Moonlight Over Paris Read Online Free PDF

were tubes of oil paint, scores of them, set in rows on the tabletop, their neatly lettered labels the only clue to the colors hidden within. All new, all untouched.
    â€œI wasn’t sure what to buy, so I ordered one of everything.You don’t mind, do you? I thought it would be nice to surprise—”
    â€œOh, Auntie A. It’s . . . I don’t know what to say. It’s perfect. I never dreamed—”
    â€œDon’t cry, dear. It’s just some paints and paper, and the shed wasn’t being used.”
    Helena blinked away her tears, not wishing to spoil the moment with theatrics, and pulled her aunt into a heartfelt embrace.
    â€œIs there enough light? I know you artists need to have plenty of light,” Agnes persisted.
    â€œIt’s perfect, I promise. Like a dream come true.”
    â€œOh, good. Let’s go back inside. I’ll remind you where everything is, and of course you won’t have met Jeanne and Micheline. My cook and housemaid. Such dears, though they don’t speak a word of English, and I’ve barely any French. Still, we get on well together, and Vincent can translate in a crisis.”
    Her heart full, her mind’s eye awhirl, Helena cast one last glance over her studio— her studio—and followed Agnes inside.

Chapter 4
    Â Â Â Â  Villa Vesna
    Â Â Â Â  Antibes, France
    Â Â Â Â  5 July 1924
    Â Â Â Â  Dearest Amalia,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of news for you this week, for life on the Côte d’Azur continues in much the same vein as it has done since my arrival. I quite enjoy the routine—up at dawn, a solitary walk down to the water, some sketching there if I feel inspired, then back home for breakfast on the terrace with Auntie A. After that I move to my studio and work up sketches from the day before, with a break for lunch around one o’clock. I did try asking the cook if I might simply have a sandwich on a tray, but I only managed to horrify the poor woman. So lunch at table it is, with the addition once or twice a week of Auntie A’s friends.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  You won’t be surprised to hear that our aunt knows everyone here: the great, the good, the notorious, and the merely interesting, too. At first, when people visited, I was a little concerned they might have heard of my social difficulties back in London, but no one has said a thing. Not yet, at any rate! Agnes introduces me as her niece, says I am visiting from England, and that is that.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  In the afternoons, I go down to the seaside for a swim, for the water is much warmer now. Auntie A comes with me from time to time, but she insists on being driven down the hill, and tends to fuss about everything—the heat, the wind, even the sand that clings to Hamish’s paws.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Most evenings we go out to dine, most often with Sara and Gerald Murphy. I’m sure I mentioned their arrival in my last letter, and since then I’ve seen them at least three or four times. At present they are staying at the Hôtel du Cap with their children, for their villa is being renovated and won’t be ready until the end of the summer.
    Helena sipped at her tea, though it had already gone cold, and smiled at the memory of her first meeting with Sara. It had been the spring of 1914, not long after her own debut, and she had been feeling rather adrift at a particularly dreary tea party. She’d joined a conversation, drawn by the talk of modern art, as well as the American voice she overheard, and had been introduced to Miss Sara Wiborg, lately of East Hampton, New York.
    Sara had been defending the work of Marcel