A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel (45 page)

Embarrassed, Laurène interrupted herself, thinking of the situation—the complicated inheritance issues, the three other brothers’ rights, Jules being the sole master of Fonteyne, and Alex being exiled here.

Dominique sat at the table and began serving the champagne.

“If you ask me,” she said, “Jules really should tell Alex about his intentions. He’s been feeling rejected and disrespected for too long.”

As Marie expected, Laurène immediately jumped to Jules’s defense.

“It’s very complicated,” she blurted out. “Jules and his notary have endless conversations concerning the worth of the stock, the percentage of the shares, how the payments are going to be spread out, all that stuff. … You know full well that nobody is going to get screwed over!”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I know Jules’s virtues as well as his faults. I’m not personally losing any sleep over this. And I know that Louis-Marie and Robert also trust him completely. But Alex … Let’s just say that he’d like to know what’s going on. He would’ve liked to have been a part of those meetings with the notary.”

“Alex left slamming the door!” Laurène said. “Jules considered it treason. A sort of desertion.”

“No,” Alex said, “it was liberation!”

He was standing at the kitchen door, looking furious. He walked to the table and gestured at the champagne glasses.

“You guys are drinking without me?”

Resigned, Dominique poured him a glass.

Alex turned to Laurène, towering over her.

“That boyfriend of yours was only too happy to see us go. I have no illusions about that. …”

The word
boyfriend
fluttered in the air between them for a moment. Alex’s hostility hurt Laurène.

“That’s not true,” she said, vehemently. “He misses you. He can’t accomplish by himself what the three of you used to do.”

“Still, that’s what he wanted, to have Fonteyne all to himself and not answer to anybody. When Dad was around, he was calm and respectful. He played the part of model son so that he’d eventually inherit the entire estate. Obviously, he got his wish!”

“You have no right to say things like that,” Laurène said with anger.

Alex took it badly. “No right?” he said.

He downed his glass of champagne, sneezed because of the bubbles, and took a deep breath.

“Jules was adopted. He’s the one with no rights. Fonteyne is ours, even though Louis-Marie and Robert are too stupid to care. The last few months of his life, Dad was sick and his mind wasn’t as sharp, and Jules took advantage of that. But I don’t have to accept it. There are laws, and they have to be respected. Varin isn’t a reliable notary. He’s always cowed to Jules. How do I know that all the clauses in the will are really ironclad?”

A heavy silence fell on the kitchen. Dominique looked at her husband in disbelief. Some of the blood had drained from Marie’s face. What she’d always feared was happening. Alexandre had been looking for trouble since his father’s death. He never would’ve dared standing up to Aurélien, but now Aurélien was gone. Moreover, since he didn’t live under Jules’s roof anymore, he’d stopped fearing him. He now thought he could take on his brother. Marie knew that Alex wasn’t fond enough of vineyards to actually miss his. His frustration had nothing to do with the land, but rather a feeling of jealousy, the impression that he, as always, had been forced to shut up and bow his head when the will was read. It tortured him now. Thirty years earlier, before Jules’s adoption, Alexandre was the youngest, the baby. And then Aurélien had abruptly imposed that little brown-haired boy on his wife and sons. Alex suffered a great deal from being displaced. After that, he hadn’t been able to beat Jules’s know-how, his formidable knowledge of wine production, his infallible instincts when it came to the crops. Every day he’d witnessed the special bond between Jules and Aurélien, their constant complicity, their agreement on everything that had to do with Fonteyne. He knew they loved each other intensely, and that had made him immensely bitter. All the more since he didn’t feel like he had what it took to compete with Jules. And his adoptive brother’s occasional efforts to humor him had only added fuel to the fire.

Marie stared at her son-in-law. Something in him had changed these past few weeks. He used to be a nice man, on the bland side. Now, he was overtaken by his rancor, to the point where he was almost scary. An open war between him and Jules would be the very worst thing that could happen to both families. Dominique and Laurène would inevitably bear the brunt of it.

Sensing that Marie’s eyes were fixed on him, he turned to her. Though Marie’s gentle demeanor was disarming, Alexandre kept his hard expression.

In a soft voice, Marie said, “One must always respect the wishes of the dead.”

Alex shrugged. Even in this kitchen, in Mazion, he was in the minority, he was being judged.

“I’m sick of all of you!”

He got up and left the room, leaving the three women extremely worried.

Jules watched the automobile take off. He turned to Lucas.

“I’ll never get used to it,” he said with anger. “Some people’s nerve is just unbelievable!”

He did not tolerate intrusions on his property, and he had no intention of changing his attitude about it. Many trespassers simply ignored the “Private Property” signs, and Jules was always ready to get in their way himself, physically.

“We’re going to have to put up with that for the next six months,” Lucas said, with a sigh.

The flood of tourists, more and more prevalent with each passing year, was becoming a plague for wine producers. Some of the tourists even seemed to think that a free sample was a given at every estate. Their ignorance and arrogance made Jules’s blood boil.

“I think that we have the right height. …” he said, his gaze sweeping across the seemingly endless fields.

He’d already forgotten about the car and the German couple. He began to walk down a row, inspecting one vine stock after another. He’d spent so much time trimming them with Lucas, as they did each spring, that he was almost surprised that they were done with the long task.

“I wanted to tell you …” Lucas began to say, from behind him.

Jules stopped in his tracks, surprised by his cellar master’s hesitant tone. He took out his pack of cigarettes, waiting for Lucas to go on.

“There’s been an awful lot of work to do around here since Alex left … and your father’s passing …”

It was a beautiful day, the air crisp. Ideal weather for April. Jules took a drag off his cigarette.

“I’m listening,” he said, to make Lucas understand that beating around the bush wasn’t necessary.

“I’d like a raise,” Lucas blurted out. Relieved at having spoken out, he looked at Jules.

“You think that the timing is right?”

Lucas frowned. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “I think this would be the time to hire another guy. But I know you can’t do that right now.”

“You’re right about that. There’s Aurélien’s will and … my brothers. I can’t increase costs at the moment. I’ve got huge expenses to deal with because of the modernization that I wanted, that you wanted, and that Aurélien had consented to. … Someone else to assist us would be ideal, but I can’t. As for you … Your salary, it’s not enough?”

Lucas had always been paid very handsomely. Jules was also a salaried employee, as the estate director, as prearranged by Aurélien.

“You don’t have to pay Alexandre anymore,” Lucas said. “And though he wasn’t exactly a wizard, I still miss him. We’re splitting his workload, you and I. You know what they say: Hard work deserves a reward. I’m not twenty anymore.”

“You can’t wait just a little while?” Jules asked, calmly.

“No.”

Stubborn, Lucas didn’t lower his eyes. He felt he was in the right on this. Jules meticulously put out his cigarette on the sole of his boot. He knew he had no choice. Lucas hadn’t received a raise in a long time and he was a terrific cellar master.

“You got it,” Jules said.

Then he turned around and started to walk again. Lucas, puzzled, let him take a few steps before reacting. He’d expected a difficult discussion, possibly a heated argument, since it was well known that Jules hated to give in, and rarely did.

“Wait!” he shouted.

He caught up with Jules, a bit winded, and walked with him.

“It’s not that I want to break the bank,” he muttered, “but look around you. You’re not exactly poor.”

Jules broke into his signature laughter.

“You neither,” he said. “I’m going to give you a raise, but don’t think you can play that game again anytime soon.”

Not able to hold it back, Lucas asked, “If it’s impossible, why did you agree?”

Jules stopped and turned to Lucas. Both were now face-to-face. Any trace of cheerfulness was gone from Jules’s face.

“I agreed because I really can’t get by without you, and you know it. I agreed because it’s true that a little more, a little less, we’re not going go under because of that. And I agreed because I’m alone, Lucas. All alone.”

Almost in spite of himself, Lucas was moved by the young man glaring at him. He could suddenly see him as a little boy, always on the move, eager to learn, anxious to be a grown-up, fascinated by the vineyards, solemn but also cheerful, serious but also turbulent. Adorable. Fonteyne existed today because of Jules. And to work on Fonteyne’s land was both a blessing and an honor. Fernande and Lucas were forever linked to Jules, just as Jules was linked to Fonteyne.

“Listen …” Lucas began.

“No,” Jules said. “We agreed and that’s that. You were right, so don’t feel guilty.”

Lucas nodded and they continued their inspection of the field. Jules was alone, no doubt, but he still had his pride.

Though it was three in the morning, the silence inside the castle wasn’t absolute. There was the usual creaking of the woodwork, the wind blowing in the chimneys, the furtive scampering of mice in the attic, and the steady tick tock of the pendulums swinging in the various old clocks. Jules was sitting in the library’s darkness, at his favorite spot, on the ladder’s rung. Throughout his life, Aurélien had collected rare collections and first editions, and Jules had developed, as a child, a deep respect for books. And as Aurélien didn’t want his books to leave the library to avoid being lost or damaged, Jules had spent entire nights reading, sitting either in a wingback chair or on one of the ladder’s rungs, the book opened across one of the library’s many pull-out shelves or his lap. He’d kept the habit and, when he came here to think, absentmindedly adopted the same position, shoulders wedged between the mahogany ladder’s rails.

He stretched as he shut the book of which he hadn’t read a line. When he’d crept out of his bedroom two hours before, Laurène was sleeping in a ball under the blankets. They’d just made love, tenderly and for a long time. And yet, as with each time, something was missing for Jules, something that he didn’t attempt to define as he tried to ignore the horrible feeling of emptiness. Jules wasn’t on a quest for truth, wasn’t inclined to feel nostalgic or wax existential. And so he simply assumed that his malaise, at once vague and persistent, had to do with Aurélien’s absence.

He left his perch to walk around the library. He was thirty years old, had enormous responsibilities, land that he loved to death, and an adorable woman upstairs in his bed. Summer would soon arrive, with grapes growing, ripening in the sun. Jules wished for nothing else. Fonteyne provided him with all the emotions he needed.

He turned the lights off and crossed the hallway in darkness, heading for the office. There, he opened one of the closets and grabbed one of the bottles on the bottom shelf. He went over to the kitchen, switched the light on, slowly opened the bottle of Margaux, and poured himself a glass. Sitting on one of the long benches, he enjoyed the first sip. A taste of blackberry with a trace of vanilla, followed by a slight overtone of resin, then the entire aroma of the violet developed. Jules smiled, set down his glass, and took in the wine’s appearance. He told himself that as long as he could make wine of that quality, melancholy wouldn’t get the best of him.

The two bombs dropped almost at the same time, turning the beginning of May into a nightmare. The first bad news was dealt by Mr. Varin, who showed up at Fonteyne unannounced one Wednesday morning. Fernande showed him to Jules’s office. After the notary sat down and declined a cup of coffee or anything else, Fernande slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Varin took a deep breath and came out with it.

“Your brother Alexandre has hired a lawyer, a Mrs. Samson, who just informed me that they are going to challenge the legality of your father’s will.”

Varin had known Jules for a long time, and so he wasn’t surprised to see the young man keep his composure. There was, however, a long moment of silence.

“Is Aurélien’s will contestable?” Jules finally asked, his voice cold.

Jules’s choice of words and the intensity of his glare made the notary uncomfortable. He was responsible for every legal document that had been written up for Fonteyne for the past thirty-odd years.

“It was drawn up by the book, your father was totally of sound mind, and every single clause is perfectly legal,” he insisted.

“So, what are my brother and his lawyer basing their challenge on?” Jules asked.

“Mrs. Samson is an excellent business lawyer who—”

“What are their arguments?” Jules interrupted.

Varin sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. This conversation was going to be stormy, of that he had little doubt.

“Jules,” he began, “I completely disapprove of Alexandre’s decision. But I’d say he hired that lawyer because he felt like he was swindled.”

“Was he?”

“No! Not at all. On a strictly material level … Aurélien couldn’t have disowned one of his sons even if he’d wanted to. I can confirm that the dividing up of assets is perfectly legal. But, of course, the provisions of the will upset Alexandre, since he was … pushed to the sidelines. You know very well that you have complete responsibility for Fonteyne’s administration, that you can do what you want—”

“Well that’s just great!”