Chapter Text
Hero had known for years what it was like to want something that nobody in the living world could ever give you, and she wouldn't have wished that feeling on anyone--especially not on the woman in front of her now, face shucked bare, luminous, and so crushingly lovely that Hero's whole body ached to be far from her, starting deep in her chest and radiating out into her arms, circuiting through all the long ago shorted-out nerves and staggery veins, lighting up the thin webbing between her fingers, sinking into all the hurt-hard places where for years only pain had come to settle, and gather, and home. Hero ached to be far from her, knowing that nearness would present a yet more grievous and persistent ache.
- America is Not the Heart, Elaine Castillo
Marianne watches as one of her students takes her place on the stool, and another student gets down on one knee while fussing with the dials of her camera. The six remaining members of the class stand in a loose half-circle a respectful distance away. They are also keenly observing.
“Right.” Marianne clears her throat. She’s standing behind her student with the camera, watching the adjustments she’s making. “Remember, with the lighting setup you’ve got, it’s not necessary to shoot wide open.” She gestures at the warm lights surrounding them. “What’s important is you’re nailing the focus on her entire face.”
“Okay,” the student says.
Marianne leaves them to it. As an instructor, she limits her hovering. She steps away and wanders the perimeter of the room, when something catches her eye. “Hey, who brought this out here? This photograph?”
The students stop what they’re doing to look at what she’s looking at. One of the observers puts her hand up. “I saw it in storage, while we were getting the lights,” she said. “Shouldn’t I have done that?”
“No, it’s okay.” Marianne stares at the photograph, partly in disbelief that it still has the same impact on her.
It’s a full body shot of a woman standing at the beach, her face in profile and mostly obscured by her blonde hair.
“When did you take this?” the same student asks.
“Years ago now,” Marianne answers.
“She looks kind of familiar, for some reason,” another student pipes up.
Marianne turns back to the students. “Does she?”
Driving in the rain was one of Marianne’s least favourite activities. She didn’t enjoy driving much in the first place, and the rain just further soured her feelings.
Her GPS chirped: At the next intersection, turn left .
Marianne looked ahead and saw the queue of cars waiting to make a left turn at the stop sign. She sighed. Something flashed in her rearview mirror. When she glanced up to check, she discovered that it was a patrol car. The officer at the wheel gestured for her to pull over. “Oh, you’ve gotta be joking,” she muttered, as she flicked her indicator and pulled into the shoulder. She killed the engine and rolled her window down as the officer approached.
The officer was a kind-faced woman who looked about the same age as her. “Bonjour.”
“Bonjour,” Marianne responded. “I’m sorry, officer, was I speeding?”
The officer laughed. “Mademoiselle, are you aware that your rear left tyre has gone flat?”
“Oh.” Marianne recalled, with a sinking realisation, the horrid noise that she ignored about fifteen minutes ago. “No, officer.”
“Look, do you have a spare tyre? Would you like some assistance in putting it on?”
Together, in the rain, Marianne and the officer swapped out the punctured tyre for her space-saver. “I’m still half an hour away from my destination and I’m not gonna make it there on this tyre,” she said.
“Yeah, you’re going to need to drop this off at a shop in town,” the officer said. “Follow me, I’ll give you an escort.”
It turned out that all of the garages in town were already closed. The officer made a phone call and managed to find a garage who would take in the car overnight, but wouldn’t be able to work on it until the next morning. By the time Marianne handed over her keys, it was already dark.
The officer, having gotten in touch with her base, offered to give Marianne a ride to her destination.
Marianne shifted her duffel bag, messenger bag and crate of photography equipment into the officer’s car. Not wanting to get the officer’s seats wet with her rain-soaked clothes, she shrugged into her black coat before getting into the front passenger seat.
“The Comtesse’s château, eh?” the officer asked her, amused.
“Does everyone really call her that?” Marianne asked.
“Not to her face, no,” the officer said. “Are you going to be staying with her?”
“Yes, for work,” Marianne said.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes.” Marianne nodded. “I’m a photographer.”
There were no lights on in the château when Marianne and the officer eventually arrived. The officer helped her unload her things, and when she knocked on the door, a short young woman answered it. Marianne introduced herself.
“Good evening. I’m Sophie,” the young woman said. She reached for Marianne’s bags. “Come on in.”
Marianne thanked the officer. She pushed her crate inside, then closed the door and listened to the sound of the patrol car leaving. She followed Sophie up the stairs and down a hallway to a large room, empty save for some mismatched pieces of furniture and a sofa bed.
“Madame says that you prefer to work and sleep in one room,” Sophie told her, after she switched the light on. “I hope this will do.”
“This is excellent, thanks,” Marianne said. “The house is quiet. Where is everyone?”
“Madame's in town with her daughter, at a dinner party. They won’t be back until very late. Madame told me to tell you to settle in and that she’ll meet with you tomorrow,” Sophie said.
Marianne faced Sophie. She thought that maybe it was her stature that made her look young, but looking at her properly, in better lighting, she realised that Sophie was young. “How long have you been living here, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“This will be my third year. I only live here during the university term. My mother used to be Madame’s personal assistant, long ago. When I chose to come to university, Madame offered to have me live with her in exchange for doing some of the housework. I even get a small allowance,” Sophie explained.
“Generous,” Marianne said.
Sophie nodded. “She is,” she said. “Anyway, the bathroom is just across the hall, if you want to take a shower. We share that one. Madame and her daughter both have ensuites. And downstairs, next to the kitchen, is the laundry room. You can leave your wet clothes there, I’ll deal with them tomorrow.”
“Okay. Thank you, Sophie,” Marianne said.
With another nod, Sophie excused herself, leaving Marianne alone.
Marianne dug into her duffel bag for her toiletries and towels. After taking a shower and changing into a t-shirt and sweatpants, she bundled up her wet clothes and brought them downstairs into the laundry room. Beside the laundry room is the entranceway to the kitchen, which, like in many older houses in the country, had enough space for a dining table for the household staff. Realising that she hadn’t eaten for hours, Marianne rooted around the kitchen, eventually finding some bread, butter and cheese. She ate slowly, savouring the wholesomeness of the simple meal.
Upstairs, the door creaked open.
“Bonsoir, Madame,” Marianne heard Sophie say.
“Bonsoir,” the dignified voice of an older woman spoke. “Is she here?”
“Yes,” was Sophie’s reply.
Marianne didn’t leave the kitchen until she could no longer hear voices or footsteps.
Her hostess asked to meet her in the sitting room.
According to a remark made by Sophie at breakfast, this house had three different sitting rooms.
Sophie left for class while Marianne wandered into each sitting room, hoping to find the right one. The first one had furniture that was covered with canvas dust protectors. The second one had a television, several full bookcases, and cosy, worn-down furniture. The third one had framed film posters hanging across one wall. Marianne knew one of them very well.
“Your father made me a star,” a voice behind her spoke.
Marianne turned around to smile at the older woman. Elena, a French-Italian actress, best known for her role as a comtesse in a high-budget nineties period film.
In the poster of Marianne’s father’s film, a younger version of Elena was not in the centre, but a little off to the side. It was her breakthrough role, one that started a good string of projects for her throughout the eighties and nineties.
“Bonjour, Marianne,” Elena said. She stepped forward to give Marianne a kiss on each cheek. “Did you have a good journey? I don’t see your car outside.”
“My car’s actually at a garage in town at the moment.” Marianne briefly explained yesterday’s incident. “But otherwise, the trip was good. I’m just happy to be here.”
“Good,” Elena said. “I hope you’re making yourself at home. Have you seen our pool? It’s wonderfully heated. We’re not far from the beach either, but that’s a much chillier swim.”
“I’m sure I’ll get the chance to take advantage of those, thank you,” Marianne said.
“Let’s sit down.” Walking to the fireplace, Elena sat down on one of the armchairs, and gestured for Marianne to take the other one. “I’m very glad that you’re here. Your father, you know, is still a good friend of mine. Rarely do you meet anyone in the industry that’s stayed as kind and respectful as he is.”
“He did say that you needed a favour.”
“Yes.” Elena straightened in her seat. “As you know, it’s been a difficult time for my family. My husband and my eldest daughter, they’re gone now, and I have to admit that since then, I’ve been hiding myself away, not really wanting to see anyone, or be seen anywhere.”
Marianne nodded. Elena’s husband, a shipping mogul, passed away a couple of years ago, and her eldest daughter, an actress herself, died tragically not even a year ago.
Elena continued: “As you know, I’ve been retired for a few years now, but I’m planning to start working again.” She smiled. “I’ve been scared of what people have been saying about me. I brought you here because I want to take control of the story. My family needs that, don't you agree?"
"So you need me to take photographs."
"I'm meeting with my publicist and my agent in Paris at the end of the week. If I can go to them saying I've found a photographer, then they can get to work on finding a journalist. Preferably someone who has sway with the big magazines," Elena explained.
The Comtesse was planning a comeback. Marianne bit her lip. “May I ask you something?”
“Sure,” Elena said.
“Why did you choose me? I’m sure you could call someone more established, more successful, and they would be happy to shoot you.” Marianne shifted in her chair, protectively clasping her hands in front of her.
“You come highly recommended. Not just because of your father. Word’s getting around about you. I’m sure you’re aware of that,” Elena said. “But also, I said before that I want to control my story. Wouldn’t you photographing me be such a nice touch? People will make the connection when they see your name on the page. I can think of no better way to honour the role your father played in my history.”
Marianne appreciated Elena’s sense for narrative. “Coming full circle, then.” She nodded. “In that case, I’m looking forward to working with you.”
“Excellent.” The corners of Elena’s lips quirked. “But it’s not just me you’ll be working with.” She paused, waiting for Marianne to give her an acknowledgement to continue. “I want this to be a family affair. It wasn’t just me who was affected by the loss of my husband and daughter, and I want people to see that. I’d like my younger daughter to be photographed as well, but… you could say that she’s,” she paused, searching for the right word, “hesitant to be in the spotlight.”
“And you’re still determined to include her?” Marianne asked.
“It’ll make for a better story, don’t you think?” Elena could barely keep the need for validation from colouring her tone. “Besides, I think it’ll be cathartic for both of us. It’ll be odd, if the article comes out and it’s like she doesn’t exist. She has to be in it.”
Marianne took the time to consider her response. Up until this point, she was thinking about how this was going to be a straightforward job. Three weeks in a beautiful seaside house, with a subject who loved the camera… It was practically a holiday. But hearing Elena talk about her younger daughter was making her stomach twist. “Who’s going to convince her?” Marianne finally asked.
“I’ve been working on her, of course,” Elena answered. “But I’m also hoping that because you two are the same age, and that you also grew up in the shadow of your father’s career, perhaps you’ll be able to get to her, too.”
“All right,” was all Marianne could say. She was afraid that Elena would say something like that.
After a light lunch, Marianne ventured for a walk outside. Because of its cliffside location, the château didn’t have vast grounds, compared to similar homes out in the farming plains. Marianne brought her camera with her, partly because she wanted to scout locations to shoot the Comtesse in, and partly because she wasn’t accustomed to such rugged beauty. Several times, she found herself stopping and just taking in deep lungfuls of the salty sea breeze, while listening to the waves crashing in the distance.
She was at the front of the house, aiming her camera towards an archway made of stone, when she heard the low growl of car engine behind her. Quickly, she pressed the shutter button. She lowered her camera and turned to look, getting ready to move out of the way if need be. But the silver station wagon drove the other way and parked.
Marianne watched as the driver stepped out: a tall woman wearing a navy hoodie and black workout pants. Her shoulder-length wavy blonde hair looked unruly yet soft. Her eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but as her lips formed a scowl, Marianne knew she had been spotted.
The woman opened the back of the station wagon. She slung a backpack over one shoulder, and a mesh bag on the other. She unfastened a surfboard from the roof of her car, and once the board was tucked under her arm, she sauntered off around the other side of the house, disappearing from Marianne’s view.
Sophie, having arrived back from university, was walking down the hallway when Marianne intercepted her and beckoned her inside her bedroom.
Marianne shut the door behind them. “Can I be nosy?” she asked.
Sophie looked around the room, as if checking that they weren’t being surveilled. “Uh, sure, I guess,” she said.
“The Comtesse’s younger daughter… what’s she like?”
“I don’t really know her yet,” Sophie replied.
Marianne frowned. “But you’ve been here for two years now,” she said.
“Yes, but I only just met her last month, and she keeps to herself most days,” Sophie said. “She used to live in Paris, and whenever she visited here, it just so happened that I was home with my family.”
“What did she do in Paris?” Marianne asked.
“She was a teaching fellow at the Sorbonne. She got into this doctorate programme in America, and she was supposed to move there in September.” Sophie hesitated.
“But?” Marianne prompted.
“But her sister passed, and Madame let her finish the term before bringing her back here at the beginning of the summer,” Sophie said.
“Does she still plan on going to America?” Marianne asked.
Sophie shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a bit late for that now, isn’t it?”
The next morning, Marianne woke up and felt the urge to go for a swim. Her bedroom, incidentally, had a clear view of the swimming pool. She changed into her swimsuit, wrapped herself in a towel, and headed outside.
It was a crisp mid-autumn morning, too cold to be standing outside in nothing but a swimsuit, but Elena was right: the pool was heated to an ideal temperature. Marianne dunked herself underwater a couple of times to quickly get warm. She put her goggles on and did several lengths of breaststroke. She enjoyed the way the water yielded to her, and she definitely enjoyed having a pool to herself.
She switched to backstroke. She concentrated on swimming in a straight line, and on not hitting her head on the walls, which was difficult with only the clear blue sky as a reference. She was swimming back from the deep end when she spotted a figure standing on the edge of the pool by the shallow end.
It was Elena’s younger daughter, wearing a black swimsuit, her hair tucked under a white swimming cap. Her goggles hung loosely on the fingers of her left hand. If she was feeling the cold temperature, she didn’t show it. She regarded Marianne with a curious expression.
Marianne righted herself. Standing on the pool floor, she looked up at the other woman. “Bonjour,” she said.
The other woman simply got in the pool without a word. She stood in front of Marianne, still staring.
Being close to her like this, Marianne took her chance to look. They were the same height, but Marianne noticed that the woman appeared taller at first glance, as her broad shoulders and strong hips and legs gave her a more imposing presence.
With the bright sky reflected in them, the woman had a steely grey stare. She slipped her goggles on, pulling the cups over her eyes. “Ah, so you’re Maman’s pet paparazzo.” This was the first and the last thing out of her mouth, as she proceeded to swim down the length of the pool. Her front crawl could have been considered aggressive, if her strokes weren’t practically silent. She was a technically perfect swimmer.
Marianne watched her for a while, before hoisting herself out of the pool, instantly shivering in the cold.
“I heard that you and Héloïse have met,” Elena said, as Marianne arranged lights around her.
“Oh, is that how she tells it?” Marianne asked, as she screwed a light onto a stand. Héloïse , she thought to herself. It was an interesting choice for a name. She knew maybe one or two others, but they were much older.
Elena chuckled ruefully. “I must apologise on her behalf,” she said. “Héloïse isn’t the warmest of people.”
Marianne switched on a light, and Elena squinted momentarily as her eyes adjusted to it. “Is that too bright?” Marianne asked her.
“Uh, no, it should be fine,” Elena said.
“Cool.” Marianne moved on to the next light. “And what you said about your daughter? Understatement.”
“She takes after her father. Spitting image of him, too. Quite patrician features, don’t you think?”
Marianne checked the way the light fell on Elena’s face, and decided against turning on another light. She took her position on a small stool a couple of metres away from Elena. She evaluated the light again. She had a feeling it would throw Elena’s features into sharp relief. She didn’t want that; she intended for her to look softer. She cleared her throat. “One second, I think I might diffuse that light,” she said. She got up to rummage through her crate for the correct gel. Anything to keep herself from admitting that ever since she saw Héloïse, all she wanted to do was to take her photograph.
With the gel clipped onto the light, Marianne peered at Elena through the LCD screen of her camera. “You like this pose?” she asked.
“We’ll try it for now,” Elena said.
“Okay.” Marianne looked through the viewfinder. She lowered the camera. “All right, for this one, I want you to try looking strong, yet thoughtful…” She hesitated. “Maybe strong isn’t the right word.”
“Resolved, perhaps?” Elena offered.
“Yes, let’s try that.” Marianne brought the camera to her eye again. After focusing, she pressed the shutter button. The camera clicked. “And again.” Another click. “Can you relax your shoulders?” she asked. She waited for Elena to follow her instructions before pressing the shutter once more.
Ten minutes into the shoot, Marianne let Elena have a short break while she swapped out the lights for remote flashes. She knelt on the floor to set up a reflector screen, while Elena studied herself in a mirror, fixing hair that was out of place. “Tell me a little bit more about Héloïse,” she said to Elena.
“Héloïse? She’s an oddity,” Elena said. “I’ve never met a more intelligent person. Her mind intimidated me, even when she was a child.”
“She was at the Sorbonne, yes?”
“Yes, she was teaching English literature. I don’t know how she found the passion for it. We’re not readers in this family, unless it’s screenplays,” Elena said. “I hate to say this, but I feel like I hardly recognise her some days. Except for her anger. I can always see that.”
Marianne stood up, brushed her jeans off. “Oh, yes, that’s the first thing I noticed about her.” Even that day when Héloïse was unloading her car, Marianne saw the anger that bubbled underneath, in the way Héloïse moved and held herself. Yet she didn’t find it off-putting. If anything, it had the opposite effect.
“I understand her anger a bit. We’ve always had a troublesome relationship, but now that her father and her sister are gone… we only have each other,” Elena said. “We must find a way to become a family again.”
“Sit tight, I’ll just test these flashes,” Marianne told Elena. She pressed a button on a remote, and the room erupted in sharp fluorescent strikes of light.
“I think that’ll make me blink,” Elena said.
“I agree.” Marianne made adjustments, and tested them once more. “Better?”
Elena nodded.
Picking up her camera, Marianne sat on the stool again. “For this bit, I want you to channel the Comtesse,” she said. She watched as Elena arranged herself into a pose. “Cool.” She started to raise the camera to her face but then her phone started to ring. “I think I need to get that, sorry,” she told Elena.
“No worries,” Elena said.
Marianne stood up and walked to the sofa bed, where she had tossed her phone. She accepted the call. “Hello?” It was the garage. Her car was ready for pickup. She thanked them and hung up, and relayed the news to Elena. “We’ll finish up here and then I’ll find a way to go into town. Taxis come here, right?”
“Taxi? What nonsense! I saw Héloïse’s car outside. I bet she’s just been reading the whole day,” Elena said. “After this, I’ll find her and tell her to take you.”
“Will that be okay?” Marianne asked, unsure what to think about the prospect of being in a confined space with Héloïse, even for just ten minutes.
“Yes, I’m sure it will be,” Elena said. “Now, you said you wanted me to be the Comtesse?”
Héloïse was reading in the second sitting room when her mother told her to put her book down and accompany Marianne into town. Sheepish, Marianne had followed Héloïse outside to her station wagon. Without a word, Héloïse unlocked the car and got into the driver’s seat. She started the engine as soon as Marianne closed the passenger door.
“Which garage is it again?” she asked curtly.
Marianne told her.
When they reached the main road, Marianne started to watch Héloïse drive. She was a confident, yet careful driver. She took her time to actually stop at each stop sign, and she checked her mirrors regularly. She was wearing her sunglasses again, and this drew Marianne’s attention to her mouth. Héloïse had full lips, the corners of which seemed naturally upturned into a frown, if she wasn’t busy chewing on her bottom lip.
Stopped at a pedestrian crossing, Héloïse glanced at Marianne, causing Marianne to tear her eyes away.
“I’m sorry,” Marianne said, once they got going again.
“For staring?” Héloïse asked.
“For having interrupted your reading,” Marianne said. “Your mother said you taught literature.”
“I bet she relished at getting to use the past tense,” Héloïse said.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Marianne said.
Héloïse smirked. “Then I don’t think you know my mother well enough yet.”
“I know I don’t,” Marianne retorted. “But I think I’ve judged her well enough to see that she means no harm.”
“Your father,” Héloïse said abruptly. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “He’s that filmmaker.”
“Yes.”
“Do you work for him?” Héloïse asked.
“No, I work for myself,” Marianne said.
“Do you get along with him?”
Marianne, who had kept her eyes on the road when Héloïse had caught her staring, turned again to look at her. Héloïse’s eyes were also on the road, but she seemed genuinely curious. “My father and I get along very well,” Marianne answered.
“See, he’s supportive of you,” Héloïse said. “That’s why you don’t understand me.”
They arrived at the garage. Héloïse parked the car and turned off the engine.
Before Marianne got out of the car, she told Héloïse: “I do understand you.” Once she had sorted out her car and had her keys returned to her, she got into the driver’s seat. In her left wing mirror, she saw Héloïse start her own engine and reverse out of the garage, not even bothering to wait for her.