showed her a blog post.
The photos were of her and Mathieu outside his house, snapped from earlier that afternoon. They were embracing as she kissed the side of his cheek. The headline said: Clémence Damour Cheats on Boyfriend with Artist Ex .
Who could’ve taken that photo? Was she followed?
“What’s going on?” Arthur asked.
“You gotta be kidding me,” she said. “I can explain.”
He leaned back and crossed his arms. She could tell that he was pissed off. She told him about the ghost story, the child’s handprint on his wall, and how she was going to cleanse his house with sage.
“That’s pretty hard to believe,” he said. “You’re pretty naïve if you believe that story.”
“Excuse me?” Clémence exclaimed. “Okay, the ghost thing may sound crazy, but why would he lie to me? And there is a small handprint on the wall.”
“Oh, I don’t know, to get you over to his house? To bait you because he knows you’re a sucker for anything weird and mysterious? Have you ever thought that maybe the handprint didn’t come from an actual ghost?”
“I’m not naïve.” Clémence’s temper flared. “Look, I understand why you’re upset—”
“Do you? This is humiliating. I have friends phoning me up asking me if I’m all right, and even my mother asked me what was going on between us.”
“Oh God. I’m sorry. But it’s all innocent, I swear.”
“Ghosts,” Arthur muttered.
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Do you trust yourself?”
Clémence blinked. “What? You really think I’m going to cheat on you with Mathieu?”
“Why not? People cheat on each other all the time. If you were close to this guy, who’s to say you won’t get close again? He’ll charm you, pay you a couple of compliments, and you’re back in his arms before you know it.”
“Do you really think I’m that easy to impress? I don’t want him. I swear—”
Just then, the doorbell rang. Who could it be at this hour? She wasn’t expecting anyone.
“I’ll get it,” she stood up.
At the front door, she looked through the peephole. Mathieu! Again? He didn’t tell her he was stopping by. She considered not answering, but how could she? He probably heard her footsteps through the door and—
“Clémence?”
Shoot. He knew she was there. There was no other choice. She had to open up.
“ Bonsoir Mathieu. What can I do for you at this hour?”
“I know it’s late, but I was in the neighborhood after dining with a gallery owner to talk about my work. Anyway, you left both of your sage sticks, and since I was the in the neighborhood, I figured I’d just return them to you.”
“How did you get in downstairs?”
“Someone was coming out. I hope it’s all right. I didn’t want to intrude. I suppose I also wanted to apologize in person for Charlotte’s behavior today. She was just surprised to see you. I hope she didn’t hurt your feelings.”
“No. It’s okay. And one of the sage sticks is for you. Go ahead and use it.” She took the other one.
“Charlotte knows a lot about you. It’s because I mention you a lot, especially during the past week, when stories about you were just everywhere. I guess she got a little jealous.”
“It’s understandable. No hard feelings.”
“Hey—is that an original de Kooning?”
Mathieu brushed past Clémence and entered the apartment’s hallway to look at an abstract charcoal sketch of a woman by the famous Dutch artist. Clémence didn’t know how to stop him.
“Er, yeah. It’s an original. My mother’s. She won it at an auction at Christie’s.”
“Do you mind if we turn on the lights? I want to take a better look.”
Clémence whispered, “Actually, Mathieu, I’m sorry, but this isn’t a good time—”
“ Bonsoir. ” Arthur approached.
Mathieu turned to him and put on his smoothest grin. “I’m Mathieu Leroy,