“Oh my God.” Christina put her free hand to her face. “Am I going to lose my home?”
It was unbelievable. The letter from Bill’s lawyers said he wanted to renegotiate the divorce settlement. Christina was stunned. At the time of the divorce, Christina’s friends considered that Bill got off lightly. Some of them had suggested that Christina should go back for more. But she took the villa and a tiny amount of cash and limped away quietly, exhausted from the very public nature of the fight. And now it was Bill who wanted a bigger slice of the pie, because, as the writ said: “We consider that the value of the Villa Bacchante at the time of the divorce was greater than the estimate given by Miss Morgan’s lawyers … ”
If it was decided that the valuation of Villa Bacchante was fraudulent, explained Todd, then Bill could indeed ask for a recount. What’s more, on the basis that the valuation was wrong, Bill was claiming a substantial portion of the wealth Christina had generated since the divorce thanks to the television series about the Villa Bacchante. He wanted a share of the profits from the TV program, from the magazine and from the resulting wine sales.
“But how on earth can he be entitled to anything? He was unfaithful to me!” Christina exclaimed. “He left me. He filed for divorce.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Todd. “Bill is claiming that were it not for him, you would not have had the house in Napa in the first place. Without the house you would not have made the decision to become a winemaker and you would not have an award-winning television series and associated merchandising rights under your belt. He is claiming that your success with this series is due in large part to his hard work in finding you the perfect vineyard in the first place. I’m surprised he doesn’t want credit on the series too,” Todd added in an attempt to inject some levity. It didn’t work.
“But any court in the land would throw a claim like that out, surely? You know what I was like after the split, Todd. Bill almost destroyed me. He didn’t want the villa then. It wasn’t worth anything. He was happy to get rid of it. I made it what it is today. I’ve worked so hard.”
Christina began to cry.
“I know that,” said Todd. “And that’s what we’ll rely on when this goes to court. But I’m afraid I’m ninety-nine percent certain this will go to court. And it’ll be a landmark case. There are a lot of divorcees out there who will be going back for a second bite at the cherry if we don’t win.”
That was no consolation for Christina. Much as she liked Todd, there were times when she wasn’t completely sure that he wouldn’t sell her down the river. She began to wonder if this was something Todd could keep out of court but would choose not to because he thought the resulting case would make his name.
She pulled out the old copy of Hello! That article would prove that the villa was a gift and, as such, surely Bill had forfeited all rights to it the moment he handed it over. She faxed the article through to Todd, who came back to her with the unwelcome news that the article did not constitute the evidence they needed.
“Though he may have said that the villa was a gift,” Todd explained, “the original deed was in both your names.”
Trust Bill to give a gift with strings attached.
“It’s ridiculous,” Christina complained to Greg that night. “I divorced him to get him out of my life. Am I going to have to pay for him until he’s dead? Am I going to lose the villa?”
Greg cradled her against his chest.
“Sweetheart, you won’t lose the villa,” he promised. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Because you don’t want to lose the set of your most successful show,” snapped Christina, directing her frustration at Greg now too.
“Because I love you,” said Greg. “That’s the only reason.”
She looked up at him. His eyes softened as he gazed down on her.
“And I love you,” she said, burying her face in his chest again. She meant it too. As she said it, she wished to God she hadn’t betrayed him with Odile. Even if Greg never found out, she knew she’d tainted something wonderful.
CHAPTER 54
There was little pre-Christmas jolliness going on at Champagne Arsenault. The last of the Christmas orders had gone out, along with their accompanying invoices, but Madeleine had a bigger debt to worry about.
After Mick Tremblant’s first visit, Madeleine had quizzed Henri about the man and his connection with her father. Henri knew of Mick Tremblant. Most people in town did. He knew that he’d gone to prison after being arrested for drug dealing, but he didn’t know if Mick had ever played cards with Constant Arsenault. Henri advised Madeleine to go to the police. But there was technically no offense, they said. Mick had asked for the return of a debt. He’d made no threat. The only thing she could do was alert them if he actually broke a law.
Since then, Madeleine had seen the man just once more. It was Halloween. Several neighborhood parents had given in to pester power and allowed their children to go trick-or-treating. Madeleine opened the door expecting some neighborhood kids and found instead Mick and his henchman on the doorstep, with those vile “Scream” masks covering their equally scary real faces.
“By Christmas,” was all he said.
Madeleine tried to ignore him. If Mick Tremblant did turn up for his money and she didn’t have it, what could he do? He was well known to the local police. He wouldn’t risk doing anything stupid, surely. Madeleine decided that if he showed his face again, she would call his bluff.
The day he turned up was a sad and gray sort of day. Madeleine found a Christmas card from Mackesy in the mail. She hadn’t seen him since that morning in Paris. Their fond flirtatious relationship had degraded into something more business-like, conducted entirely by e-mail. She looked at the kiss below his signature and wondered whether he had scribbled it there deliberately or absentmindedly. Did he really think about her at all? He was probably looking forward to a Christmas en famille. Madeleine put his Christmas card with all the others on the mantelpiece in her office.
The doorbell rang.
Before she got to the door, Madeleine knew who would be there. She heard two gruff voices singing a traditional carol, but altering the words to something altogether more blasphemous. She kept the chain, fitted after Tremblant’s first visit, on the door as she opened it just a couple of inches.
“Félicitations, Mademoiselle Arsenault,” said Mick Tremblant, removing his Santa hat with a flourish. “I have come to collect your Christmas donation to the poor.”
“I don’t have your money,” Madeleine said simply.
“Now, that’s not what I wanted to hear,” he said. “My children will have no Christmas presents unless you’ve got what I’ve come for.”
“Then I’m very sorry but they’ll have to go without. I’m afraid, Monsieur Tremblant, that I’ve decided I won’t be responsible for my father’s debt to you. I have no reason to believe that my father ever knew you at all, let alone played cards with you. You should know that I have informed the police that you have been bothering me and I won’t hesitate to get them involved if I feel threatened in any way. In fact,” she bluffed, “I’ve had an alarm installed since you were last here. If I press the button my finger is resting on right now, I will be instantly connected to the local police station.”
Mick Tremblant took a step back as though he was the one who felt threatened.
“Wow. That’s fighting talk,” he said.
“Find someone else to pick on,” said Madeleine. “There’s nothing for you here.”
Mick Tremblant raised his hands. “If you say so, my dear. We’re terribly sorry for having disturbed you. Bon Noël.”
Then, to Madeleine’s surprise, he merely turned and walked away, his enormous henchman shuffling after.
Could it be that easy? Madeleine asked herself as she climbed into bed. Perhaps it was. From talking to Henri, it seemed that Mick Tremblant was really quite a small-time crook. In all probability the debt he claimed he
r father owed him didn’t exist. Tremblant had just been trying it on. And now that he thought Madeleine had a direct line to the police station, it wasn’t worth the bother.
She pulled the sheets up to her chin. On nights like these she truly wished she had someone with her. Someone to hold her tight and reassure her that she had indeed seen the baddies off. It took quite some time before she was able to fall asleep.
It was about three o’clock in the morning when Madeleine stirred awake again. Like an animal sensing the presence of a predator, she knew at once that something was not quite right. Her eyes looked out blindly into the darkness of her room with its small windows and heavy velvet drapes. She could see nothing. But she could hear something very strange indeed.
It was a creaking sound, like the mast of a great sailing vessel groaning in the wind. The creaking was punctuated by a high-pitched whine, like the sound wet logs make when you throw them onto a bonfire. Madeleine’s mental image was, alas, almost spot-on. Still it took a while before she connected the noise with its source: the ancient beams in the ceiling of the room below groaning and spitting as they started to burn.
By the time she opened the door of her bedroom, smoke was curling its way up the stairwell. There was no time to strategize. She had to act on animal instinct. Darting back into the bedroom, Madeleine snatched up just one thing—the shoe box full of her mother’s letters and the old photographs, from its place in the bottom of the wardrobe. Then she raced from the house, using the stairwell at the opposite end of the corridor to the one that was on fire. At the top of that stairwell, she turned and paused just long enough to see a flash of yellow flame chase her.
Madeleine called the fire brigade from her mobile phone as she ran.
When she got outside the front of the house, she found a crowd had already gathered.
“We’ve called the pompiers,” said Monsieur Mulfort. “My son saw the smoke when he was coming back from the bar.”
“Thank you,” said Madeleine.
“They’ll be here any second,” Monsieur Mulfort assured her. “But you look terrified. Let me hold you.”
Madeleine refused his kindness. But the fire brigade wasn’t there in seconds. Or even minutes. It was at least another half an hour before the fire engine roared up to Champagne Arsenault, and by that time, it was much too late. The fire had spread from the hall into the upper floors. The old wooden beams merely acted as fuses for the fire to race along. Sparks shot up into the sky like fireworks as the roof began to cave in.
Though they worked on the blaze until dawn broke, the fire brigade could save nothing of Champagne Arsenault but the walls around the courtyard. Madeleine could only watch as the once grand house burned. Her family history, going up in flames.
CHAPTER 55
Clearly it was arson,” Madeleine insisted to the local police chief, Inspector Delahey. “Mick Tremblant came to my house that afternoon. He asked for the money. I told him I didn’t have it and the very same night my house catches fire. You really think that’s a coincidence?”
“Mademoiselle Arsenault,” Delahey sighed. “I understand that you must be feeling very tired and upset. But don’t let the shock of the fire trick you into making false accusations. The preliminary report from the fire department suggests that the fire was probably started by a candle left unattended when you went to bed.”
“What? I didn’t leave a candle burning.”
“I’m sure you didn’t mean to. I know how you girls love scented candles,” said Delahey. “My wife fills the place with them. I told her when I heard about your fire: that could happen to us, dear, if you’re not careful.”
“I did not leave a candle burning,” Madeleine reiterated. “You know that’s rubbish.”
“Then perhaps it was an electrical fault,” said Delahey. “It was an old house. When did you last have the electrics checked? In either case, I’m happy to wait for the fire department’s full report. I’m not about to go out and arrest someone just because you don’t like the look of him … Now, where are you staying at the moment? Do you have people you can spend Christmas with? I don’t like the thought of you spending Christmas alone, Mademoiselle Arsenault.”
“I will be fine,” said Madeleine, “if I think that you’re doing your job. At least try to find out where Mick Tremblant was last night. Him and his henchman.”
“That’s easy,” said Inspector Delahey. “They were playing cards at Maison Randon with me and Axel Delaflote.”
Axel could hardly bear to look at the gates of Champagne Arsenault. Split and warped by the heat of the fire, they hung from their hinges like a pair of broken wings. Mathieu Randon was not quite so squeamish. He wound down the window on his side of the car and leaned out for a better view.
“Must have been quite some blaze,” he said. “Thank goodness Mademoiselle Arsenault was not hurt. The caves remain untouched, yes?”
“As I understand it,” said Axel.
“And the Clos Des Larmes?”
“Covered in ash, but that shouldn’t be a problem. The vines are dormant right now, of course.”
“Of course. And where is Mademoiselle Arsenault staying?”
“Delahey said she’s at the hotel by the bank.”
“I think we should pay her a visit,” said Randon.
Axel could think of nothing he wanted to do less than go to Madeleine’s hotel with Randon. But Randon wasn’t about to let up. And Axel wasn’t in the position to refuse his boss’s orders anymore.
Though Randon never mentioned it directly, the events of that night at the party in Paris sat between them like a grenade without a pin whenever they met. Axel berated himself on a daily basis for having been taken in. Randon had made him feel like a friend and an equal. He’d encouraged Axel to reveal his darkest desires, and now that he knew them Randon used them like invisible handcuffs. There was certainly no way that Axel could leave Maison Randon unless Randon decided it was time for him to go. And so he turned the car in the direction of Madeleine’s temporary home.
Madeleine was in her room, going through a pile of papers retrieved from her father’s strong box, which thankfully had survived the fire, when the hotel receptionist called to say she had a visitor. Her heart sank as she reached the lobby and saw the back of Mathieu Randon. When he turned and smiled at her, she felt positively queasy.
“Come to gloat,” she said.
“Not at all,” he assured her. “I’ve come to offer you my assistance.”
“I don’t need your assistance.”
“I thought you might say that. You modern girls have made a rod for your own backs, refusing to allow yourselves to be looked after from time to time. So, knowing that you would be too proud to accept my help, even though you need it, I took the liberty of putting in place a scheme that will lift a great weight from your mind anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“I understand that your father died owing rather a lot of money, thanks to his penchant for the card tables.”
“It’s not true,” said Madeleine.
“That’s not what Mick Tremblant said. I’m very sorry you had the misfortune to have to meet him, Madeleine. He’s not a very pleasant man. He has, as I think you might have guessed, some very ugly connections and he’s not afraid to use them. The last thing you need, after such a tragedy as this fire, is to have to worry about someone like him. And so, because I admired your father and his champagne house so much, I decided to neutralize your little problem with Tremblant for you.”
Madeleine shook her head uncomprehendingly.
“You’re familiar, from your years in banking, with the concept of selling debt. Well, Mick Tremblant has sold your debt to me. He won’t be bothering you again. I’ve paid him off. From this day forward, you need deal only with me.”
“What?”
“I think you’ll find me a very flexible lender, Madeleine. I understand that you’re not in a position to pay me back right now and so I’m going to give you time
to come up with the cash.”
Madeleine snorted. “I don’t have to listen to your crap. If you really gave Mick Tremblant two hundred thousand Euros on my behalf, then I’m sorry. He pulled the wool over your eyes. My father had no gambling debts.”
“Now you’re lying to me. This must all be very stressful for a dear sweet girl like you. No family. All alone in the world. How it must haunt you to think about what might have happened had you not woken in time to escape the fire. And though the fire was an accident, who would blame you for feeling jumpy when it came so close after your run-in with that pimp? There are nasty people out there, Madeleine. You have until April to pay back the money you owe me. I’ll accept cash. Or, if you prefer, I’ll accept property. I’m ready to renegotiate my offer for Champagne Arsenault whenever you are—though, of course, now that the house has burned down, my offer will be considerably lower than it was.”
“I’m never selling to you, Randon. And if you continue to threaten me, I will file a complaint with the police.”
“With my friend Inspector Delahey? A good idea. Good afternoon, Madeleine.”
Randon left.
Outside, Axel was waiting for him in the car, reading that day’s newspaper.
Randon climbed into the passenger seat. “Still standing firm. Brave little woman. I can see what you liked about her. Let’s go back to the house.”
Axel folded the paper. Randon took it from him.
“Another whore found dead,” he read. “She looks familiar. Wasn’t she one of Tremblant’s girls? Really, I can’t believe the police haven’t made any progress. Makes me think they know exactly who they’re looking for but for some reason they don’t want to take him in. Don’t you agree, Delaflote?”
Axel didn’t answer.
Inside the hotel, Madeleine retired to her room and tried to put Randon’s visit out of her mind as she plowed on through the paperwork rescued from her father’s strong box. The very next day, she met with a man from the company who insured Champagne Arsenault.
Vintage Page 34
