Chapter 34 – Sleepless Nights

The uninvited guests from Laurent left Manolie after staying four days. Eleonore looked as though she wanted to stay longer, but because Leroy became fussy, she had no choice but to return without remaining long.

Robert sent word to the Vinoche house through the postman’s boy that, since the guests had left, it was all right for her to visit the mansion again. From the very next day, Sasha began coming and going to the atelier at Hawthorn Mansion as before. The beautiful mansion on the hill seemed to regain its summer routine once more.

Meanwhile, after painting one picture each of the cafe and the train station she had seen in Laurent, Sasha wandered in search of a new landscape and discovered a not very large swimming pool at the back of the mansion. The tiled floor laid at the bottom of the pool bore an elaborate rose pattern. So that she would not run into people passing through the garden, one side of the pool was screened off by a wall built of faded red bricks, and above it hung a willow tree. The stairs leading to that secretive and secluded place were connected by columns made in imitation of the style of the previous century.

After exploring it with curiosity, Sasha decided to paint it. Walking around and around the area until she found a spot from which the pool could be seen well, she practiced sketching several times before finally setting a canvas on the easel. All the while praying that it would not rain during her outdoor work.

The first day’s work went smoothly. Sasha returned home after finishing her work in satisfaction, humming to herself. The next day, she could not go to Hawthorn Mansion because she had gone out to the market to help Grandma Rollo.

When she visited the pool again the day after that, Sasha discovered an unexpected trace.

‘Did someone come by?’

The drain plug on the pool floor had been pulled out. Since only one person lived at the mansion, Mr. Robert must have used the pool. And indeed, the next day Sasha witnessed the sight of that man in the pool. That day she did not go out to paint the swimming pool.

The next day as well, and the day after that too, the man used the pool. Sasha gradually grew anxious. The season when sudden showers would fall at any moment and make outdoor work impossible was approaching. The season the grandmothers called ‘the kettle with the lid off.’

“Ah…….”

Sasha swallowed a regretful sigh. The pool she had come to with hope in her heart was filled with water again today. The man, with his upper garment removed, was leaning against the edge wall reading a book with a purple cover. But she knew that before long he would carelessly set the book down and dive under all the way to the crown of his head. Because he had done that every single time over the past few days.

Now and then, the sound of the wind dropping leaves onto the water’s surface tickled her ears. It was a very peaceful sight. After much inner conflict, Sasha decided to paint without letting Mr. Robert, who was resting, notice her. She wanted to complete the painting of the pool as soon as possible. She had already endured too long to wait any more. If she endured any longer, she might burst. Like a kettle left too long on the fire with its lid open.

He paid no attention at all to his surroundings. Hidden among the thick trees, Sasha set up her easel and carefully moved the canvas. By the time she had nearly finished putting down the underpainting, the man came up out of the pool, dried himself with the towel draped over the chair, and headed for the bath. Before he came out again, Sasha quickly gathered her painting tools and returned to the atelier.

That night, after returning home, Sasha tossed and turned unable to sleep. Was this a desire to finish the painting before it rained, or curiosity because she wanted to see the man in the pool? Without finding an answer, she greeted a new sun, and Hawthorn Mansion drew her in like a magnet.

The moment she stood before the canvas again, her chest began beating as if mad. Maybe she should simply not paint it. The conflict that came over her for a moment clearly knew the right answer she ought to choose, yet the painting before her eyes, now nearly complete, urged her on.

‘If I paint for just one more day, I think I can finish it.’

Just one more day. In the end, she gave in to that temptation. Hidden behind the tree’s shadow, Sasha, just as yesterday, took the chance while Mr. Robert was in the bath to return to the atelier and set the painting up there. Unlike the first compositional sketch, which had revealed the rose-patterned tiles, the pool on the canvas was now filled with blue water.

* * *

‘Around there, I suppose.’

Robert stared at the swaying bushes. At the fleeting outline of Sasha Vinoche. At that orange-colored hair that glimmered gold each time the wind swept the shadows away.

Yesterday, he had gone into the atelier while its owner was absent and learned something unexpected. Though the colors had not all been laid on yet, it was unmistakably the swimming pool in the garden. The very one he had recently been filling with water and using.

Should he call it bold? That audacious painter was clearly spying on Robert again today. Recalling the composition in the painting, he looked toward the direction where that impertinent lady was hiding. Looking carefully, trace after trace became visible, impossible to conceal to the point of absurdity, making him wonder how on earth he had failed to notice it yesterday. The sound of stifled sneezing, and the smell of paint carried over when the wind blew in his direction, things like that.

A quiet laugh escaped him. Without hesitation, Robert dove straight into the water. He kept his head underwater for a very long time. Until his breath rose all the way to the edge of breaking, until he reached his limit. Only when his head had begun to grow hazy did he come back to the surface, draw in a deep breath, and climb up to sit on the edge of the pool.

Robert left the water running down his body to dry in the sunlight. While the droplets gathered on his bare skin evaporated into the air, his gaze fell on the purple cigar case he had left on the table.

‘Should I smoke.’

He hesitated for a moment, but soon gave it up. No sooner had his body dried than Robert plunged back into the water again. With a splashing sound, fine sprays of water scattered into the air.

* * *

Sasha looked back and forth between the man sitting on the edge of the pool and the painting she was putting the finishing touches on. Because she had not slept properly for the past several days, she wondered if in her dazed state she had heard things.

“Sasha.”

Mr. Robert, who had come up after such a long dive that one might think he was a fish, suddenly let out a short sigh and then called Sasha. He definitely had. Her, here behind the tree……. Sasha jumped in surprise.

“Shall I come over there?”

At those thunderous words, Sasha awkwardly came out from the bushes like a child caught doing something wrong. She had too much baggage to make a run for it, and what remained of her conscience would not permit it.

“Since when did you know?”

“What’s more amazing is that you thought I wouldn’t know.”

Murmuring, he slipped back into the pool again, rested his arms on the stone-lined edge, and looked up at her. The sky-blue fabric of her skirt fluttered before his eyes. The man’s gaze traveled over the toes curled beneath the leather straps of her white sandals, up the soft-looking rounded tops of her feet, and from there to her slender ankles, before he finally opened his mouth.

“I’m thirsty after swimming.”

At last having found an excuse to escape, Sasha did not miss the chance and asked,

“Shall I bring you something?”

Without answering, Robert gazed at Sasha Vinoche, wholly exposed beneath the sunlight. At that pitiful face flushed bright red as if it might burst at any moment. The woman who had hidden like a little mouse and spied on his rest for the past several days looked excessively innocent.

“So then, what…….”

Sasha stopped mid-sentence and swallowed dryly. Though he was baring his body, he did not seem to mind it much. As if a blurry fog had settled over her head, no proper sentence came to mind, and she grew blank. Sasha barely came to her senses and asked the rest.

“What would you like me to make for you?”

“Anything. Whatever you know how to make.”

Robert said it while cleanly withdrawing the attention he had been directing at her. Then he immediately swam to the opposite side and drifted away at ease. Sasha fled the place as if running away. The space beneath her ribs swelled until it hurt. How could he hold his breath in the water for so long? It had been not even half the time he had remained underwater, yet even that was enough to make her feel faint. Rushing into the kitchen, Sasha gripped the counter and gasped for breath.

Only after barely regaining herself did Sasha stand and take out lemons, soda water, and the container where sugar was kept. She knew every hidden corner of this beautiful yet complicated mansion and where everything was kept. Perhaps even more accurately than Mr. Robert himself. It could not be otherwise. This place had been a space he had given her from the very beginning. Through the many summers when Mr. Robert did not come, Sasha had always grown up running freely through Hawthorn Mansion.

Taking a large bottle from the cupboard, Sasha poured in lemon juice and two spoonfuls of sugar and shook it vigorously until it mixed well. Then she poured in plenty of soda water, and filled a glass with ice to chill it thoroughly. Lemonade was a drink Grandma Rollo, who suffered from nerves, often enjoyed instead of coffee, and Sasha knew how to make it well.

Carrying the finished lemonade, Sasha left the kitchen and headed for the pool. Mr. Robert was still in the water. His wet hair was swept back with astonishing neatness, and perhaps because of his thirst, his arms hung languidly down.

Approaching in haste, Sasha held out the lemonade to him, but the moment her hand brushed his as he reached to take the glass, she let go far too quickly. It was because of the condensation beaded on the cold glass surface. Her hand slipped, and in the end she dropped the glass into the pool.

Thus the glass sank into the water like a sinking ship. As if it were a thing that knew this was its fate. Downward, farther downward. According to the inescapable law of nature, until it touched the rose-patterned tiles.