Ben was transfixed. Emilie was a natural storyteller, and her voice enchanted him.
“All around Emil was darkness. He could hear monsters and creatures around him. He could smell their stench, my grandmother says, but he could not see what chased him. So he decided to paint it.” Emilie motioned to the painting on the left. “Le Labyrinthe Crépusculaire. Twilight Labyrinth. Emil painted a woman—my grandmother says the figure is Adele—walking into a maze at twilight. The moon is low in the sky, and there are eyes peeking through the hedges. Do you see them?”
Emilie rose and took Ben’s hand. They walked to the painting and leaned in.
“Do you see?”
“I do.”
Eyes peered through thick hedges. At first glance, they appeared to be leaves, but on closer inspection they were definitely eyes. Bloodshot eyes. Cat eyes. Snake eyes. The woman stood at the entrance of the labyrinth, her neck bared to the elements and her diaphanous dress clinging to her legs. She was barefoot, as if she’d walked through long grass to reach the dark green maze.
“There is so much detail,” Emilie said, her hand floating over the painting. “I’d only seen pictures before this, and they were so small. I could look at this for hours.”
“Are those fangs?” Ben cocked his head and squinted.
“Fangs or thorns,” Emilie said. “We have no way of knowing what monsters are hidden in the maze.” She took his hand again and drew him to the right. “And this is the final painting, Le Labyrinthe de L’aube. Dawn Labyrinth. See, the woman is out of the maze now. The monsters have retreated. She has survived, but barely.”
It was the same woman, but now her dress was torn and bloody. Her feet left bloody prints in the sand at the maze’s entrance. Her long hair hung loose and tangled, half obscuring her face. Her lip was bleeding, but a phantom smile lurked at the corner of the woman’s mouth. She had a secret.
Ben’s heart raced. “Where is the last?”
“This is the last.”
“No, you said there were three. A trilogy.” He looked around the room. “Where is the third one?”
A haunted look came to Emilie’s eyes. “Labyrinthe de Minuit. Midnight Labyrinth. That one is lost.”
“Lost?” His eyes went wide. “Just… lost?”
“Sadly, yes. We will never know what happened to Adele at midnight. The few pictures we have are very unclear. My grandmother remembers her mother describing it, but—”
“If these survived, then it’s possible the other exists too.”
There was that look again. It was so like the mysterious woman’s half smile in the painting that Ben’s heart skipped a beat.
“Perhaps,” Emilie said. “I suppose you’re right. It might have survived.” Emilie walked back to the bench and sat. “You see, the Labyrinth Trilogy was never sold. Emil kept them for himself, but during the International Exposition in Paris in 1937, his friends pressured him to display them together. Just once, they said, the public should see his masterpiece. Pictures were taken. Tickets sold out. The three paintings became a sensation.”
“And then?”
“And then nothing. After the exhibition, they went to private collections. My uncle was forced to move, and so he sent these two to friends for safekeeping.”
“And Midnight Labyrinth?”
“To his sister.” Emilie stared at the space between the paintings. Her voice went low and grim. “But then the Nazis came and everything was lost.”
Ben sat next to her. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m not sure.” Her voice held a bite. “We’re not sure of anything except that most of the family died and all the art was lost. Probably destroyed. Possibly stolen.” Emilie’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry. This is why I was upset when you first saw me.”
“Don’t apologize for being upset over horrible things. That just means you’re human.” He was intrigued, enthralled, entranced. By her and by the paintings. “I want to see you again.”
She smiled through her tears. “Ben—”
“Let me have your number. Please. I promise I won’t be a nuisance, but you’re upset and I really want to see you again. Away from here. We’ll do dinner. Coffee.” He had to know more. About her and the paintings.
Emilie’s mouth opened, but before she could respond, a gentle chime signaled the museum’s closing.
She stood. “We need to go.”
Ben stood too. “May I have your number?”
She was flustered, glancing at the door. “I don’t know.”
Ben heard footsteps coming and reached for Emilie’s hand before she could escape. “Please.”
“Ben?” It was Chloe. “Are you still… Oh!” She smiled brightly. “Sorry to interrupt, but the museum is closing.”
Emilie wiped her eyes with Ben’s handkerchief. “My apologies. Is this your—”
“My friend,” Ben said.
“Just a friend,” Chloe said. “Promise.” She stepped into the gallery. “Sheesh, Ben, she’s still crying. You used to be better at comforting a girl.”
“Ha ha.”
Chloe walked to Emilie and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Chloe. Why don’t we visit the restrooms while we can? I have some drops for red eyes that work wonders.”
“You’re so kind,” Emilie said with a watery laugh. “And I promise, Ben wasn’t making me cry. It’s something entirely unrelated.”
“No problem. I have some cream for the puffiness around your eyes too.”
“Oh, I must be a mess.”
“No, you’re great.” Chloe patted her arm. “Seriously, you have the prettiest crying face I’ve ever seen.”
He watched them walk down the hall, Chloe’s powerful and curvaceous figure next to Emilie’s gentle, willowy shape. Chloe looked over her shoulder and caught him staring at their asses. She raised a sardonic eyebrow, but he only shrugged.
What could he say? He had a type. And that type was female.
Ben sat on a bench by the entrance, waiting for the two women to leave the bathroom. A few guests were still trickling out, but the lobby was mostly empty. He heard the click of heels on the ground and looked up to see Chloe coming toward him.
“Hey,” he said. “Everything come out all right?”
She wrinkled her nose. “You are such a boy.”
He smiled and rose from the bench, folding his suit jacket over his arm as his eyes turned back to the women’s bathrooms.
“What?” Chloe asked.
“What do you mean, what?”
“Aren’t we ready to go?”
“Aren’t we waiting for Emilie?”
Chloe frowned. “She left before me. Said she’d find you. I had to fix my hair and she seemed flustered, so…”
“Dammit,” he said, his eyes sweeping the lobby. “Are you serious?”
“No, Ben. I routinely lie about random stuff like strangers leaving the bathroom.” She held out her hands as if to say, Really?
How had he missed her? He’d been watching for them, but maybe he’d been relying on spotting Chloe’s vibrant presence and Emilie managed to slip away. He was getting rusty again. He started toward the museum store, but Chloe grabbed his arm.