A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel (67 page)

Jules’s expression had hardened. He got up and said he had an appointment in Bordeaux. Louis-Marie let him go without saying anything.

It really was cold out, and Jules hurried toward his Mercedes. It was close to noon, but the sky was dark and menacing. The snow in the streets of Bordeaux had first turned to slush, and then the icy wind had frozen everything. Jules had to heat his key with his lighter just to get it into the lock.

“Hi there,” a chipper voice said from behind him.

He turned around to come face-to-face with Valérie Samson. She was superb, wrapped in her fur coat, her face surrounded by the hood. He smiled and gave her a nod. She rested her purse on the top of the Mercedes, opened it, and began looking for something.

“I know I kept it … There!”

She brandished a business card that Jules recognized right away.

“One of these days,” she said. “That’s today! You’re not in the middle of the harvest, right? No wife to console?”

She was gently mocking him, her back to the wind to protect herself from the cold.

“You promised,” she said. “It’s written right here.”

He thought she was beautiful, incredibly attractive in spite of the fact that she was so shamelessly direct, or maybe precisely because of it. He walked around his car, opened the passenger’s side door, and waited for her to climb in. The idea of an impromptu lunch suddenly pleased him enormously. In the same way the snow had put him in a good mood that morning.

“
La Réserve
in Pessac,” he said. “Does that work for you?”

“You’re not afraid we might meet people you know there?” she said.

“Of course if we run into my attorney, we’re all going to be pretty embarrassed.”

He laughed and put the car in gear. On the way to the restaurant, the roads were already frozen, and the wind blew with even more strength than before.

“I’d love to be stranded out here for a couple of days,” Valérie said once they’d entered the restaurant.

Jules took the time to phone Fonteyne to inform Louis-Marie that he’d be back in the late afternoon. He joined Valérie at the table just in time to share a toast, as she’d ordered some champagne without waiting for him. She’d also set her pack of cigarettes in front of her, and Jules grabbed it.

“When was the last time you allowed yourself a little escapade?” Valérie asked right away.

“A very long time ago,” he answered, candidly.

He gazed at Valérie, happy to be playing the seduction game, and suddenly set on forgetting about Fonteyne for a while.

“What are we going to eat?” she asked with a smile.

She had great self-confidence generally, but Jules’s silence threw her off a little. He studied the menu, then ordered food without even consulting her.

“You’re very … decisive,” she said.

“Do you like it any other way?”

She shook her head, amused.

“No,” she said. “That’s perfect. In fact, I’m certain that you are a perfect man. That’s actually one of the things your brother Alexandre holds against you. …”

Jules didn’t seem to understand, and she started to laugh.

“When you listen to him closely, it’s ridiculous how much he admires you. He admires you so much he hates you. He consoles himself by thinking that you stole his place as younger brother. But you are what he isn’t, what he never could be, even if you didn’t exist.”

“I don’t want to talk about Alex,” Jules said. “Especially not with you!”

“Why? He confided in me, you know. … Mainly because I’m not part of his family. His very oppressive family. …”

Jules hesitated a bit before asking, “Why did you agree to represent him? The man is a natural-born loser!”

“That’s exactly why. What a challenge!”

She had a few sips of champagne. Her mischievous, provocative eyes were sparkling.

“And I told you before, it was also to be able to meet you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, it’s true. … Have you ever looked at yourself in a mirror?”

Jules made a face, embarrassed.

“That … modesty of yours,” she said, “is quite attractive. You seem convinced that you’re just your father’s son. And that you owe him everything somehow.”

“It’s true!”

She threw her head back and laughed. Her white cardigan highlighted her red hair. She was sure of herself, devoid of shyness, exhibiting the confident maturity of woman in her forties. Jules felt fantastically attracted to her and was glad to see the waiter arrive with their food.

“I’m not sure what I’m doing here with you,” he muttered as she attacked her lobster.

“We’re having a nice meal as a preliminary, you and I. Then, we’re going to get a room for an early afternoon workout. …”

Jules was stunned for a second or two. No woman had ever talked to him like that.

“I never bought this story of a fight between drunks,” she abruptly said. “I’m convinced you’re the one who beat your brother to a pulp. And I don’t understand why he’s not going after you. I could’ve done something with that.”

Jules tasted the wine that the sommelier had just brought and nodded his assent.

When the sommelier was gone, Jules said quietly, “There’s so much you don’t know about, you
are
doomed to lose this trial.”

She examined him for a moment, silent. She’d never met anyone like Jules before.

“Maybe,” she admitted.

She began eating again, considering what Jules had just said.

When she was done, she said, “The judges like you, your opponent likes you, everybody likes you. And so do I. …”

She was challenging him, but he held her gaze. Then, pointedly, she looked at her watch.

“If you asked for the bill right now,” she said in a very soft voice, “we’d have more time to ourselves.”

Robert shut his office door, terribly upset. Frédérique had stayed only five minutes, time to smoke a cigarette, her baby in her arms. Robert hadn’t stopped looking at the child. Julien was a beautiful and quiet six-month-old.

It was impossible to accuse Frédérique of being intrusive in any way. Robert hadn’t seen the young woman in a long time, but he knew that she did very well at work, and that she was going out with a young intern whom she was driving crazy. Little Julien’s pension was being paid regularly—Varin was making sure of that—and Frédérique was the legal owner of her apartment. She didn’t come to formulate any specific demands, but simply to say hello. A courtesy call. At least, that’s what she’d said. In fact, what she’d really wanted was news of Jules. Robert had reluctantly talked about his brother, wondering how long it was going to take for Frédérique to accept having lost him.

Fascinated by the baby who might be his brother, Robert had felt guilty. The problem that Frédérique and her baby had represented was dealt with in a heinous manner: with money. Even though the young woman had accepted the deal, and even though there was no other solution, Robert ashamed. Using their wealth and social status, he and his brothers had gotten rid of the baby like any other nuisance.

Frédérique’s enigmatic smile, as well as her strained politeness, had deepened Robert’s unhappiness. He’d watched her get to her feet with great relief, had shaken her hand without touching the baby. And as soon as he found himself alone in his office, he’d understood that this guilt was only adding to the other, the one brought about by his liaison with Pauline.

It was cold and gray in Paris. Laurène, over the phone, told him that it was snowing at Fonteyne. Robert experienced a rush of nostalgia thinking of the castle’s fireplaces. No doubt that Jules was keeping them roaring as he always had.

Pauline had asked for a break, a waiting period. She’d sworn that she’d decide after the holidays, wanting her daughter to enjoy at least one last peaceful Christmas Eve. That was at least what she’d claimed. Robert accepted this progressive separation between Louis-Marie and Pauline, as it had the merit of sparing all of them a sudden and painful rift. But he’d waited for Pauline for so long that having to be patient still was pure torture. He was anxious for Pauline to decide. He wanted a quick divorce, so he could finally marry her.

These past few months, he’d done everything to help her decide. He’d deliberately ignored Esther’s unpleasant comments; every day he’d taken Pauline to lunch in the best restaurants; he’d sent her flowers and had talked to her on the phone every night. He’d even given her a diamond wedding ring, telling her she could wear it as soon as she had the courage to toss away the one that was currently on her finger.

And yet he saw in her a lingering hesitation that exhausted him. But he still had the impression of loving her a bit more every day, and he wanted to lose himself in that frightening passion that had possessed him for more than ten years. He’d suggested all kinds of possible solutions: talking to Louis-Marie himself, going to live in a foreign country without explanation, anything—whatever she wanted—so that they could end this waiting game and be together once and for all. But she held fast to her idea of a delay. She needed time. But the idea of spending Christmas at Fonteyne repulsed him. Imagining Pauline going up to bed with Louis-Marie made him sick to his stomach. Since he now felt as though Pauline was his, she caused him to be jealous again. He could’ve waited for Pauline’s return, after the holidays, letting her deal with her present and future the way she wanted, but he didn’t want to give Louis-Marie the slightest chance. After all, his brother knew Pauline’s weaknesses very well and might be able to convince her, to hold on to her, to win her over.

If he hadn’t holed himself up,
Robert thought,
if he hadn’t opened the way for me, I never would’ve gotten as close to Pauline as I did. … Why did he do that? He’s not blind, he knew full well he was taking a giant risk by staying at Fonteyne. …

Robert had asked himself that question a thousand times. As always, he forced himself to forget about Louis-Marie. He wanted to avoid a crisis of conscience, didn’t want his will to weaken. He had hope and he clung desperately to it.

Jules slowly blew out his cigarette smoke while watching Valérie. She was smiling at him, lying on her stomach, her tangled hair spread across the pillow. He ran his eyes along her back, her butt, her thighs. She was muscular, thin without being skinny, superb. She’d made love to him with great ease and a lot of experience, relegating Laurène and all the other women he’d known to the rank of amateur.

She’d managed to stifle the words of tenderness that had tried to escape her mouth, not wanting Jules to know how she really felt. On the contrary, she’d talked crudely to him, absorbed in their reciprocal pleasure. Instinctively, she sensed that he needed to hold his own with her. Though she had no way of knowing that, since Aurélien’s death, Jules had no one of his own stature around him, she understood that he deserved better than a lackluster housewife and a loser of a brother nipping at his heels like some mutt.

“In your free time,” she said, “you play chess and ride your horse, right?”

“Congratulations, Miss Marple. You just came up with that or you’ve been asking about me?”

She reached out to take his cigarette and took a drag.

“Pure speculation on my part,” she said, smiling. “I figure that someone like you is the type who thrives on competition, in one form or another.”

She felt like lingering there, chatting, making love again. But instead she got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

Feigning indifference, she said, “It’s five o’clock, and I suppose you’re in a hurry to get back home.”

She didn’t wait for a reply and shut the door behind her. She thought she had to challenge Jules, keep him on his toes, if she wanted to see him again. She took a quick shower, and when she came out of the bathroom, Jules was already gone. She went through her purse, found her makeup kit, and five minutes later took the elevator. Jules was waiting for her in the hotel bar, where he’d ordered two coffees. Seeing her, he got up.

“I didn’t want to leave before saying goodbye,” he said with a polite smile.

She was annoyed by this distant attitude but didn’t let it show. She took a sip of coffee, standing up.

“A promise is a promise,” she said. “You’re a man of your word. And so now that’s it?”

She was taunting him. Her fur coat was resting on her shoulders, her long hair overflowing onto the collar. She knew that she was beautiful. Jules buried his hands in his pocket, suddenly looking like a teenager.

“See you, Valérie,” he whispered.

A waiter approached them, producing a slight cough, uncomfortable interrupting the couple.

“Your taxi is here, ma’am,” he said.

She headed for the exit without giving Jules so much as a glance. It was snowing again, in big flakes. After settling an insane bill, Jules made his way over to his car. The Mercedes skidded a bit as it took off, and Jules cursed himself for not having put on snow tires. He went around Bordeaux on the highway, which had been cleared, but he worried once he reached the road to Margaux. Because of the snowdrifts, people were driving very slowly. Jules wondered if Varin and Auber, who were supposed to come over for dinner that night, would have the courage to venture out.

Though he concentrated on the road, he kept thinking about the woman he’d just left. He wasn’t feeling the type of fulfillment he’d often experienced in the past after this type of encounter. He’d never slept with a woman of Valérie’s generation. And he certainly wasn’t used to being treated like a kid. Then he considered that this was the first time he’d cheated on Laurène since their wedding. He felt bad about it, but figured that weeks of abstinence had enhanced his desire for Valérie, which was the beginning of a justification. And, in any case, it was impossible to establish any kind of comparison between the two women.

When he’d finally parked in front of Fonteyne’s garage, it was dark out. Varin’s automobile was there, carefully parked by Bernard. Jules spotted the young man spreading salt on the terrace’s steps and hurried over to the library, where the lights were turned on.

“I was so worried!” said Laurène, throwing herself into Jules’s arms and giving him a kiss on the neck.