“I... don’t know any of them. Could you choose for me?”
Cady was pleased with her openness to the idea of trying something new, but then realized they both stared at her for a moment too long.
“Of course,” said Toinon. “Here, perhaps you would like to try Génépy. It is made from flowers of the Rhône-Alpes.”
“Thank you,” said Cady. The fairy-tale nature of the place made her feel like she was in a movie, but of course she was always brought back to earth. She felt large and awkward, almost hulking, around such delicate, beautiful artists. “I was hoping I could ask you, Élodie, about what you might use to clean soot off of oil paintings?”
“It is best if you bring in your painting,” said Élodie. “I would be happy to take care of it for you.”
“It’s not that easy, actually. I want to clean very large panels....” Belatedly, Cady wondered if her work was supposed to be a secret. But if the checkout woman at the grocery knew about the Clement carousel, surely these women did as well. “They are part of the Clement carousel.”
Toinon and Élodie exchanged a glance.
“But... ,” Toinon said, “I thought it was destroyed long ago.”
“It’s been severely damaged, and many of the pieces are missing. But part of it is still there. Fabrice is allowing me to clean it up, and we’ll see if there’s anything left to salvage.”
“Would you like me to come examine it?” asked Élodie.
Cady hesitated. Putting this into words in English was hard enough, but in French even more so. “Monsieur Clement, as I’m sure you know, is very private. He asked me to keep other people away, for the moment. I hope he will become more open with time, but for now it’s just me, and Johnny Clement.”
Toinon’s eyebrows rose. “Johnny?”
“He’s doing some cleanup work for Fabrice.”
“Of course,” Élodie said as she stood. She was soft-spoken but confident. “In the meantime, do you know anything about this sort of restoration?”
Cady nodded. “A bit. I used to work on antiques in California.”
“Good, so you know the basics. First, check for loose paint. If things are intact, and it’s just soot damage, this will help.” She gathered supplies as she talked, explaining the different processes. She placed lint-free rags, soft brushes, cotton balls and swabs, and most important of all, a jar of special solvent, into a bag.
“Work carefully, just fifteen square centimeters at a time.” She sketched out a square that looked about six inches in dimension, then turned to the oil painting of flowers on the easel. “You see? There are flowers and leaves here, placed carefully by the artist for a reason. The pink camellia means ‘I am longing for you,’ the purple hyacinth means ‘I’m sorry.’ The little white lilies of the valley mean a return of happiness. It was all part of a language, and if we can’t see them, they’re lost.”
Deep, delicate colors emerged from the dark background as she carefully cleaned her little square.
“It is slow, you see? You cannot rush, or you run the risk of rubbing too hard, pushing dirt farther into the varnish, or sometimes lifting varnish off altogether.”
She filled several more jars with different solvents, labeling them in a careful, French-style script.
“I wish I could come help you with it,” Élodie said when she handed Cady the bag. “It would be my honor to do so.”
“Thank you so much, Élodie. I will be sure to tell Fabrice; perhaps he’ll change his mind with time.”
“This is not healthy,” Toinon said with a shake of her head. “He needs family, and he is lucky to have them.”
“I agree,” said Cady. “I can’t imagine why he wants to be alone. But I don’t feel I can invite anyone, as I am his guest.”
“We understand. But please, if you can, perhaps you can convince him to change his mind.”
“I hope so.” The clock chimed five. “But now I really should be going. I have to shop for dinner, and I’ve already taken so much of your time. Thank you.”
As they passed through the little study again, Cady received two more chocolate-scented kisses from young Jacinthe. They continued through the vanilla-scented farmhouse kitchen.
“Before you go, I must show you this,” said Toinon. She led Cady on a narrow path around the edge of the crammed greenhouse.
There, nearly hidden by boxes and bags, was a carved wooden horse with a delicate, upturned face. Unless she missed her guess, it was a Bayol creation.
“Is this from the Château Clement?” Cady asked.
