthy man supporting a talented young girl. Eleonore’s words, which he hadn’t paid attention to, circled in his mind. To others, maybe there was no difference already. Robert, having reached a conclusion, laughed lightly.

“Anything.”

“Huh?”

Sasha stood blankly. Robert knew what she was hoping for. Surrounded by beautiful woods and sea, but living in a village where that’s all there is, the girl considered her friendship with a stranger as something special. He didn’t know everything, but…

“Just paint anything, Sasha.”

Robert didn’t take it back. Sasha acted as if there was an answer written on the wooden floor. An awkward silence settled. Her face grew paler than before, now resembling a nereid of the sea.

“If you don’t have any other business, I’d like you to leave now.”

At those words, Sasha snapped out of it and quickly looked up.

“Yes. Sorry for bothering you when you’re busy.”

The girl apologized politely and quickly left the study. As the door closed behind her, Robert instinctively sensed the disappointment and embarrassment of a girl rejected by someone she considered special. He calmly accepted the futile end of this sandcastle-like relationship and stood up. It was time to wrap up his meaningless country life.

* * *

Manolie’s train station was always quiet. Since coming to this place, Robert had never seen it crowded with passengers. He checked his wristwatch. There was still a little time before the train arrived.

Robert took a flat leather cigar case from his pocket. Heading away from the tracks, he thought that when he returned to Laurent, he should sell Hawthorn Mansion first.

If you could call it a conversation, after that last day, he hadn’t seen Sasha again. Before he could even keep his distance, she avoided him first. The bicycle with the ribbon was still parked at the gate, and he could hear footsteps in the hallway leading to the atelier, but he never ran into Sasha.

Even when reading outside or tending the garden, she no longer hovered around him as before. Sometimes he sensed her gaze, but when he turned, there was no one—only sunlight filtering through the leaves. The last summer at Hawthorn Mansion passed quietly like that.

“Mr. Robert!”

Just as he was about to light his cigar, a voice called him—a girl who shouldn’t be here. Robert reflexively hid the cigar in his pocket. Sasha Vinoche was smiling brightly, like a child with no pride, drawing curious looks from the few passengers.

“I’m glad the train hasn’t come yet. I barely finished it this morning. I was so worried you’d leave before the paint dried.”

Sasha chattered nonstop. Her eyes sparkled with no trace of sleep, saying she’d stayed up all night waiting for the painting to dry. Her bright blonde hair was tousled, her whole body radiating energy.

Just before the train arrived, the chilly station was filled with a unique heat of imagination. Amidst the fresh orange scent that didn’t fit this place, Robert belatedly realized what Sasha was carrying. She held a package as big as her torso—wrapped canvas.

Sasha whispered something to him, as if asking for a favor. In the distance, the train was approaching faster than its massive size would suggest. The last words left by the Manolie girl were drowned out by the loud whistle.

As time, which had been stopped, began to flow again, people moved quickly. The train didn’t stay long at the unpopular station. Robert was swept onto the train. Through the window of the first-class compartment, he saw Sasha Vinoche surrounded by blue-violet steam. She lifted her hands above her head and waved them side to side. It was a farewell, sent to him.

The black locomotive rattled along the tracks. Even after the scenery changed outside the window, Robert stared at that spot for a while. The taste of the cigar, left on his lips without lighting, was bitter.

* * *

‘School reopening’ was one of Sasha’s least favorite phrases. A few days before vacation ended, she prayed for a rat infestation in the school building so the start of school would be delayed. But the prayers of an unreliable believer who often skipped services weren’t very effective, and the new term began as scheduled, without incident. Dreadful math, history, and geography classes resumed.

Couldn’t she just quit school and only paint? Sasha would welcome it more than anyone, but Mr. Vinoche wouldn’t allow it. Her patron, Baron Pierre-Auguste, also wanted her to finish school. She had no choice. Sasha chewed her pencil absentmindedly as she took notes.

Even if her prayers worked late and rats appeared, nothing happened, and school didn’t finish until the afternoon. On the way out with Eloise, a crowd of students gathered to one side. Curious, Sasha squeezed into the crowd and spotted a familiar tall head, quickly stepping back.

“That’s the son from the Barbeau house! He must be here for you.”

Eloise, who had followed Sasha, giggled and pinched her. Damien, taller than all the girls, had already spotted Sasha and was striding toward her.