A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel

by Françoise Bourdin

  “I’ll check on her again in fifteen minutes,” she promised, before heading for the kitchen.

  Jules put the countless presents that Laurène had bought under the tree. Then he took a step back and smiled at the sight of it all. How many times had he wished for such-and-such a toy in that same room on Christmas morning? Now, it was up to him to guess what his nephews and niece would like. And, soon, his daughter.

  After Aurélien’s death, Robert had said, speaking of Fonteyne, “Preserve all this.” Jules had accepted the challenge, of course, but now Robert had kept himself away from Fonteyne. And Jules missed his favorite brother.

  I wish you were here with us tonight, Bob. …

  He sighed but immediately reminded himself that he had a lot to be thankful for. Louis-Marie and Alex were at Fonteyne. Little Lucie-Malvoisie was sleeping like an angel in his bedroom. He’d done everything in his power to ensure a bright future for his family.

  He uttered a couple of sentences as though he were speaking with someone, then opened the living room’s double doors and called the children in.

  It was mild and rainy on December 26. Robert barely slowed down as he took the turn. Without meaning to, he’d beaten his own speed record for the road, driving nervously, even grinding the gears a couple of times—something he never did. He tried, in vain, to chase from his mind the dramatic image of the battered body.

  Bordeaux was now only some thirty miles away, and he’d reach Fonteyne before dawn. Jules would then be in the fields, by himself. Robert had calculated the time of his departure to match Jules’s daily habits. He had to slow down a bit as the rain intensified.

  He’d enjoyed an incredible Christmas. He’d given Pauline a watch he’d lovingly picked at a high-end jewelry store in Paris. They’d been happy having breakfast in the sun together, facing the snowy ski slopes. Everything had gone according to plan until his faithful secretary called. Before picking up, he knew that something bad had happened, as his secretary never would’ve disturbed him for nothing. He listened to her, horrified.

  A business card with Robert’s number was found at the bottom of Frédérique’s handbag. He was designated as the person to call in case of an emergency. The police officer had called the hospital, and Robert was asked to come back as soon as possible to identify Frédérique’s body at the morgue, in that awful suburban hospital where it had been sent.

  Pauline and Robert took the first plane back to Paris. He’d had no choice but to tell her everything: the baby, the job at the hospital, the apartment, the money. Pauline was furious when learning that this family secret had been kept from her, but Robert didn’t even try to calm her down.

  He was thinking of the baby. That’s all he could think about, Frédérique’s baby, who was safe and sound. Fastened in his baby seat in the back of the car, he’d come out of the accident unscathed, and was now being kept under observation in the pediatric ward of the same hospital where his mother’s body waited.

  Robert had been able to identify Frédérique, in spite of her mutilated body. Then he’d gone to the fifth floor to see Julien. He’d made use of his name and reputation to make sure that the baby was very carefully looked after and coddled. He’d stepped out of the hospital exhausted, but still had to go to the police station for a statement. There he learned about the pile-up on the beltway, the many victims. Seemingly, a truck driver was responsible for the disaster.

  Robert had wound up in his car, in the middle of a suburb he’d never been to before, and he’d cried like a child, his forehead on the steering wheel. He and his brothers had done all they could to protect that child who shared their blood, who was one of them. Who was now an orphan. Unknown father, deceased mother, and his only other family member a drunken and delinquent uncle.

  He hadn’t been able to bring himself to start his car and head back to his apartment, where he’d have to deal with Pauline. The tragedy concerned the Laverzacs and nobody else. And so he’d have to talk to Jules. He stepped out of his car, paced the deserted streets, then ate an awful sandwich and drank three cups of coffee in some pub. It was only at closing time that he decided to hit the road to Margaux. He had to pull over twice on the highway to walk a little, drink some more coffee, try to get his head straight.

  When he reached the small town of Cantenac, he forced himself to slow down. By now Jules must already be in the fields, he thought, either on foot or riding his horse. He rolled down his window in spite of the rain, to look at his surroundings, lit up by the morning’s first rays. He lucked out and spotted the silhouettes of Jules and Bingo at the top of a hill, and he tapped his horn.

  They met up three hundred yards from Fonteyne’s main gates. In his headlights, Robert saw the nervous horse. He stopped, turned off the car’s engine, and watched his brother dismount Bingo.

  Jules was wearing a baseball cap, and the collar of his jacket was up. Holding his horse with one hand, he came over to the car and looked Robert straight in the eye.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, first thing.

  Robert stepped out of his car. The rain was coming down in sheets, and Bingo was stomping the ground, unable to remain still.

  “Is it Pauline?” Jules asked in a coarse voice.

  Robert’s presence, his expression, his silence, it all seemed to spell catastrophe.

  “It’s Frédérique,” Robert finally said. “She’s dead.”

  Bingo took a step back, and Jules almost let him go.

  “What about the baby?”

  “He’s fine.”

  Jules seemed to try to catch his breath for a second.

  “Meet me at the stable,” he said, putting a foot in the stirrup.

  Bingo darted off in Fonteyne’s direction. Robert got back behind the wheel and slowly drove to the stable. The light in Bernard’s room, on the upper floor, was lit. Robert parked the car and went to the stall where Jules was settling Bingo. The stable was filled with the smell of leather that Robert usually enjoyed so much. Jules was pale and completely distraught, just as Robert thought he would be. They sat together on the wooden bench against the wall.

  “I had to come over,” Robert said. “I really don’t want to see Louis-Marie, but still, I just couldn’t stay in Paris. I don’t know what we’re going to do, Jules. …”

  Head low, his eyes fixed on his boots, Jules remained silent for a while.

  “When you left Paris,” he finally said, “you knew that answer.”

  “You can’t do that. No, not that.”

  “There’s nothing else I can do, Bob. Nothing.”

  He paused for a moment and then said, “Oh, Laurène …”

  He got up and violently punched a saddle hanging on the wall.

  “Her brother’s never going to allow it,” Robert said.

  “Then I’ll have him thrown in jail! I have all the proof I need for that. Imagine that piece of crap raising a child. My son? Aurélien’s? No way!”

  “Even if he does agree, it’s not going to be easy.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  There was a quiet knock on the door, and Bernard entered the stable. Without a word he handed Jules a thermos, nodded at Robert, and then left. Jules poured Robert a cup of coffee.

  “Are you staying?” he asked.

  “No. Unless you need me to.”

  “Where’s Pauline?”

  “My place.”

  Jules had a few sips of coffee himself. Bernard often brought him a thermos in the morning as he came in from a horse ride. Usually he would also pamper Bingo. But not today. Robert’s unexpected arrival had disrupted the routine.

  “There’s no other solution,” Jules decided. “I’m going to wake up Alex. He must know where we can find that Marc. I want things settled very quickly. Until then, don’t leave Julien alone. … I’ll come to Paris as soon as I can. …”

  Jules had a pleading look on his face. Robert acquiesced in silence. They were both overcome beyond words. The only difference was that Robert had ne
ver been Frédérique’s lover, and so he couldn’t be Julien’s father.

  “I have no choice,” Jules finally said.

  He came over to Robert and rested his forehead on his brother’s shoulder.

  “Why all this?” he whispered.

  He was so rarely distressed that Robert pulled his brother against him for a moment. But he knew that Jules was going to face the music, as he always did. He just needed to gather himself and find the courage for what awaited him. Jules took a step back and nodded. It was daylight now, but the rain was still coming down, hard. Before stepping out of the stable, Robert took a look around him, wondering if he’d ever see this place again.

  Pauline went back to her apartment, after leaving Robert an angry note on his kitchen table. She was all the more upset because she’d really enjoyed their escapade in the Alps. For two days she’d managed to forget about her worries, feeling comfortable, almost happy. But it turned out that Robert had lied, had kept things hidden from her. He went on and on about being madly in love with her, and yet he’d acted just the same as all the others, treating her like an outsider. Did he, like the others, think she was some air-headed woman, gossipy and untrustworthy? She’d accepted that role with Louis-Marie, but she wouldn’t do it for Robert.

  Is he such a slave to the Laverzacs that family secrets are more important than anything else? she wondered.

  In order to console herself, she decided to forget about Fonteyne and all its drama. Since she’d been excluded, she was simply going to detach herself from that world.

  She wandered from one room to the other, indecisive and feeling awful. Louis-Marie was supposed to come to Paris to meet his publisher’s publicity people. He’d said he wanted to come over to the apartment to retrieve some personal belongings. Pauline had planned to be elsewhere when he arrived, but she suddenly changed her mind. There was no reason for her to abide by Robert’s desires. Robert, who at this very moment was no doubt at Fonteyne, crying over Frédérique’s death with Jules, even though they’d both fervently wished she’d disappear when she was Aurélien’s lover.

  Pauline thought that the entire story with the child was horrible. She tried to imagine the apartment the Laverzacs had given her as compensation.

  They’re nothing but filthy rich bourgeois pigs to think they can buy everybody! They’re despicable, the four of them!

  How come Louis-Marie hadn’t told her anything about this? For fear she’d tell that dimwit Laurène?

  That poor girl, she has no clue what’s going to hit her. … Jules is capable of anything. …

  She sat at her dressing table, absentmindedly scanning the multitude of small bottles. She’d always refused to fully integrate into Louis-Marie’s family. She liked the Laverzacs, thought they were a hoot, but above all she felt like a Parisian. And she’d convinced herself that, over the years, Louis-Marie had forgotten about his roots. But now he was over at Fonteyne, apparently determined to settle there. Why? How could he stand the quiet life of a wine producer after having adored his jet-setter’s life as a journalist?

  Maybe he hadn’t “adored” that life after all. …

  Perplexed, Pauline examined a picture of her husband, taken during a party in a three-star restaurant. Louis-Marie was smiling but looked distant. Had he stayed in Paris so long just because of her?

  We’ve never actually talked about serious matters. …

  She sighed. Robert was going to come back home, call her, demand that she come over. She leaned toward the mirror and studied herself closely. If she really wanted to, she could win Louis-Marie over once again. All she’d have to do is wait, put some champagne in the fridge. After all, they did need to talk. As for Robert, he could wait. It was his turn to do so. Slowly, she unplugged the telephone.

  Jules and Alex drove Louis-Marie to the airport. He said he was going to come back that very same night. He’d changed his plans about going to the apartment—he’d take care of that some other time.

  Earlier, Jules had told his brothers about Frédérique’s death during their daily morning meeting in the office. Then, he’d explained to Alex the exact means that had been taken to support Frédérique and her son. And so he’d learned how his three brothers had ensured the little boy’s life as best they could without consulting him. He made no comment, remembering the state of mind he’d been in back then. In the same breath, Jules had gone on to reveal his intentions. Louis-Marie and Alex had listened without a word. Even though the solution was frightening, it was logical. Now, nothing could distract Jules from his objective.

  First thing was to find Marc. Alex and Jules went from bar to bar in Bordeaux, looking for him. After two hours, they finally spotted him playing pinball at the back of a shabby bistro. Disgusted and feeling extremely uncomfortable, Alex let Jules do the talking. He could see himself getting hammered in places just like this not very long ago, hanging out with other drunks. Maybe he’d still be doing that, wobbling in front of the bar, if Jules hadn’t sent him to the hospital. Maybe that’s why he had no hard feelings toward his brother and had chosen to make peace with him. And so he remained in the background, preferring not to speak to his old drinking buddy, his accomplice during that horrible night in Fonteyne’s fields.

  It was only two in the afternoon, so Marc wasn’t drunk yet. He listened to Jules’s account of his sister’s death with reticence but no obvious sadness. He’d decided to forget about Frédérique and had never given her child much thought. Jules had a bit of a hard time making Marc leave his pinball machine to follow them outside. Marc shot curious and nervous glances at Alex. He couldn’t figure out what exactly was going on. He’d met Jules only twice in his life, and twice there had been hell to pay. But Jules didn’t give Marc time to think as he made him climb into his car. They wound up in Varin’s office less than thirty minutes later.

  The notary welcomed them right away, showing no sign of his surprise. But he did make clear his sadness when Jules told him about Frédérique’s death. Of course, the young woman’s apartment went to Julien.

  Varin knew Marc. He’d lost sight of him for a while, but Frédérique had often talked about him. One quick look at the man was enough to conclude that he was in no way capable of taking care of a baby. Varin immediately guessed Jules’s intentions, and so he wasted no time playing his role of notary. He began explaining to Marc that he was going to be the de facto legal guardian of his nephew and, therefore, responsible for him. He then listed to all the responsibilities that were going to be his from now on. He left out no boring details and went over all the possible scenarios. At the end of his long speech, he gave Jules and Alex quick glances.

  “That’s unless your nephew is adopted by a good family and you abandon your status as legal guardian,” Varin quietly added.

  At that moment, Marc realized where they were coming from. He felt completely floored by the situation.

  “You want the kid?” he asked Jules, incredulous.

  “Yes,” Jules responded right away. “He’s going to be part of the family and, unlike you, I have the means to raise him.”

  Marc thought about that sentence for a few minutes. Jules lit a Gitane. Mr. Varin was scribbling on a piece of paper, and Alex kept his eyes on Marc.

  “We can do that?” Marc finally asked Varin.

  “If you want to, yes,” Varin replied. “It certainly is possible.”

  “And what’s in it for me?”

  The question had been so direct, so crude, that Jules straightened in his chair, holding back his anger.

  “I never filed a complaint about my vines,” he said, dryly. “But I still could.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Marc said. “What about him?”

  He was pointing at Alex, looking feisty.

  “My brother?” Jules asked, managing to remain calm. “He’s the one who caught you. Then you jumped him. He’s also going to file a complaint, for assault and battery. We have two witnesses: my cellar master and Dr. Auber. Both very distinguished a
nd trustworthy citizens.”

  Varin had stopped scribbling and was pretending to go over a dossier.

  Marc turned to him and screamed, “And you’re in cahoots with these two bastards?”

  Impassive, Varin pretended he’d heard nothing, and he let Jules deal with the situation.

  “Listen,” Jules told Marc.

  The young man looked at him. There were equal parts mistrust and hate in his expression.

  “You have no use for that child,” Jules said, “and I want him. There’s a price for everything. Tell me what yours is.”

  Confused, Marc was trying to understand what Jules was saying.

  “I’m asking you for a figure,” Jules said. “It’s simple enough. We’re not here by accident. I never thought you’d take my word for it. I can take that baby out of your hands and ensure your future at the same time. The only condition is that you have to decide right here, right now.”

  Not knowing what to do, Marc turned to Varin, looking for help. The notary figured it was time for him to do his thing. He put down his dossier and smiled at everyone in the room.

  “Well,” he began, enthusiastically, “let’s come up with a base for discussion. … I’m sure you’re going to find common ground. … At your age, Marc, you don’t need a tiny baby in your life. From what I know you’ve been in, how should I say this … in a bad way? If you had some capital at your disposal, you could get back on your feet, couldn’t you?”

  Varin was speaking calmly, presenting the transaction as though it were the most natural thing in the world. But he’d heard so many hair-raising discussions between these four padded walls that nothing surprised him anymore. Thirty years earlier, for example, Aurélien Laverzac had come to talk to him about the adoption of a child, in circumstances just as strange as these. He looked at Marc above his small glasses. The only difficulty resided in the amount that no one wanted to utter. The proposal had to be attractive, without putting Jules and his brothers in a financial bind. Varin gave Alex a look of satisfaction. At least that problem had been solved. In times of crisis, the Laverzacs banded together. That was what great families did, tradition. And Varin loved traditions, since he profited from them nicely. With his index finger, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Then he proposed a figure.