Explore Her, More of Her (7 page)

I haven’t visited Bordeaux in ages, so everything is new to me again. I like that the driver’s slower speed gives me a chance to delight in a landscape that changes from a barren field with radio towers placed in a single-file line, to lines of trees that look like fat cotton balls on toothpicks, to muddy lakes, to petrol stations and communities of houses bunched together off the side of the road, to the lone but homey farmhouse peppered here and there.
 

“I am called Daisy,” I finally say to the cab driver in French. I’ve been avoiding eye contact because I could feel him watching me with that pucker of skin between his eyes.

“I’m Anton,” he replies in English. He grimaces as if it was a chore to tell me his name.
 

I smile anyway. “So where are you taking me, Anton?”

“We are going to Chateau Mes Fleurs.”
 

I’m stunned. “A chateau?” A chateau is very different from a house.
 

“Yes, that is right. You did not know?”

“No, I didn’t. A chateau has a vineyard. Does it have a vineyard?”

“Yes.”

It dawns on me that the chateau is called My Flowers, and my father calls Angelina and me his flowers. Usually the name of the chateau is the same as its brand of wine. The gesture is surprising. I never believed Jacques had an ounce of fatherly sentimentality until the concert on Saturday night. Once again, he has taken me by surprise.

We pass fields of pine trees and more farmhouses with oversized windows, white shutters, stocky chimneys, and red brick roofs. I drink in the scenery.

“This is gorgeous. Do you live near here?” I ask.

He eyes me curiously. “I live close.”

“And do you love it?”

“When I love life, yes.”

I chuckle. “Are you in love with life now?”

“Today she is adequate.”

“Yes,
he
is.” I wink at him, and his eyes smile back.

The clock on the dashboard says we’ve been on the road for forty-one minutes, and according to a road sign, we’ve just passed Cercoux. Anton veers off the main road and onto a lonelier one. Fields of wild grass lie on both sides of us. I love everything about wild grass—the touch, the look, and the smell of it.
 

I’m fighting the urge to bait Anton into chauffeuring me around for my taxicab series, but I didn’t come here to work. Hell, I don’t even know why I came here, but I know it’s not to work. Plus, Anton isn’t a talker, so I would have to work extra hard to soften him up. I catch him leering at me again but not in a lustful way. He acts as if he’s waiting for some sort of expectation to be met.

I ignore him and pay attention to the grass, which gives way to a murky lake. A lonely man wearing a light jacket and a dark cap rows an old canoe across the water. I twist in my seat, studying him until rows of grapevines layer the landscape, blocking my view. It appears as if we’re now on the outskirts of a vineyard. I narrow my eyes to see how the fruits are growing. The clusters are thick, and the grapes are green and solid. The car rounds a corner, and the tires crunch dirt as we roll up a narrow path. The vines seem to go on for an eternity. We’re moving up an incline, and I can see the lake again out the back window. I look for the man rowing the boat, but he’s not in sight.
 

The car is traveling up a driveway. The lawns on both sides are cut, the shrubs are trimmed, and the trees give the grounds a mystical ambiance. I love the flower gardens sprouting here and there across the lawn, but nothing is more awe-inspiring than the chateau itself. It’s a castle. It has a mansard roof with a tower rising on each side. Ornate details are carved into the walls, and an arched pavilion covers the front porch. I snort and shake my head. Jacques knew exactly what he was doing when he told me this place was a house. If I had known the estate was this massive, I would’ve never agreed to come here. I feel duped.
 

“You don’t like it?” Anton asks.

I’m frowning. “It’s just… huge. That’s all.”

“You don’t like big?”

“Not necessarily.”

Anton and I get out of the car. I can’t take my eyes off the castle. The trunk slams.

“Are you ready?” Anton asks. He intends to carry my luggage to the front door.

“I got it. The suitcase rolls, and it’s not that heavy,” I say.

“Whatever you want.” He looks me in the eyes as he hands me the suitcase. There’s something familiar about him.

“Okay…” I open my purse and take out my wallet.
 

He holds up a hand. “No need to pay me.”

I snort. “Right.”

He narrows one eye. “What do you mean by ‘right’?”

“My husband paid you?”

He looks at my right hand. “You are married?”

“Oh, yes,” I say, realizing he’s looking for the ring that I stopped wearing months ago.

“Me too,” he says.

I look at his left hand. He’s not wearing a ring. Is he mocking me? “Right.” I refuse to get into an argument with a driver who has been sort of brusque thus far.

He smirks a little and trots to the driver’s side of his car. “Is good to see you, Daisy.”
 

“Nice to meet you too,” I say, although he said, “good to see you.” That implies he’s seen me before.
 

The car drives off, and I watch until it’s out of sight. Now there’s no turning back. I stomp up the steps, bang the brass knocker against the door, and wait. A fly buzzes around my head. I swat at the fly, knock again, and continue to wait. I grow more frustrated. How I am I supposed to get into the house? I turn the knob, and the door opens. A sweet floral scent lingers in the air.
 

“Hello!” I call.

I stand still and count to ten before I take a few steps and look into the room to the left. It’s a huge living room filled with modern furniture and the sort of abstract textile wall art Belmont likes. I would think this castle belonged to him if I weren’t so sure it was Jacques’. The floating shelves, obscure trinkets, and angular furniture have man-taste written all over them. There’s even a huge installation against the wall that looks like three pieces of torn metal. After I study it closely, I see the naked man in the middle with his head leaning forward and his arm behind him. The floors and fireplace look original, and the fireplace has been refurbished.
 

I take out my cell phone and call Belmont. My call goes straight to voicemail. I start to leave a message, then I end the call. I suspect he’s trying to teach me a lesson on how it feels to be without him. I’m too frustrated to give Belmont’s games much thought. I place another call, and it’s answered on the second ring.

“
Ma fleur!
” Jacques sings.

“Hello, Papa, guess where I am?”

“I know where you are.”

“Guess how surprised I was to see a mansion—no, a castle—instead of a house.”

“Where are you?”

“France,” I say as if that’s obvious.

He chuckles. “I know you’re in France. I meant what part of the house are you in?”

“Oh, I just walked through the front door. First of all, is this place haunted?”

Jacques laughs. “Are you afraid of ghosts?”

“No, but these sorts of dwellings always have something supernatural lurking in the walls, through the quarters, and in the old cellar. I know—I do a lot of traveling. So it’s not a matter of me being afraid as much as a matter of me being on vacation and not wanting to deal with that right now.”
 

“Baby, there’s nothing lurking in the house. I promise you that,” he says. “But that hallway you’re standing in?”

“Yes?”

“Look straight ahead.”

I sigh impatiently and do as I’m told. “I see a wall.”

“It’s not a dead end. Go ahead and walk toward it.”

I roll my suitcase up the hallway. Without really paying attention, it’s tough to see an option to go left or right at the end of the hallway. On one side is a door marked “Studio.” It appears as if the room takes up the entire first floor. Of course Jacques would have a studio that big built into his chateau. I grin. That’s one thing I’ve always liked about my father; he’s mostly predictable. I see sunlight trapped in a room on the other side of the hallway.
 

The studio is to the left. “I should go right?” I say.

It takes Jacques a moment. “Yes, go right.”

I follow his direction.

“Do you see the patio?” he asks.

I feel relieved. “I see it.”

“That’ll lead to the back,” he says. “You’ll see tall hedges on the other side of the courtyard. There are three private cottages behind it, but Anton is living in one of them.”

“Whoa. You mean Anton, the driver?” I ask, surprised.

“He’s your cousin. You don’t remember Anton?”

“No! Why didn’t he say anything?”

The phone crackles.
 

“I have to go,” he says in a rush. “I had the south cottage prepared for you. Meals are in the main house, but Inés is supposed to bring you bread and cheese every morning. Love you, baby.”

“Okay. Love you too, Papa.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Call me if you need to.”

“I will.”

I walk through the garden patio, which has views of the valley, and through an alcove, which leads to the back of the house. The courtyard takes my breath away. There’s a long swimming pool in the center of a healthy lawn, which is surrounded by shrubs cut into boxes, circles, and upside-down and right-side-up triangles. White jasmine flowers have been planted all along the red-brick walkway. The sweet fragrance makes me feel as if I’ve bitten into a piece of heaven. I can see the brick-shingled rooftops and chimneys of the cottages, but just as my father said, a thick line of shrubs hides their walls.
 

I fight the urge to strip off my clothes and jump into the swimming pool. I still can’t believe Anton didn’t say, “Hey by the way, we’re cousins.” I finally remember him. His father is Jean Luc, Heloise’s younger brother. Anton and Daniel were better friends than he and I were. I remember his family visiting us in L.A. Heloise chastised Daniel and me for not welcoming our cousins and made us stay home to entertain them. I couldn’t wait until the entire family left. I also remember Anton thinking I was a boy, though I didn’t care to enlighten him. Back then, I thought the week they visited was the worst five days in my life.

I round the hedges and go up a cobblestone walkway. A plush green lawn fills the ground in front of the quaint cottages. Each house has a white french door entrance with views of the grape vines and the winery in the distance, and I walk inside the far south cottage. It’s nice, cozy, and furnished in the French country style. I go into the living room and open the large windows. Fresh air flows over me. In the tiny kitchen, a cheese platter sits on a wooden table. Suddenly I’m starving, and I dig in. Oh, French cheese made of sheep’s milk is one of the tastiest foods on the planet. I devour the bread and cheese.
 

I satisfy my stomach then head to the bedroom. I’ll be sleeping on a four-poster bed set against an exposed brick wall. Sheer floral-patterned curtains hang from the rails. The bed is so gorgeous and inviting that not only do I want one for myself, I want to strip off my clothes, go into the kitchen for the rest of the cheese platter, and eat in bed until my belly is tight and all I can do is lay on my back and dream of the last time Belmont ravaged me. I should also think about my next article. I need to publish soon in order to stay relevant. I sit on the mattress and bounce a couple of times to test its comfort.
It’s very comfortable
.
 

I go to the bathroom which, for me, is the most important room in any house. Actually, the bathroom is where my and Belmont’s tastes find harmony. I love a decadent one. I have to step down into the bathroom in the cottage. The walls are made of frosted glass and red brick. A European-style bathtub is on a platform in the middle of the room, and it’s calling my name.

“Oh my,” I whisper.
 

I kick off my sandals, stomp out of my jeans, and snatch off my tank top. I run the bath water and find the towels, loofa, and jasmine bath soap. As soon as my bath is ready, I grab my cell phone and get in. There’s another person I must speak to as soon as possible. So I find her name in my contact list and place a call to her.

The phone rings twice, and then, “Hello.”

“Angelina?”

“Daisy? Is this you?”

I put the phone on speaker and set it on a wooden stand next to the tub. “It’s me.”
 

“Oh...”
 

I smirk at her surprise. “Did you think I’d still be confined to an island without access to my cell phone?”

“Are you? I mean, still on the island?”

“No, I’m not on the island anymore. Belmont saved us.” I sink into the water until my shoulders are covered.
 
“Although I have no idea where he is at the moment.”
 

Angelina is silent.

“Angel?” I ask.

“I’m just… what about the ankle monitors?”

“Belmont took it off of me.”

She sighs with relief. “Oh my God… I’m so sorry, Daisy. Tell me you’re not mad at me.”

“You were only trying to help. I just don’t understand why you cooked up such an extreme scheme. It had to have taken a lot of planning to pull off.”

“You have no idea. But I don’t think you guys will make it without real help.”

I’m silent as I look at my hands waving through the water in front of me. Belmont and I definitely need real help. Our problems aren’t glaring. They can only be seen through a professional lens. “I understand. But how did you even do it?”

“At first we were just going to wait until the party.”

“Your engagement party?” I ask.

“It wasn’t a real engagement party.”

I slap the water, splashing my face. “I knew it!”

“Are you taking a bath?”

“Yeah, I’m actually outside of Bordeaux. In a castle…”

“You’re at Chateau Mes Fleurs?”

“You’ve been here?” I sound as surprised as I am.

“Many times.”

“I’m not the only one here. I have a cousin on the premises. Anton…”