“Amour, it is me, Chantal. I'm calling you about the violin.” Chantal’s flowery voice greeted me on the phone. She had shown me pictures and had told her boss she had an interested buyer. She explained there wouldn’t be a problem for me to get it. The need to have it for Daimon, to give it to him, had ruled my mind. I wanted him to have it. I should’ve been angry and not thought of him, but I couldn’t ignore my feelings. The more I tried the harder it was for me.
“What about it?” I asked instantly awake. “I think it is best you come to see me,” Chantal said not too pleased.
Walking into Christie’s, Chantal was at reception. I watched Chantal speaking to someone in French. Her expression was sullen and her arms crossed, while her foot tapped on the hard marble floors.
“Chantal?” I called out quietly. She turned to me, her head falling to one side. “I’m sorry, chérie, but the violin has been sold.”
I let out a breath, I felt cheated, as though someone had taken my chance to be with Daimon again. To give him that violin was a way, back into his life.
“I- I need that violin, Chantal,” I stammered nervously.
“I know, chérie. I know. I will do my best to find you another one.” She smiled reassuringly.
“Can you? I mean they’re rare,” I said nervously.
“I am the best. Do not worry,” she said, rubbing my back.
I left feeling upset. My hopes all lay on the stupid violin I used as a crutch to get near him. I needed it. Something inside me drove me to give it back to him. I was upset by so much that evening, his lies, his manipulations, but I was angrier he didn’t care enough for himself. He loved his music. It was the only thing that bound him to his mother.
I remembered as I watched in horror as he so easily destroyed it. I walked aimlessly through the city, until I came to an abrupt stop. There in front of me was a large building with large arches and iron railings. Shivers ran down my body as I read the name, L’ Entreprise Evans. It was Daimon’s firm.
Next Stop London
Paris was quickly becoming my second home. I used the metro and walked around the streets like it was second nature. I would also pass by Daimon’s building once in a while hoping, for what? I couldn’t exactly tell you.
Chantal and I became fast friends after Sam left. I missed his company and I felt badly he couldn’t find a way to be with the woman he loved. Everyone deserves to be with someone who loved them.
“Hey, Chantal?” I called out to her one day when we went shopping. She had taken me to the most amazing clothing stores. I bought a few things and relished in how nice it felt to be able to buy things for myself.
“Oui,” she said from behind a dressing room. I leaned up against the wall next to it and bit the bullet.
“About Sam…” I started but stopped almost as quickly.
“What about Sam?” she asked, as she tried on another stunning dress.
“Well, Sam…I think Sam likes you,” I said, knowing full well I shouldn’t be meddling in other people’s business, but the guy needed a hand.
“Oui, I know.” She emerged from the dressing room in a navy blue dress.
“But you don't like him back?”
“I do, but I will not leave my life in Paris for him and I do not want him to leave his life either. It is a problem we have been having for years. I wish I could find a way, but there is none.” I watched as her melancholy smile loomed over her soft, striking features. In all my time in Paris, Chantal had exuded confidence and poise, yet before me stood a woman torn.
“I’m so sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut.”
“Non, non, I, how do you say, Je t’adore. I adore you and our amitié,” she murmured.
“Amitié?” I asked.
“Our friendship. I like it.” Chantal’s phone rang. “One second,” she said to me as she reached into her bag.
“Oui?” I watched as her eyes bugged out. “êtes-vous sûr?” she asked hesitantly. “Ah! D’accord, okay,” she finally said after a few minutes, and then hung up. She ran into the dressing room and frantically took off the dress she had tried on.
“Chantal? Is everything okay?” I asked. She ran out of the dressing room, but then ran back to me and pulled on my hand. “What are you doing?” I asked as she dragged me out of the store.
“We are going to London, now!” she said.
“Tomorrow morning a private collector wants to sell his violin. I made sure I could get you a meeting with him. Maybe convince him to sell it to you instead. I didn’t want to tell you if it would not work out,” she said apologetically.