At the Chateau for Christmas

by Rebecca Winters

  “He’s as fascinated by this place as I am. Come over here, Nic, so Laura can see what you look like.”

  A lean fourteen-year-old Nic, with longer hair, already getting tall, made a face for the camera. He appeared in a turtleneck and jeans, showing the promise of the breathtaking man he’d become one day. Laura jumped to her feet.

  “Nic—that’s you! Pause it for a minute! This is unreal. Do you remember that day?”

  He chuckled and leaned forward. “Vaguely. Was I really that pathetic?”

  “This movie is priceless. Press the remote again.”

  Pretty soon Irene took a picture of Maurice looking sporty in a windbreaker. His hair was still black and quite full, with only a few streaks of silver. Then Nic placed the video camera on a nearby ledge while he took a picture of the two of them. Maurice kissed Irene, hamming it up for the camera. They acted like teenagers. Laura heard Nic say, “Oh, là là, Gran’père—”

  At this point both Laura and Nic collapsed with laughter. Laura had never enjoyed anything so much in her life. The teenage Nic larked around as they toured the battlements and fortifications. When the video came to an end, Laura made him play it again. She couldn’t get enough. After the second run-through, he turned it off.

  She darted him a glance. “Our grandparents left us both something precious, Nic. Now I know how Superman felt when he saw his father for the first time.”

  Nic’s half smile made her legs shake.

  “If Maurice didn’t make another set of these for himself, then I’ll have them made for you. The first time I saw you with Maurice, I could tell there was an affinity between you. Now I know why. Did your parents make movies with you and your siblings?” She wanted to know anything and everything about him.

  “A few. My father doesn’t like to bother with a camera. Maurice calls him what would be the equivalent of ‘sobersided’ in English.”

  “My mom was more like that, too.”

  Much as Laura wanted to stay up all night with him and talk, she didn’t dare. He had a wife who could be alive somewhere. What do you think you’re doing, Laura? Her guilt was killing her. The more time she spent alone with Nic, the worse it was getting. She didn’t even want to think about saying goodbye when the time came.

  After thanking him for letting her see the video, she put the afghan over her arm and walked through the den into the living room. Nic was close behind her, making her go weak in the knees.

  Laura picked up her purse from one of the chairs. When she reached the hallway, she turned to him. “Good night, Nic. Thank you for the most wonderful day of my life. I have to believe a day is going to come in your life when you feel the same way.”

  * * *

  Nic watched her disappear. For a while tonight he’d known a happiness he hadn’t thought he’d feel again. He’d found himself concentrating on Irene. Being able to see Laura in her, the way they both laughed and got excited over everything, tripled his enjoyment.

  It had been so marvelous sharing the video with her, he hadn’t wanted it to end. Laura’s arrival in Nice had brought Christmas back into his life.

  But following those feelings came this excruciating attack of guilt. Nic buried his face in his hands. “Dorine, darling.” He broke down sobbing. “I haven’t given up on finding you. I haven’t. Forgive me. Where are you? Please, God. Help me.”

  When he’d recovered, he texted the detective on his wife’s case. Once he’d made the request prompted by Laura, he went back to his den to watch TV.

  When he was next aware of his surroundings, it was morning. For the first time in ages he’d fallen asleep before going to his bedroom. To his surprise Laura’s afghan had been thrown over him. That’s why he’d felt warm—she had to have come in here again.

  “Bonjour,” Laura said in better French than before. He sat up to see her walk in the den carrying a tray with brioches, juice and coffee. She wore a navy T-shirt and jeans and was charmingly barefoot. “Stay where you are. It’s Christmas morning and you deserve to be waited on.”

  She put the tray on the coffee table and handed him a mug of coffee. His attention was drawn to her fragrance and the blond hair she’d left long. It hung over one shoulder. “Arlette told me this is the way you like it—lots of sugar and cream. Joyeux Noël! Your housekeeper has been helping me with the pronunciation.”

  Ping went the guilt again for enjoying this moment with her. He was close to speechless.

  “That sounded perfect. But you shouldn’t be waiting on me when you’re the guest.”

  “I think we’ve graduated beyond that point. I told Arlette we’re family. After watching that film, I’d say you and I are the long lost grandcousins of Atlantis or some mysterious forbidden continent like that, united at last.”

  She grabbed herself a mug. “Here I thought I’d sneak another look at the movie for my Christmas-morning treat. But lo and behold, I discovered Santa had arrived ahead of me, totally exhausted after his trip around the world spreading joy.” Her laughing blue eyes traveled over him, warming him in new places.

  He burst into laughter that resounded in the room. “If I snore, I don’t want to know.”

  Her chuckle filtered to his insides. “I would never tell. But I must say you don’t look a thing like Père Noël.”

  Nic rubbed his jaw, feeling the growth of his beard. “I don’t remember the last time I slept in my clothes.”

  “That’s good for you. I knew Santa had to be wearing something else beneath his red suit. It means you were rid of tension for a change. You’ve managed to make me and your grandfather so happy, it’s time someone did something for you. No one deserves happiness more than you,” she murmured with an ache in her voice she couldn’t disguise.

  Everything Laura said and did was getting to him. What in the hell was he going to do about it? She handed him one of Arlette’s Christmas rolls on a napkin. Then she took one for herself and sat down on the other end of the couch.

  “When we left the summerhouse last night, I grabbed one of the letters from the floor that had been addressed to me specifically.” She pulled it out of her pocket, and his eyes were drawn to the feminine curve of her hips. “Do you realize all these were handwritten? She had the kind of penmanship you don’t see anymore. After I got in bed last night, I read it. You need to hear what it says.”

  Nic felt Laura’s magic distill over him like a fine mist. He turned toward her, munching on his roll. He’d never felt so conflicted in his life. All he could do right now was be happy for her. “I’m all ears.”

  “‘My darling Laura, today Maurice and I will have been married ten years. We’re in Venice. He’s gone out to get a newspaper, but I know he left because he was upset and didn’t want me to be aware of it.

  “‘The only shadow on our marriage has been the inability to share it with our loved ones. Today he got all broken up when he asked me if I’d been happy. A question like that is impossible to answer. He knows I’ve been blissfully happy with him, but deep inside he’s not convinced.

  “‘Tonight he asked me if I wanted to leave him and go back to all of you. He believes that if we end the marriage, you will forgive me.’”

  On a groan Nic sat forward, hurt for what the two of them had been forced to endure over the years. But he also groaned for the loss of Dorine, for the situation that had developed since Laura’s arrival in Nice.

  “‘I’ve never seen him this upset before. Maurice blames himself for taking me away from you. I don’t understand it. I feel he’s keeping something from me, but I don’t know what it is.

  “‘No matter what I say, I can’t talk reason with him. The truth is, your mother and Susie will never forgive me for loving a man other than their father. Without Maurice’s knowledge, I’ve been seeing a therapist in Nice about our situation.’”

  Nic grimaced. “H
er pain had to have been exquisite.”

  Laura nodded with glistening eyes, then went on reading. “‘He’s a doctor of psychology. He said that my children’s anger has its roots in something much deeper than their not wanting to accept my marriage. His advice is to confront my daughters openly.

  “‘I’ve tried that. They won’t see me or accept my phone calls. Tonight I tried to get Maurice to open up and tell me why he feels so guilty. If he’s holding something back, what is it? To my devastation, he left to do an errand. It breaks my heart.”

  Until now Nic hadn’t realized that Maurice had felt such crippling guilt.

  “‘Forgive me for baring my soul to you, but you’re a part of me. When I write to you, I can imagine us being together face-to-face. I need that. All my love, Nana.’”

  Heartsick over their grandparents’ pain, Nic got up from the couch. The joy of Christmas had been but a fleeting moment after all. The letter Laura just read had managed to darken the sky once more. Both men had lost the loves of their lives. Nic never wanted to open himself up to this kind of pain again. Maurice had lived through it twice. Nic couldn’t.

  He glanced down at her. That lovely face had taken on a sober cast. Her eyes searched his. “Do you believe Maurice knows something he was never able to tell Irene?”

  “I don’t know,” he murmured, “but I’m going to find out, because this has gone on long enough.”

  She jumped up. “I’m so glad you said that. Let’s confront him together with this letter. He needs to know Irene went to a therapist to try to help them. The two of them loved each other too much, always trying to shield the other from pain.”

  Nic rubbed his chest absently. “That’s exactly what they did. Whatever secret still lurks, it robbed them of a lot of happiness.”

  Her features hardened. “It robbed everyone on both sides. Yet their love was so strong, they managed to survive it. That’s what real love is all about. Nic...you and I have the power to turn things around.”

  He admired her courage more than he could say. “We’ll do it.” He finished off his orange juice. “After I’ve showered and changed, I’ll drive us to the summerhouse. We’ll open all the presents under the tree. Maurice will join us after he’s spent time with the family. Then we’ll talk to him about this letter.”

  “While you do that, I need to make those phone calls I forgot to do last night.”

  Being Christmas, naturally she’d ring her mother and Adam, the man who desired her. What man with a pulse wouldn’t want her? But Nic couldn’t be that man. He didn’t want to be. He needed to find his wife.

  “Laura?”

  “Yes?” He heard the throb in her voice.

  “Santa thanks you for Christmas breakfast. He hasn’t had such a pleasant surprise in ages.”

  “It was fun before I spoiled it and read you the letter.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  Her eyes clouded over. “I hope you mean that.”

  He meant it all right. With Laura on their grandparents’ side, it added the kind of leverage needed to get the truth out of Maurice. Irene had suspected he hadn’t told her everything. That woman’s instincts couldn’t be wrong. For twenty-one years they’d all been in a straitjacket. It was time to remove it.

  Nic watched Laura reach for the afghan and leave the den ahead of him. Filled with a new sense of purpose, he found Arlette and asked her to prepare a basket of food for the three of them to enjoy at the summerhouse. With that accomplished, he showered and shaved, then put on trousers and a crewneck sweater.

  Laura was ready and waiting for him in the living room, still dressed in the same outfit, but wearing sandals and her cardigan. He couldn’t tell by her expression how her phone calls had gone, but if Nic were Adam, he would have taken the first plane to Nice and demanded to find out why she hadn’t wanted him there. Didn’t the man know not to take love for granted? It could be snatched from you in a minute, and Laura was a prize.

  When they reached the car, he put the basket in the back and turned to her. “Isn’t there a song in your country about over the river and through the woods?”

  Her mouth broke into an enticing smile. “To grandmother’s petit château we go,” she sang, improvising as she went. “Clever Santa knows the way, in his dishy Mercedes sleigh, to avoid the ice and snow.”

  Nic grinned in spite of himself. He kept trying to control his feelings about her, but then she’d say something like that and his delight in her just kept growing. She had an amazing sense of humor that came out at the oddest times. A spontaneity so different from Dorine, who was a more controlled, structured kind of person.

  In that moment he realized that the woman he’d once thought was the enemy had sung her way past his defenses and was close to— Don’t say it, Valfort. He didn’t want to, but his mind finished for him anyway. He feared she was reaching his stronghold.

  They stepped inside the house, noticing that Maurice had sent some staff over to light another fire and turn on all the Christmas lights. But they hadn’t touched anything else. The letters still lay scattered on the floor.

  Nic put the basket on the table. “I’m going to hunt for some boxes. We’ll sort the letters by date.”

  “I can’t wait to read all of them.”

  “You have months of reading pleasure ahead of you, but I would wager you’re anxious to open all the other packages first.”

  He heard her breath catch. “I admit it. I’m as bad as a child.”

  They worked together and soon the letters were neatly packed. Nic set them out of the way. “Now I’ll play Santa and give the presents to you one at a time.”

  She knelt down next to him, her blue eyes shining in anticipation. In the video, Irene had painted an image of Laura at six years of age. Nic could almost see her as she’d been then. It clutched at his heart to think she’d been deprived of her grandmother all these years.

  Each present had a tag with an explanation. Maurice and Irene had traveled a lot. Before long a series of gifts from around the world surrounded them, handpicked to bring Laura pleasure. Nic enjoyed witnessing her reactions.

  She particularly loved the porcelain mask from Florence. But then the miniature Hans Brinker ice skates from Amsterdam thrilled her. Before long she was enraptured by the hand-carved music box from Vienna that played “Waltz of the Flowers.” The last, from Egypt, was a hand-carved wooden Mary. She was holding the baby Jesus while Joseph led her on the donkey.

  When the gifts came to an end, Laura shook her head. “This is too much.”

  “Twenty-one Christmases in one is a lot to take in,” Nic murmured. “There’s still more.”

  He handed her another gift, which turned out to be a box. “What on earth?” She reached inside and pulled out dozens of sheets of artwork made by a child. “Nic,” she virtually squealed. “She saved the drawings I made for her!”

  Nic moved closer. Together they looked at each one, some large, some small, each paper filled with scenes of stick figures done in crayons and markers. There were several pictures of castles.

  “Like Nana said, I was preoccupied with fairy tales. Oh, look—I’ve done pictures of the Three Little Pigs. My pigs are pathetic! I made the brick house go up to the very top of the page.”

  “You’ve drawn the wolf climbing up the wall. You didn’t want him to get the pig,” he teased.

  “This is incredible. Look—I made my L backward in my name. The A looks like a snail.”

  More laughter ensued from both of them.

  “But you turned it around in the pictures at the bottom of the stack,” Nic pointed out. “These latest ones are very revealing. Do you see what I see?”

  She nodded. “I’ve drawn me and my mother and father. But I also included my nana and grandfather. It has to be Nana because I put blond hair on her and brown
on Mom.”

  “You printed her name above her head.”

  “The Ns are sideways and look like Zs.”

  “I see you drew glasses on your grandfather and made his hair brown. He’s shorter than your father here. You put black hair on him.”

  “My grandfather was only five foot nine. Dad was six feet. Daddy—” she whispered as a pang of remembrance hit her. “I loved him so much. I can’t believe Nana kept all this. If I could see her and tell her what this means to me...”

  “Don’t forget her promise. In the next life you’ll throw your arms around each other,” Nic reminded her.

  Laura sniffed. “She made up for every Christmas with this one.”

  * * *

  Nic slipped an arm around her shoulders. “She was a unique woman to do all this for you.” He pulled her closer and kissed her hair. Laura almost had a heart attack. “What a treasure she has left you. This artwork is very revealing of your talents. Even as young as you were, you drew with spatial accuracy. I’m impressed.”

  Nic was sitting too close to her. He had no idea what that kiss had done to her. His virility played havoc with her senses. It was impossible to concentrate. “Where’s your aunt Susan?”

  They looked through the rest of the pictures. He acted as though he hadn’t been affected by that impulsive moment, but she could hardly breathe. “I didn’t draw any of her. That seems so strange.”

  “Not really. She wasn’t your immediate family. Did she live with you?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Then that explains it.” His arm brushed hers as he helped her put everything back in the box. “For Irene to keep these drawings shows what a loving grandmother she was.”

  Laura got up from the floor, needing to separate herself from Nic before she did something impulsive and unforgivable. So far her guilt held her back, barely, but she was getting in deeper and deeper.

  She’d just lost her grandmother. The thought of loving Nic and then losing him, too, made her positively ill. He’s not yours to love, Laura. Her family would never understand. This was a nightmare.