A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel (65 page)

He was now only thirty feet away from the men, and he rushed one of them. The attack was violent, and Jules rolled on the ground with the man he’d tackled. Jules hit him so hard he went limp, knocked out. He immediately got up and ran after the other man fleeing with the flashlight. He dove and snatched the man’s ankle, making him crash to the ground.

Panicked, unable to think, Alex desperately tried to free himself.

“No!” he screamed. “Let me go!”

When he felt Jules’s hands around his neck, he was overtaken by sheer terror. He tried to push his brother away, but Jules kicked him in the leg as hard as he could, breaking it. Alex began to scream like a madman, but Jules pressed his knee against his chest, knocking the wind out of Alex.

“I’m going to kill you,” Jules growled between his teeth.

This was no threat. Alex again tried to free himself, but Jules grabbed him by the hair, and forced him to lie face down. Then he began to slam Alex’s face into the ground, over and over again. Alex was overwhelmed with the fear of dying. He heard a loud crack and immediately his mouth filled with blood. He tried to spit out some of the blood and the dirt, gasping for breath.

“Let him go!” a familiar voice pleaded in the background.

Alex was about to pass out, waves of pain overcoming him. The sun was slowly rising on the horizon, but Alex couldn’t see anything and was suffocating under his brother’s weight.

With his rifle, Lucas was keeping Marc, now conscious, in check.

“Jules!” he shouted. “Let him go!”

Mad with worry, Lucas took a step toward the two brothers. Firmly holding his rifle with his right hand, he grabbed Jules’s shoulder with the left.

“Dammit, Jules! Stop it!”

Alexandre managed to produce a moan as Jules kept pounding his face against the rocky soil, though he was exhausted and out of breath.

Lucas then did the only thing he could do. He turned his rifle around and hit Marc with the butt to get rid of him. Then, he dropped the rifle to the ground and tried to pull Jules off Alex. But Jules was like a rock. Lucas pulled some more but then toppled forward, on top of Jules and Alex, who was no longer moving.

Gripping Jules’s body, Lucas said, “Let go of him! That’s enough!”

He took ahold of Jules’s hands but still couldn’t make him stop slamming Alex’s face into the dirt.

Realizing he’d never be able to overpower Jules, Lucas began screaming in his ear, “He’s your brother! Stop it! Think of Aurélien! Aurélien! Aurélien!”

The name echoed in the night, traveling from one field to the other. Jules let go and Lucas was finally able to push him off Alexandre. Sick with worry, he hunched over the inert body. When he heard Alex’s faint breathing, Lucas almost sobbed with relief.

Nothing happened for a few seconds, and then Jules staggered to his feet. Lucas picked up his rifle, the flashlight, and looked at Alexandre, without touching him. Then he turned to Marc, who was still on the ground, his eyes now open wide with terror.

“The sons of bitches,” Jules muttered almost inaudibly.

Lucas pointed the flashlight at Jules for a second and then turned it off. There was another moment of silence.

“We need to call an ambulance,” Lucas said.

“You go ahead. I’m staying here. I won’t touch him.”

“You swear?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to call the cops, too?”

“No.”

Lucas hesitated, then headed for his house.

At Fernande’s suggestion, Lucas called Dr. Auber, who came with the ambulance. Alexandre was still unconscious when placed on the stretcher. Jules, livid, told the doctor that Marc and Alexandre had a fistfight. A fight between drunks. Marc wasn’t injured. He remained silent and didn’t contradict Jules’s story. When the ambulance left, Jules told Marc to scram, and the young man bolted.

“What did you say to make him go along with your story?” Lucas asked.

“That his fingerprints are all over the cans, and that he had cost me an awful lot of money. Two and a half acres of Margaux. …”

Jules turned his head, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Oh, Lucas,” he said, “at least two and a half acres!”

Lucas put a hand on Jules’s arm and gave it a good squeeze. He’d never seen him cry. He himself felt like he was on the brink of exhaustion and despair at the sight of this vineyard both of them had tended to with such care for so long. He suddenly felt dizzy, and Jules caught his arm.

“Come,” the young man whispered. “Let’s go. …”

They walked to Fonteyne, stopping only once they’d reached the castle’s steps. Both men were calmer now.

“Call in two employees immediately,” Jules told Lucas. “And Bernard. We have to set up our watering equipment. We won’t save the grapes, but we have to clean up the vineyard as soon as possible. We’re going to have to flood the field if we want to dilute that junk.”

“You’re going to contaminate the soil,” Lucas protested.

“I have no choice. We’re going to build a dam at the bottom, right next to the road.”

Jules then ran up the steps, into the castle, and up the staircase. He woke Louis-Marie up, quickly explained what had happened, and told him to immediately call their agronomist. He left him no time to reply, told him nothing about Alex’s condition, didn’t say a word to Pauline. Five minutes later, he was already outside directing operations.

The grueling work went on for hours. Tirelessly, the field was cleaned up. Water fell in a light rain on the grapes all morning long. Jules had no hope of saving the crop, but he at least had to ensure the field’s future. The workers dug ditches so that the polluted water would be properly drained.

Looking grim, never stopping for even a moment, Jules oversaw the operation, marching up and down the rows. Lucas watched him go, feeling sad. He had a hard time getting over what had happened. Fear had given way to disgust and then anguish. Jules had really wanted to kill Alex, and Lucas thought it was a miracle he’d managed to prevent him from doing so.

At lunchtime, Lucas went over to the castle to grab a sandwich and see Louis-Marie, who gave him reassuring news about Alexandre. The atmosphere in the quiet castle was heavy. Even Fernande, in her kitchen, looked stricken.

At nine that evening, Jules declared that the repair work was done. The rest of the family had waited for him before eating. He crossed the dining room and stopped behind Dominique’s chair.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice coarse.

Pauline was looking away. Laurène lowered her head. Louis-Marie glanced at his brother.

“So am I,” Dominique replied.

She suddenly got up and threw herself into Jules’s arms.

“I’m not mad at you, Jules,” she said. “I’m mad at him.”

He made her sit back down, managed to give her a smile, and took his seat.

“How is he?” he asked Louis-Marie.

His voice was as impersonal as if he were talking about a vague acquaintance.

“Auber called this afternoon. His condition is not … alarming.”

Jules made no comment and Laurène discreetly rang Fernande, who brought a superb dish of cold hake with mayonnaise, accompanied by a shrimp salad.

Jules waited for her to come by him to whisper, “Put all this on the table and go to bed, please.”

She looked so tired and sad it made him feel awful. In spite of their faults, all four of Aurélien’s sons were like her own, and so she felt terrible for both Jules and Alexandre.

“Go. …” said Jules.

She nodded and left the dining room.

Jules turned to Laurène and said, “Next time you see Auber, please tell him to examine Fernande, whether or not she wants it or not. I’m very worried about her.”

“We can hear her coughing all day long,” Pauline said.

Out of habit, Dominique got up to serve everyone’s food. The silence in the room was so heavy that Jules felt like he had to say something.

“I did what I could to limit the damage. The crop from that field is going to be destroyed tomorrow. I refuse to take any risks. But I think that the toxic product that was spread was diluted enough so that the vines are going to be okay in the future. We’re still going to water that field for the next few days.”

No one was eating as they listened to Jules intently.

“I didn’t call the cops on Alex,” he continued, “because … because I just couldn’t.”

Jules suddenly looked distressed, almost vulnerable.

Louis-Marie got up and said, “I’ll go see him tomorrow.”

He and his brother eyed each other for a moment.

“That’s fine,” Jules finally muttered.

His anger was still there, dense and heavy.

“It’s his land, too,” he said, slowly. “I don’t know how he could’ve … I didn’t think that …”

He threw his utensils on his plate, chipping it.

“No matter what happened between us, I never would’ve thought that he’d attack Fonteyne. It’s where he grew up. It’s our land, our property. His, too. I would’ve preferred he’d set the castle on fire.”

Jules sincerely believed that, and the others didn’t doubt it.

“He must’ve had too much to drink. …” Laurène said.

“Just like the day he beat up Dominique, right? So? It’s an excuse?”

“It’s an explanation,” Louis-Marie said, calmly.

Jules almost exploded but contained himself.

“I can’t accept what he did,” he said.

“So take him to court just like he did,” Louis-Marie said. “You could do it. You have plenty of proof.”

Jules let go of a sigh of exasperation.

“I’d never bring this up in public, you know that. People around here have had enough chuckles at our expense as it is. Don’t you think?”

Louis-Marie didn’t know what to say to that. Jules’s nerves were frayed tonight. No wonder, after all that had happened the past few months. And the fact that the harvest was right around the corner was that much added pressure. Louis-Marie looked at Jules, sitting in Aurélien’s old chair.

“Just thank God you went on an early morning walk,” Louis-Marie said. “And thank Lucas for being like your shadow. How many acres are left to harvest?”

Jules’s grim expression changed. He winked at Louis-Marie and said, “Listen to you. It’s as though you were born around here!”

Pauline burst out laughing, happy that the painful atmosphere was finally lightening. She put a hand on Louis-Marie’s, as a peaceful gesture. She felt him quiver and was delighted. And so she hadn’t lost all her power over him.

“I wonder where Alex found all those cans,” Jules said.

“In Mazion. …” Dominique said. Looking sorry, she continued. “Dad has had a big stock of that stuff for years. It’s an old story. Alex kept telling him to get rid of it all.”

She felt oddly responsible for what had happened. Alex wanted to get even with Jules because of her being there, as well as his own past failures. She hadn’t tried much to help him get over his alcohol problems, and she felt right at home here under Jules’s roof, while her husband was in a hospital room.

“That other guy,” Laurène said, “did you know him?”

“Vaguely,” answered Jules.

He’d told Louis-Marie the truth of the matter but didn’t feel like getting into the details with his wife. Everything that had to do with Frédérique irked her, he knew that. He still hadn’t decided what he was going to do about Marc. How could Alex be friends with such a piece of junk?

“I never should’ve let Alex go out drinking at night when I was in Mazion,” Dominique muttered.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” said Jules. “How could you have stopped him?”

“Robert said something about detox. …” Pauline said.

Louis-Marie shot her a look. He couldn’t stand hearing her utter his brother’s name.

“Well,” he said, “according to Auber, Alex is going to spend a good bit of time in the hospital. He won’t be able to drink there.”

“When Robert comes back for the harvest,” Jules said, tired of talking about Alex, “he can talk it over with his colleagues.”

He tried to eat a bit but couldn’t. He had no appetite whatsoever, feeling utterly worn out. The cleanup job had been exhausting, but it was his anger that had sapped his energy. With every fiber of his being he’d wanted to kill his own brother. That thought had stayed with him all day long. Without Lucas, he would’ve pounded Alex’s head to a pulp. And nothing in the world, not even Fonteyne, could justify such a murderous impulse.

I’m going to have to learn to control myself more,
he thought bitterly.

Aurélien was no longer there to protect him from himself, or to hold everyone in the family in check.

It feels like I’m drowning. … What would you have done, Aurélien?

“Jules? Can I ring Clothilde?”

He looked at Laurène, looking dazed, and nodded.

Clothilde came in with a plate of cheese, saying that Fernande had gone home.

“You should go too, Clothilde,” Dominique said. “We’ll be fine.” She then looked at her sister intently.

Getting the message, Laurène put a hand on Jules’s.

“You should also go to bed, honey.”

Jules shook his head, but Louis-Marie interjected.

“Jesus, go to bed already. You can’t keep your eyes open.”

Jules got up and left the room without a word. Louis-Marie watched him, feeling terrible. He knew how his brother felt, but there was nothing he could do to make things better at this point. What Alex had done was inconceivable, horrific, and he’d deserved punishment, even if Jules had gone overboard. It was high time Alex stopped attacking his family and Fonteyne.

“What are you thinking about, honey?” Pauline asked him.

“About us,” Louis-Marie said.

Pauline laughed, but Louis-Marie added, “All of us.”

Two days later, when Marie walked out of the hospital, she had to sit on a bench to collect herself. She’d spent a half hour at Alex’s bedside, and he hadn’t said more than a few words. His broken leg was in a cast and held up by straps, he wore a neck brace, and his face was puffed up and covered with sutures. He had tubes coming out of his arms, and he was hooked up to a slew of machines. In spite of Alex’s cranial trauma, the doctors didn’t seem too worried about his condition, but Marie was. What had become of the dapper young man Dominique had married ten years earlier? That well-behaved man with blond hair and clear eyes had given way to a bitter, aged, worn-out individual. He’d turned ugly and mean. But, in that immaculate trauma room, what Marie had also seen was a scrawny boy, abandoned and desperate. Alex was suffering, and not just physically. Stuck in his hospital bed, not being able to drink, he was forced to spend endless days thinking about what he’d done. And what his brother had done to him. Marie’s daughters told her that Alex had corroborated Jules’s version of the story when the police interrogated him. But, of course, he hadn’t filed a complaint against him. He could keep quiet, hiding behind his wounds, but he couldn’t prevent himself from thinking.