A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel

by Françoise Bourdin

  Jules let out an exasperated sigh and turned to light a cigarette. Robert was right, he still hadn’t accepted his father’s death, the man to whom he owed everything he had.

  “I know what you guys are thinking,” he said. “And I can’t disagree with you. But when I said it wasn’t right, I meant that there’s no reason that you should have to pay for any of this.”

  “Of course we do,” Robert said. “Because of Dad … and Fonteyne. The three of us take care of this. If that jerk Alex were here, he’d be in also. And speaking of Alex, we can’t let him know about this. …”

  Robert got up, went over to Jules, and gave him a friendly shove.

  “Come on, little bro! This isn’t the end of the world. It’s going to be okay.”

  They smiled at each other, the two very close in spite of their age difference, the physical distance between their homes, the different type of lives they led.

  Across the room Louis-Marie said, “In any case, be careful. If you want Laurène to continue sleeping well, don’t say a word about this to Pauline. Discretion is not her forte.”

  The comment made Robert shiver. Of course, Pauline had a big mouth, but coming from his brother, it sounded like a warning. Pauline was his wife, and he took advantage of a very serious conversation between men to remind them of that fact. Robert accepted the caution without a word. He was ready to do anything to one day be with Pauline again, even if it meant being split up from his family forever after. But right now, the most urgent matter was to deal with the problems that Frédérique was causing them.

  Jules looked at both his brothers. The coming trial, the marriage imposed by Laurène, the growing rivalry between Louis-Marie and Robert, and this fatherless child: all these factors threatened Fonteyne’s existence.

  You left too early, Aurélien, he thought. I’ll never be able to deal with all this. …

  And yet he felt ready to fight. Something was smoldering inside him, deep down, which was much more like anger than despondency. His moment of discouragement had passed, partly because of his brothers’ support, but also because of what he was made of. He felt like he could overcome everything thrown his way, for Fonteyne’s sake.

  Yes … I’ll beat this. …

  He walked over to the fireplace and threw in another log.

  “You’re feeling better?” Robert asked with a cheerful voice.

  He hadn’t stopped observing his brother, and he’d just noticed how Jules had suddenly straightened, abandoning his haggard, desperate expression. He felt greatly relieved. If Jules cracked up, Fonteyne wouldn’t survive three months.

  “Yes,” Jules said. “Tackling the problems one by one, and with the help of others—that’s the way to do it.”

  Like all barflies, Alexandre was buddies with a few downtrodden alcoholics. His favorite spot was now a third-rate bistro where he could get smashed in peace. He remained vague and mysterious, though he kept talking about his brothers and his castle. The bistro’s waiter paid him no attention—his customers often went on and on about their own obsessions. But today, one customer did listen to Alex’s story with interest. It was a shady-looking young man, wearing a leather jacket and torn jeans. Alexandre didn’t know him, had never seen him before. And so he had no idea it was Marc, Frédérique’s brother, with whom Jules had been in a fistfight the year before.

  Marc, having realized who Alex was, had no difficulty becoming his drinking buddy. They actually had a lot in common—a hatred of the same people, a need for cash, a very strong taste for cognac, and the fact that they were losers. Marc felt like he’d been done wrong by the Laverzacs, and knew Alexandre’s animosity toward his brother might just be the way to get back at Jules, though he didn’t know exactly how. He’d never forgiven Frédérique for having been that old man’s mistress. Mad at his sister, he rarely phoned her and saw her even less. He wanted to forget about his past—his father ruining himself gambling, his mother’s suicide, his sister’s behavior. He didn’t want any ties with anyone so that he could take the easy road to alcohol abuse and failure. But his tenacious rancor toward Alexandre’s family remained. He hated the Laverzacs’ unbearable success, which they flaunted all the time. He was no longer part of the bourgeoisie and, therefore, he despised it and everyone that was part of it. Alex was the Laverzacs’ weak link, and he was going to take advantage of it.

  Valérie Samson pushed back the superb mane of red hair she was so proud of. She also knew how to make use of it. She gave Varin a ferocious grin. They’d just run into each other in the courthouse entrance hall, and he’d had little choice but to shake her hand.

  “I’m sorry to be your opponent in this succession case,” she said, an obvious lie. “I just came out of the judge’s office. I presented him with my arguments.”

  She was tall and very slim, dressed with simple elegance. As the latest in a long dynasty of attorneys, she’d specialized in commercial law, soon gaining a reputation as a wizard in her field. An only daughter, she didn’t want to disappoint her parents, so she’d decided not to marry in order to concentrate solely on her career, and her success was unbelievable.

  Varin gave her a long look before saying, “Tell me, dear colleague … why would you take on a case like this?”

  Valérie Samson frowned, though she did keep her haughty expression.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Fonteyne and its manager are unassailable,” Varin said. “You’d have to be as big a fool as Alexandre to think otherwise. But you! Frankly, I think that for once, you’re backing the wrong horse. …”

  Pleased with himself, he gave his colleague a nod and started to turn around.

  “Varin!” she barked.

  He stopped moving and waited for the rest, looking stern.

  “To my knowledge,” Samson said, “nothing is unassailable. Nothing!”

  She spun around and walked away, leaving Varin right in the middle of the large hall. He watched her go, amused in spite of himself. He should’ve been worried, but instead he found himself bewitched. He saw her push open the courthouse’s main door and stop on the threshold for a second to let the June sun set her mane alight. Then she went down the steps and disappeared.

  Louis-Marie was still at Fonteyne. He said he wanted to finish his manuscript here. In fact, he liked being at Fonteyne, helping out his brother, feeling relaxed away from his wife. Laurène was happy he stayed, and both continued taking care of the castle’s grounds. They took late breakfasts together on the terrace, chatting like old friends. Some days, Louis-Marie even read Laurène bits of his novel. She listened to him with pleasure, though she didn’t much get the huge romantic saga into which Louis-Marie had poured all the bitterness in the world.

  Jules spent the better part of his days out in the fields or in the cellar with Lucas. The cure for all his problems had always been and still remained: work. And even when he allowed himself the pleasure of riding his horse, it was always with the idea of overseeing his vineyards. The onset of ripening was fast approaching, and the grapes’ color was changing. This stage being extremely important, Jules carefully examined each and every vine, paying close attention to every detail, monitoring the growth of the plants. At the end of each row was a well-tended Polyantha rose bush planted by Aurélien forty years earlier. Fonteyne was so beautiful in this early promising summer that Jules had regained his confidence. He drove his Jeep all over the estate, pushed his employees, delegated almost nothing, as he’d always done, and popped up where he was least expected. Sometimes Lucas chuckled to himself as he watched Jules go. A boss like him was a blessing for a business. As long as he remained in charge of Fonteyne, excellence would always be the number one priority. The way he took care of the fields was a model of wisdom and efficiency. His estimates of the production were spot on, and his requests to exceed preestablished quotas always justified. Against his father’s better judgment, he’d radically modernized the equipment. By the looks of the last few years’ results, he’d been r
ight, as usual.

  “Look! Look at that!”

  Jules caught up with Lucas in front of the vats. He was holding a label.

  “It’s the sample for the next vintage,” he said, delighted.

  From one year to the next, the drawing of Fonteyne on the wine’s label was modified a bit. It was always a sober label, ultraclassical, but Jules didn’t want it to become antiquated. One had to look closely to notice the slight differences over time. Lucas examined the piece of paper, before nodding.

  “Beautiful,” he simply said.

  “Let’s go,” Jules said. “This calls for a drink!”

  As he and Lucas made their way to the staircase, they took glimpses of the various thermometers and hygrometers on the vats. As they approached a row of barrels, Jules spotted Bernard.

  “What’s he doing here? He shouldn’t be down in the cellar.”

  Jules had spoken loud enough for the young man to hear him.

  “I was looking for you,” Bernard said right away, as though he was afraid of what Jules would say to him. “Mrs. Laverzac wants to know if we can trim the pines in front of the castle in a … a … funny way. …”

  Confused, Jules frowned. Then he realized that ‘Mrs. Laverzac’ was actually Laurène and he burst out laughing. He asked what he meant by ‘funny’ trimming.

  “I’m not sure. … In the form of a ball or a cone?”

  Jules and Lucas glanced at each other.

  “Mrs. Laverzac doesn’t need my authorization,” he said. “But I count on Louis-Marie to limit the eccentricities.”

  Jules was still laughing, and Bernard had no clue how to interpret his employer’s directive. Jules noticed his embarrassment and he added, “You know, this estate is pretty conservative. But you’re a good gardener, so keep an eye on them. My brother has been living in Paris too long, while my wife is too …”

  He hesitated, stopped himself. He really couldn’t say to an employee that Laurène was sometimes just a kid. He took out his pack of Gitanes, gave one to Lucas, then to Bernard, who said he didn’t smoke. Jules then leaned toward a barrel, turned the tap and filled a small silver beaker, which he handed to the young man.

  “Want to taste?” he asked.

  Bernard took a sip, smiled, thanked Jules, and hurried out of the cellar. Jules watched him, before turning to Lucas.

  “Not bad, that rookie of yours. …”

  “He’s a nice kid. He’d been looking for work for over a year. I know his parents. They’re working for Mause, in Labarde. He’s got no real qualifications, but he’s serious. Working here is great for him. You think you’re going to keep him?”

  Jules thought about the raise he’d given Lucas, how much his wedding had cost, the upcoming trial, and the payments that were going to be given to Frédérique, all of it adding to the current payroll and Fonteyne’s debts.

  “I don’t know if I can hire him for good,” he admitted.

  Lucas looked at him for a while, not trying to hide his surprise.

  “Things are that bad?” he asked.

  “I’m just being responsible.”

  Jules remembered Bernard’s calm and efficient behavior the night of his wedding. They needed someone like him at Fonteyne. A man who was young, discreet, and obviously ready to be part of the team. He lived above the stable, and Jules could see him every time he took Bingo for a ride.

  “I’ll think about offering him a contract,” he promised.

  He filled the beaker and tasted the wine, winking at Lucas at the same time.

  “It’s nervy,” he said, “balanced, a bit fat … Smooth, don’t you think?”

  “The way you’re smoking, I’m surprised you’re still able to taste anything.”

  Jules laughed again and Lucas nodded, reassured. As long as money worries didn’t prevent Jules from being cheerful when he tasted wine, things were okay.

  As soon as the door was closed, Robert gave a sigh of relief.

  He’d seen Frédérique. In spite of her hate, her scorn, she’d accepted his invitation. But when he’d met her, in Bordeaux, he’d thought she’d never give in. Their meeting was awful. Distant, she’d started by mocking him, before becoming downright hostile. She couldn’t forgive them, he understood that and hadn’t tried to make her change her mind. Instead, he’d presented her with solutions. In that small, pitiful apartment of hers, he’d felt sorry for her, though he’d avoided showing it. Right away he’d guessed that he wasn’t the one she’d expected. Had she thought that Jules would be back? Had she imagined that she could get him to divorce Laurène? So that she wouldn’t have any illusions about that, Robert had told her early on that Laurène was expecting, and that it was one of the reasons Jules married her when he did. The news had bewildered Frédérique. And it was no doubt what had made her give in. If Jules was unattainable, she had no valid reason to remain in Bordeaux.

  During their two-hour meeting, she hadn’t even offered him something to drink. But he’d seen the baby, a bit of a puny newborn who had his mother’s large, gray eyes. Robert had pleaded for him, his future, coming up with arguments effortlessly. A comfortable apartment, an interesting and well-paid job, total financial security for the next twenty-five years, all this guaranteed by legal documents. Then, he’d claimed that a public scandal wouldn’t favor anybody, that it wouldn’t change the situation. He’d killed any hope she still might have had of being with Jules by saying that his brother attached too much importance to family to turn his back on Laurène.

  As he was about to leave, she promised to think about his offer. He’d remained at the door for five minutes, describing to her the Lariboisière Hospital as though it were some sort of paradise, and Paris as a feast. She’d taken only four days to decide, suddenly showing up at the hospital with her baby. He’d shown her to his office and ten minutes later she’d agreed to everything. He’d given her the keys to his apartment, money for a cab, and the promise that he’d take care of every detail by the end of the week.

  Robert, beyond pleased with himself, opened the window and breathed the warm air with delight. By trying to win Pauline over again, he was in the wrong, he knew that all too well. But now he’d just done something for the good of his family, and he found great satisfaction in that.

  As he stepped out of the hospital at the end of the morning, Robert felt great. He was heading for his car, whistling, when he found Pauline leaning against the hood, watching him. As happened each time he saw her, he had the impression that his heart skipped a beat. Two seconds later he was right beside her.

  “You look very happy this morning,” she said. “Is it because summer is here or just that you finished performing the surgery of the century?”

  He leaned in to kiss her, already out of his mind with desire for her.

  “What are you doing here?” he whispered.

  “I want you to take me to lunch. Let’s sit at a table outside. You pick the restaurant.”

  He went around the car to open the door for her. She looked terrific in her lightweight, white dress.

  As soon as he pulled away she said, “I’m bored, you know. Esther is in school and I’m tired of being alone.”

  Robert was thrilled she’d come to see him. But then he thought with horror that she might’ve run into Frédérique and learned something that was best hidden from her, as Louis-Marie has said.

  “Your husband is still at Fonteyne?” he asked.

  “I think he wants to stay there all summer long. Until the harvest! Can you believe him? I don’t know where that new passion of his for the land comes from. …”

  She was pouting.

  “Do you miss him?” he dared to ask.

  “Very much!”

  She said that in a burst of laughter, which perplexed Robert.

  “When are you going to join him? School ends in eight days. …”

  “I’m not going to bury myself over there for two months.”

  “You don’t like Fonteyne?”

  “I ad
ore it. But in small doses. A week around Bastille Day, a week during harvest. Christmastime. … Not a whole lot more than that. …”

  Robert tried not to smile, not to show her that this news was making him extremely happy. Pauline gave him a quick glance, disappointed that he hadn’t reacted to what she’d just said.

  “After lunch, we’re having coffee over at your place,” she suddenly decided.

  Stunned, Robert tried to quickly find an excuse. Of course he was dying to take Pauline to his apartment, but Frédérique and her baby were there right now. He cursed himself for having sent the young woman there.

  “My place,” he said, “is a huge mess. I’d be embarrassed to death if you saw it. On the other hand …”

  He stopped right in front of the Crillon, pointed at the hotel’s façade, and said, “I have wonderful memories of this place. Why don’t we have lunch in bed instead of in the sunshine?”

  Pauline laughed with delight.

  Alexandre threw his glass, and it shattered on the bathroom’s tiled floor.

  “I’ve had enough! I don’t want to hear any more of your crap! Everybody is lecturing me like I’m a freaking five-year-old!”

  Stunned with indignation, Dominique watched him stagger and scream.

  “Your mother, your sister, you! What’s wrong with you people? You’re worse than my own family!”

  “You’re drunk,” Dominique said. “I’m not lecturing you. I just don’t want you to drink so much. I don’t want the kids to see you this way. I want you to stop screaming.”

  Alexandre walked over to his wife and grabbed her by the shoulders. He reeked of booze. His voice was shaky. He moved with difficulty.

  “That’s all I’ve ever heard, since I was born. People saying ‘don’t’ to me. My father, my brothers, the bastard … Even Lucas, sometimes, and Fernande to boot. And now it’s you. And I’ve just had this little bit of cognac. That’s not going to get me drunk!”

  Dominique knew he was lying, that he was sneaking drinks, that he was in denial, like all alcoholics. That’s what he was turning into, an alcoholic, and she wasn’t going to let him.