Picasso's Lovers by Jeanne Mackin

Author:Jeanne Mackin [Mackin, Jeanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2024-01-23T00:00:00+00:00

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It was two days before Gerald was returning to Antibes, to me and the children. He had telegraphed to say that he and Cole had made enough progress on the jazz ballet that they could put the final touches on it without each other’s over-the-shoulder prompting or criticizing. He added a “Linda sends love” to the end of the brief message, and I knew that Gerald believed he was coming back to what had been between us, the love and certainty.

Linda most certainly did not send love. Gerald was making a joke, sending a private message of unity.

I folded the telegraph and put it in my sweater pocket. Two days. I should have been thinking, considering, planning. But two days was a long time, forever, and the moment would take care of itself.

The sun wasn’t fully up yet, and the air had a freshness to it, a hint of summer’s end. The unfinished coffee in my cup cooled quickly. Soon, the children would be up and eating their oatmeal before dressing in their bathing costumes to go to the beach. They were brown as walnuts, plump with good food and fresh air, and just looking at them made the world new and shiny. They were the constants, outside of the complicated, messy world the adults around them created.

Pablo would be at the beach for an hour of swimming before going back to his studio. And after lunch, I would join him there.

There should have been a sense of worry, of problems to come, but I had none. Gerald, my husband, was coming back to me. Pablo expected me at his studio and I would go to him. Two different men, two different worlds. I wondered how the choice would be manifested, what the cues would be.

“Anna, Mr. Murphy will be back tomorrow,” I said when she came to clear the breakfast table. “Please make sure his mail is on the table for him and his laundry is clean and folded.”

She nodded and looked preoccupied. Her long black braid had come loose, and strands of hair floated around her pale face.

“Are you well?” I asked.

“Of course.” Her manner was stiff. She had no more smiles for me, no warmth.

Olga had decided, weeks before, that Anna was a runaway, a girl in trouble, and that was why she was alone, estranged from her family. There had been an affair. It was true that Anna had gained weight. Her face was rounder, her figure fuller. When she walked away, there was a new sway to her walk, a confidence. Perhaps she had simply found a boyfriend in the village, a fisherman’s son who wouldn’t mind if she came to him already in the family way.

“Anna, we are friends, aren’t we?” I asked as she swept crumbs from the table.

She looked up, pale, and nodded but still did not smile.

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