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40 SAINT-TROPEZ, FRANCE
Next day, the heat arrived. It came from the south on a scalding wind, fierce, dry, and filled with grit. The pedestrians who ventured into the centre ville clung to the false cool of the shadows, while on the coastline, from the Baie de Pampelo
Villa Soleil, Ivan Kharkov’s estate on the Baie de Cavalaire, seemed to have been spared the full force of the heat’s fury. Immediately behind its twelve-foot walls lay a vast circular drive where nymphs frolicked in splashing fountains and flowers erupted in gardens groomed to hotel brochure perfection. The villa itself stood hard against the rocky coastline, imposing its own beauty upon the remarkable landscape. It was more palace than home, an endless series of loggias, marble corridors, statuary halls, and cavernous sitting rooms where white curtains billowed and snapped like mainsails in the constant breeze. Each wing of the house seemed to have its own unique view of the sea. And each view, thought Sarah, was more breathtaking than the last.
They finally came upon Elena at the end of a long, cool colo
It was immediately clear that Elena’s invitation to a quiet lunch and swim had been transformed by Ivan into a more extravagant affair. On the terrace below the colo
Sarah and Mikhail settled themselves between the wife of the nickel magnate, who looked deeply bored, and the timber trader, who was genial but dull. Ivan and Elena returned to the colo
It was nearly three o’clock by the time he summoned them all to lunch. By Sarah’s count, the guests now numbered seventy in all, but from Ivan’s kitchens miraculously emerged more than enough food to feed a party twice as large. She sat next to Mikhail at Ivan’s end of the table, where they were well within his sphere of influence and the scent of his cologne. It was a gluttonous affair; Ivan ate heavily but without pleasure, stabbing punitively at his food, his thoughts remote. At the end of the meal, his mood improved when A
It was an oddly gloomy note on which to end lunch, though the rest of Ivan’s guests seemed to think nothing of it as they rose from the table and filed down the steps to the pool for a final swim. Ivan released his grip on the children and seized Mikhail’s wrist as he stood. “Don’t go so quickly,” he said. “You promised to give me a chance to convince you to come home to Russia and work for me.”
“I’m not sure I remember that promise.”
“But I remember it quite clearly and that’s all that matters.” He stood and smiled charmingly at Sarah. “I can be rather persuasive. If I were you, I would begin pla
He guided Mikhail to a distant corner of the terrace and sat with him in the shade of a cupola. Sarah looked at Elena. The children were now seated on her lap, in a pose as tender as Ivan’s was fierce.
“You look like a painting by Mary Cassatt.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Elena kissed A
“Are you saying naughty things about me?” Sarah asked playfully.
“The children think you’re very pretty.”
“Please tell the children I think they’re very pretty as well.”
“They were also wondering whether you would like to see their room. It contains a new painting, and they’re very anxious for you to see it.”
“Please tell the children that I would like nothing more.”
"Come, then,” said Elena. “The children will show us the way.”
They flitted in and out of the colo
“They knew each other well quite well, Cassatt and Degas. In fact, Degas had a profound influence on her work. I thought it was appropriate they be together.” She looked at Sarah and gave a faint smile. “Until two weeks ago, I was certain the Degas was actually painted by Degas. Now I’m not so sure.”
Elena sent the children off to play. In their absence, a heavy silence fell over the foyer. The two women stood several feet apart, Elena before the Degas, Sarah before the Cassatt. Overhead, a camera peered down at them like a gargoyle.