He embraced her as soon as he was close enough, and when he was about to withdraw she used her free hand to hold the back of his head and prolong the kiss.
“That’s very affectionate,” he said.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day.” It was like this sometimes, either one or the other overcome with need and on the prowl.
“The potatoes are simmering on the stove. Keep an eye on them and I’ll be right back. I’m just going to get another bottle of wine.”
“I can’t drink tonight anyway, I need to study. Why don’t you come back with me now and we’ll have a little fun before dinner?”
“What a good offer,” said Lukas. “But let me pick up the wine in case you change your mind.”
“Aren’t we a little early in our marriage for wine to take priority?”
He was slightly irritated and about to say something, but when he looked at her he realized she was right. He kissed her on the neck, drew her free arm through his and walked back to the apartment, listening to what she said about her day while thinking that he should look for a job soon. It was not good to put so much time into the preparation of dinner.
He had just closed the door behind him when he turned to see that she had set down her bag, hung up her jacket, and was pulling the pins out of her hair. “You look like you’re in a rush,” he said.
“I’m hungry for you.”
He reached around her waist, pulled her close to kiss her and then undid the clasp at the back of her skirt as well as the button below it. Her skirt dropped to the floor and she began to laugh.
“You said you were in a hurry,” said Lukas.
“But I thought we might make it to the bedroom first.”
“No time for that, madame. Hands up.” She raised her hands and he took her sweater and peeled it up from the bottom and then threw it behind her, over her head.
Someone knocked at the door.
Monika’s face lit up with mock panic and she smothered a laugh, and then began to gather up her discarded clothing.
“Who is it?” Lukas asked through the door.
“It’s Anne.”
“I’ll be right there.” He waited a moment until Monika was out of the hall and then opened the door. Anne was standing outside with a large jar in the crook of one elbow and her briefcase in her other hand. She wore eyeglasses now and looked very serious as a result. She kissed him on each cheek. “It’s bad luck to greet someone across a threshold.”
“Only in Lithuania,” said Anne. “And since we’re in Paris, we don’t have to worry.”
“What have you got in your hand?”
“Mother pickled some cucumbers and sent me over with them.”
“Will you stay for dinner? It’s almost ready.”
“I think I will. I might stay here to study after that. Mother has piano students all evening and I want to get in a little reading before classes begin next week.”
“You’re always welcome here,” said Lukas, his heart sinking a little.
Monika came back in and the sisters kissed, and then they all went into the kitchen to eat. Anne tried yet again to convince Monika to give up her studies in nursing in favour of medicine, but Monika declined. Nursing was faster. She wanted to get on with her life.
After they had eaten, to Lukas’s embarrassment, Monika told Anne to go for a walk for half an hour, which Anne agreed to do if they spotted her the money for a cup of coffee in a café. The sisters were practical and unashamed about their sexual needs, while Lukas still felt a little like the overmodest country boy.
He was washing dishes when Anne came back, and the sisters set up on opposite sides of the table to do their work. They were a serious pair, barely talking to one another. Lukas left the wet dishes to air-dry on the counter and took a book to the living room. The evening passed quietly, and when it grew late he and Monika walked Anne back to her mother’s apartment. The evening was getting cool as they returned. Lukas asked Monika if she would like to go for a drink before going to bed, but she was tired and they didn’t really have the money to drink in cafés. She encouraged him to go ahead. He walked her back to their place and then returned to the rue St-Antoine for a drink.
He went into a workers’ café just off the main street. It was full of men in blue smocks, some of whom worked odd hours for the city and some of whom had been drinking here since they finished work a few hours ago. Their wives would not be too happy to see them when they finally came in. The place was thick with smoke and talk in various languages; many of the workers were Polish or Italian. Lukas ordered a glass of beer and a shot of Calvados, the cheapest of the liquors, and then drank both down quickly and ordered another beer. It was only after he felt the welcome rush of relaxation that he turned around with his back to the bar in order to look across the tables and onto the street beyond the windows.
Zoly was sitting at a table by the window with a glass of wine in front of him, his arms crossed as he watched Lukas. Zoly was in a suit and tie, and his hat was on a chair beside him. He was smoking a cigarette—ever the man of the world, even here, in a working-class bar.
EIGHTEEN
HE FELT oddly vindicated by the sight of Zoly. Lukas’s unease, the prickly sensation at the back of his neck, had been warranted. He finished his glass of beer because the waiter would not permit him to take it to a table, where he would be expected to order again at a higher price. He then walked across the short distance and pulled out the chair across from Zoly and sat down.
“Surprised?” Zoly asked.
“I’ve smelt you around for the last little while, like a piece of dog turd deep within the treads of my boots.”
“Your rough language is true to your country roots, I see,” said Zoly. He called over the waiter and ordered another Calvados and beer for Lukas. He butted one cigarette, took another from the pack, but seemed in no hurry to light it, first studying the street outside.
Lukas could feel the alcohol as he had intended to, to help bring on sleep. He enjoyed the slight intoxication and would have liked to drink the Calvados in front of him, but he didn’t touch it, and when Zoly finally did light his next cigarette and proposed a toast, Lukas just sipped at his beer.
“Let’s catch up,” said Zoly. “I’m a little insulted that you didn’t invite me to your wedding.”
“It wasn’t much of a party—just family and a few close friends.”
“Belated congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
“And how is the life of the bourgeois gentilhomme agreeing with you?”
“The married part of my life is quite wonderful, but I’m underemployed. I’m finishing off a book about the partisans for the government-in-exile, but there isn’t much money in that. It’s not easy to find work in France.”
“I imagine not, but you always seemed a little above making a living, if I might say so. You brushed us off, and the French as well, I understand, as if you didn’t need to earn your way through life. You must have been saving yourself for your wife.”
“For the Americans, actually.”
“But they never came to call.”
“I’m not at liberty to say.” There wasn’t much point in being evasive, but Lukas did it out of pride. If Zoly knew he had been with the French and left them, he knew just as well that Lukas was not working for the Americans.
Zoly smiled ruefully. “You’re bored to tears, Lukas. This isn’t the life for you.”
It was a kind of insult, but a relief as well. Lukas took the shot of Calvados in his hand and finished it. He regretted his weakness when he looked up and saw Zoly’s faint smile. “You’ve travelled to Paris to tell me how I should live?”