A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel (5 page)

A short rap on the door preceded Jules’s entrance.

“Did you have a good nap?” the young man asked, out of habit.

“I guess. … Listen, I was just telling Laurène …” Aurélien hesitated for just a second before adding, “Alex is going to Bordeaux instead of you tomorrow. I’m going to need you here.”

Impassive, Jules nodded. If he wanted to protest, Aurélien knew, he wouldn’t do it in front of Laurène.

“I want you to take a look at this report,” Aurélien continued, “and tell me what you think. My calculations, especially. Everything has to be perfect.”

Jules sat across the desk from his father and opened the manila folder. Aurélien straightened in his chair to watch Jules going over the columns of figures.

“I’m going to buy you some boots for your thirtieth birthday, okay?” he said.

Though it was an old joke, Jules smiled. Aurélien paid his sons very handsomely for their work on the estate.

“What do you do with your money, son? You stash it away like a squirrel? You’re never going to invest a cent in a decent wardrobe?”

Aurélien was laughing, but Jules sprang to his feet without finishing the report.

“You want me to go change?”

Taken aback, Aurélien glared at Jules.

“As a matter of fact,” he said, not to lose face, “why don’t you do that?”

Both men locked eyes for a moment, and then Aurélien realized that Laurène’s presence explained his son’s touchy behavior. He turned to her, and she hurried out of the office.

Jules was going to follow her, but Aurélien said, “Hold on, cowboy! You can deal with your clothes later on. I feel like going on a tour of the vineyards. Want to come with me?”

The way Aurélien asked made Jules loosen up.

“Are you going to need a cane, old man?” he asked, with a grin on his face.

They stepped out of the office together and passed by the small room where Laurène was busy typing, her back turned to them.

“You’re getting sensitive,” Aurélien muttered. “Is she troubling you?”

Jules said nothing and opened the front door for Aurélien. They headed for the Jeep, parked at the foot of the terrace.

“Do you think that Alex is going to be okay in Bordeaux?”

“Yes. …” Jules said in a neutral voice.

“He has to …”

“I know. …”

Aurélien stopped suddenly a few feet from the Jeep.

“Come on, Jules, relax!”

Surprised, Jules turned to his father.

“What?”

“I mean it! Here, you drive. Let’s start at the west field. I haven’t been there in a good eight days. Tell me what’s bothering you. …”

Jules drove off slowly. As the Jeep was going down the driveway, Jules said, “Last night, at seven, I spotted an old man on the road, near the south-east vines. A prowler, no doubt. …”

Aurélien burst out laughing.

“An old man? Not that old, I hope. If you keep spying on me when I come to check up on you, we’ll be going around in circles!”

Aurélien playfully punched his son in the ribs.

“I like you better this way. … So, how do you think the wine is going to be?”

“Firm, concentrated … probably rich … But the weather is going to have to hold.”

“It will,” Aurélien said.

“The forecasts are pretty bad.”

“We’ll see. Let’s stop here.”

Aurélien hopped out of the Jeep with surprising agility for a man his age. He headed for some vines to touch the grapes and smell them. He remained there for a good while, then came back to the Jeep, silent. He and Jules looked at each other.

“Yes …” Aurélien mumbled. “We won’t do too well if there’s a bad storm.”

They went from hill to hill, stopping ten times, leaning over the low vines. They forgot all about Laurène and the entire family, solely preoccupied by the stony earth they stood on and the grapes’ appearance. Quite naturally, they were experiencing one of those privileged moments when they shared everything, not having to say a word to understand each other. They had the same thoughts at the same time, noticed the same things, and came to the same conclusions. They ended their tour in the late afternoon, with a satisfaction mixed with worry at the sight of the graying sky. They’d almost reached Fonteyne’s gates when Aurélien asked Jules to go over to Antoine’s to invite him for dinner. It was a bit cavalier, given the late hour, but Aurélien had little use for convention. Jules dropped him off in front of the terrace. He was about to take off when Aurélien rapped on the Jeep’s hood.

“Wait a sec. Let me get Laurène. She’ll help you convince her father to accept the invitation and maybe she feels like going to Mazion.”

Aurélien went up the steps and Jules turned off the engine. He reached for his pocket to retrieve his cigarettes and lit one. He wondered what was behind Aurélien’s sudden sociability. Usually, his old man did everything he could to prevent Jules and Laurène from finding themselves together alone, doing it in spite of himself, but systematically. Amused, Jules smiled. He was attracted to Laurène just as much as Aurélien was, and it wouldn’t have been inappropriate for him to act upon it, unlike it had been for his father. If he’d refrained himself up until now, it was only to protect himself from his own attraction.

That was because he didn’t allow himself many distractions, being too absorbed by Fonteyne. His only extravagance had been to buy a horse and fix up the stable, two winters earlier. He’d also convinced Aurélien to acquire a pony for his grandchildren, and every Wednesday he gave Alex’s sons riding lessons. Once in a while, he went hunting in the woods with his dog, carrying Aurélien’s old 20-gauge shotgun. His visits to Bordeaux and Margaux were always motivated by business and he never took a vacation. He liked his existence and didn’t long for any other. At the age of twenty, back when he was completing the studies imposed by his father, he’d gone out with girls just like his brothers had in their day. He’d had a few affairs that ended quickly and never caused him any pain since he stuck to picking up women in nightclubs and limited himself to carnal pleasures. Without giving the matter too much thought, he understood that acting this way protected his freedom, the total independence he needed in order to devote himself to Fonteyne. And so he’d managed never to think about his future in terms of starting a family. And Laurène would have disturbed his serenity. Paradoxically, his father’s overly protective attitude toward the young woman suited him, as he didn’t have to ask himself too many questions, and he could retreat behind this settled and quiet conclusion.

Hysterical barking snapped him out of his reverie. Cutting through the lawn, his pointer, overjoyed, was running like crazy toward him. The dog jumped in the back of the Jeep and curled up there. As Jules turned around to pet him, he saw Laurène standing nearby.

“You seem very deep in your thoughts. …” she said with a smile that troubled Jules.

He motioned for her to get on board and put the Jeep in gear. They drove toward the ferry. The air was heavy and the sky was turning black. They arrived just in time and didn’t have to wait to get on the boat. They remained side by side, enjoying the relatively cool air the crossing of the estuary provided.

Laurène waited until they were on the road to Mazion to ask, “Do you think that Alex is going to do okay in Bordeaux?”

Jules made an evasive gesture that meant he didn’t feel like talking about it.

When they arrived, Antoine Billot was standing in front of his house, chatting with his cellar master. He was Aurélien’s age, but looked older.

“You hooligan!” he shouted to Jules, as the braking Jeep sent billows of dust into the air. “What are you two doing here at this hour anyway? Aurélien kick you out of the house? What did you do to get in trouble?”

Antoine laughed, holding Laurène tight against him. He was surprised to see Jules lose his composure and look away.

Hmm
, he thought,
usually she’s the one blushing about these sorts of things. …

“Come on in, kids,” he said. “It’s happy hour!”

“Yes,” Laurène said, “but we have to hurry. We came to invite you to dinner.”

“At six in the evening?” Antoine said. “Aurélien’s got some nerve! Well, if I go, it’s only to be with my daughters!”

They walked inside the house and Antoine, jovial, pushed Jules. He then went over to the cupboard to get some glasses.

“It doesn’t matter which ones, Antoine. …” Jules said.

“White wine has no form and doesn’t require the same regard as red,” he and Laurène said together.

“Does he still say that?” Antoine asked.

“Every time he drinks your wine,” Jules said.

Antoine and Marie Ballot’s house was small and modern, but Jules felt comfortable there.

“Marie!” Antoine called out.

As soon as she walked into the room, Jules got up to kiss her. He felt a deep affection for Mrs. Billot, as she was exactly what he imagined a mother to be. He had too few memories of Lucie, and Fernande hadn’t been able to fill all of the needs for affection in his childhood.

“And to think I knew you when you were this tall.”

She said that to Jules every time she saw him, had for many years. She was always taken aback by Jules’s maturity, calm, and good looks, while thinking how much this little brown-haired child Aurélien adopted had disturbed the Laverzac family back then.

“You don’t come see us very often. …”

She told Jules to sit back down and she filled everyone’s glasses. She moved with ease and grace. She almost never left the house so she could keep her mother-in-law company. Old Mrs. Billot was handicapped, stuck in a wheelchair. Marie adored her, having never forgotten the warm welcome she’d received after marrying Antoine, in spite of her very modest origins. They’d consoled each other when the two girls left, and chatted all day long.

“You’re taking my husband away from me tonight if I understand correctly,” she said. “Go on, Antoine. … Go get ready…”

Marie had always been in favor of the relationship between Antoine and Aurélien. By marrying Alexandre, Dominique had satisfied her mother’s desire to become part of a family considered inaccessible until then. Although times had changed, Marie remained sensitive to social differences. To think that her grandsons bore the name Laverzac and that they would one day rule over an estate like Fonteyne filled her with happiness.

She caught Jules staring at Laurène and forced herself not to smile.

“Just think,” said her daughter, “this is the first time in years that the entire family’s been together. Even Robert came!”

Jules looked away from Laurène and put down his glass. Laurène’s overly cheerful voice suddenly annoyed him. He wondered if jealousy had anything to do with it, this unjustified irritation he was experiencing. Laurène’s joy made him uneasy.

“Aurélien doesn’t talk about it much, but you can’t imagine how proud he is of Robert.”

Laurène was speaking to her mother, and Jules was paying close attention to her intonations. Marie picked up Jules’s change of attitude and interrupted her daughter.

“It’s already seven,” she said. “You should go. … Antoine will join you there.”

“You go ahead, Jules,” Laurène said. “I’ll wait for Dad.”

The young man was already standing. Marie walked him to the Jeep. She fumbled for something to say and took him by the shoulders affectionately.

“You should come see me more often, Jules,” she finally said. “By yourself or with the girls, just come by. …”

This feminine warmth, which he wasn’t used to, disoriented Jules even more. He gave Marie a bit of an automatic smile, turned on the engine, and took off.

Jules took the time to change before walking into the main living room that evening. He told everyone that Antoine and Laurène would soon arrive and then sat over by the fireplace, in his favorite spot.

“Antoine is going to ruin our dinner,” Aurélien grumbled.

Even with the windows opened wide, the air was stifling. Pauline chatted with Louis-Marie and Robert, both of them listening to her attentively. She had her own way of telling anecdotes, punctuating her stories with bursts of laughter and winks, easily turning men into admirers. Jules observed her for a few minutes, with curiosity rather than disapproval. Women like Pauline didn’t do anything for him. He thought that both his brothers had the same dumb look of awe, and he had no trouble seeing the disaster looming.

“Jules!”

He turned to Aurélien, who’d just jumped to his feet. A flash of lighting illuminated the terrace, just outside the main living room. The heavy rolling sound of thunder could be heard in the distance. Jules followed his father out the door. The first raindrops crashed down onto the terrace’s slabs. The men remained motionless for a moment, listening to the rain.

“It’s not so bad. …”

Jules steered his father back under the terrace’s awning.

“Come on,” he said, “you’re going to get wet.”

A clap of thunder interrupted him, and all the lights in the house went out. They heard Pauline laugh. Annoyed, Aurélien shrugged.

“Those outages are unacceptable,” he said.

“We’re at the end of the power line, you know that,” Jules said.

“Out here, we’re always at the end of something,” Aurélien mumbled.

In the semidarkness, Jules smiled and said, “Our wit’s end, for example?”

“Have you written them, at least?”

“Ten times. … Come on, let’s get some candles.”

Jules put a hand on his father’s shoulder. The rain was coming down steadily, but without excessive violence. Aurélien felt his anguish fading. Pauline popped up between them, holding a candelabrum.

“Look what I’ve found!” she said.

Obviously, she was having a great time.

“You’re dripping wax all over the place,” Aurélien told her in a cold voice.

Pauline was about to say something back when a car appeared in the driveway, flooding them with its headlights before coming to a stop.

“They’re here!” Pauline said.

Laurène ran up the stairs, followed by Antoine. In the happy chaos that their arrival created, the power suddenly came back on.

“You’ll see,” Aurélien said to Antoine as he poured him a glass, “this September is going to bring plenty of problems.”