Cécile's carriage collected me immediately after breakfast the next day. My friend had not yet dressed and received me in her ornate bedroom, where she and her maid were arguing over what she would wear that day and did not even notice me enter. Marie Antoinette herself would have envied Cécile this chamber, with its white-paneled gilt walls whose centers were covered in white silk brocade embroidered with flowers.

"Non! Madame! The rose is too soft a color," Odette insisted, stamping her foot and sending Caesar and Brutus running to hide under the tall bed that dominated the room. "A brighter hue suits you better."

"I am not looking for a husband, Odette," Cécile retorted, lying back on a chaise longue, her lacy dressing gown fluttering around her. "I like the rose. Monsieur Worth would not have allowed me to purchase it if it did not flatter me."

"Monsieur Worth is terrified of you, madame."

"I cannot believe that Monsieur Worth is terrified of anyone," I said, raising an eyebrow. "More likely it would be the other way around."

"Except that I fear no one," Cécile reminded me, rising and hugging me emotionally. "I am so pleased to see you, Kallista."

"The feeling is entirely mutual, I assure you."

"Fine, Odette, bring me some other dress. The rose would clash with Kallista's dreadful mauve. How much longer must you mourn, my dear?"

"The moment I see Philip, I shall burn all these clothes," I said. I had written extensively to Cécile; she knew every detail of my present situation.

"Chérie, chérie, truly you think too much of this man. I hope his return to you is as joyful as you hope."

"I think it shall be," I replied.

Cécile disappeared into her dressing room. "You do not sound as confident in person as your letters did," she called to me.

"I am quite confident, just a bit tired from the journey."

"Your trip to this point has given you only a fraction of the misery you will suffer on the rest."

"Thank you for your kind support." I laughed.

"Well, at least your bedroom will no longer be lonely. You will be happy of that?"

"Yes, immensely happy," I said, glad that Cécile could not see me blush.

"That is encouraging," she replied, sailing back into the bedroom, grabbing my arm, and leading me into the hall. "If that is your attitude, then Philip cannot be all bad. Come. You must see my lovely miniatures while we talk."

Behind Cécile's drawing room ran a long, wide corridor lined with miniature reproductions of rooms from the palace at Versailles. She began collecting them as a girl, after her father had designed her first one for her. This was the only thing I knew of her father; she gave no further information about him. I wondered if her family had been aristocrats before the revolution and if she still harbored sympathy for the lost monarchy. My mother was convinced that they had been closely connected to royalty. The history of noble families was the only subject on which my mother could claim expertise, so in the case of Cécile's ancestors, I felt inclined to agree with her.

"However did you get that done?" I gasped, looking at the Hall of Mirrors, the latest addition to her spectacular dollhouse. The detail stunned me. Cecile assured me that every bit of tiny gilt trim, the twenty crystal chandeliers, and the seventeen beveled mirrors perfectly mimicked the originals.

"You know better than most people that anything can be accomplished with enough money," she said, adjusting some of the golden maidens holding elaborate candelabras that stood at intervals along the walls. "Your friend Monsieur Pontiero has turned out to be a most skilled miniaturist. He painted the ceilings for me."

I bent down to look at my former drawing master's work and felt duly impressed. "Never having seen the original, I shall have to take your word for the authenticity. That Monsieur Pontiero's work is exquisite cannot be questioned."

"Much has changed in the palais, but what can be expected to happen after the revolution?" She shrugged. "Next time you come to Paris, I shall take you there."

"Philip would love that; I know that he wanted to take me to Paris," I said with a sigh.

"None of this romantic nonsense, chérie. I said you, not Philip. He will be left with the impressionists or at the Louvre. Love him if you will, but I am not sure that I would enjoy his company."

"You are dreadful, Cécile," I moaned.

"I am too old to be subjected to your foolish sentiments," she said, smiling. "What would I have to say to a man whose prime entertainment is hunting exotic beasts? What conversation could we have?"

"His interests include many other things, Cécile. Be fair." I did not like the fact that she had focused on my only real fear in being reunited with my husband. "Do not forget that he is also an avid collector of art."

"Yes, I had put that out of my mind." She picked up a tiny table and dusted it off with her handkerchief. "Perhaps I shall find that he is not hopeless."

"Thank you," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Do you think he will continue his habit of prolonged hunting trips? It hardly seems fair to you."

"I admit that is a subject that has given me some cause for concern, but there is no use speculating. I shall discuss it with him after we return home."

"I do wish you had chosen a husband who did not enjoy such an odious activity," Cécile said, returning the table to its place in a lovely little receiving room.

"Yes, I know. I secretly hope that he will be put off the entire business after his last safari."

"Somehow I doubt that is likely. But I will try to withhold judgment of the man until I have met him. In the meantime I do have a fine surprise for you this afternoon. I told Renoir that we will bring lunch to his studio."

"That will be marvelous. You haven't told him about Philip, have you?" Brutus and Caesar had followed us and engaged themselves in a battle with the hem of my skirt. Having tired of the skirmish, I removed them one at a time and handed them to Cécile, who put them on a wide windowsill. They seemed to enjoy the view and did not trouble me further.

"No, I have told no one. I did not think it would be prudent until you produced the man himself. You say your evidence that he is alive is good, and I do agree with you, but"-she tapped my arm with her fan-"I am not convinced, Kallista. It all is too fantastical. Do not be angry with me, but I agree with your handsome friend Monsieur Hargreaves."

"Colin! But, Cécile, I am almost certain that he is behind all this forgery trouble. How could you take his side?"

"I would welcome a criminal with his face into any room of my house," she said slyly.

"You are trying to shock me but shall not succeed," I said, smiling and shaking my head. "But really, Cécile, I am afraid we were completely deceived by him."

"I am not sure that it matters," she said, shrugging. "Forget about these forgeries. Leave it to Philip, if you really think he is alive."

"If I did not think he were alive, I would not be traveling to Africa."

"I am not sure that is true, Kallista. Whatever the outcome, I hope that you are not disappointed." She finished rearranging the furniture in one of her tiny dollhouse bedrooms and turned to face me. "Let's speak of something more interesting. Did you know that our infamous cat burglar is still at large? Madame Bouchard, who lives just three houses from me, lost a diamond necklace that had been in her family for generations. It seems the thief will never be caught."

"I hope you are careful about locking your windows, Cécile. I'd hate to see any of your jewelry go missing."

"It would take more than locks to keep out such a clever criminal."


10 JANUARY 1888

EN ROUTE TO CAIRO


After stopping in Paris for several days to complete some unexpected business transactions, I have at last caught up with my friends. We will reach Cairo the day after tomorrow, where Kimathi, our guide, will meet us to start our journey south.

Palmer outdid himself in arranging the trip, although I fear our porters will suffer carrying the array of comforts he insisted on bringing. Hargreaves gave him a grilling over it, preferring a simpler camp, but I doubt he will refuse to share our friend's hospitality once he has tired of Masai cuisine.

K promised to write me regularly in care of Shepherd's-am anticipating reading her letters as soon as we arrive.

26

CÉCILE SENT THREE FOOTMEN TO ARRANGE HER LUNCHEON at Renoir's, with spectacular results. They created an indoor picnic, spreading thick blankets over the floor and placing vase after vase of hothouse flowers around the room. These blossoms combined with a blazing fire in the stove to give the effect of a lovely midsummer day. Renoir suffered greatly from arthritis and did not have the money to heat his studio to a temperature warm enough to ease his symptoms; Cécile had concocted her picnic in order to give him an afternoon of relief from the damp autumn day. I had no doubt that her footmen had also left sufficient wood to keep the stove burning hot for several more weeks. We sat on the blankets and shared an elegant feast: mousse de foie gras, pâtisseries génoises, saumon à la zingari, a variety of chaud-froids, and countless other dishes.

"I am delighted to see your work again, Monsieur Renoir," I observed, looking at the canvases that filled the studio. "Your paintings are like the music of Mozart: perfectly pleasing."