“Where’s mother now?”
“She’s married to a man named Geoffrey Townsend and lives in London.”
“Does she still drug?”
“Of course. And she’s beautiful.”
“Really?”
“No. She really is. This isn’t just filial piety.”
“You had a lot of filial piety once.”
“I know. I used to pray for everyone. Everything used to break my heart. I used to do First Fridays for mother to give her the grace of a happy death. You don’t know how I prayed for you, Roger.”
“I wish it would have done more good,” Roger said.
“So do I,” she said.
“You can’t tell, Audrey. You never know when it may,” David said. “I don’t mean that Mr. Davis needs to be prayed for. I just mean about prayer technically.”
“Thanks, Dave,” Roger said. “What ever became of Bruce?”
“He died. Don’t you remember?”
“No. I remember Dick Raeburn did.”
“I imagine you do.”
“I do.”
Young Tom and Andy came back with the bottles of Coca-Cola and Andy gave a cold bottle to the girl and one to David.
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s wonderful and cold.”
“Audrey,” young Tom said. “I remember you now. You used to come to the studio with Mr. Raeburn. You never talked at all. You and I and Papa and Mr. Raeburn used to go to the different circuses and we used to go racing. But you weren’t as beautiful then.”
“Sure she was,” Roger said. “Ask your father.”
“I’m sorry about Mr. Raeburn dying,” young Tom said. “I remember him dying very well. He was killed by a bobsled that rode high over a turn and went into the crowd. He’d been very ill and Papa and I went to visit him. Then he was better after a while and he went to watch the bob races although he shouldn’t have. We weren’t there when he was killed. I’m sorry if talking about it upsets you, Audrey.”
“He was a nice man,” Audrey said. “It doesn’t upset me, Tommy. It was a long time ago.”
“Did you know either of us boys?” Andy asked her.
“How could she, horseman? We weren’t born yet,” David said.
“How was I to know?” Andy asked. “I can’t remember anything about France and I don’t think you remember much.”
“I don’t pretend to. Tommy remembers France for all of us. Later on I’ll remember this island. And I can remember every picture papa ever painted that I’ve seen.”
“Can you remember the racing ones?” Audrey asked.
“Every one I’ve seen.”
“I was in some of them,” Audrey said. “At Longchamps and at Auteuil and St. Cloud. It’s always the back of my head.”
“I can remember the back of your head then,” young Tom said. “And your hair was down to your waist and I was two steps above you to see better. It was a hazy day the way it is in the fall when it’s blue smoky looking and we were in the upper stand right opposite the water jump and on our left was the bullfinch and the stone wall. The finish was on the side closer to us and the water jump was on the inner course of the track. I was always above and behind you to see better except when we were down at the track.”
“I thought you were a funny little boy then.”
“I guess I was. And you never talked. Maybe because I was so young. But wasn’t Auteuil a beautiful track though?”
“Wonderful. I was there last year.”
“Maybe we can go this year, Tommy,” David said. “Did you use to go to the races with her, too, Mr. Davis?”
“No,” Roger said. “I was just her swimming teacher.”
“You were my hero.”
“Wasn’t papa ever your hero?” Andrew asked.
“Of course he was. But I couldn’t let him be my hero as much as I wanted because he was married. When he and Tommy’s mother were divorced I wrote him a letter. It was very powerful and I was ready to take Tommy’s mother’s place in any way I could. But I never sent it because he married Davy’s and Andy’s mother.”
“Things are certainly complicated,” young Tom said.
“Tell us some more about Paris,” David said. “We ought to learn all we can if we’re going there now.”