by Blake Pierce
Cassie had hoped that Antoinette would be friendlier toward her after the words they’d shared last night, but Antoinette seemed to have rebuilt her barriers even higher. Sulky and uncooperative, she barely acknowledged Cassie’s cheerful “Good morning.”
“Leave me to dress,” she snapped. “I’ll come to breakfast on my own.”
Cassie assumed that Marc would be playing with his toys again, surrounded by the same mess she’d seen the previous day. But when she entered his room she was concerned to see him still in bed, his face turned to the wall.
“Marc, are you sick?” she asked. She tried to touch his forehead to see if he felt feverish but he batted her hand impatiently away.
“I do not like today,” he grumbled.
“But it’s a nice day,” Cassie pleaded, drawing the curtains back. The sun wasn’t up yet, but the sky was cloudless and the horizon already bright gold.
“I hate this day. I am not getting up now. I want orange juice. Bring me juice.”
She had no idea whether he was really sick or just moody, but either way, bringing him juice seemed like a sensible compromise.
Cassie went downstairs, relieved to see Marnie was already setting the breakfast table, taking a stack of plates and place mats from the wooden sideboard.
“Good morning. You are bright and early today,” she greeted Cassie.
“Marc wants orange juice. Will it be OK to take a glass up to him? He’s woken in a terrible mood. So has Antoinette. I haven’t even dared go into Ella’s room yet.”
Marnie thought for a minute.
“You know today is the first of November?”
Cassie stared at her uncomprehending.
“It is All Saints Day here in France, but also it is the day that Diane passed away. This time last year was when it happened. That is probably why they are sad, remembering the loss of their mother. Being a holiday, the date is easy to recall.” She shrugged sympathetically. “Wait a moment while I bring the juice.”
Cassie waited uneasily, wishing she knew more about what had happened. Would Marnie think Cassie rude or forward if she asked? She worried that French etiquette might be different. Perhaps it was not acceptable to ask such a direct question. And she most definitely did not want to estrange Marnie.
The housekeeper hurried back into the dining room carrying a brimming jug of orange juice. She placed the jug on a mat and handed Cassie a glass.
“Hopefully this makes Marc feel better. He’s such a moody child,” she offered, and Cassie nodded agreement. She filled the glass three-quarters full. It was made from heavy, ornate crystal, the facets sharp against her fingers. She would rather have taken a simple plastic cup upstairs for Marc, but that didn’t seem to be an option in this house.
“I’ll battle to cheer him and Antoinette up today,” she said. “Do you know if they have any activities planned? I messed up badly yesterday because I didn’t realize what was on the schedule.”
Marnie laughed as she set the other glasses out. “Yes, word got around. We all know what happened, or we can guess. Pierre is copying me on all the daily activities and I am to make sure you are informed. He used to leave a note on the bedroom door for the last au pair. But she wasn’t here very long.” Marnie paused, checking herself as if she’d been about to say something and had then thought better of it.
Cassie was about to ask what happened to her, but Marnie continued, as if she’d gotten herself back on track.
“Anyway, seeing today’s a holiday, there are no activities.” She turned to the table, smoothing the cloth and setting cutlery out with practiced expertise.
“Oh,” Cassie said, crestfallen at the thought of the long, empty hours ahead.
“If you want to take them out, there is a carnival in the village,” Marnie continued. “It’s two miles down the road—go out of the house, turn right, then first right again will lead you directly to the village square. It is held on the same holiday every year and it’s quite fun. At any rate, it might cheer the children up. Why not ask Pierre if they can go?”
“That’s a good idea. Thank you,” Cassie said gratefully. The opportunity to ask about Diane’s death had come and gone and she was still none the wiser. She would have to find out another time.
Marnie placed the coffee and milk jugs on the table and picked up her tray.
“We serve bacon for breakfast on holidays. Why not tell Marc that? He loves bacon.”
She winked at Cassie before hurrying out through a side door.
Resolving to use the bacon as bribery, Cassie picked up the glass. She was on her way upstairs when she met Pierre coming down. Today he was casually dressed—jeans, sports shoes, and a polo-necked black shirt with a small designer logo.
“Morning,” she mumbled. In the cold light of day, her memories of the previous night seemed even more vivid. Worse still, instead of giving the quick greeting she’d expected, Pierre stopped on the stairway, forcing her to do the same.
“Morning, Cassie.”
“I’m taking juice up to Marc. He said he was thirsty,” she explained, but realized with a twist of her stomach that Pierre had not even noticed the juice.
Instead, he was looking at her.
Cassie bit her lip as his gaze traveled over her shiny hair, her face, taking in the form-fitting top and the jeans—the trendiest pair she owned. It was as if he were seeing her for the first time. Her disheveled, exhausted appearance over the past two days had provided a camouflage which was now stripped away.
“You look very nice,” he complimented her, and she stammered out a polite thank you while cringing inwardly.
He took a step toward her. “Your hair, this is your natural color?” He reached out a hand and she realized he was actually going to touch it.
“Yes,” she whispered, her mouth suddenly dry. She was trapped where she stood, unable to step back because the banister was directly behind her. Then, to her relief, the click of heels sounded on the landing above, and Pierre lowered his hand.
“What are you going to do with the children today?” he asked in a more formal voice.
“Marnie said there’s a carnival in the village. Could I take them there?”
“Of course. It is some distance, so you should drive. I will show you where the Peugeot’s keys are, and you will need spending money.” He pulled a wallet from his back pocket and handed her a fifty-euro note.
Cassie put the money in her pocket and then stepped aside to allow Margot to pass. Elegant as always in a cream jumpsuit and brown leather boots, she had a plaid scarf wrapped around her neck. She nodded at Cassie, who noticed she looked paler than usual.
“Good morning,” Cassie greeted her.
Margot made an effort to speak but to Cassie’s shock, she couldn’t utter a word. All that came out was a hoarse, rasping whisper.
Cassie forced herself to think two moves ahead, as if she were playing a game of chess. She knew what had happened to Margot. But if she hadn’t known, it would be normal and polite to ask.
“Are you all right?” she said, making sure to sound both surprised and concerned.
“A touch of laryngitis,” Pierre explained smoothly.
Cassie nodded. “That’s so uncomfortable, Margot, your throat must be very sore. Perhaps Marnie can bring you some lemon and honey? Marc doesn’t seem himself today, either. I’m not sure if he’s coming down with the same thing—but if he is, I won’t take him to the carnival,” she added hurriedly.
Wordlessly, Margot continued downstairs, and Cassie went on her way with the juice. As she walked to Marc’s room she realized how disturbing Margot’s subdued demeanor was. Up until now, the blonde woman had been entitled, bossy, and domineering. Today, she seemed mentally and physically crushed.
Her throat must have been viciously bruised for her to have visible marks, as well as a complete loss of voice. Cassie wondered if she had known when she met Pierre that this would be part of the arrangement. Or had she only found out the first time his h
ands had closed around her throat? If so, she must have made the choice to live with it.
Maybe it was true love, although Cassie thought cynically that it was more likely the money, the prestige, the massive chateau, and the enormous diamond ring that allowed her to endure it.
Zane hadn’t owned so much as a square foot of property; a beat-up Ford had been his only worldly possession. Cassie had loved him for his charm and charisma, realizing too late that they were the same volatile qualities her father had possessed, and were just as prone to instant reversal.
The first time Zane had hurt her, she’d known she had to end it.
As she opened Marc’s door she wondered, in a moment of terrifying introspection, whether she might have ended up giving Zane a second chance if he had been as wealthy and powerful as Pierre.
*
At half past ten, Cassie carefully reversed the Peugeot SUV out of the garage. Antoinette and Marc were still immersed in somber silence. Ella was the only cheerful person in the party, but Cassie remembered that she didn’t know their mother had died, only that she had “left.”
She guessed Ella hadn’t realized the significance of the day, and must have been too young to make the connection. This was something she really needed to question Marnie about, as soon as she felt more confident in their friendship.
Cassie’s mood lifted as she drove along the scenic lanes, bathed in morning sunshine, following a line of other cars all heading the same way. The narrow roads were crowded with vehicles that were parked in higgledy-piggledy order, leaving barely enough space for the next to squeeze past. Cassie parked as best she could, burying the car’s hood in a hedge. As soon as she opened the door she heard music, and the cheerful sound of the live band seemed to raise everyone’s spirits.
“This is fun,” Antoinette said, grabbing Marc’s hand and skipping down the road. Cassie followed at a more sedate pace with Ella.
“We have to keep together,” she yelled, as the two older children burst onto the wide green square, lined with colorful bunting and stalls. And then, thinking more practically, she called, “Let’s all go get a pancake.”
The chocolate crepes were a success. From that stall, the children visited the face-painting kiosk, before moving to an outdoor theater to watch a puppet show. Standing in the front row, the three screamed with laughter at the puppets’ antics. Cassie smiled, delighted and relieved that the day was turning out so well. She felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
Although there must have been three or four hundred people thronging the square and enjoying the cool, sunny weather, Cassie noticed that the three Dubois children didn’t seem to have many friends. They were not seeking out the company of other children or even interacting with them.
In contrast, Cassie greeted everyone she passed, wondering who were locals and who were neighbors, and if she would see the elderly man she’d met the previous day in the nursery, who’d told her he knew the secrets of the Dubois family.
When she saw a young, red-haired woman shepherding twin boys along, she smiled widely, recognizing a fellow au pair. Sure enough, the woman walked over to say hello.
“I am Sarah, from London,” she said. “These young lads belong to the Villiers family, who own a vineyard a few miles north of here.”
“It’s great to meet you. I’m Cassie and I only arrived two days ago so I’m still settling in.”
“I’ve been here almost a year. In fact, I’m going on my annual holiday next week. Are you enjoying it so far? I guess it’s too early to tell. But I’m sure you will.” She smiled.
“I think I’ll cope,” Cassie said carefully. “It’s going to be a challenging job, though.”
She glanced around at Antoinette, who was still spellbound by the puppet show, holding Marc’s and Ella’s hands tightly in hers.
“Which family do you work for?” Sarah asked curiously, following her gaze.
“The Dubois family. They live in a chateau two miles away. I’m not sure which direction,” Cassie confessed, disoriented from wandering around the stalls.
Sarah frowned. “You work for them?”
“Why? Do you know them?”
Sarah didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she turned to the twin boys. “Pierre, Nicolas, do you want to do the lucky dip? It’s at that stall over there. Go and join the line, I’ll catch up with you in a second.”
The two boys raced away and Sarah turned back to Cassie.
“You must be very careful,” she warned.
Cassie felt suddenly sick, wishing she hadn’t eaten the rich chocolate crepe.
“You’re the second person who’s told me that. I know the family has huge problems. But I don’t know why I keep getting told to be careful. What exactly am I being warned about? Do you know?”
Sarah glanced around before leaning closer to Cassie, who strained to hear her over the babble of voices and music.
“Pierre, the owner of the chateau, has a very bad reputation.”
“For what?”
“Infidelity. It’s common knowledge he was never faithful to his wife, nor is he to his new fiancée. He’s a wealthy, powerful landowner and many women are attracted to him. And what he wants, he takes.”
Cassie swallowed, thinking of her bedroom door being opened, the light turned on. Pierre’s presence in her private space; the way his attention had suddenly focused on her this morning when he saw her looking good.
“I see,” she said in a small voice.
“There are rumors that he has… unusual tastes in bed. Kinky stuff. They say some of the women he’s had affairs with have broken off the relationship as a result. But who knows the real story or whether their versions are true at all? After all, if a rich man dumps you, you are going to tell people it was your idea, not his, aren’t you?”
Cassie nodded. She might have disbelieved Sarah if she hadn’t seen the evidence last night, right before her eyes. She knew the rumors were not simply hearsay or damaging lies, but she couldn’t risk sharing her knowledge.
“Thank you for the information,” she said. “I will be careful. Where did you hear this from, and is there anything else about the family I should know?”
Sarah pursed her lips, considering Cassie’s words.
“My employer spoke about it during a lunch with her friends, and I happened to overhear the conversation for a few minutes.” She winked at Cassie, as if confessing she’d eavesdropped.
“I think they did go on to mention other issues with that family; the discussion was becoming quite heated,” she continued. “But I only heard snippets, and of course I couldn’t ask any questions afterwards, since I wasn’t told directly.”
“No, that would definitely have gotten you into trouble,” Cassie said.
Sarah looked up. “My boys are at the front of the line. I must run—there are prizes to be won. Good luck with your assignment.” She squeezed Cassie’s hand before running over to the lucky dip kiosk.
The puppet show had ended and the children were dispersing.
“What do you want to do now?” Cassie asked Antoinette, who shrugged.
“Take a look at the rest of the stalls, I suppose,” she said.
Walking down the pathway, Cassie started to worry more and more about what she had heard, and the way Sarah had described Pierre.
“What he wants, he takes.”
She’d already sensed that entitlement in him, a disregard for personal boundaries, or even a complete lack of awareness of them. What would she do if he made a pass at her? She was sure he’d deny ever having done so, and who would believe her version over his?
The children seemed to sense her distraction, and their mood shifted. In the time it took to walk from the puppet show to the nearby kiosks, she was suddenly dealing with three sullen, uncooperative monsters who were a world away from the happy trio who’d arrived at the pancake stand.
“I’m bored,” Marc announced, strutting over to the lucky dip stall and swinging from
the guard rope. Cassie pulled him away as the structure teetered sideways, prizes clattering down from the shelves.
“Marc, don’t do that! You must respect people’s property,” Cassie chastised him, suddenly aware that she was sounding a lot like Margot.
“I need something fun to do,” Marc complained, kicking at stones on the gravel path and sending them flying into the face of a little girl who was passing by.
Scanning the area for inspiration, Cassie noticed a soccer game was under way in the center of the green.
“Who would like to play?” she asked.
Antoinette shrugged, but Marc rushed off in the direction of the game.
As they followed, Ella started complaining her feet hurt, tugging at Cassie’s hand and demanding to be carried. And, on her other side, Antoinette began loudly pestering her with questions.
“Tell me, Cassie, did your dad have a lot of girlfriends?”
What exactly was she supposed to say to that? After her recent conversation with Sarah, she could guess why Antoinette might be raising the topic, but from her tone of voice it was clear that Antoinette was not seeking reassurance, but looking to bait Cassie.
“He had one or two,” she replied shortly.
“I meant, while he was still married to your mother,” Antoinette elaborated in piercing, saccharine tones. “Did he have any girlfriends then?”
“Not that I know of,” Cassie replied, forcing a smile.
Inside she felt herself shrinking in fear. How was it possible that she had become the target of Antoinette’s venom again? She’d hoped that after their conversation the previous night, Antoinette would have abandoned her vendetta, but clearly it had been a temporary truce.
“But what if you didn’t know, Cassie? Do you think you might not have known?” Antoinette smiled sweetly up at her.
Clamping her lips together, Cassie ignored the question and focused on the soccer game. Marc had charged onto the field, ignoring the referee’s whistle and the efforts of the organizer to allocate him to a team. He sped around the grass, pushing other children out of the way, shouting victoriously whenever he kicked the ball.
