The Alchemist's Pride

Chapter 5 - Still strangers, however…

She looks around in surprise. Where did he go?

She finds him way down the banks of the river. She sees his straight back, strong and proud, as he gazes out at the river. The orange and yellow leaves on the trees form a frame around him, and Leyla burns the image into her memory. This is something she wants to capture on canvas. With the river in the background, the sun setting low, the autumn-colored leaves, and then the still figure. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to try something different from abstract art now and then, she thinks with amusement. Just look at how beautiful this picture is.

She takes one last look at the still figure by the water. What a view!

His whole profile paints a picture of pure strength and attractiveness!

She jumps in shock as Juan Marc suddenly appears in front of her.

“Well now, young lady? Why are you staring in the distance as if the weight of the world is on your shoulders?” He plants a crooked kiss on her cheek. Where the stranger had turned around, his eyes narrows again into slits as he looks at the scene.

“Congratulations!” Juan Marc presses the Prague afternoon newspaper into her hands.

Leyla looks in surprise at her laughing face on the front page of the Prague Insider. Her eyes dart over the headline: Louvre Museum Curator Impressed by Prague Art Student.

The photo is of her taking a short boat ride on the river over the weekend. She remembers the clothes she was wearing. Someone must have taken her picture without her realizing it.

She looks up at Juan Marc in surprise.

Where the stranger stands, he observes every change on her face. Surprise, a little pride, but then, a slight worry?

“It seems you made quite an impression on the French master. The article says he labeled you as one of the most promising young minimalists of our century. That's something, young lady!” Juan Marc beams. My goodness, the girl can be proud. Such an article isn’t published about just anyone.

“I don’t know what to say.” Juan Marc looks sharply at her as she utters the words with a hint of uncertainty He waits patiently for her to finish reading the article.

“What’s wrong, Leyla? You don’t look very happy? You should be very proud of yourself.”

Leyla sighs as she sits down on the bench by the donkey. Juan Marc sits down beside her and looks at her with concern. Leyla doesn’t sound like herself, he thinks, confused. Or something has happened.

The stranger moves closer unnoticed.

Something is wrong.

He could see it on her face when she saw the newspaper headline.

He had read the article earlier.

There is nothing in it that should upset her. It’s just a piece of praise, nothing more, nothing less. He is now standing slightly behind the bench where they sit. He stares out over the Vltava River, pretending to be completely unaware of them. Luckily, there are several people along the riverbank, and the stranger doesn’t raise any suspicion.

“I had coffee with Monsieur Louis Savour.”

The stranger’s head jerks up in shock where he stands slightly behind their bench, and he has to stop himself from making a spontaneous snorting sound. With that foppish French character, he thinks, slightly annoyed and surprised.

“So, what about it?” Juan Marc tries to sound nonchalant, but a slight grimace forms around his mouth. Damn Frenchman! They waste no time, do they?

“Well, let me explain the story, and you can scold me if you think I’m overreacting.

“After class, I packed my things in my art bag and was still busy with that when he came up to me and looked at the artwork I had practiced during the practical lesson. Naturally, it was a minimalist painting based on techniques he had taught us. He was very impressed with the painting and asked if I would join him for coffee at a nearby café to talk more about art and what I plan to do after art school. That’s the only reason I went with him. I felt that any advice from someone like him could really help me in the future. But there were a few things that made me uneasy. First, I felt uncomfortable with the way he kept looking at me during class, but I ignored it because the French are known for their emotional and passionate nature, and I assumed it was because he liked my painting and was pleased with what I had learned in class. But even during the coffee episode, he didn’t get to the point regarding my art; it felt like he kept delaying talking about the reason we went for coffee. I also caught him a few times looking at me with somewhat brooding eyes when I suddenly looked up. It really made me feel a bit uncomfortable. I had to cut the visit short anyway because I had to go home to Skype with Dad and them. This now means I have to call him because he asked me to dinner to continue our conversation about my art.”

Juan Marc frowns. Everything sounds completely normal. Well, normal for a Frenchman!

“Sweet innocent Leyla, you know you’re a beautiful woman, right?”

The stranger nods in agreement with Juan Marc, then realizes what he’s doing and irritably brushes a strand of hair from his forehead while clearing his throat and continue staring towards the river.

Juan Marc continues with his characteristic "I told you so" tone.

“Do you blame the man for perhaps finding you attractive and maybe not having the courage to ask you out directly, so he does it with hidden agendas? And do you blame the man for admiring your beauty? You know the French are known for their elaborate courtship,” Juan Marc teases her with a laugh.

Well said, my friend, the stranger thinks with a slight smile on his lips, while glancing at Leyla’s blushing face. The girl is beautiful; no one can deny that.

Leyla giggles, embarrassed.

“Yes, maybe, but he really made me uncomfortable. He was touchy.”

The stranger’s face tightens at her words, and he frowns again, still staring blankly at the Vltava.

“Touchy?” Juan Marc frowns too, also clearly a bit disturbed.

“Yes, when we were walking at the university, without asking for my permission, he took my hand and linked my arm with his. That’s not acceptable to me when I don’t know someone. Do understand, I’m not uptight, but that’s not how I was raised. I let it go for the sake of peace. I thought again that it was just the French way. If you do it, for example, I’m totally fine with it because you’re my friend, but he’s a complete stranger and acted a bit possessive towards me, which really made me uncomfortable at the time, now that I think about it. He also knew an awful lot about me. He knew where I was born, where I grew up, where I studied, and even how I got this scholarship. I don’t know, maybe I’m just being unnecessarily suspicious. Maybe he meant nothing by it. Maybe that’s just how French men are. But now suddenly this newspaper article, out of the blue. I mean, no one even contacted me to get my thoughts or consent in this matter. Everything just feels a bit too much! Too friendly, too charming, too many compliments, he knows too much about me, and he’s too familiar with me. My mother always says, if something feels too much, be careful of it.”

Juan Marc doesn’t say it to her, but there’s a slight unease within him. He’s inclined to agree with her mother. Everything sounds a bit too much.

Leyla is also right. There are just too many things that don’t sound entirely innocent, too many coincidences.

The stranger’s frown deepens too.

His grandmother was a full-blooded French lady, and he knows the overwhelming passion and emotion that the French can experience towards someone they like or love. When they love and want someone, nothing and no one can stops them, not even the devil. Just ask his German grandfather Gustav. The stranger smile while lovingly thinking about his grandparents.

But, without them realizing it, both the stranger and Juan Marc agree a hundred percent that the Frenchman’s intentions may not be as innocent as he pretends.

The rest of the afternoon, however, Juan Marc keeps the conversation as light and cheerful as possible.

Later, he buys them some fast food, and they enjoy a delightful autumn afternoon by the river, with all the earlier discomfort placed in the background.