A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel (52 page)

They started to walk again, slowly, their eyes fixed on the plants. No matter how much Jules invested in new equipment, nothing could replace keeping a close watch on the vines. Each owner in the region watched vigilantly over his land jealously, but none to Jules’s extent. It was this determination that pleased Lucas the most.

I just hope that this is going to be a good year,
he thought.
The kid deserves a break after all he’s had to go through because of that bum of a brother of his.

Although Lucas and Jules had fought quite a bit, even coming to blows once, nothing altered their mutual respect and their love for work well done.

As they were in sight of the castle, Jules asked, “You want some coffee?”

It was a ritual. They headed straight for the kitchen and sat on one of the benches as Fernande filled their mugs. It was nine o’clock and Jules had already wolfed down two breakfasts. Robert had left for Paris along with Pauline, and Louis-Marie had settled in the main living room, where he worked on his manuscript, waiting for his brother’s instructions.

“I’m not going to need you here this afternoon,” Jules told Lucas. “So you can go to the train station. We have to ship those cases this week. There’s also some stuff to mail. You just have to ask Laurène.”

He was already standing. Lucas nodded. He knew that Jules wanted to take good care of his American clients, so he was extra careful when shipping wine to the United States.

Louis-Marie was all smiles when Jules arrived in the living room.

“I thought you forgot about me,” he said, putting the cap back on his pen.

“You wish,” Jules said. “I have a long to-do list for you. It’s going to keep you busy all day. Unless you’d rather get some work done. …”

He leaned over Louis-Marie’s shoulder and read a few lines.

“It’s your next book?” he asked.

He didn’t much like what Louis-Marie had published so far, so he didn’t talk about it often. He had no interest in the life of the rich and famous in Paris, and that’s what his brother was writing about, in both his articles and books.

“Don’t pretend to be interested,” Louis-Marie said, covering his sheet of paper. “I know you don’t like what I usually write about, but I have a surprise for you. … Even if my editor won’t be too pleased about it, I’m working on something different, something truly literary.”

Jules looked curious. There was more bitterness than hope in those last few words.

“Is something the matter?” Jules asked.

Louis-Marie sighed and forced a smile.

“Let’s just say that I’m not thrilled at the idea of Pauline traveling with Bob. …”

Jules remained silent, waiting for his brother to continue.

“Don’t think I’m an idiot,” Louis-Marie said in a low voice. “You’d have to be blind, and I’m not …”

He looked straight at Jules and asked, “You think there’s something going on between them?”

Jules held his breath for a second, trying not to let anything show.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” he said.

“If you did know anything, would you tell me?”

“No, I wouldn’t. But I don’t know anything.”

Jules hated lying. But the last thing he wanted was for his brothers to be fighting again. And so he said nothing about catching Pauline and Robert walking out of a hotel in Bordeaux six months earlier. Louis-Marie was too vulnerable when it came to his wife, and the family was already under enough pressure to add to it all.

“Why did you want to stay at Fonteyne?” Jules asked.

Louis-Marie seemed to think about it for a moment, as though he was trying to formulate the most accurate response.

“Family …” he said finally. “It’s fragile, you know? This trial will be hard on everyone. Alex is wrong, but his claims might create doubt, questions … And you’re going to hate that!”

He was thinking of Pauline who, last night, was about to support Alexandre. He was also thinking of Marie and Antoine, who would feel obligated to back their son-in-law. And Dominique, torn between the two sides. And Robert, who adored Jules, but might be tempted to listen to Pauline’s opinions. And Laurène, who’d be of no help at all.

“I’m the oldest,” he added. “Objectively, I support all the decisions Dad made before his death. Alex is being irresponsible to put a business like Fonteyne in jeopardy. Between us …” Louis-Marie was speaking in such a low voice that Jules had to lean forward. “I have no interest in numbers, and I can’t even manage my own finances. Every morning I’m scared I’m going to lose Pauline, and my bank account is often close to empty because I live so far beyond my means. And I haven’t written anything worthwhile in ten years. But I’m not a complete moron, and I know Fonteyne’s worth. And so I want to help you. … It’s what’s most important, what’s most urgent.”

Jules sat on the arm of a wingback chair and said, “Thank you.”

He couldn’t remember having such a frank conversation with his brother. He took out a piece of paper from his jeans.

“If you could go to Bordeaux this morning …” he began “I need you to see Meyer …”

Louis-Marie surprised Jules not just with his kindness, but also the efficiency with which he handled all the tasks he was given. He helped Laurène come up with a computer system that simplified the estate’s bookkeeping. Then, he took over the castle’s exterior upkeep. He hired a young unemployed man whom Lucas knew and gave him a detailed list that included painting the shutters, mowing the lawn, and caring for the flowerbeds—a project he also managed to get Laurène interested in. It was the sort of thing that she liked but had no clue how to manage until then.

While Louis-Marie and Laurène were outside, enjoying the May sun as they worked, Fernande was extremely busy inside, scolding Clothilde about everything. She was following the instructions left by Pauline and was cleaning every room that would be used for the reception. Jules’s wedding was, Fernande had realized, a way to make gossipers shut up. Fonteyne had to look as prosperous and welcoming as ever, in spite of the upcoming trial that everybody in the region was talking about.

Freed from all of the household-related tasks, Jules was able to spend more time in the cellar with Lucas, and he spent hours on the phone with merchants and clients.

During the week prior to his wedding, Jules received the pile of documents he’d asked for from Varin, including the company’s detailed statutes, which he wanted to show Louis-Marie. The documents came with a short note that Jules read several times. In a nervous scrawl, Frédérique had written: “Hoping this note finds you well and looking forward to seeing you since I’ll be starting back to work at the office in June. And so we’ll have a chance to see each other again. With affection, Frédérique.”

He remained still a long time after reading the note once more. Frédérique still brought back painful memories. And a lot of passion, desire, madness. But to give her any more thought was out of the question. On the contrary, he would have to deal with her in a completely detached manner in the future.

“Honey, Louis-Marie is asking if he can order gravel for the driveway.”

Jules made a gesture of impatience, making Laurène stop in her tracks in the middle of the office, embarrassed.

“Am I disturbing you? You would’ve preferred I knock?”

“Aurélien used to say that half the time wasn’t bad,” he said, smiling.

He dropped Frédérique’s note in a drawer then got up to kiss Laurène.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked, softly.

She snuggled against him. She looked better.

“I’m doing great,” she said. “I don’t have any nausea and I actually ate a real breakfast with your brother on the terrace. So, about that gravel?”

“Well,” Jules said, “I suppose that Louis-Marie has decided to try and ruin us, but I think we can afford a few pebbles!”

He led Laurène to the French doors and looked outside. The castle’s grounds had been transformed in a very short amount of time. The terrace’s stones, which had been sandblasted, looked immaculate under the sun, the rose bushes were blooming and the flowerbeds were filled with multicolored pansies, the lawn was freshly mowed, and the pathway was now impeccably clear.

“That young guy Louis-Marie hired is doing good work. … Maybe I should keep him on as a handyman.”

“Yes, please,” Laurène said. “He’s just about finished painting the upstairs shutters. The façade looks great.”

He gave her a happy glance. She was so childlike at times, and he felt the urge to protect her.

“What’s that kid’s name again?” he asked, his brows furrowed.

“Bernard. …”

She started laughing, remembering that Jules never forgot anything. She got on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“I’m happy,” she whispered.

“Me too,” he replied.

The lie made him a bit embarrassed. But it wasn’t as though he were unhappy, exactly.

Alexandre wasn’t unhappy, either. At least that’s what he thought when he’d had enough to drink. In order to avoid Dominique’s reproachful looks, he was now in the habit of going to Bordeaux, where he could hang out in a variety of bistros without being recognized. Deep down, he knew he was wrong, and it was to get rid of this anguish that he’d turned to cognac, in search of a soothing euphoria. After the third glass, he felt up to the task of facing the possible consequences of his acts, his wife’s harsh attitude, even Jules’s wrath. He thought about that often, wondering how “the bastard” would react if, per chance, they ran into each other. Through Dominique, he’d learned that Louis-Marie was spending time at Fonteyne and he’d chortled, annoyed by this proof of loyalty that the oldest son was giving Jules. As for the wedding, he didn’t even want to hear about it. He told Marie that she had to be crazy to let her daughter marry a man as despotic and selfish as Jules. His mother-in-law decided it was best if she didn’t reply, not wanting to tread on such a minefield.

Alexandre had felt even more bitter after learning that, in spite of his absence and Antoine’s, Jules wasn’t content with a simple, intimate wedding. And so he’d promised himself to prevent Dominique from attending the ceremony, even if it meant keeping her in Mazion by force.

He snapped out of thought only when Valérie Samson repeated her question in a loud voice. He tried to concentrate so he could respond. He thought it was insane that he needed to give his lawyer so much private information just so she might be able to find a different way of approaching the case. It would be impossible to demonstrate that Aurélien was senile or that his mental state was weakened for some reason, impossible to find a flaw in Varin’s statutes, impossible to come up with some kind of professional snafu that Jules might be guilty of. The full range of Samson’s genius would be needed to find a way to convince the judge. This, it went without saying, meant additional fees.

Robert didn’t leave Pauline any choice and parked in front of the restaurant before she had time to protest. In spite of Esther’s presence, he needed one last stop before facing Louis-Marie.

Two days before, Pauline had agreed to have dinner with him in Paris, and they’d spent a wonderful evening together. She’d laughed the whole time and kept teasing him. They’d shared some memories, ordered some champagne, gazed into each other’s eyes. Then he proposed that they have a final drink at the
Bar du Crillon
. That’s where he’d found the courage to kiss her. That’s where they’d booked a room.

Robert knew he was damning himself, but nothing could’ve held him back. Pauline was the bane of his existence, his madness. The following day would be atrocious, he had no doubt about that. And, to be sure, he had to take her home at dawn, not knowing whether they’d ever have another such night together, as she would never promise anything and was always keen on cruelly reminding him that she loved Louis-Marie. Robert hated himself to the nth degree, but couldn’t bring himself to hate Pauline, much less stay away from her, despite all the pain she caused him. Yes, she said, she adored making love to Robert, going out with him, flirting with him. But no, she wouldn’t leave Louis-Marie for all that.

Robert then spent a horrible morning at the hospital, assigning his scheduled surgeries to one of his colleagues and his interns, wandering aimlessly between the OR and his office, trying to avoid the concern of his secretary, who thought he looked exhausted. He’d almost phoned Jules to tell him he wasn’t coming to Fonteyne after all, but he’d resisted the temptation when he remembered he was his best man. He’d managed to get ahold of himself only toward the end of the day and had forced himself to invite one of his nurses to dinner.

He wound up in front of Pauline’s apartment building that morning, at the agreed time, and they hit the road to Bordeaux. Robert had wanted to relax a bit by stopping for lunch, but he took no pleasure in it. Esther kept babbling and behaving like a spoiled child. As for Pauline, she was obsessing over insignificant details that ranged from the hat she was going to wear in church to Louis-Marie’s favorite cufflinks that she’d left in Paris.

When coffee was served at the end of the meal, they let Esther go to the restaurant’s playground, and Robert asked point-blank, “So, you’re back to being my sister-in-law? We’re putting our masks back on?”

The look she flashed was devoid of affection.

“You have another solution?” she asked.

“Yes! Divorce!”

“No.”

She said nothing else, and he was taken aback by her terseness. She was usually so verbose and energetic when rejecting his idea of divorcing her husband. He thought maybe he’d found a chink in her armor, the first since she’d married Louis-Marie, and he was wise enough to keep quiet about it. He handed her his pack of cigarettes, gave her a light without touching her hand, and asked the waitress for two more coffees along with the bill.

Jules was still in Aurélien’s room when the sun came up. This was where Fernande brought his breakfast, having guessed that Jules would’ve wanted to spend his last night as a bachelor in that room. In their bedroom, Laurène, according to tradition, was sleeping by herself. Her wedding dress, which Jules wasn’t permitted to see before the wedding, was spread out over two armchairs.