Chapter 50 – A Picture-Perfect Pair

“Tell me, Sasha. Just how much have I confused you?”

“Even today. Baron Auguste had already said first that he would send a carriage for me. There was no need for you to go out of your way to take me all the way to the royal palace.”

Robert looked steadily at Sasha as she spoke with gathered courage. This was a trivial kindness. The sort of thing he could just as easily have done for anyone at all, not necessarily Sasha.

‘So she is saying she cannot accept even this much from me.’

A twisted smile rose at the corner of his lips.

“Stop the car, Raoul.”

Called so suddenly, Raoul flinched and looked back. Robert gazed at him with a calm expression. As though what he had just said was no joke. Raoul had no choice but to stop the car as slowly as possible. Once the car had finally come to a complete halt, Robert said to Sasha,

“Now get out, Sasha.”

“What?”

“You said there was no need for me to take you.”

While the bewildered Sasha hesitated, Robert got out of the automobile. Then, to let her get out, he graciously opened the door on the opposite side for her.

“I wish you luck in going on by yourself, just as you wished. Let us hope the royal guards do not catch you and drag you away.”

The automobile truly departed, leaving Sasha there all alone. After wandering about for quite some time in confusion, Sasha finally managed to run into Baron Auguste’s coachman and, with his help, made her way to the palace that housed the Queen’s audience chamber.

But by the time she finally reached the palace after going in circles, all her strength had gone out of her. The place where the Duke’s automobile had first dropped her off was beneath the bell tower, separated from the gardens of the Queen’s palace residence by no more than a single wall. She had spent all that time wandering around with the palace right in front of her.

* * *

Once Sasha entered the Queen’s audience chamber, she felt unable to sit still. Queen Anaïs, lounging indifferently with her chin propped on the armrest of her chair, showed little interest in the painter summoned from afar. The painting of the fountain that she had clearly said she liked now seemed only so-so upon seeing it again, and she picked at faults for no reason.

Staring at the painting with an unconvinced expression, she would occasionally turn and toss a question at Sasha. They were mostly questions about why she had painted it this way. Why was the form of the fountain so blurred? And why had she used such dull colors…?

“I only know how to paint what I see, Your Majesty. On the day I painted it, that fountain looked that way to my eyes.”

Sasha, flustered, answered as honestly as she could, but the Queen wore a curious expression that made it impossible to tell whether she liked the answer or not.

“Baron. The style of the painter you have brought seems to stray quite far from the old standards by which Laurent society judges good painting. If that picture is shown publicly, will others not object?”

Queen Anaïs turned the arrow of her questioning toward Baron Auguste.

“But, Your Majesty, are not music and literature both in a frenzy over new change? There is no law saying the art world alone must repeat the old ways.”

“Oh-ho, Baron, that almost sounds as though you are telling me to accept the unstoppable tide of the times. And does that not also amount to blaming me, who am still refusing to yield power to Parliament?”

Perhaps displeased by the Baron’s answer, the Queen pointed it out with a sulky tone.

“How could that be? I am one of your most loyal subjects, Your Majesty. I despise those rude, headstrong ruffians in Parliament. But setting that aside, art must be capable of holding truth.”

At the Baron’s words, the Queen looked satisfied. Adjusting herself into a more comfortable position, the Queen pointed to Sasha’s fountain painting and made an unexpected declaration.

“Very well. I wish to hang this painting in this year’s Salon exhibition.”

Sasha, who had been shrinking under the exchange between the two, widened her eyes. Had the painting not displeased her after all?

“However, there is one condition. It must not be made known that you are a painter sponsored by Baron Auguste. Naturally, you too, Baron Auguste, must also not introduce that painter before people.”

Turning to the young painter, who looked startled like a rabbit tossed defenseless into a hunting ground, the Queen smiled.

“Let us see whether you can succeed in Laurent even without the name and reputation of Baron Auguste.”

* * *

As though she had never been indifferent at all, Queen Anaïs, now generous in mood, first proposed a walk to Baron Auguste and the young painter he had introduced.

“My granddaughter should be out at the riding ground about now. I shall introduce you to Princess Deborah as well. And I may as well have her make space to hang one more small painting at the Salon exhibition.”

Leaving the audience chamber, the Queen laid her hand on the Baron’s arm and crossed the garden slowly. Sasha walked behind them. Once they crossed a long arching bridge, a pastoral scene appeared, the complete opposite of the splendid palace where the audience chamber had been. It was so simple and ordinary for something inside the palace grounds that it almost resembled a well-kept country village. Sasha turned her head in the direction from which the wind had suddenly blown. In the distance, she could see the riding ground.

“Ah, the two of them were riding together after all!”

Stopping the royal stable master who was about to send a signal, the Queen chose instead to admire the young man and woman for a while. Standing behind the Queen, Sasha stared blankly at the pair who looked so perfectly suited to one another, like something out of a painting. The splendidly dressed man she had seen that morning was elegantly enjoying a ride with another woman.

“Even to young eyes, do those two not look very well suited?”

The Queen asked, turning toward Sasha.

“Yes. They really suit each other.”

Pretending to be unaffected was harder than she had expected. The hair of the man mounted on the black horse glittered in the sunlight like ripples on Lake Manolie. Sasha turned her gaze away, avoiding the man who was gradually drawing closer to where she stood.

The young lovers, not interrupted thanks to the Queen’s consideration, did not notice them until they were nearly back at the riding ground. The Duke of Guienne dismounted first, handed his reins to the stable master, and then lightly lifted the Princess down to the ground with a hand at her waist while she still sat on her horse.

Watching with satisfaction as the Duke naturally escorted the Princess toward them, the Queen called Sasha, who had been standing behind her, and introduced them.

“This is my granddaughter, Princess Deborah, who is overseeing this year’s Salon exhibition. And this is the Duke of Guienne, who is to marry Deborah.”

After kissing the back of the Queen’s hand, Robert next greeted Sasha. The greeting, unlike the one on the beach in Manolie, passed by in a brief brush. Sasha lifted her eyes and met the gaze of the man who then slowly released her hand. The fingertips she hastily hid curled inward of their own accord.

“Miss Sasha and the Duke of Guienne are already acquainted. At my request, the Duke even brought Miss Sasha all the way to the palace by automobile today.”

At Baron Auguste’s hearty laugh, Princess Deborah glanced at Sasha once with interest, then looked at Robert.

“Your Grace, who is this lady?”

Only then did Robert turn his head toward the Princess and answer in his usual concise tone.

“This is Miss Sasha Vinoche, a painter sponsored by Baron Auguste.”

“Ah, so you are a painter. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Vinoche.”

Still catching her breath a little from riding, Deborah slowly looked Sasha over. The large green eyes filling that small face and her delicate features seemed better suited to a ballerina who stood on a stage than to a painter. If one had happened to encounter her in Laurent society, she would certainly have caught the eye at least once. A lovely face, though with no greater significance than that.

“You mean to say that fountain painting you mentioned before is to be hung in this year’s Salon exhibition? Congratulations. Once word spreads that Baron Auguste is your patron, you will quickly draw notice in the Salon.”

Beautiful face or not, she was no noblewoman, only a simple country painter. Deborah offered the expected words of courtesy and wanted to bring this dull and meaningless meeting to an end. She also wondered why they had bothered to bring such an unremarkable painter all the way to the separate palace wing where only members of the royal family came and went. It would have been enough to politely send her away from the audience chamber.

“No, that will not happen. I made a wager with Baron Auguste today.”

Queen Anaïs explained to Deborah in a delighted voice. They would test whether that fountain painting could truly be recognized in Laurent society even without Baron Auguste’s prestige shining behind it. And if they lost the wager, the Queen and the Baron had agreed to hand over to the other the most valuable work in their respective collections.

“Since you happen to be here, Duke of Guienne, how would it be if you were the one to introduce the painter into society in my place?”

“That is a fine idea indeed. In any case, as it is her first time in Laurent society, she will need someone to take her about.”

The Queen readily accepted Baron Auguste’s spur-of-the-moment suggestion. There was not even time to gauge the reactions of the people concerned. Deborah, listening to the conversation, could not hide the brief flash of irritation that crossed her face and frowned, but she quickly composed herself, deciding that something on this level was no great matter.

“My, it seems we have stayed too long intruding on the amusements of the young. The Baron and I shall return to the palace now, so you three may walk about a little longer before coming back. It is not often one gets the chance to visit this separate palace wing. Perhaps the scenery here may even inspire a painting.”

Speaking generously, the Queen again took Baron Auguste’s arm and turned away.

“Then shall we go? If we are to finish our walk before the sun goes down, we had best hurry.”

Robert spoke toward the two women standing there awkwardly. Calmly, as though none of this were anything at all.