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Julia drew in a sharp breath as she realized with a jolt exactly what was troubling him. She hadn’t even considered that the Deschamps would assume that, as a married couple, she and Luc would naturally sleep together.
Her stomach went heavy, her heartbeat grew unbearably loud, and a plunge into the Arctic Sea wouldn’t have been able to cool the blush that spread like wildfire over her skin. Julia was beyond embarrassed. And also ashamed.This is what comes of telling untruths, she scolded herself. But the thing that affected her the very deepest was Luc’s reaction. His utter mortification at the implication that the two of them wished to be alone together was the most humiliating thing of all.
Julia’s mind buzzed, and when she glanced up, she saw the Deschamps were all watching her. It took a moment of recollection before she realized Sylvie had spoken to her.
“Are you well?” Sylvie asked again. “Please do not feel uneasy about being our guest. It is no imposition at all.”
“I am perfectly well.” Julia blinked herself from her anxious thoughts and forced a smile, flustered by what would be perceived as a rude reaction to her hosts’ invitation. “I am delighted to remain here.” She smiled wider. “And now, Élise, you will have the chance to finish your drawing.” She glanced at the washroom door. “And if you ask him, Luc might draw a picture as well. He is an artist like you.”
Élise looked toward the washroom and grinned, joining her father on the sofa and showing him her latest work of art.
“How may I help you, Sylvie? Should I set the table for supper?” Julia knew from experience that keeping her hands busy would push away her anxious thoughts. She glanced at the washroom door but forced her gaze and her mind back to her task. She would not allow herself to dwell on the situation any longer.
Sylvie set her to work chopping carrots while she held the baby on her hip and gathered the ingredients for the beef estouffade.
Luc stepped out of the washroom wearing loose trousers that ended well above his ankles, but Julia gave him only a quick glance, feeling the burn in her stomach when she did and not wanting her blush to return.
Sylvie set the baby on her husband’s lap. She took Luc’s wet clothes and hung them with Julia’s, then returned and began to slice the meat.
Pierre handed Luc a warm mug of vin chaud, and at Élise’s request, Luc sat on the sofa with the others and examined the girl’s drawings.
Julia started chopping tomatoes, and over the simmering sound of the cooking meat, she listened to the conversation on the other side of the room.
Luc complimented the drawings as he turned the pages of the notebook, commenting here and there on specific details—some that Julia had noted and others she hadn’t. When he reached the picture of Adeline’s cat, he listened to Élise’s explanation of why she’d been unable to finish.
“You are an observational artist, mademoiselle,” Luc said. “Do you know what that means?”
Élise shook her head.
“You look at something, and then you draw it. Most artists begin this way, having their subject in front of them as they work. And I can see you’ve practiced it. But the next step is to draw something from memory.”
“I don’t think I can do it,” Élise said. Her voice sounded discouraged. “I don’t remember well enough.”
Julia glanced across the room. Pierre had moved the baby to sit between his legs on the floor and was helping him stack blocks. Or, from the look of it, Pierre was stacking blocks in front of the baby, and Adrien was trying to fit them into his mouth.
Élise sat with her notebook on her lap, and Luc held her pencil box.
“Drawing from memory is difficult,” Luc said. “And it requires practice. First of all, you must look at things differently. All the things around you. Look at them closely, as if you were going to draw them, even if you aren’t. Memorize details that you might forget. You won’t be able to do it all at once. But with practice, you will become better at looking. And then better at remembering.”
He took a pencil from the case. “May I demonstrate in your picture notebook?”
She nodded.
Luc found a blank page, and Julia could hear the sound of his pencil scratching on the paper. “My neighbor has a small dog named Hugo. I know the basic shapes of a dog from other dogs I’ve drawn. Head, legs, ears, body. So that is how I begin.” His pencil moved over the page. “But now, I must look into my memory, and I realize this body is too short for Hugo.” He used the rubber eraser, then kept drawing. “So I make it longer until it is how I remember. And I think of how Hugo’s ears are floppy and the ends are rounded...”
A sizzling sound caught Julia’s attention.
Sylvie had put the meat into a pan on the stove.
Reminded of her task, Julia resumed slicing the tomatoes. Watching Luc with Élise was unexpectedly tender.He would make a fine teacher, she thought.Or a father. That thought made her blush again, but this time, the feeling was accompanied by a tinge of sadness. Julia would not be part of Luc’s life much longer.
She took the bowl of mushrooms and started slicing them as well.
“Now, when I look at the picture, I think,What is missing?This does not quite look like Hugo,” Luc said. “Is Hugo’s nose more pointed? His tail longer? And sometimes I don’t remember. And often my picture does not look exactly like the subject in my mind. But that is where the practice comes in.”
“You must practicelooking,” Élise said thoughtfully. “Andremembering.”
Luc nodded. He turned back to the picture of the goat. “Now, if you’d like, you can practice with this goat.”
