Defining chiaroscuro

“It is only with one's heart that one can see clearly.
What is essential is invisible to the eye.”
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

One week later
Pont du Alexandre III, Paris, France

Diana was late.

Mart tapped his freckled fingers on the wall cap that topped the stone balusters of the bridge.  The clear twilight sky provided a perfect backdrop to the Eiffel Tower, shining in the distance.  In the eyes of the world, the metal structure served as an image that defined a country.  At one time, Mart had believed it symbolized an end to love.  Over time, he’d learned it wasn’t the end of love as much as a beginning for two people embarking on their own separate journeys. 

The cell phone vibrating in his jacket pocket broke through his reverie.  He resisted the temptation to see who was calling.  Ever since the publication of the story broke over the API and Reuters news services, his phone had been ringing incessantly.  To Mart, the news article was anti-climactic after the draining endeavor of the last ten days.  He’d yet to answer the messages of congratulation and requests from publications, news channels, colleagues, friends, and family. 

And as he waited for Diana, they too would have to wait.

The focus of his thoughts was shattered when a child’s screams pierced the air, demanding his attention.  His feet automatically began running towards the source of the heart-breaking sobs.

Diana snapped her phone closed in frustration, her steps quickening from a fast walk into a half run, half walk towards the bridge.  The Pont du Alexendre III spanned the River Seine between the Left Bank and Right Bank of Paris.  Her meetings had taken much longer than planned, the delay compounded by heavy end-of-the-day commuter traffic and the three-inch-heeled boots that adorned her quickly moving feet. 

Mart wasn’t answering his phone, and his automated message center told her his message box was full.  With an increased sense of urgency, she jogged along the walkway, weaving in and around people.  Taking a momentary pause, she lifted her heels off the ground as far as possible, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.  All she saw was a sea of unknown people as their feet scurried to unknown destinations.  She broke into a run, the sound of her boots against the pavement like a staccato metronome, repeatedly tapping her silent plea.  Please, please be there.  She had so much explaining to do, and so much to tell him.   

What if he was too busy with calls from his colleagues and friends and he’d forgotten about their meeting?  Worse yet, what if he’d decided not to wait.  After all, she was over an hour late.  Maybe seeing her again wasn’t important enough to him to linger around waiting.  But what about the kiss in the cellar?  Maybe once they’d had returned to the normal everyday living of the city, Mart had recognized the kiss for what it might actually have meant to him – an intense reaction to the danger of the situation.  Diana felt her heartbeat accelerate to a drum tattoo inside her head, temporarily deafening her to the sounds of vehicle engines and people’s voices. 

Grasping for self-control, she scrutinized the people walking past her.  No Mart.  The Eiffel Tower glittered like a string of diamonds in the distance, making her feel as if it was mocking her for not acknowledging that this was where her heart wanted to lead her. 

Had she won the race but lost the prize? 

The loud sobs of a child grabbed her attention.  She spun around to find their source, and began walking towards a throng of people standing under one of the lampposts atop the bridge’s wall.  She blinked in surprise when Mart nimbly jumped up on the decorative concrete cap, amid shouts from the growing crowd.  His object of interest was a balloon, waving in the breezy night air, stopped on its airborne journey with its string tail caught on one of the tiered lamps.  He deftly detached the object of his quest, lithely jumping down and disappearing into the already dispersing assembly. 

Her previous panic evaporated, as a comforting warmth settled deep within her, when she worked her way through the remaining bystanders.  She saw Mart down on one knee trying to speak French with his atrocious accent to a little girl no more than four years old.  The child’s tear-stained faced looked up at him adoringly, while he tied the balloon’s string in a loose loop around her tiny wrist.  The child’s mother stood holding her daughter’s other hand, offering him effusive thanks. 

Diana felt a hitch in her heart, and was overcome by a sweet, achy feeling.  Mart looked so wholesome and beautifully male kneeling there, rugged and wonderful in his denim jeans, chambray shirt, and brown leather jacket.  Suddenly, the little girl launched herself at him in an enthusiastic hug, giving him a kiss on the cheek and then looking up at him shyly.  She continued to glance back at him as she and her mother continued their walk, the balloon safely anchored and waving its own good-bye. 

Diana felt an aching sense of need that began and ended with the man kneeling before her.  Mart appeared completely lost in thought, even as he stood, dusting off his hands and knees.  Diana began to sniffle and blink, realizing here was a man who would play Barbie and G.I. Joe with his children, not because he had to, but because he wanted to.  And he would have fun doing it.  Wait…was she getting emotional about G.I. Joe and Barbie?

Approaching him slowly, she said.  “That was some rescue, Mr. Knight-in-Shining Armor.” 

Looking embarrassed, Mart broke into a grin, and pretended to push up on an invisible Stetson, drawling out, “Shucks ma’am.  Ain’t nothin’.  I’m only the deputy in this here town tryin’ to help a purty little lady.”  He leaned casually against the wall, and put his hands in his jacket pockets.  

When it came to her work, Diana had no doubts and insecurities.  This wasn’t work.  It was Mart.  Looking at him, her emotions welled up inside of her, and her eyes began to sting.  She widened them, hoping to stem the dreaded possibility of tears.  Biting the side of her lip, she glanced down, and then back up again.  Taking a deep breath, she said, “I want to apologize.  We had a meeting with Jean-Luc, to confirm the Girl with Daffodils is original.  When I left, he was already planning the exhibit.  I…I’m sorry for being late.  It’s all taking longer than I anticipated.  It’s so complicated …”

“Don’t.”

Diana gazed at him in shock.  Her mouth, that normally curved up instead of down, formed a surprised O.  Mart’s serious expression matched a voice that was low and full of intensity.  “You don’t need to apologize to me, Diana.  For anything.  Including who you are and knowing what you want out of life.  You’re talking as if what you do is just a job.  It's not.  It's part of who you are.” 

Just then, a light breeze sprang up, blowing strands of Diana’s blue-black hair across her shocked face.  She impatiently brushed the strands away.  Disarmed, she blinked, then quipped, “If this is seduction, you’re off to a good start.”  Immediately, she felt mortified as she sniffled twice and her eyes stung. 

Mart pulled her against him.  As he’d just proven, he’d always been a sucker for a female in distress.  And somehow, the fragility shown by this strong woman in his arms got to him the most.  He kissed her on the forehead, resting his cheek against her silky hair, holding her tightly.  Diana sniffed some more, then, muffled against his chest, “I kept on trying to leave the meeting … worried you wouldn’t wait, and I would miss you, because you’d have to fly home … or… or… something.  I expected you to be mad at me, or… you had left.  Then you say those nice things to me.  Some agent I turn out to be, I wind up crying like … like a girl.”

She felt the rumble of laughter he was attempting to quell, and shivered when his warm breath spoke tenderly in her ear.  “That’s okay.  I scream like a girl in an avalanche.”

“Ohhh …”  She pushed herself away, using the flat of her hand to slap him on the shoulder, fixing him with a damp glare and a final sniff.  “And you could have avoided the damned avalanche if you’d just let me do my job.”

The silence that rested between them wasn’t like the silence of the last ten years.  It was a patient silence, a comfortable silence.  Mart finally asked.  “And what exactly is your job?”

Diana looked towards the Eiffel Tower.  Its presence no longer felt mocking, but encouraging.  She searched carefully for the right words to say.  “I work for Interpol.  The Arts and Frauds division.”  Studying his face, she felt encouraged by what she saw.   

 “Geez, Interpol.  Why?  How?”

Diana drew in a bracing breath.  “Until I came here to study, the only measurement of value I had for myself was in relation to the other people in my life.  I’m not sure I can describe …”

Mart nodded in understanding, his voice retaining an undertone of reserve.  “I think I understand.  For the first time in your life, you weren’t judged by who your father, friends, or siblings were.  I should also include a very charming, but extremely insecure and immature boyfriend.”  Looking at her with a strange calm, he linked his fingers with hers.

Staring at their clasped hands, she waited for her heart to resume something of its normal rhythm before continuing.  “It was … empowering.  I learned so much about myself studying here, and then studying under Jean-Luc.  About seven years ago, there was a big scandal with several of the museums and auction houses.  Some pieces believed to be original works of art, were actually forgeries.  Jean-Luc had some reservations about a couple of recently acquired pieces for the Louvre.  He contacted Interpol, and they sent a couple of agents to investigate.  Jean-Luc assigned me as a special assistant to the agency.  I started asking them questions about their jobs.” 

She giggled, her voice amused as she explained.  “It was the first time in my life that I realized how persistent I could be about something.  I was learning about a different type of career that involved my passion for art.  One of the agents suggested I apply with Interpol.  She and Jean-Luc even wrote me a letters of recommendation.  I began my work at their headquarters in Lyon.  There was so much I needed to learn, and I was eager to learn it all.  After a couple of years, they determined I was ready for fieldwork, and teamed me up with a couple of partners.  About three years ago, I began working on smaller cases on my own.  A couple of weeks ago, Jean-Luc contacted us with his suspicions on the forged Rembrandt and requested that I personally investigate it.”

Mart’s sudden movement startled her.  Before she realized his intent, he grabbed her shoulders and kissed her, hard.  Breaking the kiss, he smiled at her, exclaiming.  “I think you’re amazing.  You’re smart and capable … and … beautiful … and … oh, crap.”  He pulled her into a crushing embrace, as if binding her to him completely.  “Considering I’m a journalist, you’d think I’d know what to say.”  The look Mart gave her was direct and intense, and she recognized something beyond love in his look.  She also recognized respect.  “What I want to say is this.  You searched inside yourself and turned the possible into reality.  And you did it yourself, on your own terms, in your own time.” 

Mart stared at her for several seconds, then leaned down and kissed her again, before releasing her.  “Now you know how I feel about you.  I need to know what you want, Diana.  It’s ten years later, and one of the things I’ve learned is that love isn’t something I can walk away from.  It’s something that’s inside of me for a lifetime commitment.”  He put his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, unexpectedly unsure himself.  “I need to know if you have room in your life for me.”     

Diana had courage.  She had strength in her convictions.  Her vulnerability was Mart.  She felt surrounded by him, engulfed by him.  Ten years ago, there would have been a cost in making a decision to be with Mart, a narrowing of herself.  Looking into Mart’s eyes, her heart recognized that he saw her as she truly was today.  Love demanded honesty and trust.  Openness.  She tilted her chin up at him.  “I can’t walk away from who I am.”

The surprise on his face matched the amazement in his voice.  “Why would you want to?  Why would I want you to?  Look.  I didn’t meet you here tonight because I’m looking to change you.  I love you for who you are.  Also, I didn’t wait around tonight to seduce you, either.  Although I do like how your mind works.”  She smiled when he wiggled eyebrows at her. 

“Don’t you get it?”  He asked incredulously.  “Diana, you’re chiaroscuro.  You used your own brush strokes and your own palette to define yourself into this remarkable masterpiece.  You’re rich with colors that shine in the light, and glow through the shadows.  You’ve textures and depths, and…”  Mart let out an exasperated breath, saying hurriedly.  “And I’m so love with you, Diana Lynch, that if you don’t kiss me right now you’ll lose your super powers.” 

She felt her use of coherent thought or movement was lost.  Mart was in love with her.  It was illogical.  It was incredible.  It was urgently, wonderfully gratifying.  She threw back her head and laughed with a clear and unaffected exuberance.  Smiling at him, she tentatively cupped his face in her hands, and brought his mouth to hers.  The kiss was long and loving, a tender avowal that became interrupted when she felt something vibrating against her stomach.  She murmured breathlessly against his lips, “Is that your cell phone vibrating, or are you just glad to see me?”  Reaching into his jacket pocket, she pulled out the annoying instrument of distraction.  Diana arched her eyebrow.  “It’s your mother.”

Mart took the phone from her, and dropped it back into his pocket.  He wrapped his arms around her, as if the barest distance between them was intolerable.  They stood quietly for a moment, each lost in their thoughts as they gazed at  the Eiffel Tower.  Diana felt his breath feather over her cheek when he confessed.  “All I’ll want to do is talk about you.  And I don’t know what to say.”

Her heart stilled.  She looked at the illuminated monument in the distance.  Inhaling deeply, she locked her eyes with his.  “I love you.”  Looking at Mart, she found it difficult to concentrate on what she wanted to say next.  “Ten years ago … today … you flew here to ask me a question.  I want you to ask me again.”

“Ask what, again?”  He followed Diana’s gaze.  She kissed his palm as he touched her face reverently.  “I do love you, Mart Belden.”  Her soft voice rang with the commitment to her words, before putting her lips to his.  The kiss was almost a vow and it continued with a thoroughness that lasted for several more seconds.  At last, they raised their heads to look at each other wonderingly. 

In a calm, serious tone, Mart asked.  “Diana Lynch, will you marry me?”

“Yes.” 

Kissing Mart again, Diana was suddenly struck by a thought that made her giggle against his lips.  She looked up at his bewildered face.  “Now, you have something to tell your mother.”

Mart gave her a smile that filled her with heat and tenderness at the same time.  He pulled out his cell phone, hitting a button, and wrapping his arm around her shoulder.  He held his other arm out to adjust the small screen, “I won’t have to tell her, we’ll send her a picture.” 

At the last minute, Mart handed the phone to Diana, and told her with a wink.  “Your aim’s better than mine.”