Madeleine smiled and shook her head. “Delaflote, you are so smooth.”
“Secondly, because … ”
Axel reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a little silver card case. Madeleine raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t the kind of executive accessory she would have expected Axel to have. He flipped the case open and pulled out one of the neat cream-colored cards inside. Madeleine immediately recognized the color of the Maison Randon label. And there indeed was the Maison Randon crest. Beneath it, in the same script used on a bottle of Éclat, were the words: “Axel Delaflote, Managing Director.”
“Axel!” Madeleine exclaimed. “What is this?”
“I got a promotion. Bit of a surprise.”
“You’re telling me!”
“Actually, I feel quite bad about it. Stefan was away in the Maldives when it happened. He went crazy when he heard, of course. But apparently he’s been thinking about doing something else for a while. Randon said he knew Stefan had been taking interviews elsewhere. And Stefan had talked to me about how unhappy his wife is in Champagne. She wants to move back to the south and he’s quite keen on Montpellier—”
“Axel,” Madeleine interrupted the litany of justification. “This is incredible. Managing director. You are officially one big swinging dick, as they say in the City.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he laughed.
“Can I keep this?” Madeleine asked.
“Of course.”
“Autograph it,” she said.
“What?”
“Write something on the back of this card so that when you’re too big to talk to the little people like me, I can tell everyone that I knew you.”
“You’re nuts,” said Axel, taking the card back and pulling out a Mont Blanc.
“I knew it!” Madeleine laughed. “You’ve even got rid of your old Biro.”
“Signing-on gift from Randon,” Axel explained as he put a smiley face and three kisses on the back of the card.
“Kisses! Thank you,” said Madeleine.
“The formal announcement will be made on Monday.”
“But we should start celebrating now. What would you like?”
“I suppose it should be a glass of Éclat.”
Axel summoned a waiter. Meanwhile Madeleine tucked the business card into a tiny pocket inside her evening bag.
“I want to keep this safe,” she said. “Axel Delaflote, head of Maison Randon. I ask you … ”
In the taxi back to Le Vezy, Madeleine found herself falling into a snooze against Axel’s shoulder. He planted a kiss on top of her head. She felt so perfectly relaxed in his company. Safe.
Axel reached for Madeleine’s hand as they walked across the courtyard at Champagne Arsenault, dropping it only when she had to look in her bag for the key. While she opened the door, he kept his arm around her waist. It was as though he didn’t want to lose physical contact with her for a second. Madeleine was happy with that.
They started to kiss as they were taking their coats off in the hall. Still kissing, they ascended the stairs and stumbled into the bedroom.
“Your dress is beautiful,” Axel murmured, as he searched for the zip. “But I’d far rather see it on the floor.”
Madeleine was happy to oblige. Meanwhile she loosened Axel’s tie and slipped it off over his head. She undid the buttons on his cool blue shirt. He unfastened his own belt and stepped out of his trousers. Madeleine delighted in the feeling of his bare chest as he wrapped his arms tightly around her and pulled her close. He kissed her tenderly.
They lay down on the bed. Axel kissed Madeleine’s breastbone and pulled one lacy cup of her bra out of the way so that he could find a nipple. Madeleine gave a small groan of delight as she felt his tongue make contact with the small pink bud. She tipped her head back, exposing her long throat. Axel kissed his way up it until he found her lips again.
“I want you so much,” he said.
“Me too,” she assured him.
Soon they were entirely naked. Madeleine slid her hand between their bodies and felt the hardness of Axel’s penis with great anticipation. Hard as he was, Axel slid easily inside her. Madeleine immediately wrapped her long legs around his back, feeling him thrust as deep as he could. She rocked her pelvis up to meet his and soon they were moving in the fast frantic rhythm of two people who couldn’t get enough of each other. Again.
Madeleine’s hands moved all over Axel’s body. Across his back, through his hair. He raised himself above her just a little and stared right into her eyes. She stared back at him. Every part of them was joined. Bodies and minds.
“I’m coming!” Axel’s voice was ragged with excitement when at last he found he could hold back no longer.
Madeleine squeezed her thighs more tightly against his waist. But she didn’t try to slow him down. She loved it when he lost control. She felt him lose his rhythm as he pushed hard against her and his orgasm ripped through them both.
Afterward came the best bit. Axel wrapped his body around hers protectively. Spooning. Madeleine felt perfectly content, listening to the sound of his breathing in her ear. Feeling the warmth of his breath on her neck. She would happily have stayed like that all night. Every night. Because suddenly the three little words were on the tip of Madeleine’s tongue. She wanted to whisper them in Axel’s ear. She wanted to shout them out loud. She wanted everyone to know that this was it. She was in love.
“I love you, Axel,” her mind rehearsed. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Madeleine rolled over to face him. She looked deep into his eyes. She was going to say it. Now was the moment. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t tell from the way she gazed at him anyway…
Without warning, Axel suddenly sat up against the pillows and announced, “I’ve got to get up.”
“Are you leaving?” Madeleine sat up too. Panicked.
“No. Of course not,” Axel stroked her cheek. “It’s just that I’ve got to make a couple of phone calls before I can fall asleep in your loving arms.” He was already standing up. “The boss is in New York this week. I said I’d check in before close of play his time.”
“What time is it over there?” Madeleine asked.
Axel glanced at his watch. “Six in the evening. I should have called earlier. He’ll have me skinned.”
“Is he really so awful?”
“Yep.” Axel smiled. “He’s a complete tyrant. And now I’m even more at his beck and call than ever.”
“Price of success, Monsieur Managing Director.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I will be right back.”
“You better be.”
While Axel left to make his calls, Madeleine drifted into the bathroom, the romance of that perfect day making her feel lighter in spirit than she had in a very long while. She floated from her bathroom into the bedroom and began to pick up the clothes scattered across the floor. She folded Axel’s suit carefully over a chair. She hung her simple black dress on the wardrobe door, catching sight of herself in the mirror as she did so.
She was still flushed. Her hair was prettily loose and disheveled. A month working on the vineyard had left her looking much better than six years with a personal trainer in London. Muscles tight and sexy. She gave herself a wink.
Axel was still on the phone—Madeleine could hear the murmur of his voice drifting up the stairs—so she took a shower. Afterward she anointed herself with Chanel No. 5—the first perfume she had ever worn. She wondered if it would take Axel back to being a teenager too. She arranged herself on the clean white sheets and waited for his return.
But Axel’s boss kept him on the phone for far longer than Madeleine had expected. After an hour had passed, she decided she would see what was going on, using the pretext of fetching a water glass from the kitchen. Not quite knowing why she felt the need to be sneaky in her own home, she crept down the stairs as quietly as possible. It wasn’t hard. She’d had plenty of practice as a teenager at getting out of the house without
alerting her parents to the fact that she was leaving.
Madeleine glimpsed her lover as she passed the study door. He was sitting at her desk, doodling on a notepad as he made the transatlantic call. He looked bored, she decided, and hoped that meant he would try to wind up the call soon. She walked on by to the kitchen and fetched the water glass. On her way back she paused in the door frame, letting her elegant dressing gown fall open to reveal the shimmering oyster-white silk negligee beneath. She expected Axel to turn around, sensing her presence. But he didn’t. He carried on talking.
“She grew up here,” said Axel. “So she knows what she’s doing to a certain extent. And she’s got the old boy Henri Mason helping out. I fixed that myself. The vines are in perfect condition.”
The person Axel was calling—Randon, Madeleine assumed—spoke back. Axel nodded. “I haven’t broached the subject yet but I will do. I think the right time is almost upon us. Tomorrow. Monday at the latest.”
Randon spoke again.
“Of course she’ll sell,” Axel replied. “She’s enjoying it now, sure, while the weather’s fine and being away from London seems like a nice break. It’s a novelty. But it won’t be long before she’s begging us to take Clos Des Larmes off her hands. Madeleine Arsenault is no vigneronne.”
Madeleine stiffened.
“I’d better go. She’s waiting for me upstairs right now.”
Axel laughed in response to his boss’s doubtless lewd comment.
“Actually,” said Madeleine, mustering all her resources to address Axel without bursting into tears, “I’m waiting right behind you.”
“You heard me wrong,” insisted Axel.
“I heard you say that Madeleine Arsenault is no vigneronne.”
Axel reached out and rubbed the tops of her arms placatingly. “Well, darling, let’s face it. You’re not. You never wanted to be. Even when we were kids you used to talk about escaping. You got out of Champagne as soon as you could. You only came back for your father’s funeral and you wouldn’t be here now if you didn’t feel guilty for not having seen him before he died.”
“That’s not true.” Madeleine shut her eyes and tried to oust the memory of the last time she heard her father’s voice in the message he left while she was having dinner at Montrachet to try to save a job she hated. It was impossible. The message replayed as though the answering machine were inside her head.
“Fine,” said Axel. “Maybe it isn’t. But I don’t think it would be such a bad idea. Randon would look after this place. You know he would. And he’d give you a good price.”
Madeleine looked deep into Axel’s eyes. He smiled at her, as though he was certain that she was going to see sense. He even leaned forward to kiss her nose.
“Get off.” She pushed him away. “I can’t believe you’re saying this to me. Is this what you’ve been building up to? Everything that’s happened since my father’s funeral? All that talk about how much you’ve always wanted to be with me. The flowers. The phone calls. The picnic this afternoon. Dinner at Les Crayères? It was all sponsored by bloody Mathieu Randon! Did you get it on expenses?”
“No,” Axel insisted. “I swear to you. I came to your father’s funeral because I respected him. I’ve been spending time with you because I enjoy doing that. I went to bed with you because I wanted it more than anything in the world.”
Axel tried to take Madeleine’s hands again. She pulled away.
“It’s too late,” she said. “I want you to go.”
“Just hear me out. Randon’s not trying to rip you off. I wouldn’t let him. I’m only putting his offer to you because I think you might subconsciously want the opportunity to be rid of this place. It wouldn’t be an ordinary deal to Randon,” Axel continued. “He wants Arsenault because it used to be part of his own family’s estate. Did you know that?”
“I did not.”
“Long before your family moved out here. So you can trust that Randon won’t mess you around. This land is important to him in more than a financial sense. It’s an emotional deal. A good proposition. I’ve had my land agent look over the vines and … ”
“What? How did you? When?”
“While you were in London picking up your car.”
“You came onto my land without my permission?”
“Madeleine, we’re friends. It was right after the funeral. I didn’t want to disturb you while you were grieving.”
“You mean, you didn’t want me to say no. Axel, I can’t believe you would do that to me.”
“Well, I’m sorry.” Axel stiffened. “I suppose I did think you might find the idea distasteful, but I wanted to be able to offer you a proper price and that meant I had to know what state the place was in.”
“Champagne Arsenault is not for sale.”
“Think about it. Randon will offer you at least five percent over the face value. A premium because it means so much to him to reunite his ancestral lands.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“Just look at the figures. I’ve had the contract drawn up. You would have enough money to do whatever you wanted. You could get a bigger place in London. You could go to the States.”
Neither of the options he mentioned included the possibility that Madeleine might have wanted to remain near him. Or that he wanted to keep her nearby. That was what finally brought the truth of the situation home to her. Madeleine couldn’t even pretend that Axel had wanted what was best for her. This was a business deal.
“Get out.”
“Madeleine, think about it properly.”
“I have thought about it. I have thought about it every day since I was born. And I am telling you one more time that Champagne Arsenault will never be for sale.”
“You’re an idiot,” said Axel flatly. “You’ve told me what a mess this place is in. What use is all this family pride you talk about when you can’t even afford to harvest your grapes?”
“If I have to pick every bunch myself, I will do it.”
“Madeleine, you might be able to organize a dinner for a few bankers but you don’t have a clue when it comes to making champagne.”
“I’m a fast learner.”
“You better be.”
“Just go.”
Axel was already looking around for his car keys. Madeleine pulled her robe more tightly around her. She was suddenly very, very cold.
“In a year’s time you will be begging me to take this wreck of a maison off your hands. I promise you. And I will buy it from you. But at half the price I am offering you today. And I will plough up your father’s precious vines and turn your home into a bed-and-breakfast. In ten years’ time, no one will have heard of Champagne Arsenault.”
“Fuck you,” said Madeleine. “Fuck you, Axel Delaflote.”
Axel blew her a kiss. There was nothing affectionate about it.
He slammed the door as he left the room. And as if on cue, a chunk of plaster fell from the ceiling and landed on the tiles in the hallway, smashing into dust.
CHAPTER 15
Early mornings were not Christina’s thing, but you didn’t become a successful supermodel by demanding to sleep in on a commercial shoot and so she had forced herself to get used to it. Besides, in this case, the pain of being up at five to catch a flight from Buenos Aires, where she was shooting a spread for Elle, to New York was offset by the warm feeling inside that Christina got when she thought about what she was flying there for. The final list of participants for the ISACL campaign was stunning. To be in their company would really put Christina on the map.
Rocky Neel was true to his word. As soon as he got back to the States, he had the team at ISACL call Christina’s agent and make arrangements for the filming of her infomercial on the charity’s behalf.
One of Rocky’s assistants had drafted the short speech Christina would deliver to camera and faxed it through to the hotel in Argentina. Christina read the speech on the plane, made a couple of minor adjustments, and was word perfect by the time her flig
ht touched down twelve hours later. A car met her at the airport and whisked her straight to the studio, where two dozen assorted supermodels, rock stars and actors were all waiting to do their bit.
“This must be what it was like to do Live 8,” Christina commented to Rocky.
Rocky nodded, though the words “Live 8” always made his hackles rise. He hadn’t been invited to join that particular bandwagon.
Christina was gratified to learn that, of all the people present, she had clocked up the most air miles to be there. It gave her instant status in the celebrity generosity stakes. And made the whinings of some other models, just flown in from London or Paris, seem rather pathetic.
Thankfully, Rocky had hired one of the best makeup artists in the United States to knock everyone into shape before filming started. The makeup guru quickly put the rose back into Christina’s flight-dehydrated cheeks. Meanwhile, the set hairdresser gave Christina a fabulous blowout that made her look like she had twice as much hair. And she was extremely pleased to discover that the T-shirts the stars would be wearing had been printed up in hot pink. Christina looked fabulous in hot pink. Unlike some of the other girls.
“Rocky? Do I have to wear this?” asked Koko, a hot new model from Finland. “Pink just makes me look sick.”
“You could go nude,” Rocky suggested.
“Rocky, you are as awful as you ever were,” said Christina, sticking up for Koko while simultaneously reminding the younger girl that Christina had known Rocky for years.
“My name is Christina Morgan,” she began. “I’m a model. You probably know my face. You probably know I’m from lowa. You probably know that I’m married to Bill Tarrant, the movie star. But what you probably don’t know about me is that I’m absolutely passionate about the rights of children worldwide.”
Significant pause. Eyes to camera. Lids slightly lowered. “Think Princess Di,” the director had suggested.
“As people born in the West, you and I have already won first prize in the lottery of life. For most of us, a roof over our heads and enough food to fill our bellies can be taken as a given. For children in the Third World, however, the reality is very different. No wonder so many of them are tempted to abandon their education—if they ever had access to education in the first place—and get to work as soon as they are able. But we’re not talking about the kind of jobs our children have here in America. These aren’t newspaper delivery rounds or weekend jobs at the local supermarket. Children in the Third World are forced to do the kind of dangerous work we’ve outlawed in the United States.”
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