A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel

by Françoise Bourdin

  Jules didn’t want to disappoint Laurène, and so he carried her over the bedroom’s threshold according to tradition and told her what had happened with Alex earlier, without going into details. Then he undressed her, made love to her for a long time, promised to make her happy, and held her hand until she fell asleep. Then he quietly slipped out of bed and headed for the bathroom, where he took a lengthy shower. He still wished he could’ve punch Alex in the face. Deeply wounded by his own brother calling him a bastard, he’d brooded over it for the rest of the meal. When he’d accompanied his guests to their automobiles, Bernard had given him a reassuring nod of his head. Alex was sleeping it off back at the house in Mazion. Jules had asked Lucas to accompany Dominique, Marie, and old Mrs. Billot. Before they left, he’d told Dominique that she was always welcome at Fonteyne. Then he’d taken the time to thank the staff and tip them before heading upstairs. There, he’d found his brothers and Pauline waiting for him, collapsed on the landing’s window seats. They had one last drink before heading for their rooms at four in the morning.

  I did it, Jules thought as he stepped out of the shower. I hope you’re happy, Aurélien.

  He wasn’t sleepy but tried to convince himself that he should get an hour or two of shut-eye. He went back to the bed, shooing away Botty, who was trying to lie low. He smoked one last cigarette, absentmindedly grazed his wife’s shoulder, and turned off the light. Laurène turned his way, snuggled against him, and held onto him with all her might.

  “I thought you were sleeping,” he said in a low voice.

  She said his name over and over again, holding on to him as though she were drowning. He then realized that she was crying. He tried to turn the light back on, but she didn’t let him.

  “Jules … Oh, Jules. I forced you to marry me, but you didn’t want it at all. You don’t like sleeping next to me. You’re bored when we’re together. I’m worthless … I’m…”

  “Quit that, Laurène.”

  “I did it on purpose. This baby … I wanted to force you into marrying me. …”

  “Stop it!”

  “Everybody looks at you like you’re a god, and they see me as some sort of insignificant thing. I so wished you’d truly love me.”

  Her last words were almost inaudible she was crying so hard, but still Jules heard them. He wondered what he could do to calm her down, to reassure her. He flopped on top of Laurène, pinning her down, and turned on the bedside lamp.

  “Look at me,” he said, lovingly. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

  Jules’s face was inches from hers, and Laurène drowned in her husband’s dark eyes.

  “I love you and you’re my wife,” he said. “I don’t have time to console you if you get a kick out of being sad.”

  His entire weight was on her and she couldn’t move. As soon as he started caressing her, she began to moan.

  Jules was getting antsy, stuck as he was in traffic trying to make it downtown. He kept thinking about what Frédérique had told him on the phone an hour earlier. The call had surprised him, then worried him. She hadn’t said much, but she was insistent—she wanted to meet him right away. He’d tried in vain to imagine why but consented to see her. Anxious to find out what was going on, he’d driven to Margaux like a madman. He was also more troubled than he wanted to be at the thought of seeing the young woman again. Their affair was both recent and remote, and it still nagged at him. He could remember very clearly every detail of her face. She was the first woman that he’d lied to Aurélien about, the only one who had managed to stand up to him. But she was also the last woman that Aurélien had loved, the last one he’d desired.

  Jules found a spot and parked the car. He quickly glanced at the building’s façade to make sure he had the right address before rushing in. He ran up the three flights of stairs, paying no attention to the peeling paint and the dirty windows. He looked for Frédérique’s name above the doorbells and saw that she lived down the hallway.

  When she opened the door, he held his breath for an instant. She was exactly as he’d seen her a few months before, when he asked her to leave Fonteyne after Aurélien’s attack. She stood aside to let him walk into a small, dim room that was only sparsely furnished. She shut the door and they wound up face-to-face, silent, not sure how to break the ice. Without a word, she gestured for him to sit down. He hesitated, then headed for an armchair. He felt embarrassed, awkward, out of place.

  “I’m glad you came so quickly,” she finally said.

  She pointed at the newspaper sitting on the coffee table. Jules leaned toward it and saw the article about his wedding, with a photograph. The picture showed him and Laurène on the church’s steps. He raised his eyes to Frédérique.

  “Well?” he asked.

  She sat on the carpet in front of him.

  “You caught me off guard,” she said.

  She seemed to be searching for words. Her superb light gray eyes were not directly on Jules.

  “I didn’t think you were going to marry that little nitwit so quickly,” she blurted out.

  He didn’t react to the insult, waiting for the rest.

  “After your father’s death, I thought you were going to put things off for a few months. … The mourning period is usually pretty long in old, traditional families, isn’t it?”

  Frédérique’s tone of voice was harsh, but Jules kept silent.

  “I needed those months, Jules!” she screamed.

  Jules straightened in his chair, fearing what was to come.

  “When you kicked me out of Fonteyne like a dog …”

  Completely at a loss, Jules muttered, “Please …”

  She paused for a moment, seething, and then continued, enunciating every syllable, “When you kicked me out of Fonteyne, I knew I was pregnant, and yet I didn’t say anything. …”

  Jules shut his eyes, devastated by what he’d just heard. She gave him a bit of time to recover, to realize the implications of what she’d said to him.

  “I remained in contact with Mr. Varin. He’s always been nice to me. … I said I wouldn’t go back to work for him until June because I wanted to give birth first. Since I was calling him once in a while, I learned about your brother challenging Aurélien’s will. I figured you’d be too busy with that to think of getting married. I was wrong. …”

  “Frédérique, please …” Jules muttered.

  He was dying inside, but she had no intentions of sparing him the rest.

  “And also, I wanted to see …” she said, lowering her voice.

  “See what?”

  “The child! The baby. I figured that as soon as I saw the baby I’d know who the father was.”

  Livid, Jules got up, took two steps toward the window, came back to his chair.

  “You’re calculating?” she asked, with scathing irony. “Go ahead. … Remember that night? Think about it slowly, calculate, and you’ll realize … And there were only two possibilities: Aurélien or you!”

  She paused for effect and concluded, “My child is either your son or your brother. In either case, he’s a Laverzac!”

  Jules had heard a number of terrible things in his life, but nothing so stunning. He wasn’t prepared to deal with the situation. Still sitting on the carpet, she was now looking him straight in the eyes, and he turned away. He was trying to think in a coherent manner but couldn’t manage it.

  “Why …” he began to ask, his voice flat. He couldn’t formulate the rest of the question.

  “Why didn’t I tell you? Oh, you have no idea how I regretted it once I saw this.”

  She pointed at the newspaper, then let her hand fall in her lap.

  “You treated me like a whore, Jules! You got rid of your father’s troublesome mistress as soon as he fell into a coma. You remember that, don’t you? I was such a schemer in your eyes, all of you, that no one ever bothered to tell me how he was doing. His hospital stay, when he came back to Fonteyne, his death—nobody told me anything about it. All I knew was what I read i
n the papers, as usual. …”

  She snatched the newspaper and angrily crumpled it, before tossing the ball in a corner of the room.

  “You didn’t even suppose that I might have at least some affection for him. … Of course, I wasn’t in love with him because you’re the one I wanted to be with. But he was still a great man, something I don’t have to tell you, right?”

  Jules was so pale she stopped speaking. She got up, went over to a small cupboard, and took out a bottle of gin. She poured herself a tiny bit, but almost completely filled the glass she handed Jules.

  “Your father helped me during a very difficult period of my life,” she said. “He had more dignity than the four of you put together. You, you make women crazy. But your father loved them. It’s one hell of a difference.”

  Jules downed the gin. He was in a trap from which he could never escape, a trap he’d set for himself unknowingly.

  “This child,” Frédérique said, “I wouldn’t have kept him if I didn’t have that much bitterness inside me. You had the right not to love me, but not to despise me. You never cared what happened to me. You removed me from your life. But you kept Laurène, the golden goose. … All you care about is your land. The vineyards …”

  Jules kept his head low, crucified by her words. An unbearable combination of humiliation, guilt, and doom had overcome him. There was nothing he could say. For the first time in his life, he was helpless, taking a beating without being able to defend himself.

  “After he was born, I wanted to go see you at Fonteyne, with my son. … To talk to you. … Try to convince you. … I imagined that moment for months. … If you only knew how much I’ve endured. …”

  Frédérique’s voice had changed, and Jules looked at her. Tears were streaming down her face, landing on her sweater.

  “Since we first met, I’ve thought about you every single night before falling asleep. You’ve tortured me horribly, Jules. And today it’s payback time. … Your son … or your brother … you won’t be able to get rid of him like you got rid of his mother. … Never!”

  Jules wanted to move, but it took everything he had just to take one step. Frédérique collapsed in his arms, insulting him and suffocating through her tears. She hit him until she was out of breath.

  “As powerful as you are, Jules, you’re never going to be able to repair this.”

  He knew that completely. He’d been married twenty-four hours and Laurène was pregnant with his child. There was no room for Frédérique’s son, but he still had to find some.

  “Where is he?” Jules finally asked.

  She glared at him and stepped away.

  “No, Jules,” she simply said. “No.”

  She went over to the door and opened it and waited, leaning against the frame. She’d regained her composure.

  “Get out. …”

  He tried to meet her gaze, but her gray eyes were avoiding him.

  “Get out of here!” she said, loudly.

  He was in no shape to argue. She’d trampled him to death. He wound up in the hallway and heard the door slam shut behind him.

  Jules came back to Fonteyne at a snail’s pace, ignoring the angry horns of the cars passing him on the highway. He left the Mercedes at the foot of the front steps and headed for his office and, for the first time in his life, he locked the door behind him. He didn’t answer Laurène when she knocked, or Louis-Marie when he did the same an hour later. Robert, called to the rescue, wasn’t any more successful. Though wondering what was going on, the brothers all decided to leave Jules alone until the end of the day. They called Varin to make sure that nothing new had happened concerning the trial, and the notary’s negative response worried them. Jules never hid like this, never played games, and so his behavior was quite surprising.

  At seven o’clock, Louis-Marie took advantage of the fact that Pauline and Laurène were chatting with Fernande in the kitchen. He grabbed his brother and led him to the office.

  “He opens or we kick in the door,” he said loud enough for Jules to hear.

  Almost immediately Jules opened the door and moved aside to let them in. It was hot in the room, embers still burning in the hearth. Jules had spent the afternoon watching the flames, regularly adding logs to the fire, smoking one cigarette after the other. Robert opened one of the French doors and sat next to Louis-Marie. Jules was standing in front of them, hands in his pockets. He looked worn out, devoid of expression. Many times that afternoon he’d wondered whether he’d be able to survive the ordeal. It took a long time to calm down and gather his thoughts, but he’d done it.

  “I have something horrible to tell you,” he said, his voice low.

  His brothers were watching with such anxiety that he told them what happened in a few short sentences. When he stopped speaking, a long silence followed. After a while, Robert let go of a sigh, crossed his legs, took a deep breath, but still found nothing to say. Louis-Marie whistled between his teeth, shook his head like a wet dog. Unable to stay put any longer, he went over to Jules, put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. Then he began to pace the room, not a word coming out of him, either.

  “When it rains, it pours, as they say,” Robert finally said. “Alex opened fire on us, but now we’re going to get blasted with heavy artillery.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Jules said, in all honesty. “No clue. …”

  Coming from him, this admission of helplessness was particularly alarming.

  “No matter how we look at the situation,” said Louis-Marie, “you’re screwed. …”

  They heard Pauline’s voice on the other side of the door, asking if she could come in. The three of them said no in unison. They heard Pauline burst out laughing and walk away.

  “If Laurène learns about this,” Robert said, as neutrally as possible, “it’s going to make her sick.”

  Jules nodded in silence. Laurène would be extraordinarily upset if she found out, he was aware of that. She was pregnant, she needed to be treated gently.

  “Of course I feel completely responsible for all this, but I don’t know what to propose to you guys. I don’t know what to propose to her, either. I don’t even know what her intentions are, what she decided to do. I didn’t see the … baby. She didn’t want me to.”

  They were all thinking about their father. His presence could still be felt at Fonteyne, especially here in this office.

  “We do have to admit that we treated her badly,” Louis-Marie said. “I don’t know what she really did mean to Dad. There was nothing in his will about her. He probably didn’t know she was expecting. …”

  “The problem is not her,” Robert snapped. “It’s that kid!”

  He turned to Jules and looked at him.

  “You’re the biggest troublemaker I know,” he said. “How do you do it?”

  He smiled as he said that, trying to cheer Jules up a little.

  “I have to go back to Paris tomorrow,” he said. “I can’t be away from my department forever. But I’ll stop in Bordeaux on my way, and I’ll have a chat with Frédérique.”

  Louis-Marie said, “We have to help her to raise her son, if only financially, since … he’s a member of the family.”

  Robert gave him a funny look and said, “How does it make you feel to know that there’s a little kid in a crib somewhere who’s your brother … or your nephew?”

  He gestured at Jules without looking at him.

  “This guy, here, he’s all about high drama. Never a dull moment. One thing is certain, when he asks us to come over, it’s not for nothing.”

  He started to laugh and went for the pack of cigarettes that Jules was fiddling with.

  “Give me one,” he said. “You know, we could ask for a paternity test. …”

  Jules tossed his brother his lighter and shook his head.

  “She won’t go for it,” he said. “Uncertainty, that’s her best revenge. …”

  Though he’d regained his composure, Jules was still on edge. Through Auréli
en, Frédérique had hit right at Jules’s heart.

  “What’s certain,” Robert said, “is that we should try to move them away from Bordeaux.”

  Robert’s objective wasn’t to prevent a scandal but to protect Jules, imagining the nightmare his life would be if Frédérique had her way. She held all the cards. She knew Jules well—his sense of family, his passion for Aurélien, his status as adopted son, his stubbornness, and his pride. She could destroy his existence by forcing him to make an impossible choice. She’d made him feel guilty, she’d humiliated him, and she could make his life a living hell for the next twenty years.

  Just as he did every time Jules found himself in trouble, Robert felt the need to protect his younger brother.

  “I’ll find her a position at the hospital,” he said. “Something much more interesting and better paid than her job as a secretary for Varin.”

  “And we’re going to offer her a monthly stipend,” Louis-Marie added, calmly. “It’s normal. And an apartment in Paris. The three of us can split the expenses. …”

  “That’s not right!” Jules said.

  “What do you mean? You don’t want her to go away? You’re married, remember … ?”

  “I remember. It was only yesterday. …”

  Jules looked infuriated, hostile. Louis-Marie’s comment had stung him, since it wasn’t very far from the truth. And he was dying to see the baby, in spite of all of the tragic aspects of the situation. If the child was Aurélien’s, Jules loved him already, he couldn’t help himself and Louis-Marie knew it. The existence of a child that was Aurélien’s somehow made it as though he were still around, and Jules wouldn’t turn his back on him that easily. Jules would only ever have his own children with Laurène. But this was different. The child had been born, and nobody could do anything to change that.

  “If you haven’t finished grieving,” Robert told Jules in a low voice, “you’d better hurry up. …”