Luncheon of the Boating Party (59 page)

“Why, monsieur?” Aline asked.

“One might run interference so the other can win,” Fournaise said.

Auguste could feel the breeze getting skittish. Gustave had a good start in the
Inès,
but so did
Le Palais, Jupiter,
and
Le Rouge-et-Noir,
the three others flying green pennants. Of all the boats, if
Le Palais,
Gus-

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tave’s longtime rival, took the lead, that might topple his spirit. In his recent mood shifts, Gustave might get so discouraged he wouldn’t sail well.
Miss Jane,
flying a white pennant, pulled ahead of all of them, with
Miss Helen
close behind.

Auguste ventured a comment to Aline. “See how Gustave’s boat is gaff-rigged? That gives him more sail on a short mast, and that’s an advantage.”

She didn’t respond. Why couldn’t women be more straightforward?

Like men. Or like Alphonsine. She never played games. But then, she was more than a decade older than Aline. Aline had some growing up to do. Well, fine. He would watch the race.

“Plus vite, Inès!”
Auguste shouted when Gustave came within earshot. Gustave glanced up but was more intent on watching the angle of sails of the lead boats,
Le Dragon
in Raoul’s series;
Jupiter,
which had a long record of wins;
Le Palais,
supported by the group that commandeered the tables under the arbor;
Le Rouge-et-Noir,
the biggest boat; Raoul in
Le Capitaine;
Guy in his
périssoire
with that handkerchief of a sail; and the two English boats.

“Eight boats to pass. I just don’t know,” Auguste said. “Aline, you were born near the source of this river. You must have some infl uence with the river goddess.”

“Sequana!” Her expression brightened and she gave him a genuine smile.

Aha! He had reached her. Relief poured out of him.

“Then it’s up to you,” he said. “Start praying.”

She grinned and put her palms together.

Gustave set his course with his sail in tight to overtake
Miss Helen
with her sail way out, and slid past her close to the far bank. Auguste saw that
Miss Helen
needed to tack soon, and heard the captain shout,

“Hey, skipper, I need some sea room.”

Gustave ignored him, and
Miss Helen
had to let out sail in order to avoid the bank until after the
Inès
passed.

“Good man! He does have his heart into it,” Auguste said.

When all the boats had passed under the bridge, the group boarded

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the launch which motored upwind, hugging the eastern bank, and

overtaking the sailboats which had to zigzag against the wind.

“I’m worried about Paul,” Pierre said. “Can you stay just ahead of him so we can see if he falls out?”

“I have to stay ahead of the lead boat,” Fournaise said.

The racers crossed tacks, maneuvering for each other’s wind. Two kilometers down the course, Auguste felt the wind shift and that left some boats in irons, their sails flapping. Gustave noticed and trimmed his sail, but
Miss Jane
was still in the lead by a fair distance.

Auguste saw the tall dredger along the windward bank cut off the wind of some boats. Raoul hugged the opposite bank until the mudfl ats, which snagged some boats whose captains didn’t raise their centerboards. The huge
Rouge-et-Noir
sailed right alongside the dredge but didn’t lose much speed because her mast was so tall. She cut a deep hollow on her leeward side and Gustave sailed right into it, riding her wind shadow with just a meter of space between their hulls.

“What’s he doing that for?” Fournaise said.

“He’s pinning her and making her skipper nervous,” Pierre said. “If
Le Rouge-et-Noir
decides to let out any more mainsail, her boom could get fouled in Gustave’s shrouds.”

“No. It’s his clever way to keep up his own speed passing the dredge,”

Auguste said. Just past the dredge, Gustave began his tack in the
Inès.
“See?”

“A bold move,” Fournaise said.

The wind shifted again. Gustave tacked instantly. The cumbersome
Rouge-et-Noir
couldn’t stay ahead.
Le Dragon
fumbled the tack. The
Inès
took it to starboard. “Good going!” Auguste shouted.

Now he was trailing
Jupiter, Le Capitaine,
and
Le Palais,
which were behind
Miss Jane
and Guy’s
périssoire
looking like a matchstick compared to the big boats. The
Inès
and
Jupiter
were headed to cross courses.

Neither was giving way.

“Are they going to crash?” Aline cried.

Pierre scratched his beard. “Possibly.”

Auguste gave him a look. “What a thing to say.”

The boats missed each other by an arm’s length.

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“He’s got bravado, our man Gustave,” Pierre said.

“He’s got skill,” Auguste added.

At the point of the island, two boats were forced down the commercial channel and had to come about to maneuver into the eastern channel.

“Ohé,”
Auguste shouted. “Now Raoul only has to catch
Le Dragon
to win his series.” Whatever tack Raoul took, there was Paul leaning far out over the water to keep them stable with the boat heeled sharply, its sails full.

Le Palais
was on a broad reach. Her boom, extended way out on her port side, caught on a hazard pole marking an underwater obstacle which yanked the boat around and plunged the bow into the muddy bank.

“Sacrebleu!”
Fournaise said. “He knew that was there.”

Le Palais
lay crosswise to the river, a danger to other boats. Her crew scurried to disentangle the boom and push off from the bank.
Jupiter,
sailing wing on wing, both sails out wide on opposite sides of the boat, had to haul in quickly to avoid
Le Palais,
and lost her wind. The
Inès,
coming up fast behind, nearly clipped the stern of
Le Palais
as he passed.

The skipper of
Le Palais
shouted angrily at Gustave.

“Gustave is sailing like he owns the river,” Auguste said.

“Well, he does, at least a stretch of the bank,” Alphonsine said.

Now the
Inès
and
Jupiter
were bow to bow. One and then the other crept ahead. All four larger boats overtook Guy’s
périssoire.
The
Inès
left
Jupiter
behind and was gaining on
Le Capitaine
and
Miss Jane.

“It’s just a horse race now,” Fournaise said.

They disembarked at the dock and found Charles Ephrussi in his

top hat.

“Just in time, Charles. Just in time,” Auguste said.

The
Inès
came alongside
Le Capitaine,
so far heeled to windward that Paul was getting quite a ride, bending backward over the rail and getting splashed full in the face.

“He can’t stand to be in a race without being right
in
the river,” Jules said.

“Fly, Gustave! Fly,
Inès!
” Alphonsine called.

“Raoul, get your ass moving!” Angèle shouted.

The
Inès
pulled ahead across the invisible finish line. Cheers on both

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banks were deafening.
Miss Jane
was close behind, then
Jupiter,
and Raoul and Paul in
Le Capitaine.
Paul thrust both fists into the air and shouted, “Just call me Monsieur Bonne Fortune!”

“Some are born great, some achieve greatness, some have greatness
thrrrust upon them!”
Jules shouted back, his fist in the air.

Angèle and Pierre began the song “Le roi des régates,” proclaiming Gustave the king of the regatta to whom even the frigates must salute, and the crowd joined in.

The skipper and crew of
Miss Jane
were the fi rst to shake Gustave’s hand. Alphonse
fi ls
was ready with an uncorked bottle of champagne for Gustave and Raoul and Paul, who upended it right over his mouth.

“I figure the course required about twenty tacks, wouldn’t you say?”

Alphonse asked.

Gustave blew air out of his mouth. “It felt like forty.”

The supporters of
Le Palais
cheered when it arrived, its bow muddy, but Henri, the skipper, was obviously humiliated. Word of the mishap spread quickly and Henri’s crowd retreated under the arbor.

The president of the Cercle de la Voile à Paris mounted the platform and gave out the medals. The skipper of
Miss Jane,
Guy, Raoul, and Gustave each received one hundred francs and a silver medal for winning their series, and Gustave received the
Prix d’honneur,
an
objet d’art
valued at five hundred francs, the president announced. As Gustave held aloft an ornate silver cup mounted on an onyx base, Henri, the captain of
Le Palais,
put one foot on the platform and held up a bottle of brandy.

“Armagnac Cames,” Henri said. “But not just any Armagnac.” He

draped the bottle in his boat’s flag and held it out to Gustave.

“Take it quick,” Angèle shouted.

“Ah, it’s Clos de Moutouguet,” Gustave announced and held up the bottle. “Two
objets d’art. Merci beaucoup!
” he said with a broad smile.

When they stepped down from the platform away from the con-

gratulating crowd, Auguste saw Gustave slip his winnings into Louise’s apron pocket.

After much slapping of backs, they pulled three tables together on

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the lower terrace and Louise served caviar on small glass plates with tiny mother-of-pearl spoons. “This is to be eaten with contemplation—”

“And champagne!” Aline said as Anne brought out a tray of crystal stemware. “Champagne from home!”

Everyone watched Charles lay the bowl of the spoon on his tongue and close his mouth, his little finger extended. When he said, “As fi ne as any in Odessa,” Louise nodded definitively, one nod.

Gustave, Raoul, and Paul received congratulations from everyone in the restaurant and on the promenade. Paul was beaming through it all, singing snatches of
canotier
songs.

“They’re not the only ones to be congratulated,” Ellen said. She waited for their attention. “I’ve been accepted to the new Théâtre des Arts, a true literary theater that will change everything. It will be dark during performances so there won’t be any moving around. No
promenoirs.
”

“How are men going to find their women of the evening?” Angèle

asked.

“They won’t. They sit in one spot and
listen
to the play.”

“Unbelievable,” Raoul said.

“The plays will either be by new writers or foreigners. For Ibsen’s
A Doll’s House,
we’ll have real furniture onstage, real food. Even the style of acting will be realistic, just how people really speak.”

“An artistic revolution,” Jules said.

“This is certainly worth a piece in
Le Figaro,
” Raoul said. “It could be the start of my life as a theater critic.”

“All in good time, Baron,” Louise said as she laid down a platter of
couliabac,
salmon with mushrooms and dill baked in brioche dough.

“First you can be a critic of the
cuisine de la Maison Fournaise.
”

“This originated in Russia, you know,” Charles said.

Fournaise himself laid down a second platter. “It’s one of my favorites. It’s folded with
crêpes
and tapioca and covered with a
velouté
sauce.

She started yesterday. I’m going to have to join you.” He sat at the head of the table and served it. “Go lightly. There’s more to come.”

“I’ve never known anything like this existed,” Aline said.

Louise watched Charles take a bite. At the first forkful, he emitted

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such a loud moan of pleasure that she clapped her hands over her mouth and left.

Gustave announced his move to Petit Gennevilliers. “After I get settled I’m going to sail the
Inès
to Le Havre.”

“You mean our local races are too easy for you?” Auguste asked.

Gustave’s cheeks colored. It was good to see him happy for a change.

Soon Louise and Anne brought out the second platter. “
Boeuf Riche-lieu
in Madeira sauce,” Louise announced.

“Mamma mia,”
Antonio said.

“The
couliabac
was for Gustave, for taking honors, because his boat swims like a fish,” Louise said. “The beef is for Auguste. You have to guess why.”

Auguste admired the roast surrounded by braised lettuce hearts, château potatoes, baked tomatoes, and stuffed mushroom caps. How carefully she’d laid out everything, alternating colors to make a pattern on the enormous oval platter.

“The platter is a palette! You paint with food, madame,” he said.

Père Fournaise uncorked a bottle of Chateau-Yquem and poured.

Auguste ate and drank heartily, and began to relax. Raoul pretended to paint his plate with his fork, screwing up his face and splattering the imaginary paint. Aline and Alphonsine laughed together uproariously.

He loved to watch both of them equally. How he wished he could be two men.

He had more things on his mind than women, though. There was

still the issue of what he would do now. There would always be that issue. Some days what he chose to do wouldn’t make a smidgen of difference, and other days his whole life might change. Tonight might be one such time.

The dessert was
poires Belle Hélène,
pears poached in vanilla syrup served on vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce and brandy. It slid coolly down his throat while Angèle sang the
Amours divins
aria from Offenbach’s
La Belle Hélène.
Fitting. Not only was the dessert the rage on the boulevards when the operetta opened, but it was his favorite operetta.