A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel
Page 10
“To kill?”
Jules’s smile broadened.
“It’s a figure of speech,” he said.
“It’s a weird thing to say to a kid. … But he’s always been different with you.”
They looked at each other for a long time, trying to figure out what the other was thinking, to understand each other. Fleetingly, Robert wondered where Jules came from. But he didn’t say anything about it.
“You turned thirty today,” he said.
Jules must’ve found a hint of curiosity in the statement, as he responded, smiling again, “Yes, today. Maybe. Maybe it’s another day. …”
From the hallway, Pauline told them to come out. They found everybody in the main living room, where the aperitifs had been served. Antoine and Marie had launched into an animated discussion with Maurice, who’d been enthralled by Aurélien’s cellar. Dominique and Pauline, in order to please Aurélien, were elegantly dressed. For her part, Laurène had put on a silk blouse to go with her jeans. Jules gave her a quick glance and felt more troubled than he would’ve liked. The avalanche of presents that came down on him made him even more uncomfortable. Camille had her eyes glued on him, the insistence getting on Jules’s nerves. Jules had to open boxes and bags, thank people, joke around. The pair of boots that Aurélien gave him unsettled him even more. He knew his father too well not to pick up the unusually personal nature of such a present. Made awkward by the circumstance, Jules was fumbling for words as he approached Aurélien. But his father didn’t let Jules trip all over himself and interrupted him almost immediately.
“Why don’t you sit by me for a minute, son?”
Jules settled on the sofa’s arm and Aurélien handed him a drink.
“Let’s toast. To your birthday. …”
Jules produced a hesitant smile and had two sips of wine.
“You put Camille on your left,” Aurélien said, “and Marie on your right. I’ll seat Laurène across the table from you. That way you’ll be able to look at her as much as you want. …”
Without waiting for Jules’s reaction, he got to his feet and announced that it was time to head to the dining room. Jules took Marie by the arm and showed her to her chair.
“What a wonderful age, thirty,” she muttered, kindly. “You’re father really did go all out. …”
“Yes,” Jules said. “Too much so.”
She waited for the other guests to settle, lowering her voice.
“You don’t like it?” she asked.
“Hoopla embarrasses me.”
“Why? Is it that you don’t want to owe him anything?”
She was smiling, amused. But Jules’s stern expression surprised her.
“Marie,” he said, “I owe him everything! I just didn’t want him to feel like he had to …”
In a maternal gesture, Marie put a hand on Jules’s.
“You’re funny, kiddo,” she said. “He loves you, you know.”
“I know. And I love him. He just doesn’t need to demonstrate it like this.”
Moved, she continued to gaze at him while he turned to Camille to exchange a few pleasantries. She thought that Laurène was insane to ignore such a charming young man. Marie had always liked Jules an awful lot. For the longest time, she’d secretly hoped that he and Laurène would fall in love with each other. She glanced at Laurène, who was chatting with Robert on the other side of the table, and stifled a sigh. Laurène was going to give her much more of a headache than Dominique had, of that she was certain.
These kids have no idea, she thought. To sit at Aurélien Laverzac’s table seems so natural to them. …
Marie had come such a long way. Considering her own childhood, it was hard to believe that she was now part of one of Médoc’s most eminent families.
“Aren’t you scared to live here in the wintertime?” Camille asked Laurène.
The tour of the house, before dinner, had delighted the young woman. She’d asked Dominique questions about everything, marveling out loud at the paneling or the coffered wooden beams.
“Scared? Not with Jules sleeping on the same floor as me.”
They locked glances, then a wonderful smell made everyone in the room stop talking. Fernande was coming in with a large plate of escargots.
“Where did you find those?” Antoine asked Aurélien.
“I’m sure they’re canned,” Maurice said, laughing at his own joke.
Jules, in a soft voice, asked Maurice, “You didn’t notice all that rain we’ve been getting lately?”
While everyone was laughing, Camille pulled on Jules’s sleeve, in a childish gesture.
“Jules, you’re mean to Daddy!”
She was looking at him with a sort of awe that exasperated Jules.
“I was only kidding,” he said. “I like your father a lot.”
He’d had to force himself to speak with words that he didn’t mean. Turning away from her, he spotted Laurène, who was glaring at him, hard. On impulse, he went back to Camille.
“I’d love to take you to this restaurant that opened recently in Soussans. I had lunch there with Aurélien today. It’s really nice. Are you free this Saturday?”
Laurène, furious, turned to Robert.
I’m going to have Maurice on my back. … Jules thought.
Camille, smiling blissfully, mumbled that she was delighted by the invitation, and her face reddened. Jules felt stupid. He looked at Laurène again, but now she was ignoring him.
Jules pushed his plate away from him.
“You’re not hungry anymore?” Marie asked, gently.
He gave her an apologetic smile.
“I’m being a jerk tonight,” he muttered.
Intrigued, Marie took the time to finish her escargots. She had no clue what was going on between Jules and Laurène, or Jules and Camille. She hadn’t set foot at Fonteyne in over two years. She knew through Dominique that Laurène got along perfectly well with Aurélien and that she did a fine job as secretary. She’d supposed that her daughter was aiming at something other than this job that Aurélien had so generously given her. She was certain that Laurène had, for a long time, looked longingly at Jules—very much the same way as Camille this evening. But then … what had happened between the two of them? Jules, supposedly indifferent, was now throwing downtrodden glances Laurène’s way. And then he turned and asked Camille for a date. Kid’s stuff. But Jules wasn’t a kid anymore.
“Marie?”
She was deep in thought, and so Jules startled her. He was smiling.
“Tell me, Marie. …”
For the third time that evening, she put her maternal hand on Jules’s arm.
“I adore you, kiddo,” she said, and she was earnest. “Don’t ask me silly questions. I don’t know anything. …”
Pauline, near Aurélien, got up and quietly left the room. Jules gestured at Louis-Marie, who shrugged. Robert, leaning over the table, told Jules, “Pauline had a bit too much Margaux, and she decided to go for a run around Fonteyne.”
Jules burst out laughing. They’d all had too much to drink, while eating the fish and then the grenadine of veal. Alex and Louis-Marie, watching Jules in stitches and picturing Pauline running around the house in her ivory silk dress, also started to laugh.
“Jesus,” Aurélien said, “you people are so damn loud!”
But he was glad to see them all so happy. He intended to add to it when the lights went out. Pauline came into the dining room carrying a sumptuous cake with thirty candles. Fernande was helping her hold the plate, and they set it in front of Jules.
He winked at Pauline and whispered, “Feeling better?”
Without waiting for a response, he asked Camille to help him blow out the candles.
“No,” Pauline said. “That’s not fair. This is your birthday, Jules, you have to take care of this by yourself!”
She was smiling, tipsy but aware of the situation. Jules got up and blew out the small flames effortlessly. Pauline handed him a knife and pie server.
“Happy birthday, brother-in-law,” she said.
She kissed him before Camille had time to and was very pleased with herself. Jules seemed to be having fun as well. He cut the cake and began going around the table to serve everyone a piece. When he reached Laurène, he made an effort not to look at her. Exasperated by this never-ending dinner, with Robert paying little attention to her, Jules’s attitude toward Camille, and Maurice’s inept jokes, Laurène snatched Jules’s wrist as he was bending above her.
“You found someone else to hit on? You certainly didn’t waste any time!”
She never would’ve said anything of the sort had she been sober. She knew she was a bit drunk, like Pauline, like everybody else. Jules went pale. He set two or three black currants on the piece of cake he’d just served her, then said, between his teeth, “You wanted me to leave you alone, right? If I misunderstood you, you only have to say the word. …”
Maurice chose that moment to elbow Jules in the ribs.
“No secrets at the table! And how come I’m not allowed to have a piece of cake?”
Jules turned to him and shot him such a look that Aurélien, clear across the table, intervened immediately.
“Maurice is right,” he said. “We’re waiting. …”
While saying it, he looked at his son intently, with an air of calm authority. Jules got the message and said nothing to Maurice. He served him a piece of cake and went on to the next guest. Contrary to tradition, he served his father last.
“No dessert for me,” Aurélien said to him, a smile on his face.
“What? I saved the biggest piece for you.”
Jules was also smiling, now relaxed.
“Doctor’s orders,” Aurélien muttered, pointing at Robert. “It’s either that or women, but not all at the same time, apparently.”
Jules burst out laughing and caught the plate that he’d almost dropped.
“Go sit down,” Aurélien said. “You’re a public danger.”
The rain was coming down steadily, without violence, as though it was going to fall forever. Aurélien had left his bedroom to take refuge in the library, exasperated at not being able to fall asleep. He’d had too much to drink. That and Fernande’s menu, which he’d selected, had left him nauseous and in a bad mood. But the evening had been a huge success and he regretted nothing. No regrets, but he wished he was thirty years younger. Not that he missed Lucie so much, but rather his youth. The youth that Jules wore with such panache.
The son of a bitch has all that time ahead of him, he thought.
At random, he plucked a book out of the bookcase, opened it, flipped through it. A picture caught his attention, but then he was startled when he suddenly heard footsteps in the room.
“Watching the rain?”
“You’re getting on my nerves, popping up all the time, everywhere,” Aurélien said, slamming the book shut.
He gave Jules a head-to-toe lookover and asked, “Is your generation boycotting robes or what?”
Bare-chested, wearing only jeans and a pair of beat-up moccasins, Jules lit a Gitane.
“I hate that smell,” Aurélien said. “You’re ruining your health smoking like that. …”
He gestured at the French windows.
“It’s not just some downpour, it’s the end of the damn world. The apocalypse. … The rain is going to drown everything and the grapes will never ripen. Never!”
Jules didn’t say anything. Harvest was right around the corner, and the weather had been pretty catastrophic for the past two months. He went over to lean on the ladder, out of habit.
“You know that Varin sent the documents,” Aurélien said suddenly. “They’re in my desk. Did you sign them?”
Jules shook his head, ill at ease. His curls fell helter-skelter on his forehead.
“Since my brothers are all here, I figured that …”
He didn’t dare say more than that and waited. Aurélien kept quiet. Jules put out his cigarette and felt like he had to continue.
“I don’t want them to think one day that … that …”
He swallowed hard and raised his eyes to his father.
“Go wake them up, then,” Aurélien said in a sarcastic voice. “Let’s have a family meeting! I’ll tell them about my plans and then we’ll all take a vote. How’s that?”
Aurélien took three strides and planted himself in front of Jules. He was shaking, unable to dominate his anger.
“Who the hell do you think I am?” he bellowed. “Where do you think you are? You’re going to do as I say, the four of you! And you, just like the others!”
It took a while for the library to settle into silence after the outburst. Jules had straightened, no longer leaning on the ladder. He slipped between his father and the bookcases.
“Of course,” was all he said, in a very calm tone.
He crossed the room and left. Aurélien buried his hands in his robe’s pockets. After a few moments, Jules came back, a stack of papers in his hand. He set them on the desk and began to sign each document, one by one, giving the ink time to dry. When he was done, he handed the papers to Aurélien, who took them without a word. His anger, which he knew had been uncalled for, was subsiding only slowly. They remained silent and still for a few minutes.
Finally, Aurélien shrugged and grumbled, “I’ve had just about enough of defending myself in my own house. …”
Jules decided to leave. He headed for the door but stopped on the threshold. He turned to his father, in an impulse of tenderness that Aurélien recognized as such right away.
He’s the spitting image of his mother, Aurélien thought. The bitch. …
“I can’t remember if I thanked you,” Jules said.
“What for?” Aurélien replied, his voice icy. He didn’t want to succumb to sentimentality.
His son’s smile was elusive.
“For the boots,” Jules muttered before stepping out of the office.
The following morning, with the weather still dreadful, Aurélien asked Fernande for his breakfast at 6:45. He congratulated her at length for the previous evening’s feast, then dismissed her. He poured himself some coffee, deep in his thoughts. He felt tired.
I’m really not twenty anymore. …
He didn’t add any sugar to his coffee, having decided to put himself on a diet of his own making.
Robert is right, I ought to be careful. … I don’t care about sugar, but as for the rest …
He glanced at the door and couldn’t help but smile.
In a few minutes, Jules is going to be here. He’s going to knock on the door so softly I won’t hear it. He’s going to tell me how the soil is handling all that rain, after his regular morning tour. He won’t say a word about his new status as manager, though God knows the situation must weigh on him! But he knows full well that I want to give him Fonteyne intact and this is the only way. …
For a long time, Aurélien had known that Jules was the one who was going to succeed him as head of the company. And Jules knew him so well!
It’s like the ugly duckling in the fable. … The little one, so different from the others. … But Jules was never bothered by anything. Not even Lucie’s death. He was too young. And already so determined!
Aurélien was still smiling when the door opened.
“Of course …” he said. “Did you knock?”
“I did,” Jules said, a look of surprise on his face.
To Aurélien, Jules seemed tall. Tall and very young.
“Ah,” he whispered, “if only I was your age. …”
He gestured for Jules to have a seat and asked, “You want some coffee?”
“Yes. And I’d like to know what you’d do if you were thirty.”
“I’d screw Laurène, of course!”
Jules raised his head abruptly and met his father’s cold stare. There was a moment of hostility between them.
“For her father’s land or just for the fun of it?” asked Jules with his usual insolence.
Aurélien, who seemed to be enjoying giving Jules a hard time, continued, “Don’t tell me you prefer Camille!”
“No. …”
“In any case, just take it easy on that front. Maurice is very touchy. …”
“You’re the one who invited them!” Jules said, losing patience.
Aurélien shook his head mockingly.
“You don’t understand what I’m saying. If you want to marry Camille, go ahead. It wouldn’t be a bad business move. But if it’s just for a fling, don’t go for Caze’s daughter. There are plenty of women around for a roll in the hay. People of your generation, you’re clueless when it comes to the importance of smart marriages and successful alliances. That’s how the Médoc dynasties work. They always have. …”
Jules wanted to get up but forced himself to stay put.
“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked. “I never knew you to be so nosy.”
Aurélien stood in a very abrupt manner.
“Nosy? Me?”
He was trying to find words, out of breath. Jules looked to the side. He was taken aback when Aurélien said, “Maybe you’re right, after all. …”
Aurélien had gotten ahold of himself. Calmly, he continued, “You’re going to have to go to Bordeaux and fix things. Thank God Alex didn’t sign anything. You’re going to have to make Amel understand that his conditions are unacceptable. They’re laughable! And then you can go by city hall to sort out the contracted employees business. What’s the story with the laborers?”
“My only problem is coming up with the harvest dates.”
“Dates. … What we need is a few days of sun!”
Jules walked to one of the windows.
“Don’t know when we’re going to get that,” he said. “But I’ll take the risk and wait some more. We’ll see after we assess ripeness.”
Aurélien let out a sigh. He didn’t want to think about the harvest.
“I’m sick and tired of this weather!” he blurted out.