At the sight of Marie he didn’t step out of the house, but he shouted, “Just ask him, Laurène! You’ll see that I’m right.”
“What is he talking about?” Marie asked.
“I don’t know. He’s being crazy.”
Dominique, powerless, shot Alex a murderous look. She had the feeling he was telling the truth, alcohol or no.
“Just ask Jules,” Alex continued. “The name Frédérique … Does that ring a bell?”
Marie walked right up to her son-in-law.
“Get back inside the house,” she said between her teeth.
When she wanted, Marie could be imposing, and Alex immediately turned around. Marie heard the sound of an engine and turned to see Laurène’s car speeding away. She marched inside the house, intent on learning exactly what had happened.
Laurène was silently crying, curled up in a ball on the sofa as Jules paced in front of the fireplace, hands buried in his pockets. Nothing he’d said or done managed to console her. He’d candidly answered all her questions, telling her the truth since she already knew too much. He was as sad as she was, maybe more. But Frédérique’s child existed, and no one could do anything to change that.
He came over to the sofa and knelt down, hoping Laurène would look at him.
“Please, I beg you … Don’t cry …”
She moved a little but kept her face buried in her arms. She’d never forgotten the stormy moments they’d endured the year before, or her fear of Frédérique. She remembered the way Jules had looked at her rival back then. He’d cheated on her, causing her unbearable pain. She’d thought that pain had passed for good, but there it was again. Jules could very well be that baby’s father, and therefore she wouldn’t be the first woman to give him a child. The very idea was agony to her. She’d figured that since being married and, even more so, pregnant, she’d be sheltered. But now her world was crumbling, along with her illusions. She knew all about Jules’s insane love for his father, and to think that Aurélien might be that child’s father was even more horrific. No matter how she looked at the situation, she found no solace.
“You’re going to love him,” she began to say. “You’re going to love him … You already love him.”
Feeling powerless at the sight of his wife’s distress, Jules got back up. He contemplated her for a long moment, not knowing what to do next. When he finally took a step toward the door, she got up and began screaming.
“Don’t go! Not tonight! You run away from me every single night! Why? Because I’m just some insignificant thing to you? You perform your marital duties and then you disappear. I’m sick of it!”
“Laurène …”
“It’s true! I’m always alone and I’m scared! Your dog spends more time in bed with me than you do!”
Hair tousled, her makeup running down her face from the tears, she appeared on the verge of hysteria.
“And then I’ll be disfigured from that baby I wanted to give you, and while I recover, you’ll only be thinking of that other woman!”
She tripped on the edge of the carpet and fell to her knees. Instead of getting up, she crawled over to Jules on her hands and knees.
Remaining still, Jules was horrified by what he was seeing.
“I’m your wife!” she screamed.
He bent down, took Laurène in his arms, and easily lifted her off the floor. She was struggling to free herself, screaming like a madwoman and sobbing.
Louis-Marie, in his bathrobe, walked into the room and approached the bed on which Jules had just placed Laurène. She was still screaming, and the brothers looked at each other. Jules was pale as a ghost.
“Call Auber,” he said, holding his wife down on the bed.
He felt cold, detached. He thought that if something bad happened to Laurène or the child she was carrying, he was going to kill Alex with his own hands.
August was sweltering, and no rain came down. Jules kept a constant watch on the grapes. Botty, his tongue sticking out, followed him around everywhere, staying away from the bedroom. Dr. Auber had recommended calm and quiet, and Laurène used this as an excuse to come out of her room only at mealtimes. Jules never talked about his Fonteyne-related worries at the table, trying instead to make Laurène laugh. She gave him sad looks, forced herself to smile at his joking, asked Louis-Marie a few questions concerning the castle’s grounds but never with any conviction.
In spite of all the work she had to do, Fernande made a habit of spending extra time with Laurène when taking her breakfast tray upstairs. Every morning she found her looking sad and lifeless. She’d noticed that Jules often slept down in Aurélien’s bedroom but refrained from asking questions and simply made the bed, emptied the ashtray, and shut the window.
Laurène spent her afternoons sleeping, shutters closed to keep out the sun, in a ball in her bed, waiting and waiting for Jules to come see her. He hadn’t touched her since her nervous breakdown, and she figured he was mad at her for letting her anger explode the way it had. But each time she thought of Frédérique, that same fury erupted inside her.
She felt frustrated and abandoned, and suffered physically knowing that he was downstairs at night, convinced that he was retaliating for the things she’d told him that day. She missed Jules’s caresses, his scent, his reassuring presence. When she heard his footsteps on the gravel, she hid behind the shutters to watch him come and go with that energetic stride of his. And when she made out Bingo’s silhouette at the top of the hill, she waited for the sound of the horseshoes announcing Jules’s return. She wanted to call out to him but didn’t dare. She’d forced him to marry her by not taking the pill. Maybe he was mad at her for that? Maybe he saw her as an obstacle standing between him and that other child? Each time the phone rang, she worried. Maybe it was Robert or Pauline giving Jules news of Frédérique and her baby? Jules said that the two of them lived in Paris. His brothers had therefore taken part in lying to her, to keep everything secret.
She was consumed with bitterness and dwelled endlessly on her fears. She no longer went to Mazion but often called Dominique, who remained her only contact with the outside world.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Fernande asked as she walked into the bedroom.
She opened the drapes, put the breakfast tray down on Laurène’s knees, and scrutinized her.
“You still look a little pale,” she said. “You really ought to go outside a bit. It’s not so hot toward the end of the day.”
She poured some tea, adding a cube of sugar.
“The flowerbeds are gorgeous, you’ll see. Bernard waters them every morning at dawn.”
Laurène gave the old woman a smile. She trusted her.
“Is Jules out in the fields?” she asked in a small voice.
She always wanted to know what he was doing, where he was. Fernande felt so sad for Laurène.
“No,” she said. “He’s in Bordeaux. But he’ll be back by lunchtime. He gave me this for you.”
She pointed at a white rose on the tray. Laurène wondered if Jules had really taken the time to pick the flower for her. But Fernande never lied.
“That’s nice,” she said, caressing the rose.
“What would be nicer,” Fernande said, “would be for you not to spend all your time in bed. You have to walk. The doctor said so.”
“I’m not sick,” Laurène said.
“All the more reason to walk around a bit.”
Fernande lovingly tapped Laurène’s hand.
“And you’re going to have to talk to Jules, you know. …”
Laurène grimaced, and Fernande shook her head.
“Okay, then,” she said. “I have to go downstairs to start preparing lunch.”
Laurène suddenly straightened in her bed, almost toppling the tray.
“I’m sorry I’m not helping you in the house, Fernande,” she said.
Fernande narrowed her eyes and jumped at the occasion to speak her mind.
“I must tell you that I do miss you being downstairs wi
th me. … You know, running errands and all that. … I manage with the help of Lucas and Clothilde, and sometimes Mr. Louis-Marie. And we do have some things delivered here, as you know. Still, it’s not easy. …”
She’d picked up the tray and was heading for the door.
“Make a list,” Laurène said. “I’ll go to Bordeaux this afternoon.”
Fernande nodded, pleased with herself.
Jules stepped out of the judge’s office, delighted. At the beginning of the meeting, the judge asked him a few questions of formality, but then, reassured by the presence of Mr. Vernon, who was a member of his bridge club, he’d begun a real conversation. The three men had talked about this and that, common friends, the great memories that Aurélien had left behind him, the flawless reputation of wines produced at Fonteyne.
“I’m still not certain,” the judge had admitted, “what exactly Mrs. Samson’s argument rests on.”
He’d uttered the attorney’s name with a hint of reticence, before adding, “I hate those money-making cases.”
That’s what he called procedures that were fueled by one obvious thing: greed.
And he’d even concluded, “That woman gets on my nerves.”
He’d tried to hit on Valérie Samson a few years ago, and she’d turned him down. Since then, she’d been an enemy of his. Jules had realized that he was lucky, but made no disparaging comments about the attorney. He’d even forced himself to speak of Alexandre in measured terms, depicting him as a nice but weak fellow, a man as naïve as he was lazy. Going through the dossier absentmindedly, the judge had said that he saw absolutely no proof of any sort of mismanagement on Jules’s part. Mr. Varin had then emphasized the fact that Jules’s two other brothers, both extremely respectable men, whose motives could not be doubted, had total confidence in Jules.
The meeting had ended with cordial handshakes. Before leaving Jules in the halls of the courthouse, Mr. Vernon had expressed his optimism for the case but advised Jules not to undertake any important financial transactions so that the books remained as they were at that moment. That point was the only one that was cause for concern. The deal struck with Frédérique had included transferring funds. Jules decided not to get into any details with his lawyer about that, preferring to confer with Varin first.
On the courthouse steps, he ran into Valérie Samson, who stopped to say hello.
“I’m so happy to see you!” she said with a blinding smile. “I was looking for someone to have a drink with. This heat is unbearable and I hate drinking alone. Would you join me?”
Not waiting for an answer, she grabbed him by the hand and said, “I know of a wonderfully cool bistro nearby. You just saw the judge? What a boring, old geezer, don’t you think?”
She laughed and, with her free hand, pushed back her mane of red hair. They walked into a dark and fancy-looking bar before Jules had time to say a word. Once in a booth, she ordered some champagne.
“Of course,” she said, “it would be immoral for me to drink to your health.”
She burst into a very expressive laugh. She wore a blouse and a white skirt that highlighted her features. Susceptible to the charms of women, Jules wound up smiling in spite of himself.
“Here we are,” she said, “the first week of September, and the judicial vacations have all ended. Unlike them, I’ve never been the type to sit around doing nothing all day.”
There was something attractive and different about her that struck Jules. He loved strong personalities, and he’d been deprived of any since Aurélien’s death.
He raised his champagne glass, hesitated for a second, and then said, “Cheers.”
He had a couple of sips, though he didn’t much like champagne at this time of day.
“Very smart,” she said, “your idea of hiring Vernon. Very clever. He’s just as sinister as the judge. They’re like two peas in a pod. … Are you in a hurry?”
Jules, who’d glanced at his watched, apologized.
“You have to understand,” he added, “the harvest is only a month away.”
He said the words with his irresistible smile. Valérie Samson suddenly felt her heart tremble.
She leaned over the table and said, “Do you know why I accepted your brother’s case? So I could meet you.”
Taken aback, Jules frowned.
“I should come out and say it. I’ve been hearing about you for a long time.”
“Who talked to you about me?”
Jules’s sincere look of surprise made her laugh.
“Everybody! You’ve always been the favorite topic of conversation among a certain strata of people in these parts. You know that, don’t you? You’re part of an extremely prestigious family, and there’s your legendary father, his mistresses, your adoption, all that. … But more than anything else is that you’re a heartthrob according to a great number of ladies in the region. Many of them dream of you!”
Jules, not knowing what to say, simply shrugged.
“I have at least two girlfriends,” she said, “who go on and on about you. One of them wound up in bed with you once, and she still talks about it. …”
She was so direct he almost blushed. He didn’t ask for any names, but he held her gaze.
“And I must say,” she added, “that I can see why women react to you that way. Even a woman my age.”
She paused a second for effect.
“You see, I’m forty-three years old,” she said. “Would you have dinner with me?”
“No, I …”
“Yes.”
He took out a cigarette to mask his embarrassment. She waited until he took a puff, then she grabbed his cigarette and put it out in the ashtray.
“I don’t like the way Gitanes smell. You stank up my office with them the other day. You must be one of the last men in France smoking that stuff.”
She rummaged through her purse, took out her pack of smokes, and lit an ultralight cigarette, which she handed him. Jules saw through her scheme to throw him off balance, but he took the cigarette anyway.
“You’re such a model husband that you can’t come home at ten just one night?”
Jules got up.
“My wife is expecting and she’s not doing very well. …”
Valérie also got to her feet, slowly. She walked over to Jules, and he was immersed in her perfume. He turned aside to put money on the table. He barely felt the hand that was grazing the back of his neck, under his curls. He moved aside, respectfully.
“Why don’t you go first, Mr. Laverzac, since you’re in such a hurry?”
Her voice was hard.
He walked out of the bar without turning back.
Dominique struggled in silence, for fear of waking up the twins. Tonight, she was fiercely determined not to give in. Alexandre had already forgotten about the time before, and again he convinced himself she was playing a game by resisting him. Without violence, but with his entire weight, he pinned her to the bed.
“Let go of me!” she whispered.
He simply laughed. He was heavy and gave off of a smell of sweat, the result of the heat as much as all he’d had to drink. He lifted Dominique’s blouse and put a hand on her bra. She shivered, repulsed by this forced contact. She grabbed Alex’s hair and pulled it with all her might. She managed to make him topple over to one side, but he kept on grabbing her, hurting her breasts. She bit her lips to keep from moaning and began to cry.
“You vile pig,” she managed to utter.
She was able to straighten up but he pushed her back down on the bed and tried to spread her legs. He was breathing hard, and Dominique felt like she might vomit. Without thinking, she gave him a clumsy slap to the face. He reacted by punching her. The world dimmed as she felt herself go limp, fighting to cling to consciousness.
“I’m going to teach you not to fight back,” Alexandre growled.
He began pounding her with his fist, and it was only when he saw blood spilling from her burst lip that, suddenly horrified, he stopped hitting
.
“Dominique,” he whispered. “Dominique …”
She crawled out of bed and staggered to her feet. He didn’t try to stop her, aware of what he’d just done.
Jules woke with a start. He turned on Aurélien’s nightstand lamp. It was three in the morning. He pushed off the sheet and grabbed his pair of jeans, which he quickly put on. He ran down the hallway and wound up in the castle’s vast entrance hall. He unlocked the main door, opened it, and froze at the sight of Dominique. She collapsed in his arms before he had time to do anything. He held her, gesturing for the twins to come in. The light pouring down from the large chandelier crudely illuminated the young woman’s swollen, bloody face.
“Hey, kids,” Jules said to the children. “Looks like your mom’s not feeling too well. But it’s nothing we can’t take care of, okay? Things are going to be all right.”
He slipped one arm under Dominique’s knees, picked her up, and took her to the library, where he gently set her down on the sofa.
“Guys,” he said, “why don’t you get that bottle of cognac over there? And a glass.”
He talked to them in a strong, calm voice, having noticed how pale and silent they were. Holding Dominique’s head, he forced her to have a sip.
“Your mom fell down, huh?” he said. “She’s going to be all right, I promise. Why don’t you guys go upstairs and get your aunt Laurène? Just turn on all the lights as you go up.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the twins.
“Why don’t you wake up your uncle Louis-Marie, too, okay?”
The twins nodded without smiling. They looked traumatized.
“Go on!” Jules told them. “And turn on all the lights in this castle!”
As soon as they left the room, Dominique began to cry. Jules held her tight against him, slowly rocking her. He was devastated at the sight of her swollen, bruised face.
“You’re safe here,” he whispered to her. “You’re home and we’re going to take care of you.”
“The boys …” she muttered. “I couldn’t leave them there. …”
“Of course. We’re going to spoil them. They’re going to be fine. …”
He took a deep breath before asking, “Alex did this to you?”
A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel Page 48
