Almost in spite of himself, Lucas was moved by the young man glaring at him. He could suddenly see him as a little boy, always on the move, eager to learn, anxious to be a grown-up, fascinated by the vineyards, solemn but also cheerful, serious but also turbulent. Adorable. Fonteyne existed today because of Jules. And to work on Fonteyne’s land was both a blessing and an honor. Fernande and Lucas were forever linked to Jules, just as Jules was linked to Fonteyne.
“Listen …” Lucas began.
“No,” Jules said. “We agreed and that’s that. You were right, so don’t feel guilty.”
Lucas nodded and they continued their inspection of the field. Jules was alone, no doubt, but he still had his pride.
Though it was three in the morning, the silence inside the castle wasn’t absolute. There was the usual creaking of the woodwork, the wind blowing in the chimneys, the furtive scampering of mice in the attic, and the steady tick tock of the pendulums swinging in the various old clocks. Jules was sitting in the library’s darkness, at his favorite spot, on the ladder’s rung. Throughout his life, Aurélien had collected rare collections and first editions, and Jules had developed, as a child, a deep respect for books. And as Aurélien didn’t want his books to leave the library to avoid being lost or damaged, Jules had spent entire nights reading, sitting either in a wingback chair or on one of the ladder’s rungs, the book opened across one of the library’s many pull-out shelves or his lap. He’d kept the habit and, when he came here to think, absentmindedly adopted the same position, shoulders wedged between the mahogany ladder’s rails.
He stretched as he shut the book of which he hadn’t read a line. When he’d crept out of his bedroom two hours before, Laurène was sleeping in a ball under the blankets. They’d just made love, tenderly and for a long time. And yet, as with each time, something was missing for Jules, something that he didn’t attempt to define as he tried to ignore the horrible feeling of emptiness. Jules wasn’t on a quest for truth, wasn’t inclined to feel nostalgic or wax existential. And so he simply assumed that his malaise, at once vague and persistent, had to do with Aurélien’s absence.
He left his perch to walk around the library. He was thirty years old, had enormous responsibilities, land that he loved to death, and an adorable woman upstairs in his bed. Summer would soon arrive, with grapes growing, ripening in the sun. Jules wished for nothing else. Fonteyne provided him with all the emotions he needed.
He turned the lights off and crossed the hallway in darkness, heading for the office. There, he opened one of the closets and grabbed one of the bottles on the bottom shelf. He went over to the kitchen, switched the light on, slowly opened the bottle of Margaux, and poured himself a glass. Sitting on one of the long benches, he enjoyed the first sip. A taste of blackberry with a trace of vanilla, followed by a slight overtone of resin, then the entire aroma of the violet developed. Jules smiled, set down his glass, and took in the wine’s appearance. He told himself that as long as he could make wine of that quality, melancholy wouldn’t get the best of him.
The two bombs dropped almost at the same time, turning the beginning of May into a nightmare. The first bad news was dealt by Mr. Varin, who showed up at Fonteyne unannounced one Wednesday morning. Fernande showed him to Jules’s office. After the notary sat down and declined a cup of coffee or anything else, Fernande slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Varin took a deep breath and came out with it.
“Your brother Alexandre has hired a lawyer, a Mrs. Samson, who just informed me that they are going to challenge the legality of your father’s will.”
Varin had known Jules for a long time, and so he wasn’t surprised to see the young man keep his composure. There was, however, a long moment of silence.
“Is Aurélien’s will contestable?” Jules finally asked, his voice cold.
Jules’s choice of words and the intensity of his glare made the notary uncomfortable. He was responsible for every legal document that had been written up for Fonteyne for the past thirty-odd years.
“It was drawn up by the book, your father was totally of sound mind, and every single clause is perfectly legal,” he insisted.
“So, what are my brother and his lawyer basing their challenge on?” Jules asked.
“Mrs. Samson is an excellent business lawyer who—”
“What are their arguments?” Jules interrupted.
Varin sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. This conversation was going to be stormy, of that he had little doubt.
“Jules,” he began, “I completely disapprove of Alexandre’s decision. But I’d say he hired that lawyer because he felt like he was swindled.”
“Was he?”
“No! Not at all. On a strictly material level … Aurélien couldn’t have disowned one of his sons even if he’d wanted to. I can confirm that the dividing up of assets is perfectly legal. But, of course, the provisions of the will upset Alexandre, since he was … pushed to the sidelines. You know very well that you have complete responsibility for Fonteyne’s administration, that you can do what you want—”
“Well that’s just great!”
Mr. Varin sighed. He still remembered the headaches he got from Aurélien’s demands.
“As you also know, the last statutes make you manager for life. No decision can be imposed upon you. The consultation with your shareholders is virtually … pure formality! Your powers are unlimited.”
Jules was glaring at the notary, fighting hard the urge to unleash his anger on him.
“You know,” he said, “that Fonteyne is a well-oiled machine, and it’s continuing to prosper. There’s nothing my brother can blame me for!”
“Oh, but he’s not. He’s not suggesting that you’re mismanaging the estate, but he claims that he was kicked out of it. He finds your powers excessive, and he thinks that your father overstepped his rights by tampering with the company’s statutes in order to favor you in an outrageous way. …”
“Tamper? Aurélien?”
Jules got to his feet, standing tall behind his desk. Varin thought that Alexandre was making a mistake confronting him.
“In the immediate,” he said, “a judge is going to look into the legitimacy of the challenge. Then, there’s undoubtedly going to be a thorough examination of the statutes, as well as all the modifications that your father brought about during the last year of his life. …”
Aurélien’s image had been consuming Jules for the past few minutes. He could see his adoptive father’s sardonic smile. He particularly remembered one thing he’d said, “You’re going to have your brothers on your back, but you’re going to have a free hand, and you’re the only one I can trust Fonteyne with.”
“You’re having lunch with us,” Jules suddenly said.
This was more an order than an invitation, and Varin had little choice but to acquiesce.
“You’ll have to excuse me for one second,” Jules said. “I have to tell Fernande about you staying, and I’ll ask her to bring us something to drink.”
Jules walked out of the room, and Varin settled in his blond leather armchair. He knew that all this would earn him some fees, but it would come with so much hassle that he preferred not to think about it. Jules was going to involve him in an all-out war, and losing it was out of the question. Otherwise, his reputation would be tarnished, if not ruined. Jules Laverzac was one of highest profile wine producers in the entire Bordeaux region. He would be backed by all the other bigwigs in the industry. And it was up to him, Varin, to make sure that every clause of Aurélien’s will was upheld, hoping there were no flaws in the document and, above all, that no mistakes in the writing of any section had been made, either by him or one of his clerks. He took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped his forehead. Samson was going to be a formidable foe, and Alexandre must’ve promised her the moon if they came out victorious. Varin told himself he was getting too old for this kind of battle, yet at the same time he knew that he had no choice but to fight it.
“Varin is gone?”
He turned and tried to smile at Laurène.
“No. He’s still in my office.”
“What’s wrong?”
She walked to him, brows furrowed.
“Alex is contesting Aurélien’s will,” Jules snapped. “He’s taking us to court.”
Laurène opened her mouth but closed it without saying a word. They looked at each other for a second, and then Jules hugged her.
“I told Varin to stay for lunch so we can talk about it all in detail. Tell Fernande to bring us a …” He hesitated for a second. “Tell Lucas to choose one of our best bottles. And, during lunch, we’ll have a Palmer 1988.”
Laurène burrowed her nose into Jules’s neck and smiled.
“You’re trying to wow him?” she said.
“No. I just want him to remember where he is, and who he’s dealing with. And that we’re not going to fool around. …”
He let Laurène go and headed back toward the office.
“Wait!” Laurène said.
She ran to him and asked, “Are you okay, Jules?”
He smiled at her.
“I’m going to have to deal with it. If Alex wants war, he’s going to get it. And he’s going to lose, as always. The guy is a natural-born loser.”
He spoke the words without bitterness yet with a trace of cold disdain in his voice. Obviously, Alex was now nothing but an enemy of Fonteyne. Laurène shivered and hurried over to the kitchen. As soon as she informed Fernande of what was going on, the old lady had to sit down.
“He’s not really doing that. …” she said, shaking her head.
Laurène also sat down, feeling faint all of a sudden.
“And nobody can make him change his mind? Reason with him? Not even your sister?”
Fernande had a lot of respect for Dominique. She couldn’t understand why she hadn’t stopped her husband from doing such a foolish thing. Laurène recognized the implications of Fernande’s questions. Yes, there had been a time when Alex wouldn’t have done anything without his wife’s approval. But he’d changed these past few weeks.
“It’s true that he’s behaving oddly now,” Laurène said out loud.
“He never should’ve left,” Fernande whispered. “He belongs here, with his brother, on the family’s land. …”
Laurène made an effort to get back up.
“We have to prepare lunch,” she said, with little conviction.
Fernande lifted her head and scrutinized the young woman.
“You don’t look so good,” she said.
“It’s all that business …”
Fernande got up and went over to the oven. She muttered, as much at herself as at Laurène, “I know Jules, he’s going to break Alexandre. To go against Aurélien’s wishes … Alex couldn’t have made a bigger mistake. …”
Laurène knew very well that Fernande was right. She sighed, beleaguered.
Jules hung up and cracked a smile. His first of the day. Speaking with Robert had slightly lessened the anger that he couldn’t shake. Right after the notary left, he’d called his brother at the hospital to tell him about the situation, saying that he’d like to count on his presence, as well as Louis-Marie’s. Alex’s declaration of war couldn’t be taken lightly, and all four of Aurélien’s descendants were invested in Fonteyne’s fate. Robert offered to give his brother power of attorney, but Jules wouldn’t go for it. He wanted this to be handled out in the open, he said, in the presence of his brothers, and with their advice. Robert finally gave in after running out of arguments, and promised to be in Margaux on Friday night.
Jules lit a cigarette. He was now going to phone Louis-Marie. Then he’d tell Fernande that everyone was coming for the weekend. A visit from the Parisians always meant a feast and, though the present circumstances weren’t particularly festive, they had to be welcomed according to tradition, by putting out a spectacular spread.
Laurène had walked along the cours Georges-Clemenceau for a good while. She’d gazed at a variety of shop windows, without finding anything to her taste. She looked forward to seeing Pauline, Louis-Marie, and Robert. She’d come to Bordeaux to find a dress or an outfit, but nothing she’d seen so far had spoken to her. She ended up going to a café, where she went down her list of purchases. She lifted her head after a couple of minutes, now certain she hadn’t forgotten anything. She’d left the Civic in a public car park, its trunk filled with food.
Just like in the good old days, she thought with melancholy.
Fonteyne was going to be a cheerful place again and that would make Jules happy, she was convinced of that. In spite of the unhappy situation bringing the family together.
She sighed as she watched the hordes of shoppers go by the café on the sidewalk. It was a beautiful spring day, and she should be joyful, but all she felt was the painful sensation of solitude. She was getting lost in gloomy thoughts when a familiar voice startled her. She turned around and smiled. Dominique was making her way toward her, zigzagging between tables.
“From behind, you look you like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders,” Dominique said.
They kissed and Dominique sat next to Laurène. She ordered a coffee before lighting a cigarette.
“You smoke?” Laurène asked, surprised.
“Once in a while. …”
They looked at each other and smiled.
“You know what’s going on, right?” Dominique said. “With Alex, I mean. …”
Laurène nodded, guessing how embarrassed her sister must be. A moment of silence followed.
“Varin himself came over this morning,” Laurène then said.
“And Jules? How did he take it?”
“Not well. Not well at all.”
Dominique nervously put out her cigarette. Laurène put a hand on her forearm, as if to console her.
“Why did you let him do that?” Laurène asked.
“It’s not like he asked for my opinion!” Dominique said.
The two sisters’ eyes met. They understood each other perfectly. Both were certain of one thing: An irreparable catastrophe had fallen on the family.
“He drinks too much,” Dominique said. “He’s always in a foul mood. He knows he shouldn’t have left Fonteyne, but he won’t admit it. All his anger is focused on Jules. I never would’ve believed he could hate him so much! And no matter what I say, he won’t listen. …”
Dominique had blurted out the words. Laurène had never seen her so vulnerable before.
“It’s true that he’s changed,” she said.
“Changed? He’s like a different man. Even with the twins he’s … almost indifferent.”
Dominique leaned toward Laurène and whispered, “I am so worried.”
Naturally more cheerful, open, and serene than her younger sister, Dominique was usually as comforting and positive as Marie. That’s why Laurène was so surprised by her admission. Dominique loved Alex, and she must’ve been concerned, but there was something more.
“You’re not happy at Mazion?” Laurène suddenly asked.
Dominique smiled at her.
“I don’t feel at home there. … And I’m not a kid anymore. …”
Laurène nodded knowingly. She wouldn’t go back to her parents’ unless she had to, either.
“When Alex and I talked about the move, it seemed like deliverance to him. Some sort of paradise. I didn’t want to contradict him because, at that moment, everyone else was contradicting him. But I miss Fonteyne terribly, and I think he does, too.”
“Of course,” Laurène said, “once you’ve lived at Fonteyne …”
She said that without thinking, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. They were both turning their backs on their childhood ho
use, without regret or remorse. Dominique had the painful impression that she’d regressed. Moving to Mazion hadn’t provided Alex what he’d hoped for, while making his wife bitter. For weeks, she’d tried to take pleasure in her new life, to no avail. Then she thought that an eventual return to Fonteyne might not necessarily be impossible, and she began to dream about it. She’d come up with all kinds of plans to make her dream come true, but Alex had destroyed everything by legally challenging his father’s will. Dominique knew that Jules could never forgive him.
“Do you also think that the will was unfair?” Laurène asked, very softly. “Do you think that Aurélien … favored Jules?”
Dominique looked at her sister for a second, and then said, “Yes, I do. He did favor him. But …”
She hesitated, searching for the right words to say, and then she blurted out, “But he was right. Everybody knows he was right. It made perfect sense. Jules is the best, you have to admit it, even if it’s very … irritating. I’m saying that to you, but I’d never say it in front of Alex. He needs support so badly! I’m going to have to be on his side, you know … against you and Jules … because, of course, you’re going to do the same as me and support the man you love. …”
Dominique seemed to be on the verge of tears, and Laurène turned aside so as not to embarrass her sister. She looked out the window, at the street’s heavy traffic. She felt tired again, overwhelmed. A silhouette, in the crowd out there, looked familiar to her. She realized it was a pregnant woman, and she knew no one who was pregnant. She paid it no mind, too absorbed by her worries.
“I have to pick up the twins from school,” Dominique said with a sigh.
She was already on her feet, and Laurène grabbed her by the arm.
“Come see me at Fonteyne,” she said. “I’m always the one going to Mazion. …”
Dominique nodded but said nothing.
Jules was up very early, as usual, and he’d already gotten a lot of work done by the time he had breakfast. Fernande put the tray down on a corner of the desk and lingered a while to discuss the weekend’s menu. Jules made two or three suggestions, then went back to his paperwork. If Fernande asked him for suggestions, he thought, it was because Laurène wasn’t being as helpful as she should. But Laurène was too young, and no doubt too timid, to make decisions by herself. This absence of maturity both delighted and annoyed Jules. Laurène was still an adorable girl in many ways, unable to firmly take hold of a house as impressive as Fonteyne.
A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel Page 37
