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Jean-Felix shrugged. “Guilt, perhaps? Who knows?”
There was something he wasn’t telling me, I thought. Something didn’t fit. Something was wrong. His phone rang. “Excuse me a moment.” He turned away from me to answer it. A woman’s voice
was on the other end. They talked for a moment, arranging a time to meet. “I’ll call you back, baby,” he said, and hung up.
Jean-Felix turned back to me. “Sorry about that.”
“That’s all right. Your girlfriend?”
He smiled. “Just a friend ... I have a lot of friends.”
I’ll bet you do, I thought. I felt a flicker of dislike; I wasn’t sure why.
As he showed me out, I asked a final question. “Just one more thing. Did Alicia ever mention a
doctor to you?” “A doctor?”
“Apparently she saw a doctor, around the time of her suicide attempt. I’m trying to locate him.” “Hmm.” Jean-Felix frowned. “Possibly—there was someone...”
“Can you remember his name?”
He thought for a second and shook his head. “I’m sorry. No, I honestly can’t.”
“Well, if it comes to you, perhaps you can let me know?”
“Sure. But I doubt it.” He glanced at me and hesitated. “You want some advice?”
“I’d welcome some.”
“If you really want to get Alicia to talk ... give her some paint and brushes. Let her paint. That’s
the only way she’ll talk to you. Through her art.”
“That’s an interesting idea.... You’ve been very helpful. Thank you, Mr. Martin.”
“Call me Jean-Felix. And when you see Alicia, tell her I love her.”
He smiled, and again I felt a slight repulsion: I found something about Jean-Felix hard to stomach.
I could tell he had been genuinely close to Alicia; they had known each other a long time, and he was obviously attracted to her. Was he in love with her? I wasn’t so sure. I thought of Jean-Felix’s face when he was looking at the Alcestis. Yes, love was in his eyes—but love for the painting, not necessarily the painter. Jean-Felix coveted the art. Otherwise he would have visited Alicia at the Grove. He would have stuck by her—I knew that for a fact. A man never abandons a woman like that.
Not if he loves her.