A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel

by Françoise Bourdin

  Aurélien forced himself to emerge from his reverie and turned his attention to his guests. He took a discreet look around the table. People were chatting away.

  I’m glad I made the cocktail hour last so long. … Everybody is in a good mood, and they’re hungry. …

  Seated between Pauline and Frédérique, Robert was the only one with a morose expression. A few moments earlier, Pauline had whispered to him, with a mischievous smile, that it would be wise for them to leave things where they were going forward. Where was that? he’d asked himself. In the middle of their miserable adulterous affair? In their pitiful Bordeaux hotel? Robert brooded over the words, and there was nothing he could say. Sickened by his own weakness and his persistence in making the same mistake over and over again, he wondered why Pauline was the only woman who’d really held his interest in all those years. Sooner or later, he would have to accept defeat. He turned to Frédérique and began talking to her, but without conviction. He exchanged a few pleasantries with her, and then Pauline pulled on his sleeve.

  “Want to know what’s on the menu?” she asked him.

  “You interrupted me.”

  “Well, it’s not like you were saying anything worthwhile. …”

  She smiled at him, smugly, and he hated her. At that moment, Frédérique leaned against his shoulder so she could address Pauline.

  “What is on the menu?” she asked.

  “Foie gras and crawfish terrine, duck breast with raspberry sauce, calf’s sweetbread, hen legs with morel mushrooms … That and a plate of cheeses and black currant mousseline with cassis sauce on nougatine. Hopefully we’ll still be able to leave the table come two in the morning. …”

  Frédérique leaned back in her chair and muttered, “Fantastic!”

  Pauline glared at her.

  “What did she do to you?” Robert asked, his voice low.

  Pauline made sure that Frédérique wasn’t listening to them before saying, “She bugs me. If she’s here to replace Laurène, fine. But leaving that notary of hers to settle here at Fonteyne must’ve gone to her head. She’s crafty and looks to me like some bourgeois wannabe. And she’s way too pretty. Since she got here, I’ve had my eye on her. You know what she’s after? Aurélien’s trust, so she can wind up in Jules’s bed. With all that in place, if you hit on her, she’d never say no!”

  Suddenly cheerful, Robert began to laugh.

  “My God,” he said, “you’re jealous of anything in a dress!”

  Sitting across the table, Alex gestured for them to keep it down. At the end of the table, Jules was making valiant efforts to have a pleasant conversation with the people near him. But all he could think about was Laurène’s precipitous departure. Since he was completely ignorant of the advice that Pauline had given her in Bordeaux, he couldn’t imagine what had motivated her to flee this way. Was it just some sort of whim, as Marie had suggested, or did she realize that she didn’t want to be tied down? She was only twenty, after all, and hadn’t done much living.

  Normally, Jules would’ve gone to get her, no matter where, even if he had to physically drag her back to Fonteyne. If not for the beginning of the harvest tomorrow morning, he’d have already been on the road to Paris. He was humiliated to have learned, through Marie, about what he could only assume was a breakup. In a burst of lucidity, he realized that Laurène knew how to manipulate him. Leave without a word of explanation instead of being treated like some negligible object. Jules had wanted to force patience on her, and she’d countered with a disappearing act. So far she’d won: He was dying to see her and deeply regretted his decision.

  Absentmindedly, he looked in Robert’s direction. He was leaning toward Pauline, listening to what she was saying.

  “God, he gets on my nerves with that stupid obsession with Pauline! Yet it took nothing for him to get Laurène to sleep with him in the stable. …”

  “To Fonteyne!” Aurélien exclaimed, his glass raised at the other end of the table.

  Docile, the guests were about to toast Fonteyne. One by one they turned to Jules, as Aurélien seemed to wait for him to chime in.

  “To Fonteyne,” he said simply, in a deep voice.

  Throughout the long feast, people had to drink to the harvest, the new vintage, the Laverzac forefathers, basically anything that came to mind. They had no choice but to drink and stay up so that the evening could be considered a success. And after two or three hours of heavy sleep, to then get out of bed and pick the first bunch of grapes from the first vine. …

  Jules tried to imagine Laurène in Paris, having fun, making friends. He hated the idea. Fernande presented him with a dish, and he said, “You outdid yourself tonight. Nobody has been hungry for a long time, and yet they still keep on eating.”

  While Jules was serving himself, she whispered in his ear, “You know Colette? The one that works for the Billots?”

  He nodded, not knowing what Fernande was getting at.

  “Well, she just told me that Laurène left home. … And apparently she cried the entire time she was packing. …”

  He put the flatware back on Fernande’s plate, thinking that news traveled fast. The woman sitting to his left touched his forearm and said, “You seem distracted this evening.”

  He forced himself to look at her. It was the wife of a big-time wine merchant, about fifty. Jules had to control himself.

  “You’re ravishing,” he said, without smiling.

  Embarrassed and flattered at the same time, she battered her eyelids in a ridiculous way.

  For the first time in his life, Jules found the traditional feast stupid, pretentious, and never-ending.

  The meal lasted until two, just as Pauline had predicted. Jules drowned his anguish and boredom in wine, and so he felt less sad, to the point where he could think about the future without clenching his teeth. He was stuck at Fonteyne for many days and wouldn’t be able to get away, and he was slowly resigning himself to the idea.

  People gathered in the library, which had been cleaned up by Fernande and Clothilde, for coffee. Before joining the guests there, Jules and his brothers headed to the main living room.

  “Should we say goodbye now?” Jules asked. “I’m sure I won’t be seeing you tomorrow morning.”

  “It was a nice summer,” Robert said, solemnly.

  The others burst out laughing.

  “Really? With twenty-seven days of rain?”

  “Are we going to see you guys next year?” Alexandre asked.

  “Yes,” Louis-Marie said. “Unless something comes up. But, you know, barring a natural disaster, it’s family first.”

  Jules playfully pushed him.

  “Don’t drive like madmen on the way back,” he said. “Especially you, Bob, with that race car of yours. And call Aurélien once in a while. He loves to hear from you.”

  The recommendations were always the same, and Louis-Marie smiled.

  Jules then took Robert aside.

  “I wanted to ask you something,” he said. He hesitated before adding, “Well, Laurène is in Paris. Apparently she’d like to get a job there.”

  Robert looked surprised but didn’t say anything.

  “Since she doesn’t know anyone there, she might try to contact you or Louis-Marie …”

  “And?” Robert asked, cautiously.

  “Well … I’m going to bring her back here very soon, and so it wouldn’t be worth it for you guys to find her any kind of job. …”

  Jules gave his brother an irresistible smile and left the living room. Instead of the library, he went to Aurélien’s office. Once again he sat behind his father’s desk. The evening was almost over, and for a moment, he could take a breath. A very short moment, unfortunately.

  Not long enough to get that damn girl and bring her back here!

  He sighed. No use even thinking about a quick trip, as he knew full well that he’d be in this very room a few hours later, listening to Aurélien’s instructions. And every day after that, until the last basketful of
grapes was dropped into the winepress.

  He wasn’t unhappy. Not yet. Fonteyne was buzzing around him. He could vaguely hear Fernande and Clothilde come and go, the voices and bursts of laughter coming from the library. He got up, opened the French doors, and took a deep breath of fresh air. Outside, Botty let go of a short bark at the sight of him. Everything was in place. Including all those grapes still clinging to the vines. Summer was over. No matter what Jules was feeling, nothing was to get in the way of the harvest.

  The future will be what we make of it, as they say, Jules thought. As always. …

  Laurène paid her bill and hesitated to get up. As the hours went by, the station’s bistro had turned quiet. When she first came in, early evening, there were so many people she’d almost turned back around. But she’d found a table, way at the back, and she’d sat down with her suitcases at her feet. She’d heard the calls for her soon-to-be-departing train, but she’d let it go without her. And she hadn’t tried to take another. She’d decided not to go to Paris after all. Too bad. Her moment of revolt had passed. Her anger had petered out, and she didn’t have the strength to leave Bordeaux. Pauline and her speeches could do nothing to change that.

  Time had gone by and she’d just sat there, not knowing what to do next. She’d imagined Jules, a few miles away, presiding over the preharvest banquet with ease, with pleasure. She’d seen him—as clearly as if she’d been right next to him—smiling at women, complimenting Fernande, talking to Aurélien in his soft and calm voice, the one he reserved for his father. She knew Jules inside out.

  Leaving the region, on just that night, was a mistake. Or so she’d ended up deciding. Being somewhere without Jules was not for her. She was going to wait for him. Of course she was, overcoming her embarrassment, swallowing her pride! Pauline used men as puppets, but Laurène didn’t have the strength to play that kind of game. Jules might erase her from his life. She’d given him only headaches so far. Going to Paris would be the end for the two of them. Jules wouldn’t have ever gone to Paris to get her, she’d been foolish to think even for a second that he might have. It was impossible because of the harvest. He just wouldn’t do it.

  Finally she got to her feet and headed for the exit.

  I’m going back to Mazion, she thought. This was just a silly escapade, to be forgotten. Mom will understand. …

  She suddenly stopped walking, and a waiter bumped into her. Without apologizing, she remained still, staring into the distance, riddled with doubts…

  What if he already knew? What if he talked to Mom or Alex, and he got angry and decided that—

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” the waiter said. “We’re closing.”

  He showed Laurène to the door. She wound up on the sidewalk and looked for a taxi. It was late and the last train had left the station. She shivered at the thought of having almost done something irreparable.

  I’ve made so many mistakes with him! I must be completely insane! Oh, this is the last time I take risks, the last time I ever listen to Pauline. God, I hope he doesn’t know anything, that no one told him!

  At first she’d imagined, with vengeful glee, the effect that the news of her departure would have on Jules. She’d imagined him desperate and remorseful, leaving Fonteyne in a hurry … What a fool!

  Never! He never would’ve done that! I’m living in a daydream.

  She finally spotted a taxi and hailed it. She had to offer the driver a small fortune for him to agree to take her to Fonteyne. She paid him while he put her suitcases in the trunk of the car. She was sick with worry and couldn’t wait to be there. It was late and she was tired, and she’d spent all those hours doubting, so she didn’t know what to think. What if Jules was fed up with her attitude, her whims? What if he got tired of her?

  My God, waiting until the end of the harvest is nothing! I could wait for him for a thousand years if I had to! What possessed me? Next year, at that same banquet, I’ll be Mrs. Laverzac! Unless I keep on acting like a fool. And if Jules decides to forgive me for tonight. … But if he doesn’t know, what is he going to think when he sees me show up like this in the middle of the night? He’s going to be furious. He’s going to think that I’m stalking him!

  She was torturing herself, mad with worry. The driver wasn’t going fast as he tried to find the way to Fonteyne, and Laurène felt like crying. She’d just taken a tissue out of her purse when the driver finally stopped in front of the opened gates.

  “I’ll get out here,” she said in a strained voice.

  She went up the driveway, staggering because of her suitcases. She was so familiar with the place that she could find her way without difficulty. She stopped by the Little House, listened for a second, then put her suitcases down under a window. She headed for the castle, the façade of which was still lit. A few cars remained parked at the bottom of the terrace, but the evening was obviously winding down.

  She went around the castle, heading for the kitchen. She couldn’t contain her trembling and had to lean against the wall as soon as she turned the house’s corner. A happy Botty ran right into her legs, and she almost let out a scream. She slowly went up the exterior stairs leading to the kitchen and hesitated a long time in front of the door. She thought about what she would say to Fernande once she walked in, and opened the door. There was no one in the kitchen. The entire room was filled with dirty dishes, pots, and pans, and empty bottles.

  Laurène looked around her. She shuddered at the thought of running into Aurélien, but of course, she wouldn’t find Jules if she stayed put. With all her might she tried to gather the courage to get going, but she couldn’t.

  The two women who suddenly walked into the kitchen, arms filled with dirty plates, didn’t know Laurène. Hired to assist Fernande during the banquet, they gave the young woman an indifferent nod. Right outside the door, Jules’s voice rang out.

  “Are you sure you have enough help? I promise I don’t mind giving you a hand and I’m not that tired.”

  Fernande walked into the kitchen, laughing in spite of her fatigue.

  “Stop that, Jules!” she said. “Go to the living room. If your father saw you …”

  Jules was carrying a tray dangerously filled with cups. He carefully set it on the table. As he turned to leave the kitchen, he saw Laurène. She’d remained still, paralyzed by fear and shame, intimidated like a little girl. They looked at each other, to the sound of clanking plates and bowls around them. Fernande was first to react and gently pushed them out of the house.

  “Come on,” she muttered. “Out of here. You’re in the way. …”

  They wound up in the clear night. Laurène desperately waited for Jules to say something. He leaned against the wall. She could hear him breathe.

  “I was wondering,” he finally blurted out, “if you’d like to visit England.”

  He reached out to Laurène with clumsy tenderness. And it was as though she’d never left Fonteyne.

  PART TWO

  Louis-Marie met Robert for the first time since the summer. With Pauline’s blessing, he’d invited his brother to dinner so they could talk about Alexandre’s letter.

  With her usual cheerful disposition, Pauline came and went through the living room. Since their return from Fonteyne, they hadn’t talked about anything. Resigned, Louis-Marie concluded that he would never be able to stop Pauline from flirting with Robert, and he liked to think that his wife’s act ended there.

  “We don’t see each other often enough!” Pauline said as she handed Robert a glass of whisky. “Those people at the hospital, they never give you a break?”

  Robert gave her an icy stare. She hadn’t phoned him a single time in two months, and he hadn’t been able to keep himself from waiting for the call every single day.

  “Let me get right to the heart of the matter,” Louis-Marie said. “We can chat about other stuff afterward. I received a letter from Alex, and I desperately wanted you to read it. …”

  He handed Robert two sheets of paper.

 
; “Lousy handwriting. …” Robert grumbled as he began to read.

  The apartment was fun and original, Pauline having put ornaments and knick-knacks all over the place. Louis-Marie always let her, incapable of going against her will.

  Robert tossed Alexandre’s letter on the coffee table in front of him and said, “What does Jules think of this?”

  “Jules won’t be back from England for another month. That’s why Alex is so upset, I suppose. You know them. Jules gets on his nerves, but he can’t do anything without him. And I can’t picture him confronting Dad by himself.”

  They looked at each other. They were taking their brother’s letter very seriously. At the sight of their sour expressions, Pauline burst out laughing.

  “Your father has a lover? Big deal! He’s always had women in his life.”

  “Yes,” Louis-Marie said, “but he never took them in the house.”

  Robert was as floored as his brother by what he’d just learned.

  “This Frédérique,” he asked, “she’s a friend of Jules’s right?”

  “A friend … ? More like a woman he picked up in a nightclub once. … Very pretty, as we all saw, and horribly young. …”

  Pauline was smiling, amused to see them so concerned. She thought it was great that her father-in-law flaunted his relationship, imagining with glee the scandal that his behavior was causing among the bourgeoisie over there. She’d laughed while reading Alex’s letter.

  “You think he’s getting senile?” Louis-Marie asked.