A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel (44 page)

“I’m adding a bit more salt, if that’s okay with you,” Marie said.

Dominique turned to her mother and gave her a purely polite smile. The mushrooms would be perfect, as always. She took a pile of plates from the cupboard and carried them to the tiny adjacent dining room. The house was bright, modern, pleasant. But how could she live here after experiencing the ancient opulence of Fonteyne for a decade? She hated being ungrateful, but here she felt terrible all the time.

I never thought I’d miss Jules,
she thought, bitterly.

Yes, she missed her brother-in-law’s demands, bursts of laughter, his self-confidence and, above all, how rigorous he was when it came to work. For a second, Dominique envied Laurène, but then she wondered why Jules still hadn’t set a wedding date. She’d have to talk to her sister about it, push her to get a clear response from Jules. Dominique made a quick calculation—two months now since Aurélien had died.

“Put some flowers on the table,” Marie said as she walked into the dining room. “It’ll make things more cheerful!”

She threw a discreet glance at Dominique, who seemed anxious, beat-down, listless. Marie sighed and went back to the kitchen. She understood what her daughter was going through, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Alexandre carefully examined the row’s last graft and, satisfied, straightened up. He lit a cigarette and went over to his father-in-law, kneeling between two vines a hundred yards away. Antoine was checking the plants for parasites.

“A little pick-me-up?” Alexandre offered as he opened the silver flask he carried everywhere with him.

Antoine grabbed the flask, took a couple of swallows, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Alexandre liked his father-in-law; he was easy to get along with. And Alexandre wasn’t completely unhappy in Mazion. When thinking about his youngest brother, the word that kept popping into his mind was
bastard
. He still hadn’t gotten over the flagrant injustice of Aurélien’s will. He’d never thought that Aurélien would so blatantly favor Jules by naming him manager of Fonteyne for life, bending the laws with the cunning of an old fox. Alex had never been preoccupied by what was going to happen once their father passed away. It seemed like something that would happen far down the line, since Aurélien was such a dynamo. And so Alexandre had endured Aurélien’s preferential treatment of Jules as some sort of inevitable situation that would eventually change. He’d accepted his father’s scandalous favoritism and his brother’s dictatorship as he waited for better days. Something that would never happen, now that Jules officially ruled over Fonteyne.

As he walked, he shrugged without even realizing it. To think of Fonteyne irritated him. He hadn’t forgotten Jules’s contempt every time the topic of him leaving for Mazion was brought up. “You’re going to go make white wine on somebody else’s land?” Jules would say. “You? A Laverzac?” Alexandre hated his brother’s attitude. Mentally, he said the word
bastard
in order to lessen his anger. A bastard, yes, this Gypsy that Aurélien had imposed on Fonteyne, before completely falling for him. Bastard—that womanizer, brawler, loner. That wild man that only Aurélien could ever tame.

Life can’t be much of a picnic for Laurène,
he thought, without real compassion.

He didn’t really care about his sister-in-law’s fate, but he had to listen to Dominique’s concerns about it all the time. Thinking about his wife made him walk faster. Marie and Dominique didn’t complain when he was late, and he and Antoine took advantage of that. At Fonteyne, Aurélien never tolerated anyone being late for meals. No doubt Jules had the same narrow-minded attitude.

But it’s only the two of them now, the idiots!

“Why are you laughing?” Antoine asked him.

“Nothing. The nice weather makes me happy.”

“You’re right. A good spring has a lot to do with the vines’ fate. …”

They arrived at the house and Alexandre let Antoine go in first.

Jules climbed back into the Mercedes and started the engine. He had to zigzag his way through the streets to escape downtown’s heavy traffic. The meeting he’d just attended had been both stormy and mind numbing. The wine producers association wasted a lot of time debating unimportant issues, but it was necessary for Jules to make his presence felt.

Leaving Bordeaux, he took the road to Margaux. It was after one and he accelerated. Every day, Fernande took great care preparing him fine meals that he didn’t even have time to enjoy. Aurélien’s absence was still unbearable for him. Even if he hoped to get over it with time, for now it remained an open wound. He had nobody else to listen to, to admire, to respect. Nobody to stand up to.

Jules drove up the driveway, noticed that some of the slates on the castle’s west side had come undone, and made a mental note to call the roofer. For fun, he came to a screeching halt at the foot of the terrace. He ran up the stairs, all the way to the dining room, where Laurène was waiting for him. She seemed lost sitting at the end of the long table. As soon as he walked in, she got up, glad to finally have something to do. She rang Fernande, served the wine, and put an ashtray in front of Jules. He was smoking more and more, even while eating.

“Lucas says that he’s going to be down in the cellar from two on,” Laurène said. “Did you have a good morning?”

“No,” Jules said quietly. “You know how they are, drowning in details but ignoring the essentials. They’re ten years behind and then they feel sorry for themselves. I hate wasting my time. I have so little of it. … Jesus, why did you open a bottle of Lascombes?”

She became confused, always a little girl when she felt like he was berating her.

“It’s my …” she muttered. “Well … if you forgot about it …”

He stood up, feeling bad, and he put a hand on one of hers.

“It’s your birthday? I’m so sorry.”

He raised his glass, giving the Margaux’s distinctive color the look of a connoisseur.

“This was a great choice,” he said. “The Lascombes is so … feminine! To you, my love. …”

He took a sip, squinted, and let the wine’s flavor invade him.

“Marvelous,” he said in an undertone. “That perfect violet taste, exactly as it should be. …”

He set down his glass and looked at Laurène. She wore a white T-shirt and a short skirt. She was so beautiful, he kicked himself for the umpteenth time for not giving her what she wanted most. He was going to talk to her when Fernande came in, proudly carrying a dish of sea lamprey.

“A birthday meal,” Laurène said. “Fernande, you’re spoiling us.”

Jules gave the old lady a smile of gratitude.

“And I want you to eat for once,” Fernande told Jules. “Not just picking at your food!”

Jules realized that he was famished all of a sudden, and decided that he was going to take the time to savor this meal. Knowing how attentive Fernande always was to life’s little details, he figured she’d baked a cake and decorated it with twenty-three candles. Jules looked at Laurène again. She was eating with great appetite, enthusiastic and youthful. He regretted having only two hours to spare. She made him happy and he would’ve loved to take her upstairs, but Lucas was already down in the cellar and there was a lot to do, as there was every afternoon.

“I’m taking you to dinner tonight,” he said to Laurène.

She chuckled, amused by this impromptu invitation.

“Where?” she asked. “The
Chapon Fin
? The
Relais Margaux
? But, my love, where could we ever go that the food would be better than here?”

“All right,” Jules said. “Then I want some champagne, foie gras and hot bread on a platter, and we’re going to eat at the foot of our bed! What do you think?”

He knew that Laurène liked his plan from her happy expression. He knew that life could be monotonous in this austere, albeit grandiose, environment. She must tire sometimes of the chandeliers and woodwork, the double doors that were always open and offered no privacy, all the luxury that was wasted on just the two of them. He glanced at the engagement ring she’d been wearing the past few months. Why wasn’t he able to give up his freedom to be with her once and for all? Why was he always putting off marrying her?

“What would you like for your birthday?” he asked. “I could take care of that tomorrow afternoon. I have to go to Bordeaux.”

“A surprise,” she said, looking straight at him. “And no need to go to Bordeaux for that.”

He didn’t lower his eyes. It was she who finally looked aside. No one could force Jules to change his mind, she knew that perfectly well firsthand. Not wanting to ruin the lunch, she talked about something else.

Alexandre woke up from his nap with a pasty mouth. He’d had too much to drink at lunch, as always. There was a lot of wine drinking at the Billots’. They didn’t open prestigious vintages like at Fonteyne, but they treated themselves to a variety of delicious wines, without counting the bottles. Dominique was gone, picking up the twins from school. Alexandre shut his eyes. Why bother getting up? He had nothing special to do and no one would get on his case if he remained in bed. Antoine also napped every afternoon, while Marie quietly puttered around downstairs. Alexandre looked around the bedroom. It was small, but bright and cheerful. Nothing about it reminded him of the house he’d lived in back at Fonteyne. Thank God! He’d made sure, when moving, not to take with him anything that belonged to the family. He’d limited himself to his personal belongings and whatever he and Dominique had bought through the years. He’d left the Little House exactly as it had been when his father lent it to him ten years earlier.

“Hey Alex!” Laurène said as she barged into the room like a tornado. “You were sleeping? I came up to say hi for a second. It’s my birthday!”

She gave him a peck on the cheek. Her cheerful mood was catching.

“Your mother fills us like geese,” he joked. “Makes me sleepy. How are you?”

“Good,” she said. “But bored. We miss you guys.”

“You miss us, maybe. I’d be surprised if the same were true of Jules.”

He said that with such hostility that she didn’t insist. She knew all about Alex’s bitterness and the years of submission that had caused it.

“Still no wedding date?” he asked meanly. “If you don’t shake him up a bit, you’ll never see the inside of that church!”

Alexandre chuckled, but Laurène shook her head, annoyed. She left the room and went downstairs to chat with her mother while waiting for Dominique’s return. She often came by in the afternoon, to talk freely with her mother and sister. At Fonteyne, Fernande was so busy she only half-listened, and then asked Laurène questions she wasn’t able to answer, about menus, beddings, tablecloths, kitchen supplies, flowers, household tasks. Laurène was completely overwhelmed by such matters.

“When I imagine the two of you alone over there,” Marie said, as she made a fresh pot of coffee, “it seems odd.”

“The mornings are the worst,” Laurène said. “Jules gets up before dawn and he checks out the vineyards or the cellar. You know how he is. And Fernande doesn’t arrive until seven. And so for a while, I’m the only one in that castle. It’s kind of spooky.”

Marie began to laugh. She lovingly caressed her daughter’s hair.

“You hide under the blankets?” she asked.

“No, I tell Botty to jump on the bed and keep me company!”

Laurène giggled like a little girl.

For years, Jules’s dog had slept on the floor and, of course, he was only too happy to join Laurène on the bed, when she called him up. Becoming serious again, Marie set a cup down in front of Laurène, frowning. Her youngest daughter was as fragile as ever, as naïve as she’d been as a teenager. When looking at her, it was unthinkable that she could be responsible for the Fonteyne household. She sat down and poured some coffee for the two of them. No need to pester Laurène about the wedding. If a date had been determined, Laurène would’ve announced it right away. Jules’s hesitations worried Marie, but she thought it best not to talk about now. She did know that Laurène would do anything to keep Jules, as she’d struggled so much to win him over in the first place.

“You love him, don’t you?” Marie asked softly.

Laurène looked at her mother with glistening eyes.

“Like crazy,” she sighed.

Jules was everything to her, he always had been. Marie remembered Laurène’s fits of anger, her despair, everything she’d done to win him over. This great childhood love of hers was the only struggle she’d ever had to face, the only future she’d ever wanted.

“We’re going to marry after the harvest,” the young woman suddenly blurted out.

Marie immediately understood that Laurène had felt the need to tell her about this setback. And she needed advice and encouragement from her mother.

“It’s a little … late,” she said softly. “You guys should hurry up and start a family and fill that old castle with kids!”

She smiled lovingly at Laurène, trying to convey something to her.

She added, “I think that Jules is going to be a marvelous father. You know how much the twins adore him. He must be dying to be a dad. Jules received a lot from Aurélien. … He’s got to have a lot to give. …”

Laurène held her mother’s gaze for a few moments. The message was clear. She was about to say something when Dominique appeared in the kitchen. The two sisters hugged each other.

“You guys are drinking coffee?” Dominique asked, indignant. “But it’s my little sister’s birthday, if I remember correctly! How about we open a bottle of champagne so we can toast her, just us girls?”

Laurène gave her a grateful smile. Dominique always knew what to do, under any circumstances. And that meant, in this instance, not inviting Alex to join them. She’d already made a few comments about her husband drinking a bit too much since they’d moved to Mazion.

“How’s Jules doing?” Dominique asked, in a neutral voice.

She wished she could get the two brothers to make up but had no idea how to go about it.

“Jules is still doing great, thank God! Except that he’s more and more swamped with work, and he’s worried about reestablishing the estate’s financial balance, and …”