A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel (38 page)

“May I?” Aurélien asked. He was standing in front of them.

Right away, Jules wanted to get up, but Aurélien said, “Stay right there, son.”

Aurélien sat between the two of them and put his arm around Frédérique, a gesture that was becoming a habit.

“Laurène is beaming,” he said with mischief.

He was nagging Jules. He knew him well enough to know that things weren’t perfect for his son on his engagement night.

As he got up, Jules let his eyes fall on Frédérique’s cleavage and saw that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her skin was lovely, and he assumed that Aurélien was going to spend the night with her. He went over to Laurène and smiled at her, though without real joy.

Marie took Jules’s spot next to Aurélien and gestured at the young couple.

“Laurène is so happy,” she whispered.

Aurélien gave her a friendly look. Antoine was getting on his nerves, but he liked Marie.

“You know,” he said, “she’s going to have to stand up to him a bit. … To be Jules’s wife won’t be a piece of cake all the time. Tell her that. You have to have a strong personality to compete with Fonteyne. He’s crazy about the land and the vines.”

The way Aurélien looked at Jules told of the pride he felt for his son. Marie, a bit surprised by what Aurélien had just said to her, promised herself to pass it on to her daughter.

Aurélien’s guests finally began to leave Fonteyne, reluctantly. It was very late when everyone went to bed. On the upstairs landing, Robert wished Louis-Marie and Pauline a good night. He watched them walk into their room and felt lonely. He was leaving the following morning. He’d be glad to get back to the hospital—just to be left alone.

Jules and Laurène arrived on the landing and bumped into Robert, laughing.

“Are you leaving us early tomorrow morning?”

“Very early.”

Robert took Jules by the neck and said, “Have a good winter, little bro.”

“You, too, Bob.”

They looked at each other, and then Jules guided Laurène toward his bedroom. As soon as the door was shut, he took her in his arms and carried her to the bed.

“Wait!” Laurène said, giggling. “My dress!”

Jules undressed her quickly, impatient to make love to her. He had things to settle with himself. Or something to prove. He needed to find something he’d lost. He made love to Laurène with wild abandon.

Aurélien was smiling, fulfilled. Frédérique was smoking a cigarette, sitting up in bed, still naked, whereas he’d put his clothes back on. She turned him on more and more, and he had no difficulty satisfying her, which flattered his ego.

Still smiling, he said, “You and I need to chat a little, with this new year starting …”

“Chat about what?”

“Your future. How do you picture it?”

She turned her head to see him better, thinking that he was looking his age suddenly. She felt comfortable with him, didn’t feel threatened by his authority.

“I don’t know. …”

“Too bad. … If you knew, I could help you out.”

“In what way?”

“Whatever way you want.”

He kept quiet for a moment, and then she began to laugh.

“Say, Aurélien, you want me to set up house here?”

“No, honey. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m not that naïve.”

Frédérique said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that. I have a lot of respect for you. You really are a good man. But I’m not sure I understand your question.”

He reached over and caressed her shoulder, then one of her breasts.

“Surely you don’t want to be my secretary all your life? You want to get married? I have a great network of people in the region. You’d like to open a business to be independent? I can hook you up with the business community, find some start-up capital for you. … Anyway, think about it.”

Frédérique had had a lot to drink, but she wasn’t drunk. Just mellow enough to feel like saying, “What I want is Jules.” But she didn’t dare.

“You can stay at Fonteyne as long as you want and that would be fine by me. But don’t feel like you’re stuck here. If you’d rather go, because of your brother, I’ll understand. You’re so young. If you want my help in exchange for what you give me, I don’t have a problem with that. Were you ever in love?”

She stared at Aurélien, not knowing what answer to give him.

“Come on, be honest,” he said, laughing.

“Yes.”

“Well, I hope it happens to you again.”

At a loss, she shook her head and said, “You’re weird. Sometimes I have the impression you’d prefer it if I left.”

“No! I just don’t want you to stick around here because you don’t have anywhere else to go, no other options.”

Frédérique hesitated, then put a hand on Aurélien’s.

“Things are good between you and me, if that’s what you mean. But I’m not thinking too much ahead.”

“That’s fine. Now, let’s go to sleep.”

As he leaned toward Frédérique for a kiss, he realized that she wanted to make love again. He didn’t have time to wonder if he was going to be able to before he began to undress.

Robert had left, followed by Louis-Marie and Pauline. Aurélien and Jules were back to work pruning the vines, along with Lucas. Alexandre was becoming more withdrawn, performing his tasks on the estate with little enthusiasm.

Jules spent most of the month of January trying to buy a perfectly situated small plot near Margaux. And so life had taken its normal course again. Dominique ran the household with Fernande, as usual, but she seemed to have been overtaken by her husband’s gloom. Laurène and Frédérique shared the administrative responsibilities without butting heads.

For Frédérique, time was running out. She observed Jules and Laurène, suffering quietly. She imagined that nothing would make Jules change his mind now that he was officially engaged. The dreaded wedding was going to take place in June, as planned. She saw no way to avoid it. As for planning her future and leaving Fonteyne, following Aurélien’s advice, she didn’t even think about it.

Aurélien, ever vigilant, kept an eye on his adopted son. He noticed the looks that Jules gave Frédérique, and they sometimes amused him, sometimes made him furious. But he said nothing, preferring to adopt a wait-and-see approach. Just as he waited for Alex to have the courage to talk to him about Mazion.

Jules wasn’t unhappy, in spite of his attraction to Frédérique, which he resisted by thinking about as little as possible. His love for Laurène was very real, simple and quiet, comfortable in other words, and it no longer distracted him from Fonteyne. Still, at times, Aurélien’s affectionate gestures toward Frédérique infuriated him. But his father remained sacred to him, and Jules diverted his energies by making love to Laurène every night.

Aurélien was expecting his son to stumble, and Jules knew it. Finally, Frédérique made her move.

That night, Aurélien had gone to bed early, saying he was tired. As for Laurène, she’d called from Mazion, where she’d gone for dinner at her parents’, to tell of her decision to stay there overnight, given the icy road conditions.

Frédérique stayed a long time, lying in her bed, lost in her thoughts, and decided to go down to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. Then she headed for the library with her teapot. She didn’t have anything specific in mind and wouldn’t have found the courage to go up to Jules’s room, but she was thinking about him. Fortuitously—or perhaps because their encounter was inevitable—Jules appeared in the room fifteen minutes later. He didn’t really look surprised to find her there. He was holding a glass and a bottle of cognac.

“No one is sleeping tonight, it looks like,” he said, his smile a bit tight.

“Except for Aurélien!”

Frédérique’s response had shot right out of her, thoughtlessly.

Jules sat across the coffee table from her.

“You still like it here?” he asked.

He wasn’t hostile. He added, “What was it like at your parents’ house?”

“Very different from here. It was a city house … filled with knickknacks that my mother put in every single room. A woman’s décor, less austere than this house, but much more suffocating. You wouldn’t have liked it there. …”

He was warming his glass in his hand, taking pleasure in listening to the young woman.

“I can’t believe how beautiful your eyes are,” she said, slowly.

“What are you trying to do exactly?” he asked.

He was trying to remain distant, but his voice was cracking.

“I’m attracted to you, Jules,” she said.

“More than Aurélien?”

She didn’t let the words get to her.

“I like Aurélien, yes. In a certain way. But he’s not as careful as you are. Or as fierce. … But you’re going to be just like him, one day.”

She got up, went around the coffee table and sat next to him. Immediately she rested her head on him.

“I’ve been dreaming of this,” she whispered.

Unable to react, Jules remained still. After a good while, because of her perfume perhaps, he put a hand on Frédérique’s hair, in spite of himself. Then he kissed her. She could tell he was nervous, tense, mad with desire.

“Jules …”

He got up, wanting to get away from her, but she was quicker and jumped to her feet. She flung her nightgown open. Jules, hypnotized, stayed put and couldn’t refrain from watching her. She took him by the waist.

“Aurélien is sleeping, Jules,” she said, “let go of your morals. …”

Hearing his father’s name would’ve been enough to make Jules flee, but she put her fingers on his jeans’ zipper. He shivered as soon as she touched him.

They made love quietly, without speaking, but with a kind of wild desperation. The night in the Bordeaux hotel had been a long time ago. It was four o’clock or so when Jules got dressed. He was exhausted, haggard, and still excited. He gave her a look of genuine anguish and, as there was really nothing to say, he left the room.

From then on, Jules’s life began to be difficult. He had no choice but to look his father in the eyes, as well as Laurène, without seeing Frédérique and without thinking about what happened. Jules had thought of himself as being honest and upright, and he liked that his life was uncomplicated. But for the first time, he experienced that awful feeling of having betrayed people he loved, of lying, of being in the wrong. And he had a very hard time dealing with it. In order to take his mind off it all, he lost himself in his work. When it came to Fonteyne, everything was simple and clear, but the rest was weighing on him and would end up suffocating him. And so, in addition to his daily tasks on the estate, Jules attended every wine producer meeting in the region and found any reason to go to Margaux or Bordeaux. He looked for every opportunity to leave Fonteyne, went all over the place to participate in wine competitions, spent hours negotiating every single detail of agreements with merchants and distributors, planned the racking process, undertook the plowing of some plots, and practically tortured the accountant.

Laurène could tell that something was pushing Jules away from the house. She was afraid it might be the idea of their marriage, so she decided not to say anything and let him be. Perplexed, Aurélien continued to observe his son. Winter unfolded slowly.

Jules made sure not to find himself alone with Frédérique. Forlorn, silent, almost morose, he was dying to talk to Aurélien but couldn’t bring himself to do so. What would he say to him? Why would he tell him what happened? For the thrill of confessing, of destroying? For the relief of being absolved? Jules tried not to wonder just how far he could push his father, and he didn’t feel like finding out. He also didn’t want to know how much Aurélien cared for Frédérique. With all his heart, Jules wished that she would leave of her own free will. But then the thought of her being away from Fonteyne made him miserable. He’d never felt such inner turmoil. He was telling himself that he didn’t love Frédérique, but she was in his head nonstop. And he didn’t want to make Laurène suffer just for some temporary madness.

The unexpected visit from Louis-Marie and Pauline on a February weekend made Jules very happy. The couple explained that they were on a ski trip, and that the temptation to make a pit stop at Fonteyne had been too strong to resist. The pretext was laughable, but Jules knew that Louis-Marie was worried about his father and the liaison with Frédérique that continued.

Jules took Pauline’s suitcases to Louis-Marie’s bedroom.

As soon as he set them down, his sister-in-law came out and said, “You don’t look well at all, Jules. And we haven’t heard from you in over a month.”

“There’s nothing new. …”

Pauline opened a travel bag and took out a wine thermometer.

“It’s for Aurélien,” she said. “What do you think?”

Jules examined the object, magnificently presented in a mahogany box, and he burst out laughing.

“Pauline,” he said. “You’re not seriously going to give that to Aurélien! Did you show this to Louis-Marie?”

Taken aback, Pauline looked at Jules and then started to laugh, too.

“No, I didn’t. I thought … Bad idea, huh? Okay, I’ll give it to someone else, in Paris. … Why don’t you tell me about your father and Frédérique. How are things between them?”

She’d guided Jules to one of the windows to get away from the opened door.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Jules said, shaking his head. “Aurélien seems very … reasonable. And Laurène and Frédérique get along pretty well. …”

He was obviously embarrassed, and Pauline watched him closely.

“You’re being very … careful,” Pauline said. “I don’t know what happened but … you don’t seem to be as upset with this woman as you were. Am I right?”

Pauline’s sly tone made Jules sigh. He turned to the window and took in the nearby vines.

“I’m not sure what she wants out of this, Pauline. … But I don’t think that between Aurélien and her …”

He took a step away from the window and turned to his sister-in-law.

“Besides, she cheated on him the first chance she had. With me.”

He didn’t know why he told Pauline that.

“Your father doesn’t know about it?”

“No. It takes two to tango, but I’m the one responsible for what happened.”

Jules sounded like he was confessing some crime, and Pauline sensed how much he—normally so discreet—needed to talk.