Page 56 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt

My artificial smile had turned into something genuine.

‘That’s a very beautiful sentiment, monsieur,’ Brouilly said glumly.

‘Oh Brouilly! Don’t look so downcast, man!’ Landowski walked over to his assistant and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Do you really think that I would leave you directionless? Before accepting the position, I made some arrangements with our colleague Monsieur Blanchet at the École des Beaux-Arts. You will take up a position as a junior teacher there when I leave for Rome in one week.’

‘Really, Monsieur?’ Brouilly’s eyes widened.

‘Yes. Blanchet was more than happy to accept my letter of recommendation. It is a fine institution, and you will be a valuable asset. They’ll certainly pay you a great deal more than I do, at the very least. Enjoy the regular income whilst you work on your own career.’

‘Thank you, Monsieur Landowski, thank you. I will never forget what you have done for me.’ Brouilly shook his teacher’s hand vigorously.

‘It is deserved. After all, I could not have completed theCristowithout you...’ After shaking Brouilly’s hand, Landowski held it steady and examined it, then gave him a wink. ‘Your work will live on forever.’ Next he turned to me. ‘Young Bo! Your life will continue largely unchanged. I have no plans to sell the house here, and of course we will be back for summer breaks, and Christmas too. Most of the staff will be forced to take up new positions... but Evelyn will remain. Is this agreeable to you?’ I nodded. ‘Good! Then I do believe that it is tradition to celebrate change with a bottle of champagne...’

Within seven days, the Landowski family were packed and ready to leave for their new life in Rome. I believe I would have been a great deal more emotional about their imminent departure had it not been for Elle. As long as she remained, I felt invincible.

As Monsieur Landowski had promised, my life was hardly altered, save for me spending more time with Evelyn, who was now solely responsible for the upkeep of the household. I would correspond via letter with Monsieur Landowski often. He would tell me the stories of the youngartisteswho passed through his doors at the French Academy, and give me updates on the family:

Marcel is working furiously on his piano playing. As you know, he hopes to attend the conservatoire in the next two years... I think that he has a good chance. I do not doubt that your presence has provided the motivation required for him to achieve his dreams!

I must say, it was not altogether unpleasant to have the entire household to myself, with completely free access to the library... and to the kitchen. I was even bold enoughto hold brief conversations with Evelyn. When I had eventually opened my mouth to her, she cried. Looking back now, I lived in a dream-like state, entranced by the intoxicating potion of Elle, music, and what had begun to feel like total security.

How naive I was.

The beginning of the end started in the autumn of 1935.

Elle and I sat in a café on the Rue Jean-de-la-Fontaine. As Elle was older than eighteen, she had left the Apprentis d’Auteuil, and inhabited a dark, dingy room in the attic of a friend of Madame Gagnon’s. She made a meagre wage from cleaning for the owner – Madame Dupont – but accepted it, as the arrangement meant she could still attend her bi-weekly tuition at the conservatoire. I leant back in my metal chair and I looked at Elle, who was sat staring blankly into her coffee. Clearly something was bothering her.

‘Is everything all right, my love?’ I asked.

‘Yes, fine... it’s just that Monsieur Toussaint shouted at me during our last lesson.’

I gave her a warm smile. ‘As you know, that’s not unusual at the conservatoire.’

Elle shrugged. ‘I know. But to be quite honest, I don’t think Toussaint has ever really liked me. He believes himself to be above tutoring a novice teenage girl. He is right, of course. But these last few weeks, as he has been attempting to improve my sight-reading, his venom has been particularly poisonous.’

‘Don’t worry about that. I’m sure he is just frustrated that you haven’t learntthe proper way. I had a similar experience with Monsieur Ivan,’ I placated her.

‘You’re right. He did say something odd during the outburst, though.’

‘What was it?’ I asked.

‘He said that if I wasn’t the spawn of the “Great Russian”,he’d force me to stay up all night and study.’ My blood ran a little cold. ‘I asked him what he meant by the “Great Russian” comment, and he laughed, saying thatsurelyI didn’t think that I was in his classroom on merit alone. I continued to press him, and he became enraged, saying that he didn’t have time to teach children, and that Rachmaninoff should climb down from his throne and do it himself.’

‘Ah,’ I stuttered.

Elle frowned. ‘I said that I didn’t understand, and he laughed and told me that he was going to write to the “Great Russian” to tell him his daughter was useless. Then Monsieur Ivan appeared, and asked to speak to Toussaint in the corridor. They stepped outside, talked for a while, then he returned and dismissed me.’ Elle looked at me quizzically. ‘What do you think he meant by that reference to Rachmaninoff?’

I slowly took a sip of my English breakfast tea. ‘I may be able to shed a little light on the situation.’

She looked confused. ‘What do you mean, Bo?’ I sighed and explained the fiction which Monsieur Ivan had invented. When I had done so, Elle looked understandably crestfallen. ‘So... I would not have gained a place at the conservatory had it been based on talent alone?’

‘That’s not it at all. Monsieur Ivan said that you were Rachmaninoff’s daughter so you would be granted an audition. The rest, I assure you, was achieved through your musical prowess.’

‘They all think I am Rachmaninoff’s abandoned daughter?’

‘Well, Toussaint and Moulin do. Please, try not to worry. I will speak to Monsieur Ivan at our next lesson and get his account of the situation.’

I never had the chance to speak to Monsieur Ivan. A few nights later, I was woken by a crash as I slept in the Landowski home. My eyes shot open, and I threw the covers from mybody. Despite my new life of safety, I was glad to learn that, at least on a subconscious level, my senses remained on high alert. My former existence in the frozen wastelands ensured that I always ‘slept with one eye open’, as my father used to term it.