Dangerous to Know (15 page)

We went to the best four-star restaurant in the vicinity, Le Moulin de Lourmarin. He had ordered champagne in advance, and it was served the moment we were seated at the table.

With our dinner, a marvelous veal stew, we had one of the best of our local wines, a Chateauneuf-du-Pope from a nearby vineyard, Domaine de Mt-Redon.

Quite aside from the delicious food and wines, Kit himself was in top form. He was amusing and expansive throughout the meal, talking about his work, his exhibition in Paris, and then he filled me in on the local gossip, told what had been happening during my stay in Connecticut . He kept me laughing and highly entertained for several hours.

Later, over coffee, he suddenly said, “Will you come to Paris with me in November, Viv? Come to the opening of my show?”

“Oh, Kit, I’ve got such a lot of work to do yet on my book,” I began and paused when I saw the look of genuine disappointment settling on his face.

“Please, Viv, it’s important to me that you’re there.”

“Then I’ll come,” I said, making a sudden decision. “It’s at the end of the month, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s Friday the twenty-fifth of November. Why?” -“It’s just that the last part of the month is better for me. It gives me a chance to get back into the book. I’ll work like crary for the next few -weeks, so that I can take a long weekend off to be with you in Paris.”

The look of pleasure that crossed his face told me what my acceptance meant to him, and I was touched. I said, “Thanks for asking me, Kit, I know your show’s going to be a huge success. And I can’t wait for my private preview of the paintings tonight.”

“And I can’t wait for you,” he said, leering at me wickedly, then grinning he added, “But I honestly think it’s better to view the can vases tomorrow. In the daylight.”

“Oh you do, do you?” I answered, raising a brow.

I stood at the bedroom window, looking out toward the ancient castle of Lourmarin, waiting for Kit. There was a full moon and it illuminated the castle’s Renaissance bulk, its stark towers, and brought a silvery sheen to the time-weathered stones.

I had always loved the view from his bedroom and tonight there was something special about it, something different. Perhaps it was the play of brilliant moonlight on those ancient ramparts and the rolling fields where the castle stood. Or maybe it was the dark sky, littered with bright stars and fast-moving clouds that occasionally scudded across the face of the moon to obscure it.

Or perhaps it was because I was different tonight.

I was more relaxed and at ease with myself in a way I had not been for a very long time. I was glad to be with KiL That had registered with me hours ago. I had forgotten how good he made me feel with his warmth and attentiveness and loving gestures. This was nothing new.

He had always treated me well, beautifully really. I’d just forgotten in the three months I had been away.

Suddenly he was there, standing behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders. Lifting my hair, he kissed the nape of my neck. Then slowly he turned me around to face him.

He was wearing a white terry-cloth robe, and he handed one to me.

“Please, darling, get undressed, let’s go to bed,” he murmured.

But as I started to move away he pulled me back into his arms and kissed me. It was a long hard kiss and when he released me, he said in a low, urgent voice, “Hurry, I can hardly wait, Viv, I’ve missed you so much.”

A few minutes later I returned wearing the terryloth robe and joined him on the bed. We lay side by side for a second, holding hands, watching the sky turning color, and I was happy to be next to him, to savor this moment of rare peace and intimacy. Then in a sudden movement Kit pushed himself up on one elbow, lay on his side, regarding me intently. “You’re beautiful, Vivienne,” he said and opened my robe, began to stroke my breasts, my stomach and my thighs, his hands moving over me lightly. Finally settling into a kneeling position, he bent over my body, kissing every part of me, until he finally arrived at the core of me. And it was here that his mouth lingered. I relaxed and let him love me as he wanted to, in the way he always had.

JACK

DIIIY I first came to the Chateau d’Case when I was seven years old. If a small boy of that age could fall in love with a house then I did.

In those days I did not understand why I loved it so much. Mi I knew was that I felt at home. Its vastness did not frighten me. Nor was I intimidated by its grandeur. I was at ease in the great rooms.

Or roaming through the meadows and woods of the estate.

Deep in my soul, I knew that I belonged at the chateau. Forever.

This was my place. I never wanted to leave. When I had to, I was sad for weeks afterward. I could not wait to return. We came back every summer. It was never long enough for me.

My father gave me the chateau and its lands just after he married Vivienne in 1980.1 was stunned when he told me. I did not believe he meant to go through with it. I kept thinking he would back off at the last minute. To my surprise he did not.

Sebastian had grown bored with the chateau. He was no longer interested in the vineyards and the winery. But that was my father.

He soon grew bored with things. And with wives.

After he and Vivienne split up, Luciana and I started to call him Henry behind his back. After Henry the Eighth who had six wives. The name quickly deteriorated into Hank.

Luciana and I had secret names for a lot of people when we were kids.

Vivienne was VTG. This stood for Vivienne the Great. My father thought she was just that. So did I. But Luciana detested Vivienne.

So VTG was a derogatory name to her. Never to me. I laughed up my sleeve.

My half sister also hated Vivienne’s mother, Antoinette Delaney.

I -didn’t. I loved her. I thought she was beautiful. Her hair was full of sunlight, her green eyes the same color as the emeralds my father constantly gave her. She had pale, pale skin. When she was angry it turned bright pink. In summer she got freckles on the bridge of her nose. I liked her freckles. They made her real, less ethereal.

Antoinette was always very kind to me. She loved me a lot. As much as she loved vivienne. I knew this because she told me, told me I was like the son she had never had.

I wouldn’t allow Luciana to give Antoinette a nickname. Not unless it was flattering. We never did agree on that. And so she was never called anything behind her back. She was only ever referred to as Antoinette.

But I had my own name for her. She was my Special Lady. And she was &actly that. mily special. She worked wonders in my young life, turned it completely around. And she helped to make me feel whole.

Then she went and fell down the cellar steps at Laurel Creek Farm.

She broke her neck and died.

I was twelve and it broke my heart. I’m not certain that I’ve ever recovered from her death. There has been a void in me since then.

No one has been able to fill it.

My twelfth year was hell.

Antoinette died, and my father started to lecture me about Duty.

It was my Duty to look after Luciana when he was away. It was my Duty to study hard. In order to go to Exeter and Yale. It was my Duty not to let the family down. It was my Duty to follow in his footsteps. My Duty to run Locke Industries and the Locke Foundation one day. And it was always Duty in a grand way. And with a capital D.

I was still only twelve when Cyrus joined the act.

Whenever we went to see him in Maine it was Duty Duty Not surprisingly, I began to hate that word. I determined that I would never do my Duty.

Not ever. But of course I did. Like the Pavlov dog, I had been brainwashed. I submitted to their will. And I did their bid ding.

After a fashion.

The Inheritance, as I called the chateau in those days, was deeded to me when I was only sixteen and attending Exeter Preparatory School.

It was merely a small part of my vast inheritance, my grandfather and father being billionaires.

I sometimes thought of the chateau as a consolation prize. My lather had married Vivienne, the woman of my dreams. I had always planned on marrying her myself. Not unnaturally, I was devastated when they fled the knot.

I suspect Sebastian realized this. Hence the chateau. Of course, giving it to me when he did saved inheritance taxes as well.

Once the chateau was mine, I flew to France whenever Exeter broke for vacation. I was thrilled to be at d’Case several times a year, instead of only in the summer months.

Sebastian and Vivienne were also there a lot in 1980 and 1981.

They got on my nerves. They were forever billing and cooing. Luciana and I christened them the Lovebirds.

The Lovebirds were preoccupied with the pile of rubble Sebastian had bought for her in Lourmarin. They were transforming it into a house.

Eventually it was finished and they called it View Moulin. I thought it was an imprudent waste of money. But I said nothing. It was none of my business. And, after all, I now owned the chateau. The house of my dreams, if not the girl.

I never did understand the attraction that heap of old stones held for Sebastian. An old mill, for God’s sake. But then I never did under stand my father. Now it was too late. He had been dead and buried for five months.

When I graduated from Exeter at the age of eighteen I went to Yale.

Just as I was supposed to. Doing my Duty. I was following in the footsteps of those other Lockes who had gone before me. The first was my great-great-grandfather, Ian Lyon Locke. I would probably be the last, since I had no son.

I considered Yale to be a nuisance. It was preventing me from get ting on with my life. All I wanted was to live at my chateau in Air-en Provence. I had been learning about my vineyards and my winery from Olivier Marchand, who had run everything for years. First for Sebastian . And then for me. It was my whole existence.

At twenty-two I became master of my own fate.

After graduating from Yale, I moved to the chateau permanently, where I worked alongside Olivier. I was passionately consumed by the land. My land.

I was also passionately in love.

When I was twenty-three I married her.

Everyone thought she was eminently suitable. She was, when it came to pedigree. Eleanor Jarvis Talbot had the right lineage. She was Bas ton Old Money. Except that they didn’t have any. Not anymore.

This didn’t matter to me. I had more than enough for both of us.

Mrnions.

In trust from my mother.

Eleanor was a lovely pale blonde. Thin and willowy. And highly over sexed. I slept with her on our first date and continued to do so all through the last year I was at Yale.

Her cool, refined looks belied her sizzling nature. She was hot.

Per hops this was part of the attraction. She looked like a lad, behaved like a whore. When I was with her I was forever turned on just thinking about what we would do later.

Actually, all we ever did was screw. Day and night, whenever we could.

I was in seventh heaven, as they say. I couldn’t believe my luck.

The family thought she was Miss Right. So did I. We were confused.

Eleanor turned out to be Miss Wrong. From the very beginning the marriage floundered. Maybe it was partly my fault for not making her understand how much the chateau, the winery, and the running of the estate meant to me.

We honeymooned in Morocco. I will never know what that country is really like. Not unless I make a return visit. I spent all of my time in bed. On top of Eleanor. Gazing down into her limpid gray-blue eyes.

Or lying on my back. Staring up at hotel ceilings as she mounted me enthusiastically. She liked to do that. The dominant position appealed to her. “Let me fuck you,” she would say and she did. Over and over and over again.

Then we came home to the chateau. And things changed. They had to change. I had a real life at the chateau. I had work to do. It was my Duty. But I cherished my Duty in this particular instance. I was bound to the land and the winery.

The endless screwing had to lessen. But it didn’t stop entirely.

Un fortunately, Eleanor was like a rabbit. She was inordinately miffed when she couldn’t get it all the time. Wheneverw. Day and night, whenever we could. I was in seventh heaven, as they say. I couldn’t believe my luck.

The family thought she was Miss Right. So did I. We were confused.

Eleanor turned out to be Miss Wrong. From the very beginning the marriage floundered. Maybe it was partly my fault for not making her understand how much the chateau, the winery, and the running of the estate meant to me.

We honeymooned in Morocco. I will never know what that country is really like. Not unless I make a return visit. I spent all of my time in bed. On top of Eleanor. Gazing down into her limpid gray-blue eyes.

Or lying on my back. Staring up at hotel ceilings as she mounted me enthusiastically. She liked to do that. The dominant position appealed to her. “Let me fuck you,” she would say and she did. Over and over and over again.

Then we came home to the chateau. And things changed. They had to change. I had a real life at the chateau. I had work to do. It was my Duty. But I cherished my Duty in this particular instance. I was bound to the land and the winery.

The endless screwing had to lessen. But it didn’t stop entirely.

Un fortunately, Eleanor was like a rabbit. She was inordinately miffed when she couldn’t get it all the time. Whenever she felt like it.

She said I didn’t love her. I believed I did. But she wore me out. I was exhausted . I needed a rest from all that unimaginative mindless fucking.

I soon realized I had very little to say to her. Almost nothing at all.

This aside, she had no idea how to run a great chateau. Being a chatelaine meant nothing to her. Nor was she interested in learning how to be one. Her curiosity about what I did all day was nil. Her involvement in my working life was nonexistent. Then, after a year of marriage, another problem developed. She became fixated on my lather .

She couldn’t stop taling about him. His presence seemed to ignite her.

She became overly animated, abnormally effervescent, al most raucous. In his absence, a despondency set in. She sulked. Threw tantrums.