Die for Me

A young man stood in front of it, his back to me as he leaned in closer to inspect something in the composition. He was of medium height with short-cropped brown hair and messy clothes. Where have I seen him before? I thought, wondering if it was someone from school.

And then he turned, and my mouth dropped open in disbelief. The man standing across the gallery from me was Jules.

Chapter Ten

MY BODY NO LONGER FELT CONNECTED TO MY mind. I stood and walked toward the phantom. Either I’m having a mental breakdown that started in the library, I thought, or the guy standing in front of me is a ghost. Both explanations seemed more probable than the alternative: that Jules had actually survived a head-on collision with a subway train, not only in one piece but apparently uninjured.

When I was a few feet away, he saw me coming, and for a split second, he hesitated. Then he turned to me with a completely blank look on his face.

“Jules!” I said urgently.

“Hello,” he said calmly. “Do I know you?”

“Jules, it’s me, Kate. I visited your studio with Vincent, remember? And I saw you at the Métro station that day of . . . the crash.”

His expression changed from blank to amused. “I am afraid that you have me confused with someone else. My name is Thomas, and I don’t know anyone called Vincent.”

Thomas, my foot, I thought, wanting to shake him. “Jules. I know it’s you. You were in that horrible accident when . . . just over a month ago?”

He shook his head and shrugged, as if to say, Sorry.

“Jules, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

“Listen, um, Kate? I have no idea what you’re talking about, but let me help you over to that bench. You must be overexcited.Or overwrought.” He took me by my elbow and began leading me back to the benches.

I jerked my arm away and stood facing him with fists clenched. “I know it’s you. I’m not crazy. And I don’t know what’s going on. But I accused Vincent of being heartless for ru

I realized that my voice had been rising as I saw a security guard head our way. I flashed Jules a furious look as the uniformed man walked up to us and asked, “Is there a problem here?”

Jules calmly looked the guard in the eyes and said, “No problem, sir. She seems to have mistaken me for someone else.”

“I have not!” I hissed under my breath, then left, walking quickly toward the exit. Turning to see Jules and the guard staring my way, I strode out of the museum and ran down the escalators.

There was only one place I could go.

The subway ride back to my neighborhood seemed interminable, but finally I found myself sprinting up the Métro steps into the fading sunlight and heading toward the rue de Grenelle. Standing before the massive vine-draped wall, I rang the doorbell. A light went on above my head, and I looked up into a video surveillance camera.

“Oui?” a voice asked after a few seconds.

“It’s Kate. I’m . . .” I paused, momentarily losing my courage. But remembering the cruelty of my last words to Vincent, I spoke with renewed resolve. “I’m a friend of Vincent’s.”

“He’s not in.” The male voice crackled metallically through the tiny speaker on the bottom of the keypad.

“I need to talk to him. Can’t I leave a message?”

“Don’t you have his phone number?”

“No.”

“And you’re a friend?” The voice sounded skeptical.

“Yes, I mean no. But I need to talk to him. Please.”

There was a moment of silence, and then I heard the click that meant the gate had been unlocked. It swung slowly inward. Across the courtyard, a man stood in the open doorway. My heart dropped an inch when I saw that it wasn’t Vincent.

I walked quickly across the cobblestones to face the man, trying to come up with something to say that wouldn’t make me sound like a crazy person. But when I reached him, all words escaped me. Although he seemed to be in his sixties, his faded green eyes looked centuries-old.

His longish gray hair was smoothed back with pomade, and his face was punctuated by a long, hooked, noble-looking nose. I immediately recognized in his face and dress the mark of French aristocracy.

If I hadn’t already met his type as clients of Papy’s antiques business, I would have recognized his features from the portraits of nobility hanging in every French castle and museum. Old family. Old money. This palace of a house must be his.

His voice cut me off midthought. “You’re here to see Vincent?”

“Yes . . . I mean yes, monsieur.”

He nodded approvingly as I corrected my ma

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“In a few days, I would think.”

I didn’t know what to say. He turned to leave, and feeling completely awkward, I blurted, “Well, could I at least leave him a message?”

“And what message would that be?” he asked dryly, adjusting the silk ascot tied at the neck of his impeccable white cotton shirt.

“Could . . . could I write it?” I stammered, fighting the urge to just walk away. “I’m sorry to impose on your time, sir, but would you mind if I wrote him a message?”

He lifted his eyebrows and studied my face for a moment. And then, opening the door behind him for me to pass through, he said, “Very well.”

I walked into the magnificent foyer and waited as he closed the door behind us. “Follow me,” he said, leading me through a side door into the same room where Vincent had brought me tea. He gestured to a desk and chair and said, “You will find writing paper and pens in the drawer.”

“I have some with me, thanks,” I said, patting my book bag.

“Do you wish me to send for some tea?”

I nodded, thinking that would win me a few minutes to think of what to write. “Yes, thank you.”

“Then Jea

Pulling a pen and notebook out of my bag, I tore off a piece of paper and stared at it for a full minute before starting to write. Vincent, I began.

I’m starting to understand what you meant when you said that things aren’t always as they seem. I found your photo, and that of your friend, in the 1968 obituary pages. And then, right afterward, I saw Jules. Alive.

I can’t imagine what all this means, but I want to apologize for the mean things I said—after you treated me so kindly. I told you I never wanted to see you again. I take it back.

At least help me understand what’s going on, so I won’t end up in a loony bin somewhere, blabbering about dead people for the rest of my days.

Your move.

Kate

I folded the note and waited. Jea

I noticed, however, that a door across from me was ajar. Walking slowly over to it, I peeked inside. “Jea