E-Book, Englisch, 256 Seiten
Laurain An Astronomer in Love
1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 978-1-80533-362-3
Verlag: Pushkin Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark
E-Book, Englisch, 256 Seiten
ISBN: 978-1-80533-362-3
Verlag: Pushkin Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark
Antoine Laurain was born in Paris and is a journalist, antiques collector and award-winning author of ten novels, including The Red Notebook and The President's Hat. His books have been translated into 25 languages and sold more than 200,000 copies in English. He lives in Paris, France.
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He walked down the street by her side, suspended in that strange moment where both people are waiting for someone to break the silence. Xavier stole a glance at her. She had a beautiful profile; the sunlight picked out the elegant outline of her nose and her brown hair. Xavier noticed some beauty spots on her neck, whose positioning reminded him of the constellation Ursa Major.
‘Have you lived in the neighbourhood long?’
‘Yes, I was born here, and I’ve come and gone ever since.’
‘And you want to leave again?’
‘Maybe. Or maybe not,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘I could stay in the neighbourhood, but on another street. I often pass by your agency, and, you know how it is, one day you just decide to push open the door,’ she said, smiling.
‘Why my agency?’
‘You’re the closest, according to the internet.’
‘I see,’ said Xavier.
They stopped at a pedestrian crossing and Xavier looked at the table on the terrace where he had sat by the man in dark glasses. It was now occupied by two tourists who had put their suitcases at their feet and were presumably searching for their Airbnb on their phone. Alice didn’t look towards the terrace. She entered the building code and the carriage door opened with a click.
‘It’s about sixty square metres, or sixty-five, I don’t know exactly, and I have a balcony that looks towards Montmartre, which can be seen from far off.’
Xavier almost corrected her, telling her that the balcony on which he had observed her looked towards the south, and therefore not towards Montmartre. They got into an old lift, and she pushed the number five. The two of them were silent in the two-metre-square space, and as the lift went up, Xavier could smell a perfume emanating from her, which he identified as verbena. There were two doors on her floor, the one on the right belonging to the owner who had put the flowers on their balcony. Alice took out a bunch of keys and opened the door on the left.
‘Please come in,’ she said, and Xavier entered a small room with dimmed lights. She had placed small frames on the walls, which held metallic-blue butterflies. Alice headed towards the living room, and Xavier followed in silence. He entered the large room that he had seen from his window. There was a curved nineteenth-century sofa with dark mahogany scrolls, and other pieces of furniture scattered around, a tasteful mixture of old and new, and accent lighting spread about to compensate for the lack of a ceiling light in the centre of the room. A large round glass table was covered in tools, fabric and at least twenty bottles of various sizes, which at first glance gave the impression that this part of the room was sort sort of workshop, where extremely precise, delicate things were crafted. He turned around and nearly jumped out of his skin: the zebra. It took up the entire space between the wall and the door. It was really there, with its striped, shiny coat and its head turned to the left. Perfectly still.
‘Sorry,’ smiled Alice. ‘I’m a taxidermist.’
Xavier approached the animal. Its muzzle was uncannily realistic; he was almost expecting to see it flare its nostrils and shake its head.
‘It’s an order for a client,’ Alice continued. ‘This zebra was stuffed more than a hundred years ago. He wanted me to restore it because it’s starting to spoil. The only solution was to install it in my apartment. Normally I work for the Natural History Museum. Can I show you around?’
Xavier nodded. ‘I’m going to measure the living room,’ he said, retrieving a laser pointer from his pocket. He stood next to the zebra and pointed the laser at the wall, then did the same from the window to the door.
‘The kitchen,’ Alice said, opening a door.
‘You don’t have an open-plan kitchen,’ noted Xavier.
‘No, I must admit I’ve never understood the appeal of having a washing machine in the middle of the living room,’ Alice said drily.
They moved into the corridor.
‘My bedroom,’ she said, pushing open a door, and Xavier saw a bright room with a copper-framed bed, shining like Guillaume Le Gentil’s telescope.
On the wall there were posters from the museum, detailing exhibitions from years ago, as well as a large wardrobe of light wood, burnished by the years it had served as a closet.
‘It’s nice and light in here,’ Xavier commented, before pausing in front of a painting of two silky foxes in an almost abstract landscape. The name of the painter was written in large letters: Yamaguchi Kayo. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Yes,’ said Alice. ‘He was a very famous Japanese painter. In his whole life he only painted animals.’
They left the bedroom and Alice opened another door. ‘My daughter’s bedroom,’ she said, and Xavier saw the typical decor of a bedroom belonging to a girl of around ten years old.
‘How old is she?’
‘Eleven,’ Alice replied.
‘My son is the same age,’ he said, with a smile.
‘What’s his name?’ asked Alice.
‘Olivier – what’s your daughter’s name?’
‘Esther.’
‘Esther’s room is almost as big as yours,’ Xavier commented, his gaze falling on a shelf piled high with various objects ranging from miniature perfume bottles to anime girl figurines. In the middle, mounted on a golden rod atop a wooden pedestal, was a stuffed flying fish, its transparent wings outstretched.
‘It’s my daughter’s prized possession.’
‘Did you make it?’
Alice nodded.
‘A few years ago, we read a story where the heroine saw flying fish, and it wasn’t long before I heard “Mum, bring me a flying fish”,’ she said, smiling.
The bathroom was a good size, and next to the walk-in shower was a small window which looked over the city.
‘I’ll show you the other balcony,’ said Alice, closing the door.
They went up a few steps and entered a small room filled with shelves, whose windows opened onto a balcony with a view over the roofs of the city, and the Sacré-Cœur in the distance.
‘It’s very unusual,’ Xavier said, admiring the view in the afternoon light. ‘You must get magnificent sunsets.’
Alice smiled. ‘Yes, we’ve had some beautiful ones. Esther’s favourites are pinned up to the right of the window.’ Xavier turned towards the wall and saw pictures of the view, all the same, but where the sky was sometimes orange, sometimes pink, sometimes a glowing red.
‘We take them on my phone, and I print some of them out.’
Xavier nodded. ‘It’s full of charm, this apartment,’ he said, before taking out his laser pointer to measure the room with the sunsets. ‘It’s between sixty-five and sixty-seven square metres, but I need to measure precisely to be sure. You have the lift, the shops nearby and it’s in a pleasant neighbourhood. Now, in 2012, we’re at around 9,000 euros per square metre. If we base that on sixty-five square metres, it’s worth 585,000 euros.’
Alice nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘If you’d like to put it up for sale, my assistant will take some photos and I’ll look after the rest.’
There was a silence and she looked towards the window.
‘Either I find an apartment with a terrace in the neighbourhood or I leave… maybe to go far away. I have an offer to take my work overseas.’
‘Far away?’
‘Washington,’ Alice said.
‘That certainly is far. And your daughter?’ he asked.
‘She would come, we’ve talked about it.’
Xavier didn’t dare ask what would happen with the girl’s father in this case.
‘I have a question,’ he said, and Alice turned to look at him. ‘At the museum, is it possible to visit the taxidermy workshop? I think my son would be fascinated by it. You see, I’m always on the lookout for new things to do with him on the weekend. I only see him every other weekend,’ he added, as if to justify himself.
‘I understand,’ said Alice. ‘Technically no, there are no visitors, unless you know someone who works there.’ There was a pause, then Alice added: ‘Come this weekend. Esther will be there too. I’m working Saturdays at the moment. I’m late on a dodo.’
‘A dodo?’ Xavier asked, confused.
‘The extinct bird,’ Alice smiled. ‘I’m restoring one.’
On the way back to the agency, Xavier noticed he was walking much more slowly than usual. The streets and the boulevard went by in a sort of haze, as if viewed through one of those frosted windows sometimes found on the doors of old apartments, behind which you can see only figures and guess at the size of a room and its furnishings. Alice and her apartment. Just Alice. Alice. She gave him a feeling of déjà vu. Of course, déjà...
