Louis was fuming, but managed to control himself. “I’m going with you,” he mumbled.
As soon as they were on the stairs leading to the basement, Louis exploded. “What’s wrong with her? Is she out of her freaking mind?”
“I’m so sorry...”
“What do you mean, sorry? You’re not going to apologize for her! I know there’s nothing you can do about it, I know her. I need you to do me a favor. Take her aside and explain that I’m not going to let her get away with that attitude of hers. We’re not talking about my career, but my private life. I won’t tolerate her messing with it.”
“I’ll tell her. But you didn’t have to ask me. I was going to do it anyway.”
“Listen, Tom. I’m in love with Francine and it’s a great feeling...”
Suddenly calm, he leaned against the stone wall, a smile on his face.
“I’m happy for you,” Tom said. “And don’t worry. Apart from Alix, everybody likes Francine. Your father, Laura, Hugues, me... She’s beautiful, nice, and has one hell of a personality.”
“That’s nice of you to say.”
“Go back upstairs. Don’t leave Alix and Francine alone together. Which bottles do I bring up?”
“Whatever you want!” shouted Louis as he ran up the stairs.
Alix wasn’t on the veranda anymore, same for Frédéric, and Laura was chatting with Francine. Louis felt relieved and he lit a cigarette.
Grégoire came over and said, “You smoke more and more.”
“You want one, Dad?”
“No, no! Okay, maybe just one drag of yours.”
Grégoire inhaled with obvious pleasure, and then frowned.
“What’s this you’re smoking, hay?”
Sabine and Tiphaine came charging out of the house, thrilled to show off their costumes from Disneyland. One was dressed as Snow White, the other as Cinderella. They paraded around the veranda, with the adults applauding.
“You’re spoiling them,” Laura told her brother.
“I only have two nieces!”
Louis went over to Francine and sat right on the floor beside her.
“It is so great to be back home,” he said.
“What would you like to eat tomorrow?” Laura asked.
“Some cassoulet.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not. A cassoulet with lots of confit and sausage, but a real one. Not from a can.”
“It’s one of the things I can cook,” Francine said. “If you’d like me to, I can take care of it.”
Laura spontaneously accepted the offer, delighted to have some help in the kitchen for once.
“And a raspberry pie,” Louis said.
It was so rare to hear Louis expressing food preferences that Laura laughed. Eating out for two weeks must’ve frustrated him. Or Francine’s presence made him ravenous.
Bursts of laughter rang out at the far end of the driveway, and they heard the sound of Frédéric’s scooter. Frédéric slowly drove around with his two cousins seated behind him. The new scooter was bright yellow, the chrome shining brightly in the sun. Louis watched them for a while, deep in thought. Would the family atmosphere that had reigned for so many years at Neuville House withstand the upheaval he was about to impose? He told himself that this was his house and that he had the right to do whatever he wanted here, but thinking of the conflict to come worried him deeply. He didn’t want to make his son miserable, but he had no intention of sacrificing his own happiness. There had to be a solution.
“Here’s the champagne!” Tom announced. He was followed by Alix, who looked morose.
Tom must’ve talked to her. Louis knew that he couldn’t stop her from blurting out hurtful comments if she felt like it. Louis helped Tom fill the glasses, and gave Alix hers.
“To you, my darling,” he said, in a pleasant tone of voice.
She took a sip and glared at her brother.
“I have tons of work to do,” she said. “I hope you won’t be mad at me if I leave after supper? This way I’ll have the entire day to try to catch up on things. And anyway, I’m not crazy about cassoulet.”
She’d listened to what everyone had said on the veranda while hiding in the house—and she used some of it to taunt him.
“Perfect,” Louis responded calmly. “Don’t forget the CD of the score before you leave. Let’s talk sometime next week so we can go over things. No rush, though.”
He turned around in time to miss Alix’s angry expression, and the vicious look she shot Francine’s way.
* * *
Hugues put down the manuscript, very impressed by his wife’s impeccable work.
“I think this is exceptional, Laura,” he said. “Not only fascinating, but highly original.”
They didn’t lie to each other, and she was flattered by the compliment.
“You’ve taken the right approach,” he added. “I never would’ve come up with it.”
Set on abandoning her practice, Laura was more and more interested in the psychology of special needs children,. She wanted to join a clinic that works with them. Hugues respected her choice and even encouraged her to take the steps to make things happen, including writing a long article on psycho-pedagogical methods that she’d titled: Personalized Assessment: A Dehumanizing Technique.
Hugues gave his wife an admiring look.
“Where did you find the time to write this?”
“Here and there.”
Lying on her stomach on the bed, she’d slept while Hugues read her manuscript. Like everybody else, Laura had eaten too much of Francine’s cassoulet,which had been such a resounding success they all retired for long naps. It was a cold, gray windy afternoon, unusual for this time of year. The house was quiet. In the bedroom next door, Sabine and Tiphaine were chatting away, building a miniature LEGO village. Laura turned to her side, watching the dark clouds pass by the window.
“When I was a child, I hated Sunday afternoons... Now, I just love them.”
Back then, all she had to do was to look at the walls. The room had been wallpapered when she was thirteen, an easy age to be bored. She’d chosen the pattern herself—bright pink flowers. Alix and Louis had decorated their rooms more sedately, but they were seventeen back then and didn’t care for colorful flowers. The twins ignored their little sister and excluded her from their activities. They looked after her when need be, but rarely stopped to ask her how she was doing or really talk to her.
“I’m so glad Louis kept the house,” Laura said.
Notre-Dame-de-la-Mer was their collective memory, their home base. As long as she could remember, there always had been laughter and the sound of someone playing the piano. The construction of the music room, which muted the sound, had made her sad.
“Do you want me to take care of supper tonight?” Hugues offered.
“That’d be nice. Why don’t you ask Dad to give you a hand?”
She pulled the quilt to her chin, thankful to be able to stay in bed for a bit longer,. Hugues got up and whistled a tune while going down to the kitchen. Through the years, he’d also learned to love this old house. At times he thought that they really should get a place of their own. In Paris they lived in Grégoire’s apartment, and this place belonged to Louis. Their arrangement was so cozy that he didn’t feel like changing things. Nor did Laura, at least for now.
He turned on the kitchen light and found Frédéric sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal.
“You’re hungry already?” Hugues asked.
“It’s something to do...”
Frédéric didn’t so much as eat his cereal as move it around in the bowl with his spoon.
Hugues went over and sat next to the boy.
“I’m the one making supper tonight. How about pasta?”
“Whatever. All you guys think about is food.”
The aggressive tone surprised Hugues, who remained silent for a bit.
“Okay,” he sighed. “Will you at least help set the table?”
“No way! I’m not going to do anything for that woman and her son.”
“Alright, Romain... He’s here now?”
“Yep! And one hour early. He couldn’t wait to come over and kiss my father’s ass!”
“That’s a pretty awful thing to say.”
“See for yourself! He plays the guitar while my old man is on the piano and they have the time of their lives! A Sunday afternoon performance—those two are so great together.”
His voice cracked at the end of the comment, and he jumped up.
“Wait a second,” Hugues told him. “Don’t you think that you should tell your dad how you feel instead of sitting in the kitchen stewing alone? If you can’t stand the kid, let him know.”
“He knows all about it! But as you can see, it makes no difference.”
“What happened between the two of you?”
“It’s nothing, Uncle Hugues. We both had our eye on the same girl, and we kind of fought about it. No big deal...”
“If it’s no big deal, what are you so jealous for?”
For a second, Frédéric seemed crushed by the accusation. Then he sat up straight and stared his uncle directly in the eyes. Hugues continued, “Is it because he plays an instrument? Or is it that you have the impression that Louis really likes the kid, not just because he’s Francine’s son?”
“Lay off me with your shrink shit!” Frédéric exploded.
He stormed out of the kitchen, ran down the hallway, and wound up in front of the music room. A bit winded, he waited a few moments to compose himself before going in. Right away he was assailed by strident sounds, a distorted and harrowing music that came out of the speakers. Frédéric’s father was next to them, head turned to Romain, who was listening, brows furrowed.
The music came to an abrupt stop, and Louis asked, “So?”
Hesitantly, Romain answered, “It’s pretty... weird.”
“You have to imagine what’s on the screen while it’s playing. People running in dark alleys, hand-held cameras, lots of movement, someone getting stabbed, blood gushing—that kind of stuff.”
Frédéric, whose presence hadn’t been noticed, took a few steps into the room and said, “Is that the score you brought back from Hollywood?”
His father smiled and suggested they play it again.
“No, no, don’t bother. You know, my opinion doesn’t matter.”
He was usually the first to listen to whatever his father composed. Their solitary existence had made them share everything, not just affection. And now his father was betraying him by giving Romain the honor of listening to what he’d composed for Hollywood. This guy was nothing more than the son of his dad’s mistress.
“Hey,” Romain said in a low voice.
Embarrassed, the teenager could see that Frédéric was angry and he didn’t know what to do to fix things. He would’ve loved to talk to Louis about the strange music he’d just heard, but for Frédéric’s sake he kept his mouth shut.
“Of course your opinion matters,” Louis said. “What are you talking about?” He grabbed another CD, which he put in the player. “Since I have two young men here with me, I’d like to know what you think of this one. It’s very different...”
He pressed the “play” and went over to his son and hugged him. Against his will, Frédéric let himself be dragged to the far side of the music room. A rhythmic tune came out of the speakers, and Louis took the opportunity to whisper into his son’s ear, “I’m sorry, Fred. I didn’t mean to exclude you.”
Moved by his father’s kindness, the teenager nodded in silence. Then, a few seconds later, he began to hum along with the tune.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“You like it?”
“It’s very exotic... And it’s catchy. I love it.”
“Don’t exaggerate. But I think it’s a pretty moving theme and I hope to do something with it eventually.”
“Do you write songs?” Romain asked Louis.
“Pop songs, you mean? Never.”
“Well you should with that tune! It’d be a hit!”
Amused, Louis cracked a smile before turning off the stereo. “Enough music for today,” he said.
Confrontation was bound to erupt with his son being sensitive and Roman being so excited to be at the house. Louis wanted to avoid it at all costs.
“Well,” he said, “I’m going to find Francine. It’ll be suppertime soon.”
Leaving the boys alone was potentially dangerous, but it was going to have to happen sooner or later.
“That song was great,” Romain said to break the ice.
“Yeah, ‘It’s sure to be a hit,’” he said, imitating Romain. “Say, don’t you have anything better to do on Sundays than coming here to suck up to my old man?”
Romain turned his back on him and tried to control his anger by looking at the hundreds of CDs lining the wall in front of him. Louis was a cool guy but his son was an ass.
“From what Richard tells me,” Frédéric said, “your little show is soon. You can thank my dad for that!”
“Well, we weren’t going to say no to his offer. We’re playing next Sunday at the community center in Bonnières. You want to come?”
“Shit, no. I have better things to do!”
Romain spun around and faced Frédéric. “We’re going to ruin everything for them if we keep this up!”
“Them?”
“Our parents.”
The argument made sense, and in other circumstances Frédéric would’ve given it some consideration, but he wouldn’t let Romain try to manipulate him.
“Keep them out of it,” Frédéric said nervously. “My father screws whoever he wants, and your mother is not the first! Usually those women don’t bring their little families to the house!”
Romain’s face went white, and right away Frédéric almost regretted what he’d said. Yes, he was jealous, his uncle was right. He wasn’t about to give up one foot of his territory. This was his house, his home. He didn’t care that he was behaving like a spoiled only child.
“You suck,” Romain said.
He wanted to leave the room, but didn’t know where to go. Outside this house, he never would’ve let Frédéric insult his mother but he was mature enough to not to punch Frédéric in the face in Louis’ house. It would put his mother in the worst position. She seemed so happy when he arrived at the house earlier that he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that. He never should’ve agreed to come meet her here—that was a mistake.
One of the French doors opened suddenly and Grégoire burst into the room, his hair disheveled.
“Holy cow,” he said, “what awful weather. That wind! What are you kids doing in here anyway?”
Frédéric knew his grandfather’s arrival was no accident. He probably saw them as he was walking along the veranda and decided to break the tension.
“Well,” he said. “Supper’s almost ready, I think. I’m going to need to someone to help out with the wine.”
He didn’t want to leave them by themselves.
“Come on, young man,” he gestured to Frédéric.
Resigned, his grandson cracked a smile and went to leave. At least he was getting out of here with his head held high.
CHAPTER 8
Richard almost started to whistle but controlled himself . This wasn’t a boxing match and the few erudite spectators in the stands were politely applauding. With his last hit, Frédéric had won the match. His foil in one hand, his mask in the other, he left the strip.
When Richard arrived in the locker room, Frédéric was already undressed. He was covered with sweat, still winded.
“‘Roland had Durandal, Charlemagne, Joyeuse…’” Richard declared while bowing to his friend. “And you, what have you named your sword?”
“It’s a foil, not a sword,” Frédéric said. “I told you that before. And knock it off with the quotes! Who was it this time?”
“Henri de Bornier. Nobody reads him anym
ore.”
“I’m going to hit the showers.”
Richard sat on a bench, watching the other fencers putting on their gear. It was his first time at a fencing match. Despite no knowing the rules of the game, he thought that Frédéric looked awesome in action. Now his plan was to convince him to come to the concert Sunday night. He knew this wouldn’t be easy. He closed his eyes and sighed. Nothing was worse than being stuck between a rock and a hard place. His two best friends hated each other, and things were getting worse by the day.
“Are you sleeping?” Frédéric said. “The match was that exciting…”
Frédéric smiled and stuffed his gear into his gym bag.
“No,” Richard said, getting to his feet. “It was very impressive. The problem is that things go so fast you can’t see anything. As Paul Morand said…”
“Please, no, not another quote!”
Frédéric was already heading for the exit, with Richard on his heels.
Once in the parking lot, Frédéric said, “You want to come over to my place for supper?”
“I’d love to but I can’t. You know, we have to rehearse tonight… So, you’re going to come to the show, right?”
“I don’t think it’s going to happen, no…”
“Listen…”
“I have a bunch of homework to finish. And I haven’t even read Electra. I don’t want to get in trouble again, you know?”
“But you promised you’d …”
“Élise! What are you doing here?”
Frédéric was astounded to see the girl standing there next to his scooter.
“I was in the gym,” Élise said with a grin. “I got there toward the end. Fencing is great, though I don’t know about the uniform. I like you better the way you are now. But congratulations for winning.”
Frédéric could tell he was blushing, which made him feel dumb.
“Do you need a lift somewhere?” he said, trying to regain his cool.
“Why not?” she said. “I’m tired of walking.”
Frédéric handed her his helmet, climbed on his scooter, and waited for her to hop on behind him.
Richard stood beside them, saying nothing. He was stunned to see Romain’s girlfriend accept Frédéric’s offer.
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