“You’re going?”
“You had plans. You should have said.”
“No! It was just brunch with my mother. We do it every Sunday.”
“And you let me spoil it.”
“Not really. In fact, I was dreading it. My mother and I . . . Well, let’s just say it’s been a little strained lately. She doesn’t think much of my gallery idea. Or my art or anything else I care about.”
Soline’s brows shot up. “You never told me you were an artist.”
“Oh, I’m not. It’s just something I used to play around with. When Hux went missing, I gave it up. I haven’t set foot in the spare room in months.”
“You keep a studio here?”
“A studio? No. It’s just an extra room where I kept my supplies.”
“May I see this nonstudio of yours?”
Rory hesitated, uncomfortable with the idea of showing someone as accomplished as Soline her work. But how could she say no to a woman who’d taken a cab across town to make sure she was okay? “Sure, I guess. If you want.”
At the end of the hall, she pushed the door open and waved Soline in. “Like I said, I haven’t been in here in a while, so it’s kind of a mess.”
Soline stepped past her into the room, skirting bins filled with tools and bits of fabric. She appeared to be about to say something when her eyes lit on the seascape hanging behind the desk. “Oh, Rory . . .” Her head came around, her expression one of wonder. “You did this?”
Rory nodded shyly.
“It’s exquisite. Like a painting but with fabric. Are there more?”
“Four in the closet and two more on the frames behind you.”
Soline rolled her eyes. “The closet. Mon dieu.” She wandered over to the unfinished piece on the nearest frame—a small schooner listing precariously on a dark and angry sea. “The stitching is so fine, nearly invisible. By hand, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Who taught you to sew like this?”
“No one. I taught myself.”
“Astonishing. And they’ll go up in the gallery when they’re finished?”
“Oh, no. This is just a hobby.”
Soline frowned. “Don’t you want your work to be seen, your name to be known?”
The question made Rory uncomfortable. Instead of answering, she countered with one of her own. “Is that what you wanted? For people to know your name?”
Soline stepped away, studying the fabric swatches littering the worktable. “Once,” she said finally. “When I was a girl. I used to dream of having my own label. I was going to turn heads all over Paris. But then the war happened, and Anson . . .”
“But you did it. You have an entire wall of magazine articles and newspaper clippings to prove it. You have a gift, and you used it to make people happy. You’ll always have that to be proud of.”
“And you have this, Rory. Don’t ever say it’s nothing. It’s the very opposite of nothing. Adding beauty to the world isn’t vanity, chérie. It’s a calling.”
A calling.
The word stayed with Rory as she pulled the door closed and led Soline back to the living room. Soline checked her watch, then collected her handbag and gloves from the coffee table. “Thank you for sharing your work with me, and please think about what I said. You have a gift, Rory, and gifts are meant to be shared.”
“You don’t need to go. I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee and we can talk some more.”
Soline smiled indulgently. “Don’t be silly. You don’t want to listen to an old woman prattle all afternoon. Besides, I asked the driver to come back and collect me. He’s probably out there waiting. I wanted to see that you were all right, and I have.” Her smile deepened as she crooked a finger under Rory’s chin. “Une gentille fille. Such a sweet girl. Remember what I said—about keeping Matthew in your heart. Until you know for sure, there is still hope. And hope costs us nothing.”
SEVENTEEN
RORY
Rory looked around the apartment, admiring her handiwork. After Soline left, she’d decided to put on some music, roll up her sleeves, and get the apartment in order. She’d made a good job of it too, even managing to haul several boxes of giveaway books to her car. Not bad for someone who was supposed to be coming down with a cold.
In the kitchen, she poked around in the pantry. Pasta, but no sauce. Cheerios, but no milk. Peanut butter, but no bread. Which left takeout—again. Soline was right. It was time to stop eating out of cartons. She’d make a list tomorrow and hit the market, but for now, Gerardo’s would have to do. She placed a delivery order for eggplant Parm and an antipasto, then decided she had time to start a load of whites and grab a quick shower before dinner arrived.