Burgundy

by Janet Hubbard

  “But her rage was over Jean-Claude’s rejection of her, don’t you agree?”

  Max nodded. “And rage at men. We know Alain was verbally abusive, and her only son was a drug addict, and his attachment to Lucy felt like betrayal. She probably blamed Lucy for Roland spontaneously pushing Yves off the balcony, though my hunch is it was seeing the photographs of his mother and Jean-Claude that incited him to violence.”

  “I think it is all a blur to him, considering the drugs he was on.”

  Max put her head in Olivier’s lap. He told her about the afternoon with Lucy, and she laughed. “I’m not going to lunch with Hugo’s family. We have a wedding in four days. Walt O’Shaughnessy and Carlos will be here in two days.”

  “And Lucy is still to be a bridesmaid?”

  “If she agrees to wear a dress. Otherwise, I’ll never hear the end of it from Anne and my grandmother.”

  “She said you two were working things out when I asked her if you were okay with her going to live with Hank and Juliette.”

  “’Working it out.’ That takes the prize. I’m glad she found Hugo. She has a dad now.” Max yawned. “She would either be dead or in a mental institution again if we hadn’t intervened.”

  “I was wishing her back in a mental hospital earlier today.”

  “They sat a long time, staring into the fire. The image of Yvette holding the gun to her heart and shooting was still painfully vivid, but Max knew that it would fade, as so many other terrible scenes she had witnessed had. It made her feel jaded, yet she preferred this to the crushing blows every death had delivered when she had been new on the police force. Tomorrow she and Hank would talk it through.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Hank was looking up directions to the train station in Beaune when they went down in the morning. Isabelle had found a local B&B for the newly arriving Americans, and arranged lodging for Max’s friend, Chloe, from Champagne, and her new fiancé, Ted Clay. The suicide of last night wasn’t mentioned, nor was the case. Classic French behavior, Olivier thought, what Anne referred to as discretion. Olivier took his coffee outside and sat on the terrace, looking out onto vast fields of vineyards, where delicate shoots of green jutted from the old stalks, and surrounding hilltops had turned yellow overnight from the flowers of the rapeseed. Further proof of spring was the pile of asparagus he had seen in the kitchen.

  He went in an hour later and announced he was off to release Alain. He leaned down and kissed Max, and they agreed to meet up later. Anne and Lucy were drinking coffee, and Anne said she and Lucy would see him at one at Hugo’s.

  “If I go,” Lucy said.

  Olivier asked her why she would consider not going.

  “Why put myself in such a negative situation? The way his son looked at me made me shudder.”

  “People have a funny way of turning things around, though. They must first overcome judging their father for cheating on their mother, of course. And they might be worrying about you cutting into their inheritance. By law, every child inherits equally in France.”

  “Oh, you mean they’ll think I’m a gold digger, in other words.”

  “Hugo’s children will either accept you or not. The best you can hope for is the chance to find out. And the same goes for their father. Don’t forget, the children have to explain to their children, some of them probably your age.” He hesitated, “You went to Hugo and declared yourself, and he praised you for your courage. It isn’t fair to run now.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  On the drive to Lyon Olivier thought about how differently, one from another, children were raised, depending on lottery of birth, and the persona of their parents. Obviously, Lucy’s mother lived in her imagination, and taught Lucy to do the same. His mother had been the opposite, leaving little room to explore the imagination as he migrated through the French education system. He had taken up oil painting after he became a magistrate, and couldn’t have been more surprised to discover that dreams could be painted. His thoughts reverting back to Lucy, he admired her resilience as much as anything else. He thought her magical manner of thinking had protected her in some way; on the other hand, she was as tough as any street kid he’d ever seen. Her going to her father and demanding acceptance was a life or death move for her.

  Entering the city of Lyon, he wondered what he would say to Alain who sat in a cell, depressed, waiting for either sentencing or release. Olivier thought he wouldn’t object either way. He decided to visit Roland first, for surely Alain would want to know how his son was doing. Roland was in a central room watching television. “Roland?”

  The boy glanced up, then his eyes went back to the screen.

  “I need a few moments of your time.”

  Roland got up and shuffled begrudgingly into a small visiting room that Olivier led him to. “Unfortunately, you may have already seen it on television. I’m sorry to tell you, that your mother died last night.”

  “I know.” He looked up. “Why are you sorry?”

  “Her death is a tragedy.” He wanted to yell, She killed Tim trying to protect you, you bastard!

  “If you say so.”

  Olivier cleared his throat. “I’m going next to see your father. You can visit him if you want before you are taken to rehab.”

  “I don’t want to see him.”

  The interview was turning out to be as awful as Olivier had worried it might be. “May I ask why?”

  “He drove my mother crazy. Not speaking to her for weeks at a time. Calling her a slut all the time. That’s all I care to say.”

  “Very well. May I ask why you pushed Yves?”

  Just when Olivier thought he wasn’t going to answer, he said, “I don’t remember much. He was on the balcony waving and calling to his guests, and he turned and saw me and said, ‘It’s the son of the whore,’ and I pushed.

  “Do you know why she shot Lucy?”

  He shrugged. “She thought she betrayed me when she started going out with Tim. She said she was making a fool of me.”

  “You had told your mother you were in love with Lucy?”

  He nodded.

  ***

  “Alain,” he said, once Alain was led out, “I come with sad news.”

  “Yvette?” he asked, his eyes wide.

  “I’m sorry. She committed suicide last night.”

  “Mon Dieu,” he whispered. “Does Roland know?”

  “Yes. We know that Roland pushed Yves off the balcony. I doubt that he remembers doing it.”

  “I figured he was back on hard drugs. Not a big loss, Yves, but someone has to pay, right?”

  “Yvette chased Lucy and Roland, and shot Lucy. You knew that, didn’t you?”

  “What was I going to do, turn in my own wife? I saw her stop and aim her rifle at me. She either changed her mind, or Lucy got in the way.”

  “Were you with Yvette when she killed Tim?”

  “Non.”

  “You will need to have concrete alibis, someone to vouch for you.”

  “That won’t be easy.”

  “What the courts can’t prove, as you know, is the degree of bullying that went on in your household.”

  “Oh, stop patronizing me, Olivier. You’re getting married in a few days. I haven’t forgotten. Wait until your wife becomes obsessed with another man. It’s a new world these days. Women go after what they want.”

  “I won’t see you again,” Olivier said. “I’m off to a new assignment. I wish you well, Alain, for whatever that’s worth.”

  “I want to see my son.”

  “These are painful words to utter, but he refuses to see you. Au revoir, Alain.” Olivier turned away from his old friend.

  ***

  The days leading up to the wedding were all that Olivier had imagined they would be. He was deeply saddened by the recent fatalities, but he realized
that he wasn’t as full of self-blame this time as he had been in the past, nor did he lie in bed wishing that the fates of all those involved had been different, as he used to do. Evil existed, he could accept that now, and sometimes people became troubled enough to do great harm to others. Nothing, he realized, on the day before his wedding, could erase the joy he was feeling over his imminent marriage.

  The lunch at Hugo’s was painful to sit through because of the tension, but Olivier wasn’t sorry he was there as advocate for Lucy. She had held her own pretty well with her siblings, and by the end they all seemed more tolerant of the situation. Vanessa offered to help get her enrolled in a wine school when she returned. Lucy said she would like that, but mostly she wanted to follow in Anne’s footsteps, learning through hands-on experience. It helped to have Anne by her side at the luncheon. Olivier had a moment of wondering if she and Hugo weren’t a little cozier than one would expect, but then attributed it to his own state of being in love. Max used the word projection. He continued to look around at the mélange of faces, gathered together by chance. Lucy was…well, Lucy. She wore skinny jeans and a jean jacket, and Olivier was reminded of Max when he first met her. Her uniform had been denim and cowboy boots, and it took him a while to see that she was dressing like her father.

  The lunch ended at last. Hugo said that he needed to rest, but he first walked them out to the car. Anne said to him, “You’re coming to the wedding, aren’t you?”

  “I would be pleased to come, of course, but I wonder if Maxine wasn’t just being polite when she invited me.” Olivier assured him that she was sincere.

  Anne and Lucy stopped at the shop for Lucy’s wedding attire, and insisted that Olivier come in with them. “I tried to talk her out of red,” the saleswoman said, “but she was determined.” They went back to Isabelle’s, and Max was there in the yard with Carlos and Walt. Olivier shook hands vigorously with each of them, and they were introduced to Lucy.

  “Lucy, do you mind if I drive your Vespa around to see the sights?” Carlos asked, lighting a cigarette.

  “You have to take me. It doesn’t like strangers.”

  “You can hang on with one arm?” It was obvious. He was instantly charmed.

  They watched him enter the garage and return with the Vespa. Lucy went inside to fetch two helmets, and they climbed onto the Vespa. With a wave they were gone.

  “That’s a dangerous combo,” Max said.

  “With Walt and me here, he’ll think twice before he messes up,” Hank said.

  “I’m more worried about her.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Max joined Hank, who was sipping his morning coffee while observing the staff putting bottles of champagne in great containers for chilling and arranging trays of oysters on the half shell lined up. “Come with me for a walk?” She glanced around. “You would think this was a wedding for two hundred the way my grandmother is behaving.”

  “I love seeing them so excited,” he said. “Isabelle is about the biggest pain-in-the-ass I’ve ever known, but I have to admit I admire her. And how is the bride they’re making all this fuss over?

  “I adore Olivier,” Max said. “My worry is that I won’t be mysterious enough. I’m the kind of woman who wears her heart on her sleeve. I hate to admit it.”

  “Women are mysterious, whether they intend to be or not.” He put his arm around her shoulder. “Just be you.” They walked along a path leading to the vineyards and, hearing Juliette hallooing in the distance, stopped to wait. She caught up with them and said, a little breathlessly, “I saw you walking off together, and I left my atelier right where I was making my special foie gras with fresh figs. It can wait.”

  Hank took her hand. “Our last time as a family. A pretty small family, if you ask me. We now have a son-in-law, which helps to round things out, and perhaps there will be some little rug rats coming along soon.”

  “Dad!”

  “I don’t know this expression, rug rats,” Juliette said. “Explain.”

  Hank laughed. “Babies.”

  “I don’t think I like babies and rats in the same sentence.”

  Max and Hank shared a chuckle. Max asked Juliette what she thought of the idea of Lucy coming to live with them while getting her high school diploma?

  “I think it will be good for us. She will be a challenge, but if Hank can keep her focused she’ll be fine. Anne told me not to be shocked when I see her outfit today. Did you see it?”

  “All I know is that it’s red.”

  “Rouge?”

  “That’s the challenge part of her.”

  They looked across the rows of vineyards and saw Carlos madly pedaling a bicycle, with Lucy sitting crossways on the bar in front. Hank flailed his hand back and forth, but they never noticed. “If she falls off that bike, that’s the end of her arm healing,” he said. Juliette and Max exchanged smiles, and walked arm in arm back to the house.

  Olivier ran up. “You’re not dressed, Maxine?”

  “On my way,” she said. She heard her name being called and turned to see her old friend Chloe rushing toward her. They melted together in an embrace, and when Max finally pulled away, Ted pulled her to him. They had only seen each other once since the Marceau wedding in Champagne, when they had all been devastated by the murders of Chloe’s aunt, and then her uncle. Chloe had told Max when she and Ted flew into New York on the way to visit his family that they had been living together for two years. The couple turned to Olivier and exchanged embraces.

  The civil ceremony was short and sweet, and her tribe of wedding attendees were all there. Bottles of Joséphine champagne were brought out, the signature label of the Joseph Perrier house, the very same that was served at Chloe’s wedding, and Max’s favorite. Max raised her glass as her father toasted her, and drank. Isabelle served a luncheon of poached salmon and salad. Anne’s premier cru wine was perfectly chilled.

  Afterward, everyone went to rest. Max fell into a deep sleep, and dreamt of flying over fabulous landscapes in a hot air balloon. She awoke feeling like her old self, and smiled when her mother opened her door and entered, holding up Caroline’s wedding gown. It had been custom-made years before for Anne, and hand sewn. Juliette hung it on the door. The fabric was organza, and the train wrapped around the waist and opened in the front over the long, full skirt. Juliette pointed out the embroidered silk daisies, each petal cut from a piece of fine silk, then sewn onto the plastron.

  “It’s a bit much for such a small wedding,” Max said.

  “A dress of this magnitude carries with it a certain energy,” Juliette explained. “The work is so painstaking that the seamstresses enter into a state of bliss, I believe, and this is conveyed to the wearer.”

  “In that case I might never take it off.”

  Juliette stood on a little stool in order to lift the dress high enough to go over Max’s head.

  Anne’s house had been transformed into a garden of yellow roses and jasmine. The mantle of the great fireplace was breathtaking, with flowers cascading off it. A long, elaborately decorated table was set, the silver sparkling under the chandelier. “Oh, Anne,” Max said. “I couldn’t have imagined anything so beautiful.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing.” She looked up at Max. “I feel that I have this one more opportunity to fulfill my daughter’s wishes. The dress is perfect on you. I know that Caroline is smiling down on us right now.” She rushed off when someone called to tell her the local priest had arrived. Max stood alone and inhaled deeply. Hank entered the room, and jumped back. “You look ravishing, Detective Maguire,” he said. “More like your mother every day.”

  Lucy came in with Carlos, and Max and Hank exchanged glances of hilarity, but knew they had to keep it under control. Carlos was wearing a suit and a red bowtie, and Lucy was decked out in a dress that they wouldn’t have thought she’d ever wear in a million years. Cherry red. The skirt was
short and poofy, with a tight-fitting top and short, flouncy sleeves. She had replaced her white sling with a red scarf. Once she was in New York, Hank and Juliette were taking her to a doctor they knew who supposedly performed miracles with injuries of this nature.

  Max smiled at her. There she was, the girl on the red Vespa. “Look at the two of you,” Max said. “My team.” Carlos leaned up and kissed her.

  Lucy stood spellbound in front of Max. “You’re an absolute princess.”

  Max laughed. “Don’t tell Hank. He doesn’t allow that kind of talk.”

  Max stood in the doorway as the music of Mendelssohn swelled. “What a sound system,” Carlos whispered. “What a castle. The Bronx, it ain’t.”

  “Ready?” Hank asked. Max took his arm and they walked out to their awaiting family and friends. Across the parquet floor they went, until they reached Olivier, whose gaze didn’t waver as Hank stepped back, and Max took her beloved’s hand. They exchanged vows in French, then in English. The wine started to flow as soon as the ceremony ended and the couple had exchanged a long kiss that brought applause. Waiters brought in trays, and Isabelle’s and Juliette’s delicacies were displayed on large tables. The foie gras with fresh figs was accompanied by a Sauternes. Max looked around, realizing that the people she loved most in the world were all gathered right here.

  Olivier came up to her, she kissed him, laying a hand on his chest, and turned back to Ted, who was telling her of a new wine he had discovered. In an hour they moved into the dining room, where tall, white candles placed in silver candlesticks were lit. A row of yellow roses in short vases occupied the center of the table that was covered with a white damask tablecloth. Olivier whispered to her as they took their seats, “This wine is going to be a thrill. It’s Gevrey Chambertain 1er cru Les Chapeaux 2003.”

  “I remember you discussing it with the woman in Beaune,” Max said with a smile. The main course was canard sauvage, or wild duck, surrounded by morel mushrooms. A dish of braised spinach and another of new, spring potatoes was placed in front of them.