Chateau of Secrets: A Novel (4 page)

A
crystal chandelier rained shards of light over the crowded ballroom. Columns of red, white, and blue balloons swayed at the front, on each side of the podium. There were two rows of chairs along the walls and in the middle of the room was an open space crowded with several hundred people. Under the archway at the back of the room, a buffet table teemed with hors d’oeuvres, but no one in the room seemed to be eating.

I eyed the table of food from afar. No one on Austin’s staff wanted to insult me by explaining protocol, but on nights like this it would have been nice if Olivia Larson, Austin’s campaign manager, handed me a brief list of the dos and don’ts. The most pressing question being, was the candidate’s fiancée allowed to eat the stuffed mushrooms and crab wontons? Or was she simply to stand and smile?

It seemed such a waste to leave all that food on the table, especially when I’d had no time for either lunch or dinner. My tight dress wouldn’t allow me to do anything except nibble, but it wouldn’t pay for me to pass out during the function either.

Austin’s parents were at the front of the room, and as I inched toward the buffet, Mrs. Vale eyed me from afar. With her slow nod of greeting, I knew she was scrutinizing my appearance as
well, from my heels up to my hair. Like I was a package for display.

Perhaps I should have worn a bow.

Austin stood near his mother, hemmed in by admirers. With his wavy black hair parted on the side, his tuxedo a perfect fit, he breathed confidence. I admired him for a moment, like the hordes of women who gawked whenever we went out. Then I stepped closer.

His familiar laughter sounded genuine, his gaze focused on the man he spoke with, like his colleague was the only person who mattered in the world. The older constituents liked to compare his charisma and his appearance to JFK’s. The younger ones said he looked more like Patrick Dempsey. Personally I thought he was even more handsome than either man.

When Austin’s gaze met mine, he greeted me with his smile, his gaze admiring my dress. After clapping the shoulder of his friend, he turned and kissed me on the cheek. “You look amazing.”

I smiled back. “Thank you.”

“I was worried.”

“I’m sorry.” I reached for his hand, lacing my fingers through his. “Last day of school, you know.”

“I thought your day ended at three.”

“Tommy Dawson stayed after. He—”

Austin’s attention wandered over my shoulder. Fifteen seconds into the conversation, and I’d already lost him. He let go of my hand, stepping around me to greet one of the trustees from the University of Richmond. Sighing, I inched back toward the banquet table. Sometimes it seemed as if I was the only person who couldn’t hold his attention.

But it was only a season. After the wedding, we’d have a whole week together, not a constituent in sight. And then a lifetime of nights to ourselves.

I reached for a plate on the table.

“Chloe!” Olivia, the thirtysomething woman whom Austin had hired to be his campaign manager, was barreling down on me. Olivia was an organizational wizard, but unlike Austin, she had little concern for her appearance. Her glasses had crept an inch or two down her nose, and the hair she’d tied back was falling out in frizzy chunks. It was as if she singlehandedly severed every ounce of stress that might infect Austin before it festered.

Olivia retrieved the plate from my hands and returned it to the stack. Then she reached for my wrist and tugged me toward the side of the room. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I was with Austin,” I said as if I’d been hanging out for an hour.

“The program starts in twelve minutes,” she rattled on. “Dr. Everett is going to speak about the future of the party for ten minutes, and then he’ll introduce Austin. Austin will introduce you.”

“I know.” I shook my arm to free it from her grasp. “You emailed me the schedule.”

“When Austin says your name, I want you to smile and give an elegant wave to the cameras on your left.” Olivia attempted to demonstrate a wave that wasn’t the least bit elegant.

“Like this.” I showed off my well-rehearsed smile and wave.

“Exactly.” Olivia glanced down at her tablet. “Austin will speak for a half hour and then the orchestra will start playing. You’ll move up front for a dance with the candidate.”

“Who is also my fiancé.”

“Right.” She tapped her tablet.

Of course I was right. Why did I feel like I had to convince Olivia—and Austin’s family, for that matter—that I was more than a campaign volunteer? Austin was the one who’d pursued me. He was the one who’d proposed.

Olivia’s phone buzzed and when she twirled on her heel, I leaned back against the column. Perhaps my “pretty package” analogy was all wrong. On nights like tonight, I was simply a prop. The room quieted when Dr. Everett took the stage. He leaned toward the microphone to introduce Austin, but before he spoke, the music from
Les Misérables
echoed across the room. Swearing under my breath, I dove into my beaded bag, muted my cell.

The doctor made a joke about the interruption, and my cheeks warmed as the people standing nearby chuckled. Hopefully Austin wouldn’t find out whose phone disrupted his event. He wouldn’t find it nearly as funny as my neighbors.

The ringing stopped, but the phone continued to vibrate in my hand. I glanced down at a text from my mom.

CALL ME! ASAP

The capital letters screamed back at me, and my heart began to race. What if something had happened to my grandmother?

With apologies to those around me, I ducked my head and carefully backed out of the crowd, grateful my new heels held steady as I exited through the arched doorway behind me. I would be back inside the ballroom in five minutes for my obligatory wave.

In the hallway, I called my mom back. She answered on the first ring.

“Is Mémé okay?” I demanded.

“As far as I know, she’s fine.”

“And Dad?”

“Chloe wants to know if you’re okay,” she called out. There was a muffled response in the background before she spoke to me again. “Your dad says everything is fine.”

I took a deep breath, my heart slowing back to a normal pace.

“Where are you?” my mom asked.

“At the fund-raiser downtown. I have to get back inside—Austin’s about to introduce me.” I leaned back against a wall. “I thought it was an emergency.”

“It is an emergency,” she replied. “Is your passport up-to-date?”

“My passport?” I replied, agitated. Clearly we had different definitions of
emergency
. “My passport is not a matter of urgency.”

“But is it current?”

“Yes.” Just last summer, right before I met Austin, my best friend, Marissa, and I had kayaked through Costa Rica. But Mom and I would have to discuss my passport situation later. It wouldn’t be long before Austin took the stage. “I have to go—”

The following sigh would have impressed all twenty-seven of my third graders. “Between school and the campaign, it’s never a good time to talk with you.”

“I’ll have more time starting Monday.”

“Oh, good.” Mom paused. “Because your dad and I need you to do something next week.”

I drummed my fingers against my dress. “What exactly do you need me to do?”

“We need you . . .” She hesitated. “Well, we need you to go to France.”

“France?” The word came out as a shout. I stepped farther back into the hallway. My father was from France, and I’d spent two summers after college touring Paris and southern France. I loved everything about the country, but I couldn’t go back now, nine weeks before my wedding.

My mom talked faster now. “Have you heard of Riley Holtz?”

“The name sounds familiar—”

“He’s won all sorts of awards for his documentaries about historical events and he wants to film part of his new documentary at the château.”

I switched the phone to my left ear, confused. The Château d’Epines was my grandmother’s childhood home in Normandy, a grand fortress of beauty and legend that had captivated me since I was a girl. I’d only been there once, when I was eight years old. My grandmother wanted to honor her brother, Michel, with a tombstone in the family’s cemetery, by the old chapel. My parents wanted to go with her, but for some reason, Grandpa hadn’t been able to travel with us.

My family had spent an hour with a priest at a chapel, honoring Michel’s life, and then we’d left without going inside the château. Philippe—my third cousin, multiple times removed—lived there with his wife and son. I remembered Dad saying he wished someone would remove Philippe from our family altogether.

But Philippe was gone now and so were the three wives he’d accumulated over the years. His son, Stéphane, had lived at the château until his father’s death. After he moved to Paris, Stéphane sent regular letters to my grandmother, asking if he could return to the Château d’Epines.

My dad hadn’t wanted to visit his childhood home since that trip years ago.

I tightened the grip on my phone, trying to focus. I only had two minutes, maybe less, before Austin took the stage. “What does the documentary have to do with the château?”

“Mr. Holtz wants to hear the stories from World War II.”

I leaned back against the walls, which were striped with a muddy yellow and white. I knew plenty of stories about the château but very little from the years during the war. “I wish Mémé could tell him.”

“Me too.”

It was too late to ask her now. Even though her body was plenty strong, her mind had failed. “Why can’t Stéphane handle it?” I asked. “Or the caretakers Dad hired?”

My mom cleared her throat. “Your dad doesn’t want Stéphane back on the property, and this gentleman wants to talk to someone in the family.”

“Then Dad should go—”

“He has to be in DC on Tuesday.”

“This Tuesday?” My retort came out as more of a squeak.

“We thought you would be perfect—”

“I have nine weeks to plan a wedding!”

“The planning will be here when you return.”

My mind whirled. Going back to the château was a dream of mine, but the timing was terrible. Austin would be frustrated if I even entertained the idea of leaving the country, and I couldn’t blame him. The next weeks were pivotal to the campaign.

“I would go in a heartbeat if I could, Mom, but there’s so much to do—”

“Your dad really wants you to do this,” she whispered.

“But why now—” Austin’s voice thundered over the speakers, and I rushed out of the hallway. “I really have to go, Mom. Austin’s about to introduce me.”

Slipping my phone back into my bag, I hurried back toward the ballroom, but as I neared the door, one of my stilettos rebelled and my ankle teetered. My hands flailed until I caught myself on a railing, and with my ankle throbbing, I reached down and freed my foot from the straps.

The audience laughed at Austin’s opening joke, and for the first time, I hoped he would forget he was engaged.

Unfortunately, he didn’t.

“It’s an honor to introduce my lovely fiancée to all of you,” he said. And then I heard him say my name. “Chloe Sauver.”

Applause swept out the doors, into the hall. If I stumbled into the ballroom now, flustered and limping on one shoe, I would only create a spectacle, and there was nothing Austin hated more than attention being diverted from the campaign. Better for the audience to think—

Well, I wasn’t sure what they would think, but they hadn’t come to the gala to see me anyway. Austin would continue on just fine without me, and I would apologize to him after everyone was gone.

I leaned my head back against the wall. My parents’ request had rattled me.

How could they ask me to visit France next week? They knew I loved France—that I’d dreamed about exploring the Château d’Epines—but life had collided with my dreams.

If I couldn’t talk my parents out of this plan, Austin would do it with his perfect mix of charm and reason, explaining perfectly well why someone else would have to entertain this filmmaker in Normandy.

Chapter 5

G
isèle woke with a jolt, sunlight stealing through the dormer window in André and Nadine’s guest room. The room was quiet, but instead of celebrating the silence, it terrified her. Where were the German bombers? And where were Papa, Philippe, and Michel?