A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel

by Françoise Bourdin

  “They’re calling for storms for the next eight days.”

  Jules went back to sit by the fireplace, on that old leather armchair he liked so much. He glanced at Laurène. The rain had plastered her long blonde hair, darkening it. He thought she was beautiful and turned away from her. He lit a cigarette and, as he raised his head, saw Aurélien staring at him from the other end of the living room.

  “Storms … Did you hear that, son?”

  There was a kind of provocation in Aurélien’s insistence. Jules picked it up and replied, “We’ll just have to deal with whatever storms arise. We don’t have much choice, do we?”

  Aurélien smiled. He and Jules were speaking the same language.

  Laurène really was between them now.

  “I prodded Fernande,” Pauline said. “You wouldn’t believe what she’s cooked. Listen to this: grilled shad, brochettes of thrush, leg of lamb with wild mushrooms, pear tarts …”

  Antoine pointed at Aurélien and said, “He always goes overboard with food when he invites me over! Well, okay, maybe it has a little bit to do with you Parisians being here? Anyway, one look at Jules and you can tell that this is not the usual grub around here. He’s skin and bones!”

  As Dominique and Laurène laughed at their father’s joke, Jules felt almost embarrassed. His slim figure put to shame the paunchy man Antoine had become over the years. But Jules cared too little about himself to be conscious of his powers of seduction. If he made use of them with women, it was never deliberate and was, therefore, without self-consciousness. Against all odds, Aurélien came to his rescue.

  “Leave the boy alone! He’s got plenty of time to become obese. You think he’s too skinny? Well, believe me, he eats like an ogre.”

  Aurélien laughed, but not Antoine, who was upset at the quip about his size.

  They all left for the dining room, where Aurélien showed everyone to their seats. He kept Laurène near him and sat Jules at the other end of the table. And in order to annoy Antoine even more, he selected an Entre-Deux-Mers to go with the starters.

  “This is nonsense!” Antoine said. “You know full well that a Côtes-de-Blaye is more appropriate.”

  “What can I say?” Aurélien replied. “I’m all out of Côtes-de-Blayes. You keep that box wine of yours all to yourself.”

  “You snake! I put a case in your kitchen when I arrived.”

  “That’s nice of you, but it must be lukewarm.”

  Antoine and Aurélien eyed each other. Seemingly amused, they really were angry. Their relationship was at times strained. They used banter to throw shots at each other, always on the verge of a fight. Without admitting it to himself, Antoine was jealous of Aurélien, while Aurélien resented Antoine for rising to his social level only through his daughter’s marriage. His pettiness shamed Antoine and poisoned his rapport with him. Aurélien cared greatly for his friends, but giving away his own name and one of his sons had been a lot to ask. The idea that Jules might follow a similar path as Alexandre by getting too close to Laurène was downright unpleasant. This was complicated even more by the unspeakable possessiveness he felt for the young woman.

  Antoine, for his part, loathed any comparison between the two families. Aurélien’s amazing success, his castle (both luxurious and austere), his prestigious family history, his four sons, his wines (particularly his Margaux) and the way he negotiated them (with authority all over the Médoc region), as well as his reputation as a ladies’ man (still intact at the age of sixty)—Antoine envied it all. Being in Aurélien’s presence made him morose, in spite of the genuine affection that the two men had for each other.

  Robert began telling funny anecdotes about his work at the hospital and Pauline laughed hysterically. Laurène was all ears, fascinated by the stories. Jules, across the table, watched her pensively.

  “You want to come with me tomorrow?” Alexandre asked him out of the blue.

  Surprised, Jules turned to his brother.

  “To Bordeaux? Why? You’re scared or do you think I’m upset?”

  Alexandre shrugged and Jules said, this time in a much kinder tone, “You’re going to be fine. Just don’t listen to what old Amel says and stick to your guns.”

  Not convinced, Alexandre grimaced.

  “Jules!” Pauline called out. “You promised to tell me all about wine-producing this year. When are you going to give me my first lesson? Robert can’t believe that it might interest me.”

  “Just at the moment …” Jules said, looking for a pretext. “The timing isn’t great. …”

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Aurélien said. “For once a woman in this family wants to know what’s going on around here.”

  Aurélien and Jules looked at each other. Then Jules smiled.

  “Okay,” he said. “If you’re ready tomorrow morning at six-thirty, you can tag along with me.”

  “I’ll be up and ready,” Pauline said.

  “You just hit the jackpot,” Alexandre whispered to his brother. “The dumb blonde student. …”

  Jules burst out laughing and everyone at the table turned to him.

  “Are you going to tell us what’s so funny?” Louis-Marie asked.

  “Impossible,” Jules said, now serious.

  Antoine and Aurélien were talking about the upcoming harvest. Fernande was serving the dishes, keeping a close watch on the guests’ reactions. Jules, as always, was the first to congratulate her for a wonderful meal. Surreptitiously, the old lady put a hand on his shoulder, with infinite tenderness. The scene caught Aurélien’s eye. He felt a sudden rush of affection for Jules.

  What right do I have to get in his way? he thought. I’m being ridiculous with this girl. Am I senile already? I need to let the kid have his own life. … He’s no longer a kid. …

  “What type of mushrooms are these?”

  Antoine was looking at him, waiting for a response. Aurélien frowned.

  “You have a hard time hearing?” said Antoine. “Well, at our age …”

  Antoine’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

  “No,” Aurélien replied, “not yet. Actually, I wasn’t listening to you, my friend.”

  “Great. … We were talking about that leg of lamb. The recipe …”

  Aurélien stared at Antoine.

  “I have no opinion on the matter. I leave that kind of stuff to Fernande and Dominique. That’s why they’re here.”

  Antoine turned pale and slowly set down his knife on the table. Aurélien’s comment relegated Antoine’s daughter to the level of staff. Aurélien felt he’d gone too far and, with a smile, added, “Dominique is wonderful as the head of the household. She makes all the decisions when it comes to meals around here.”

  Disarmed, Antoine stared at Aurélien before returning his smile. On the other side of the table, Dominique had to repress a sigh of relief. She was always scared that a fight might break out between her father and father-in-law.

  As always at Fonteyne, dinner was a slow and sumptuous affair. Aurélien was used to this protocol and it was important to him. In immutable fashion, day after day, people drank their aperitif in the main living room, and the family silverware was used every evening for dinner. No matter his mood or his preoccupations, Aurélien tried to put aside his worries when he sat down at the table. Mealtimes were just about the only moments he could devote to his sons when they were children and teens, and he made sure they were special. It was in this dining room that he’d seen them grow up and change, that he’d listened to them and observed them. It was here he’d best played the role of father.

  Again the storm raged in the distance, and Aurélien pricked up his ears. He looked Jules’s way, but was annoyed when noticing that his son was still gazing at Laurène.

  Damn it, he thought. It’s not as though this is the first time he’s seen her. She’s been right here under his nose for the past two years.

  But when he turned his attention to Laurène, he saw that she was listening to Robert, mouth agape.
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br />   Life is filled with surprises, my sons, Aurélien thought with tenderness.

  The sun was just rising. Fonteyne’s roofs were slowly emerging from darkness. Jules put out his cigarette and stuck the butt in his pocket. He’d had a bad night and wound up getting dressed well before dawn. He had his first cup of coffee standing in the kitchen, alone, and then he stepped out, his dog at his heels. Walking around the vineyards always made him feel better, and he knew the landscape well enough to walk in darkness. Back at the house, he sat on the terrace’s steps to smoke.

  He got up to check the thermometer on the terrace and whistled between his teeth, surprised at the high temperature. The light in Aurélien’s office came on. Jules headed there.

  “You’re up early this morning,” he said, once inside.

  He sat on the arm of a chair, lit another cigarette.

  “Don’t smoke around me before breakfast,” Aurélien muttered. “Besides, it’s so hot already …”

  Jules put out his Gitane without a word.

  “You’ve gone out already?” Aurélien asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Any damage from yesterday’s rain?”

  “None.”

  Jules slid into the chair and crossed his long legs. They heard Fernande making her way across the hallway and, before she had time to knock on the door, Aurélien shouted for her to come in. She set a heavy tray on the end of the desk, nodded at the two men, and went back out.

  “Everybody’s an early bird this morning,” Aurélien grumbled.

  Jules knew that his father’s foul mood came from worrying about the weather. He got up to pour coffee into the two mugs and drank his standing in front of the French doors, his back to his father. For a moment he examined the color of the sky. It was as though dawn was being indecisive, troubled. Jules saw Alexandre coming out of the Little House, heading their way. He frowned at the idea of his brother going to that meeting in Bordeaux. He turned on his heels.

  “Aurélien, tell Alex that—”

  “I’ve already told him everything he needs to know,” Aurélien interrupted.

  Jules set his mug down.

  Alexandre walked into the room, and Jules smiled at him and asked, “Coffee?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Alexandre had already had breakfast at home, with his wife. Breakfast was one of their rare moments of intimacy, and they relished it. Alexandre looked uncomfortable in his pale gray suit. He tugged at his tie.

  “Quite elegant …” Aurélien teased.

  Alexandre shot his father an angry look.

  “I’m taking the Mercedes,” he said. “Unless someone else needs it. …” He turned to the window.

  Jules understood that his brother had come to get some positive reinforcement, as he was obviously petrified about the negotiation he’d have to undertake later on today. Jules gave him a sympathetic smile, but found nothing to say.

  As soon as Alexandre left the office, Aurélien let out a long sigh.

  “Gee,” he said, “he looked terrified. And look at the time. He really should’ve left last night. … And that ridiculous getup of his. Old man Amel scares him that much?”

  Aurélien was drumming on the top of his desk, waiting for his son to add something.

  “Well,” Jules finally said, “you’re the one who decided to send him!”

  Aurélien frowned, taken aback by his son’s vehement tone.

  In a softer voice, Jules said, “Alex hates everything that’s business related. He can’t bring himself to see it as a game. It’s so much fun to make the buyers grind their teeth! But you do have to know them well. … How much instruction did you give Alex?”

  “Enough. I just want him to take care of things by himself for once. In theory, he knows just as much as I do.”

  Jules nodded without conviction.

  Still half-asleep, Pauline was yawning in the bathroom. She’d turned on the water but didn’t feel like getting in the shower yet. She examined the small bottles on the shelves.

  What kind of perfume is Laurène wearing? she thought. Oh yes, that. … It’s flowery, kind of tacky …

  She chuckled at her own cruelty and finally decided to jump into the shower. She had no sympathy for Laurène. She found her too young and too pretty. She finished showering, dressed quickly, and scampered down the steps.

  Entering Aurélien’s office, she said, “Six twenty-five and I’m ready!”

  Aurélien and Jules, both surprised, raised their heads together.

  “I’d forgotten about you,” Jules said with a smile.

  “I’m not surprised.”

  She grabbed one of the croissants on the tray and poured herself some coffee in Aurélien’s mug. The two men watched her, amused. There was something disarming about Pauline’s mix of cheerfulness and elegance.

  “All right,” Jules said, “let’s go.”

  He winked at his father and opened the door for Pauline. As they made their way to the garage, Jules grinned as he looked at the skimpy way his sister-in-law was dressed.

  As he turned on the Jeep’s engine, he said, “It’s going to storm later on today. You should’ve brought a jacket.”

  Pauline clapped her hands, a delighted look on her face.

  “I love storms! It’s going to cool us down.”

  Jules shook his head.

  “Rainfall at this time of year, Pauline, it’s … We’re really going to have to start at square one.”

  He decided to take his role of teacher seriously and began to talk to Pauline about his work. She listened attentively, truly interested. He parked the Jeep in order to show her the stony soil in which the vines thrived. She followed him around, tripping in her sneakers. As she cursed under her breath, he burst out laughing and said, “Don’t say anything bad about our stones. They’re our income!”

  He pointed at the white and bluish quartz.

  “They store heat from the sun and feed it to the vines,” he explained.

  “Louis-Marie said something about cabernet. That’s a variety of grapes, right?”

  “You’re reciting this like it was a lesson,” Jules teased. “Yes, cabernet is a variety of grapes in this region. There are others. Merlot, which ripens faster, a bit of malbec toward Soussans, and some verdot, too. …”

  Jules looked at Pauline and said, “It’s like I’m speaking Chinese, right?”

  “Don’t you worry about me,” she said. “I’m a fast learner.”

  They smiled at each other, relaxed, almost friends. Pauline wasn’t trying to flirt with Jules, and she felt very comfortable with him.

  “The stuff about different types of grapes is hard to figure out,” Jules added. “We graft vines, we hire nurserymen … It’s a big, complicated ordeal.”

  They kept on walking and Jules, talkative as ever, told Pauline all about the history of the Médoc region. Speaking about the Margaux, he became almost lyrical. Pauline knew that the Laverzacs’ pride and joy resided in their grands crus—their best wines—and she remained attentive, surprised that she took so much pleasure listening to her brother-in-law. She wanted to know about the difference between one plot and another, and he told her about the various types of soils, about gravel and sand and so forth. His enthusiasm was infectious, and Pauline caught herself regretting that Louis-Marie wasn’t able to communicate such passion.

  “… perfect drainage,” he continued. “You know, wine is mostly about water.”

  They hopped back in the Jeep and crossed a wooded valley. Jules didn’t stop talking, and Pauline kept on listening to him.

  They reached a plateau, where Jules brought the Jeep to a stop. He was in the middle of describing the various types and sizes of vines, when thunder interrupted him. He raised his head to the sky, worried.

  “This time …” he said.

  A long rumbling enveloped them. Jules tried to start the engine, but it wouldn’t turn. He tried again, twice, a third time, never losing his cool.

  “Damn,” he m
uttered, still calm.

  He turned toward Pauline and said, “You won’t be able to make it back on foot, and the rain is going to come down in a minute, hard. It’s my fault. I should’ve taken the Jeep in for repairs a long time ago. … As soon as it starts raining, Aurélien is going to start looking for me everywhere. …”

  He looked at his watch.

  Pauline, very determined, jumped out of the Jeep.

  “I can run just as fast as you, Jules!”

  He shrugged.

  “Maybe,” he said, “but for how long? Listen, let’s go take refuge at Lucas’s. It’s not very far from here.”

  He took her by the hand and they started running. Pauline, though petite and light, had a good stride, and she managed to keep up with him. As they finally exited the woods, the storm broke. The torrential downpour drenched them in just a few moments. Pauline tripped on a tree trunk and Jules caught her. A thunderclap stunned them, and Pauline clasped Jules’s hand even harder. They ran some more until Jules pointed at a small house not far from them. The front door was open and Lucas was waving at them. They dove inside the house. Pauline leaned against a wall, trying to catch her breath. They looked like castaways and Jules started to laugh.

  “My God! Look at you two!”

  Fernande was handing towels to them. She’d come from Fonteyne on a moped fifteen minutes earlier. She’d lived in this house for the past thirty years, ever since she married Lucas.

  “Call your father, Mister Jules,” she said. “He’s going to be so anxious about this storm!”

  Lucas was nodding, looking disturbed.

  Calmly, Jules said, “Even though it’s coming down pretty hard, I think the grapes are going to be okay.”

  He picked up the phone on the dresser. Pauline was drying her hair by rubbing it vigorously with the towel. Her wet T-shirt and shorts were clinging to her skin. Fernande watched Pauline, feeling bad for her, not daring to offer her dry clothing. But Pauline was laughing, glancing at Jules. He’d turned to the wall to talk to Aurélien, and everyone in the room could hear his voice booming out of the phone.

  “Yes, at Lucas’s …” Jules said. “The Jeep broke down. … I know, Aurélien. Yes. …”