Free The Paris Time Capsule by Ella Carey Page A

“I’ve heard that name…”
    Loic chuckled. “Have you, just? Ring any bells, Americaine?”
    Cat folded her arms.
    “Georges Clemenceau was one of our Prime Ministers.”
    “ Oh.”
    “ Yes.”
    “ So …” Cat felt mischief in her bones. “You know what that means.”
    “ Highly unlikely, Cat.” But he was grinning.
    “ But, you could be.”
    Loic put that letter by itself.
    Cat smiled to herself. “I’m hungry.” She stood up, called out to Anouk to let her know she was going out for food, but, just as she put her hand on the front door, Loic stood up.
    “ Cat.”
    “ Want to get some lunch with me?”
    Loic shook his head. “Don’t go.”
    “ What?”
    He was frowning over another letter.
    Cat waited.
    He looked up at her over the faded paper. “You can’t go now.”
    Cat moved to read over his shoulder. It was all there. Boldini. Attached to the thin paper, its once bold type faded now, there was a calling card. Giovanni Boldini. And in the letter, which Loic read fast, translating it into English with the speed of a whippet, Boldini poured out all of his passion for the enchanting young Marthe de Florian.
     
    Anouk was efficient. As soon as Loic handed her the letter, she was on her phone, straight to the Musee d’Orsay, speaking in rapid French. Then, she hung up and spoke, fast to Loic.
    “ They are still reading his wife’s journals.”
    “ I still can’t believe he did all that and had a wife,” Cat said.
    “ Bien sur,” Loic grinned, his head on one side. “Of course.”
    “ Typical.”
    Anouk went back to her work.
    “Not so, Cat,” Loic said. “Apparently Boldini didn’t marry until 1929. He was eighty-six. He painted Marthe in 1898. Anything else you’d like explained?”
    Cat shrugged.
    “He had no reason not to paint her,” Loic said, his voice gentle.
    There was a silence for a moment.
    “Did you make up your mind, Cat?”
    “ What about?” Cat felt light headed.
    “ You know.”
    “ Loic, surely you can just convince your mother to take it all? I really can’t come to the south of France right now.”
    “ It involves your past too, Cat.”
    “ Oh, Virginia,” Cat sighed.
    “ Okay, then, you just take it all and go back to New York.”
    “ You play a hard game.”
    “ Yes.”
    Cat stood up and walked towards the door, just as she reached it, she turned. “Loic, I’m going out for lunch.”
    “ Think about it Cat.”
    Cat shook her head and picked up her coat.

Chapter Eight
     
     
    The art experts moved quickly once Boldini’s letter had been found. When Cat returned to the apartment, having lunched on a bowl of French onion soup and a warm baguette, Pascale Colbert was there too. He and Anouk communicated all afternoon with their counterparts back at the Musee d’Orsay who were reading through Boldini’s papers, letters, his wife’s memoirs and anything else they could find.
    Loic continued reading the letters while Cat helped Anouk, dusting individual pieces, admiring them, watching Anouk catalogue them all.
    At four o’clock, Anouk surveyed what she had done in the living room and the kitchen. “Tomorrow, I will bring in another person. We will continue to work through all of this, catalogue it for you, and value it all for the estate. I think this will be done in the next two weeks.”
    Loic came into the room. “I’ve read the rest of the letters,” he said, handing them to Anouk. “Nothing more about Boldini. But, you take them. Read them yourself.”
    Anouk simpered up at Loic. “And were you moved by these beautiful love letters, Loic?” she asked, her dark head on one side.
    “ Not at all,” Loic grinned at her. “But my mother will be. I want Cat to come and meet her.”
    “ Madame Jordan,” Anouk said. “If you will allow, me, I will organize our cleaners to come in tomorrow as well. It would be best for you to keep away while it is done. It will be a messy job, to say the least … and, well.” She shot a flirty glance at