Death and Transfiguration

Chapter 32

Léa was silent for a few moments, as if she hadn't quite formulated what she was about to say, and I wondered what it was that she wanted to tell me. What did the letter from New Caledonia have to do with anything? Why did she look so worried, so panicked? What could Léa Valencourt possibly be hiding?

Finally, Léa took a deep breath and began to speak. "It all began when I left Vienna and moved back to Paris," she said. "It was strange coming back to France after so long away, but I found a home in the Paris Opera and in the Order of the Nightingales. I think it was Lajoie who invited me to that meeting - he thought I would fit in with the rest of the group, and sure enough, I did. I met so many incredible people, but there was one woman who caught my eye every time I met with the Nightingales. She had piercing blue eyes and long, blonde hair, and every time I saw her, it was like magic. I had to make her mine.

"And as it turned out, she felt the same way I did. She was stuck in a loveless marriage, but that didn't stop us. Night after night, I took her back to my place, and we did whatever our hearts desired. For years, she was my lover, as well as the closest thing I had to a friend."

"You still haven't said who this mysterious lady was," I said. "You're hiding something, aren't you?"

"You haven't figured it out?" I shook my head, and Léa laughed and said, "It was Claire Sylvestre, of course."

My jaw practically dropped. "You courted Mrs. Sylvestre?"

"I wouldn't say that," Léa said. "At the time, I didn't think of her as a girlfriend - she was more like a friend with benefits - but it went on like that for years. I gave her what Sylvestre never could, and he never found out why Claire never came home from the Order of the Nightingales meetings on time. It worked perfectly.

"That is, until she fell in love. I liked Claire, but I didn't love her like she loved me. I couldn't love her like she loved me, not when there were so many other fish in the sea, not when I was so afraid of committing to one person, of giving all of myself to her. I was never faithful to her, and now that's it over...I really do wish I had treated her better. She was dealt a difficult hand in life. Between never getting a proper education, her family practically forcing her to marry a man she didn't love, her husband telling her to give up music..."

"I...I didn't know Sylvestre was like that," I said.

Léa shrugged. "Most men are," she said.

"What about Moreau?" I said.

"Moreau's different. He knows what it's like for us," Léa said. There was a brief moment of silence, and then, as I glanced back at the letter, Léa continued her story. "Last year, Bergmann came to visit Paris, and he told me that he was heartbroken, that he missed me like he'd never missed anyone before. He was pathetic, pitiful, but I felt bad for him, so I let him have me one last time, and...Claire caught us together. It was a mistake, I know, and if I could go back and undo it, I would, but there's nothing I can do now. She cut things off between us, and the very next day, she disappeared."

"I thought Claire Sylvestre died," I said.

"Well, that's not quite the truth," Léa said. "She vanished, leaving behind nothing but a note. I never got to see the note - apparently, Sylvestre burned it almost as soon as he found it. He figured out what had happened - that his wife had cheated on him with me - and, desperate to avoid a scandal, he told everyone that Claire had died. For a long time, no one, including me, knew what had really happened.

"A few months later, I got a letter from Claire. She had run off to New Caledonia, the furthest corner of the Earth, and she wanted me to know that she was alright. At first, I wasn't sure whether or not to reply, but I did, and we've been exchanging letters ever since. She's met someone else, one of the native women, and as far as I can tell, she's as happy as can be.

"It's just...I know I've done wrong, Mattie, but I want to be better. I want to treat you better than I treated Claire, but I understand if you don't want to be with me. I don't deserve you."

"Léa," I said as I gave her a hug. "I'm glad you told me, but it doesn't change a thing about how I feel about you."

Léa smiled and then leaned in and kissed me once again. My heart raced as she said, "Mattie, I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like you, I don't think I've ever loved anyone quite like you, and I'm truly glad we're here. Together."

"Me too," I said. "So...do you...do you want to meet up for coffee sometime?"

"I'd like that a lot," Léa said with a smile. "Maybe tomorrow after you're done with work?"

"Sounds perfect," I said, but when I looked back at Léa, she had already climbed back out the window.

"Goodnight Mattie," I heard her whisper before she disappeared into the night, leaving me charmed, captivated, and hopelessly in love.

When I woke up the next day, I thought of what had happened the night before, and despite everything Léa had said, I couldn't get her out of my mind. She had broken hearts before, but I was sure she had changed, grown as a person, just like I had. I wasn't the same woman I was a year ago, and neither was she.

As I walked to Sylvestre's house, I couldn't stop smiling: all I could think of was Léa and our upcoming coffee date. I dreamed of the witty conversations we might have, her hand in mine, her lovely voice...

All of a sudden, I bumped into someone.

"I'm so sorry about that," I said, but when I looked up, I saw a familiar face, one that was so utterly plain that it could disappear into any crowd. "Louise Pascal?" I said.

Pascal nodded and then said, "Miss Brackenborough, it's good to see you again. Have you seen Mr. Sylvestre recently?"

"I was on my way to his house."

"I need to talk to him."

I stared at her for a moment and then asked, "Why?" After all, Sylvestre hadn't done anything. Pascal had already proven that much.

Pascal looked me dead in the eye, and when she was sure no one else would overhear, she said, "It's about the Bergmann case. I think I've finally made a breakthrough."