Vintage Pride (7 page)

“I won’t.” Ethan sounded firm on the matter. “I’ve worked on almost forty episodes of the show and I haven’t conducted a single investigation yet which has convinced me ghosts, poltergeists or anything like them exist, and I’m damn sure that’s not going to change here.”

He shut the door firmly behind him, leaving Jean-Luc to shake his head. Ethan’s certainty—his arrogance, even—deserved to be challenged. Jean-Luc could provide him with all the proof of the paranormal he could ever need. But doing so would surely bring about the ruin of him and his family. He thumped the wall hard in frustration and cursed the circumstances that had brought Ethan Wayne under his roof.

Chapter Seven

Ethan had slept badly, his dreams a confused jumble in which Jean-Luc LeBlanc had chased him down a dark, twisting stone passageway, yelling at him to get out of his home and never return.

It took him a moment or two after he woke to gather his bearings. Leon sat on the opposite edge of the big double bed wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs.

“What time is it?” Ethan asked.

“Just gone five in the afternoon,” Leon replied. “I was about to go take a shower, unless you wanna use the bathroom.”

Ethan shook his head. When they’d been talking downstairs earlier, Marcus White had told them dinner would be at eight o’clock, so he didn’t need to think about getting ready for a while.

“No, that’s okay. I might try and get a little more sleep. Jet lag doesn’t usually hit me like this, but man, am I bushed…”

“Kim said she brought some melatonin tablets with her. They’re supposed to be pretty good at sorting out your body clock if it’s screwed up. I could go scrounge a couple from her if you want.”

“Thanks, but I’ll see if I can get over it the old-fashioned way first.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Leon hunted out a fresh T-shirt from the chest of drawers then left the room.

Ethan pulled the covers back up over his head. The dream still lingered. Thoughts of Jean-Luc filled his mind. He pictured the man in the moment he’d appeared in the hallway, his long, blond hair tousled and a faint growth of fair stubble on his chin. He’d looked roguish, wild. And those eyes… Ethan had never seen a color quite like them. Amber flecked with brown. But it was the sadness within them, rather than their unusual shade, that had drawn his attention most. Jean-Luc had suffered—clearly, was still suffering. But it seemed he hugged his torment to himself, unwilling to share it with anyone.

He found it hard to understand why a man he’d only spoken to for a couple of minutes and who’d been so openly hostile to him, could affect him so deeply. Maybe Jean-Luc’s reaction had something to do with it. Ethan had become used to people who welcomed them in, hoping the
Spirit Seekers
team would be able to find an explanation for the strange phenomena plaguing them. Or maybe the aristocratic Frenchman was simply aware the legends surrounding the château had no substance to them and didn’t want to be involved in keeping up the charade.

Surrounded as he was by people who believed in the existence of the paranormal, it was nice to think that for once he might have met a fellow sceptic. Still considering the possibility, Ethan dozed off once more.

* * * *

He was the last to arrive downstairs. The rest of the
Spirit Seekers
crew waited in the drawing room, along with Marcus and a pretty, heavily pregnant woman who Ethan took to be Marcus’ wife, Thérèse. Apart from Thérèse, who nursed a glass of sparkling water, everyone had an aperitif in their hand.

“And here he is now,” Marcus said. “What can I get you to drink, Ethan? A drop of vermouth, perhaps?”

Ethan shook his head, still groggy from too much sleep. “I’m fine, thank you.”

From behind him, he heard Agathe announce, “Dinner is served,” and turned to see her standing in the doorway.

Marcus led his wife and their guests into the dining room, which had a high, vaulted ceiling, and walls paneled in dark wood. Candles burned in plain silver holders and the crystal glassware shone in the reflected light.

As host, Marcus took his place at the head of the table. Ethan found himself sitting with Thérèse to his left and Kim opposite him.

A petite, dark-haired girl in a black dress and white apron who Ethan hadn’t noticed until now placed bowls of carrot soup in front of each guest. Meanwhile, Agathe poured wine for everyone except Thérèse.

Once they had all been served, Marcus raised his glass. “Well, lady and gentlemen, thank you very much for coming to investigate the mysteries of our home. Here’s to explaining the unexplained.”

As they tucked in to the soup, Kim said to Thérèse, “I never got the opportunity to ask you. When is the baby due?”

“Two days before Christmas, would you believe?” Thérèse replied with a wry smile. “I told Marcus his timing is not so good.”

“My kid brother, Donnie…his birthday’s the same time of year.” Kim helped herself to a chunk of crusty baguette. “He always used to complain that people would get him one big present for both occasions, which was never as good as getting two smaller ones.”

“Marcus and I have talked about this,” Thérèse said. “We’ve agreed that the baby will have a second, unofficial birthday in the summer, a special day all to himself—or herself.”

Ethan picked up on her choice of words. “So you don’t know what you’re having yet?”

“
Non
. We told the doctor we wanted it to be a surprise. All we needed to be sure was that there’s only one in here.” Thérèse patted her swollen belly. “You see, Marcus is one of twins. His sister, Marina, still lives in Bath. And they run in his family, though we’d always been told they would skip a generation. We do have names in mind, though. Alexandre if it’s a boy—that was my father’s name—and Anaïs if it’s a girl.”

“Oh, that’s pretty,” Kim said, sounding a little wistful.

The maid had returned to remove their bowls. Ethan hadn’t thought he had much of an appetite but when he gazed down, he was surprised to see he’d finished every drop of the tasty soup.

“This wine is excellent,” he commented, taking a long sip, “though there’s a kind of leathery aroma to it.”

“That’s due to the tannins,” Marcus said. He broke off from his own conversation with Dex, obviously wanting to show off his specialist subject. “You’re drinking a wine from the Haut-Medoc region, and the way the grapes break down in the fermentation process coupled with the soil in which they’re grown produces this very complex scent.” He put his nose to the lip of his own glass and breathed in.

Kim laughed. “As long as it tastes good, I don’t care how it smells.”

The main course had arrived. A beef stew in a thick, wine-fortified sauce, studded with onions and turnips and accompanied by mounds of creamy mashed potato. Ethan’s thoughts flitted to Jean-Luc. After all the guests around the table had been served, would Agathe take a tray of food up to him? If this château truly were the setting for a fairy tale, as Ethan had imagined when he’d first caught sight of it, then Jean-Luc was the Beast, locked in his turret room and waiting for the one who would see beneath his gruff exterior and win his heart.

At the other end of the table, Pete and Leon were bickering over something. Ethan listened in for long enough to establish it had something to do with the fantasy football team Pete had put together then promptly tuned out again.

Once the main course was over, Ethan expected the maid would fetch some kind of dessert. Instead, he was disconcerted to see her set a plate before him containing crisp, simply dressed lettuce leaves.

Thérèse must have caught him staring in disbelief for she murmured, “This is the traditional palate cleanser after the meat, to help aid with the digestion of such rich food. After this comes cheese, then dessert.”

“Do you eat like this every night?”

“Only when we have guests, which isn’t often these days. Jean-Luc loved to entertain when Benoît was still here, but now…”

“Benoît?”

Thérèse flushed and said nothing further. Ethan realized she must have spoken out of turn.

“Please, enjoy your food,” she said before turning away to address a remark to Leon.

Once the cheese board, containing a runny slab of Brie de Meaux, blue-veined Roquefort and mature, salty Comté had arrived, Marcus said, “So, I suppose you’d all like to know more about the legends surrounding the château?”

“Of course.” Kim sat a little straighter in her chair.

“Well, as my lovely wife will tell you, the LeBlancs were a prominent family in the region even before they built this place. You remember I showed you the motto on the crest, ‘
forte comme un lion
’? Well, its origin dates back to Oriel LeBlanc, who fought at the battle of Agincourt.”

“That’s Henry the Fifth, fourteen hundred and something, right?” A couple of years ago, Ethan had briefly dated an actor who’d landed a minor role in a production of that Shakespeare play. He knew little of the history surrounding the story apart from the fact the English had ultimately defeated their French opponents.

“Indeed.” Marcus smiled at Ethan. “Oriel was described as the finest of all the French knights who gave their life that day. It was said he fought with the strength and bravery of a lion, refusing to surrender even when all hope was lost. Of course, it’s not unusual for an exceptionally courageous man to be compared to that particular animal—we English have our own Richard the Lionheart, after all. But when the LeBlanc estate was established here, a hundred or so years after the battle of Agincourt, a chapel was constructed in the grounds to commemorate Oriel, and a lion’s image incorporated into the family crest so his deeds would never be forgotten.”

“Could we get a look at this chapel some time?” Dex asked.

“I’d love to show you around it, but unfortunately it was destroyed by a lightning strike at the turn of the last century. Some of the stones used to build it were incorporated into the walls of our storage cellar. But as a general rule, none of the public rooms here is off-limits to you.” Marcus topped up Ethan’s wine glass, then Kim’s. He held out the bottle to Dex, who refused.

“But there’s a more recent story that might be of interest to you, too. When France was occupied during the Second World War, the Nazis plundered many of the museums and great houses for their treasures. The people of Épernay remembered how the Château LeBlanc remained safe during the Revolution, and they were sure that whatever spirit had protected it again would do so if the Germans came calling. The Resistance movement was very active in this part of the country, smuggling equipment and passing on information to the Allies, and the LeBlancs were happy to aid them. When an injured English airman bailed out of a burning plane a couple of miles from here, the family sheltered him until he was well. But the really interesting story is that a number of valuable artworks were supposed to have been hidden in the cellars here by a wealthy Jewish family, who intended to flee to England and return once the war was over. Unfortunately, they were rounded up before they could leave the country and taken to Auschwitz. I don’t think I need tell you what happened to them…”

I’ll say this for Marcus. He’s a fabulous raconteur.
Looking round the table, Ethan saw his colleagues were hanging on the Englishman’s words, as keen as he was to learn how this unhappy story ended.

“The rumor is those paintings are still hidden somewhere on this property. And every time I hear the story, it grows more exaggerated. They owned some Impressionist pieces, a Van Gogh, a Botticelli. You know, if I wasn’t so sure it was hanging in the Louvre, I swear someone would claim the
Mona Lisa
is down in that cellar… Oh, thanks, Agathe. I didn’t hear you come in.”

The housekeeper and her assistant had returned to take away the remains of the cheese. “We have a
mousse au chocolat
for dessert,” Agathe informed everyone, “and then I shall serve coffee in the drawing room.”

“Man, I’m gonna have to go for a run in the morning, or I’m gonna be leaving here ten pounds heavier than when I arrived,” Dex grumbled good-naturedly.

“It’s nice to be able to sit back and relax over dinner like this,” said Marcus. “Some time in the next week or so, the grapes will reach the point where they’re ready to pick and then we’ll hardly have time to scratch our arses.”

“Marcus,
mon cher
,” Thérèse chided him.

“Sorry, my love,” Marcus replied. He rose from the table then walked round behind his wife’s chair so he could give her shoulders a squeeze. “Are you staying for dessert or are you going to get an early night? We have another long day ahead tomorrow.”

“He’s really concerned about you. That’s so sweet,” Kim murmured to Thérèse, who shook her head in response.

“No, he’s only asking that because he hopes I’ll go upstairs so he can snaffle my portion of chocolate mousse.”

Ethan found himself envying the bond between husband and wife. He didn’t think he’d ever met a couple quite so suited to each other. And Marcus was right. It was nice to sit here with old friends and new, enjoying a long, leisurely dinner. The only sour note, like a rotten grape in the bunch, was Jean-Luc’s refusal to join them. Thérèse had almost spilled the secret with her mention of someone called Benoît but she’d stopped short of telling the whole tale. Whoever he was, he held the key to why Jean-Luc was treating the
Spirit Seekers
team with such hostility. But unless anyone was prepared to talk about the matter openly, Ethan didn’t see how he could ever solve the mystery.

Chapter Eight

Ethan climbed the stairs to his room. Leon had already gone ahead while he’d lingered talking to Kim and Dex, forming a plan for how and where they would start placing the monitoring equipment the following day. Marcus had promised them a tour of the vineyard and the cellar—or
cave
, as he’d referred to it—where the Champagne was produced and stored. After that, the day was theirs. Even though they would be here for the best part of a week, it was important they had everything up and running, ready to begin the investigation once the sun went down.