A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel

by Françoise Bourdin

  Pauline burst into laughter, startling Fernande.

  “Don’t worry about the rain. …” Jules said. “Everything’s okay. … No, I … Whatever you want. … Yes, I’m coming. …”

  He hung up and sighed.

  “Let me guess, he’s angry?” Pauline asked in a mocking tone.

  “Oh yeah. At me, the rain, the Jeep. And even at you.”

  “Of course. …”

  Jules looked outside at the rain steadily coming down, lost in his thoughts.

  “More or less,” he muttered to himself.

  As he was heading for the door, Pauline got up.

  “You’re not going out there, are you?”

  She seemed outraged, but Jules raised a hand.

  “You just stay here and get dry. I’ll send Louis-Marie to pick you up. I’m not on vacation, you know.”

  Then he darted out, and Pauline watched him run toward Fonteyne.

  She turned to Fernande and asked, “Is he crazy?”

  The old lady was making a pot of coffee.

  “You know,” she said, “Mister Aurélien … He was always a bit …”

  “Tyrannical!” Pauline said. “He treats everyone like dogs.”

  Fernande let out a timid laugh.

  “No, no … You should’ve seen him twenty years ago.”

  Pauline sat back down, thinking.

  “Things must’ve been rough for Louis-Marie,” she said.

  Lucas, lowering his paper, threw an unamused glance her way.

  “It’s not easy running an estate like this,” he said under his breath.

  Pauline gave him an icy stare. Under the contempt and insistence of her gaze, Lucas finally folded his paper and got up. He grabbed his raincoat from the hook on the entrance wall, silently put it on, and walked out of the house. Pauline turned toward Fernande.

  “But …” she said. “Men around here are awful.”

  Fernande laughed out loud this time and said, “Mrs. Pauline, you like to stir things up, don’t you?”

  She set down two mugs on the kitchen table and poured some coffee. Pauline looked around and thought the house seemed pretty ordinary. The room was clean and tidy, but devoid of charm. Fernande spent most of her time at Fonteyne and obviously didn’t give her own house much attention.

  “Mister Aurélien isn’t trying to be mean,” Fernande told Pauline. “He really does need Mister Jules.”

  Pauline stared at Fernande. She knew how much the old lady loved the Laverzac family. How devoted she was. She thought this was a good time to make the woman talk.

  “You said Aurélien was worse before?”

  “Oh, yes! But you have to understand … raising four sons on your own, that isn’t easy.”

  “And how were the children?” Pauline asked in a soft voice.

  “Pests!”

  Fernande laughed heartily, sentimental and delighted to revisit those days.

  “Your husband and Jules were terrible, always getting into trouble! Robert and Alexandre were smarter … Or, at least, they were more careful.”

  She’d stopped using the word Mister with their names, carried away as she was by her memories.

  “Without a woman to iron things out, there were lots of tough moments. As a matter of fact, Louis-Marie wound up as a boarder at one point.”

  “That was the way, back then.”

  “It was his way, that’s all. If he thought that his sons missed having a mother, he never said so, and he did nothing to replace her.”

  “How old was Jules when she died?”

  “Three. He was an adorable little thing, and he was crazy about his father. At first, it bothered him to have him on his heels all the time, but Jules was irresistible and everybody fell in love with him. Beyond that …”

  Fernande had become solemn all of a sudden.

  Avoiding setting her eyes on her, Pauline asked, “Why did Aurélien adopt Jules? Where did he come from?”

  Fernande recoiled, stupefied by the enormity of the question.

  “I have no idea!” she said. “I don’t know anything about it! And if you want some good advice, Mrs. Pauline, don’t you ask him either. It’s a taboo in the family. Jules is his son, and that’s that. …”

  Fernande retreated within herself, and Pauline realized she’d made a mistake by asking her directly about Jules. Still interested in Fernande’s openness, she rushed to ask a more benign question.

  “What about the other boys? I can’t imagine they were too pleased when Jules arrived out of the blue like that.”

  “They weren’t at first. But Jules was too little to realize it. And the Mrs. was there, making sure everything was okay.”

  “And she was happy to have another son just like that?”

  “Everything that he wanted, she accepted. … She was such a sweet woman. … I was heartbroken when she passed away. …”

  “And Aurélien?”

  “No doubt. … Well, I’m not sure. … You can never be certain with him. He was less strict with his sons for a while after her death, but it didn’t last! It was out of the question for them to miss the school semester because of it.”

  It was Pauline’s turn to be taken aback, and she didn’t try to hide it.

  “It? Their mother’s death?”

  Fernande gave a sad smile.

  “There was nothing to be done about it, you know? And he’s always been like that, be it with his sons, business, the harvest—everything has to be just so. He had so much pride in himself, his household, his wine … You don’t get to where he is with a soft heart, I can tell you that.”

  Fernande poured some more coffee in the mugs. Pauline had forgotten all about her wet clothes. The sun was now out, but she didn’t notice it, engrossed in the stories Fernande was telling her. Louis-Marie rarely spoke of his childhood, and Pauline had never shown much interest in it. Until now. …

  “So for softness,” she said, “the boys had you. …”

  Embarrassed, Fernande lowered her eyes.

  “I often consoled them when they were little. He was too strict with them, it’s true. … But I had to cuddle the children in secret because he wouldn’t have appreciated that kind of familiarity.”

  With every sentence that came out of Fernande’s mouth, Pauline recognized Aurélien, while discovering something different.

  “Is he liked around here?”

  “Is he liked? I don’t think he cares one bit about that. What he wants … well, it’s to remain on the top rung, of course! People living in the other houses and castles around here, other, smaller wine producers, it’s like a different world, you have no idea. …”

  The ring of the doorbell startled both women. Fernande jumped to her feet as though she’d been caught doing something wrong. She went to open the door for Louis-Marie, whose arrival annoyed Pauline. He’d brought his wife some dry clothing and she changed, reluctantly, but with no sense of modesty, in the middle of the room.

  Furious, Aurélien was pacing. He now regretted having sent Alexandre to Bordeaux and imposing Pauline on Jules—she must’ve been such a burden. He cast frequent glances out the window, cursing the weather. As soon as the sky cleared up a bit, more clouds started to gather.

  He came to a sudden stop, holding his breath. A dull pain, which he knew all too well, was slowly irradiating from his chest to his shoulder. He slowly went over to a chair. He just sat there for a minute or two, concentrating on his body, while the pain slowly lessened before disappearing.

  Not yet, he thought, forcing himself to remain calm. Not now …

  There was something terrifying about this harsh reminder. Aurélien felt like running to Robert’s room. And yet he remained seated, still, struggling against panic. He couldn’t picture himself seeking help from his son. He shut his eyes and realized that the pain was completely gone.

  I have to go back to that cardiologist. … I need to know if this is a false alarm or if I’m on borrowed time.

  He opened his eyes aga
in, relieved to be feeling okay, and to find his son standing in front of his desk.

  “You could knock!” he barked.

  Jules was scrutinizing him, obviously worried.

  “I did knock,” he said, in a soft voice.

  His concern annoyed Aurélien.

  “All right,” he said sarcasticly, “so I’m senile. And what about you? If you can’t handle the monitoring of the machinery, tell Lucas and he can take care of it. I can’t have everything breaking down all over the place. … The tractor, the Jeep—that’s an awful lot. Or maybe you’re just becoming irresponsible. Did you at least check out the lower vineyards?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what about the barrels?”

  “I’m on it.”

  Aurélien eyed his son.

  “To what extent?” he asked.

  Jules planted his eyes on his father’s and said, in a low voice, “I’m taking care of the barrels. There’s not going to be any problem.”

  Still in a foul mood, Aurélien shrugged and said, “If you say so.”

  Jules gave a heavy sigh and sat in front of his father.

  “What’s wrong, Aurélien?” he asked.

  “Everything is wrong!”

  He’d belted out his answer, and he continued on with the same tone, “Nobody cares about anything since the Parisians got here. It’s like you all caught the slacker virus from them or something. Look at the way Clothilde is sweeping the terrace right now. It’s like she’s about to fall asleep. And Dominique still isn’t back from running errands. As for Laurène, God knows where she is! Not behind her desk, that’s for sure. So tell me why the work around here is never done properly or on time? We’ve got enough personnel, that much I know.”

  Jules took the time to light a cigarette and, as Aurélien’s diatribe had come to an end, he said, “What the others are doing is no concern of mine. I’m sorry about the Jeep. That was my fault. I had it towed, and the mechanic is working on it. As for the cellar, everything is in order, as I told you. If you have something to say to me, don’t blame the entire world. … And if what’s making you nervous is the weather, there’s not a damn thing you or I can do about it.”

  “Don’t talk to me like that, Jules!”

  Aurélien slammed the top of his desk, but he wasn’t really angry. Jules was still staring at him, with his usual air of frankness.

  “You don’t look so good, you know. …” Jules said.

  Aurélien couldn’t repress a smile.

  “You ready to bury me, son?”

  “God forbid,” Jules muttered. “Not before the harvest.”

  Aurélien sat back in his chair, smiling at his son’s wisecrack.

  “Listen, since we’re on that topic, I want you to call the notary. I want him to come over as soon as possible. Tell him it’s important.”

  Jules jumped to his feet and nodded, not asking for an explanation. Aurélien watched him step out of the office, knowing the request had troubled him. He chuckled to himself. If he was certain of one thing, it was his affection for Jules.

  He only had to wait a few minutes before someone was knocking at the door. He knew who Jules would have talked to about his worries, and he called out, “Come in, Robert!”

  Dominique was driving fast, fed up after spending the entire morning running errands. Providing supplies for Fonteyne was a chore that weighed on her, but she couldn’t escape it. Aurélien’s tastes forced her to come up with elaborate meals twice a day.

  “Those Laverzacs don’t know how to eat simply,” she told Laurène, her eyes stuck to the road. “I swear, sometimes I wish I could just have a ham sandwich.”

  “With a glass of beer,” Laurène said.

  When they were together, they tended to act like school girls, railing against Aurélien’s tyranny and their labor at Fonteyne. But the fact of the matter was they wouldn’t have traded places with anyone, knowing they were part of a very enviable world.

  “Until the harvest is over, Aurélien is going to be impossible,” Dominique continued. “I don’t know how Jules puts up with him.”

  From the corner of her eye, she checked her sister’s reaction.

  “Jules …” Laurène said, broodingly. “He’s not always a piece of cake either. Those two go well together.”

  “Hmm,” Dominique said. “You’re not defending him anymore?”

  Dominique was smiling, waiting for a response, but Laurène remained silent. What could she have said? She was so confused about things. For the past two years, she’d looked at Jules with such trepidation and desire, wanting so much for him to pay attention to her that she was now accustomed—almost resigned—to the sort of indifference he showed her. In her mind, she’d come up with all kinds of schemes to make him come out of his shell but never actually did anything about it. She’d waited, paralyzed with shyness, not daring to make a move or allude to anything. Yet she could tell that he was attracted to her—from little hints. Alas, he remained deliberately distant, abiding by Aurélien’s silent reprobation. For a few months, Laurène had accepted the situation, amused by Aurélien’s protective attitude toward her, and by Jules’s eloquent silence. Then she realized that their relationships, such as they were, could never be altered.

  Understanding that her sister wasn’t ready to talk, Dominique changed the subject.

  “Aurélien took me aside this morning,” she said. “He wants to celebrate Jules’s birthday in grand style. Thirty—that’s some milestone! I’m supposed to come up with an exceptional meal, and Alex has to go through the cellar to find the very best bottles we have. Can you imagine?”

  Laurène started to laugh, recognizing Aurélien’s unpredictable character through these demands.

  “Nothing’s too good for Jules, as usual. And when is this gala evening supposed to take place?”

  “Tomorrow. Jules doesn’t know about it.”

  Dominique hesitated before adding, “Aurélien invited Mom and Dad. And he thought that Granny could maybe come, this one time. He also called Maurice Caze. Remember him?”

  “He lived near Saint-Julien, right?”

  “Exactly. He’s Jules’s godfather. But that’s not why Aurélien invited him. Maurice Caze is also the father of a very pretty young woman. … Aurélien thinks of everything.”

  Annoyed, Laurène shrugged.

  “She’s pretty,” she said, “but dumb as a doorknob. I can’t believe that Aurélien is thinking of Camille as a potential daughter-in-law.”

  “If you ask me,” Dominique said, “he’s mostly thinking about Caze’s vines.”

  She was chuckling, but her sister wasn’t. Once again Laurène was feeling uncomfortable. Since Robert’s arrival at Fonteyne, she’d discovered with delight that she could be interested in someone other than Jules. She’d only had a vague memory of Robert and was very surprised when she saw him the morning he returned. This sudden attraction had the charm of novelty and delivered Laurène from her past obsessions. She’d suddenly decided that it was no use being twenty and pretty if all you did was cling to pipe dreams. For the past three days, she was finally seeing a solution to all her problems. She could feel instinctively that Aurélien wasn’t at all protective of Robert. And this might just be a way to get back at Jules’s indifference.

  “Your head is in the clouds a lot these days,” Dominique told her as she took the driveway leading to Fonteyne.

  “Clouds …” Laurène said with her eyes set on the sky. “There are plenty of those.”

  Robert was fiddling with his stethoscope, his eyes riveted on his father. He’d carefully read the medical file Aurélien had reluctantly handed him. They’d gone to the library so as not to be disturbed. It was Aurélien’s favorite room, the refuge where he forgot all about his worries. Even with the mahogany paneling, the room was bright, rays of sun pouring through the four large windows. Robert found there the atmosphere he’d adored as a teenager. He’d studied in this room, in a silence and light he still remembered. By tacit
agreement, no one entered the library when Aurélien was there. But Robert and his brothers always had, even as kids, access to the books without any restrictions. Their father would tell them to read whatever they wanted, as long as they read. And they spent entire Sundays sliding the ladder along the shelves, in search of books they might enjoy.

  Robert began to pace and smiled at the sound of his steps on the polished hardwood floor, one of the many details that had brought him back in time and moved him since his return to Fonteyne.

  “There’s nothing too worrisome,” he said, “but I’d like you to consult a cardiologist.”

  “What?” Aurélien hissed. “You’re not sure of your own diagnosis?”

  “I’m a surgeon, you know? I’d like the opinion of a cardiologist. But you shouldn’t worry too much. …”

  “But I’m not worried! Jules is the one who went and got you, not me. And I know you, you’re going to tell me to make an appointment with Dr. Whoever, some great specialist—in Paris, it goes without saying. I’m not going to Paris. Ever! The doc I saw here seemed very competent, and his opinion is good enough for me. Now, if you think it’s bad or urgent, we’ll talk about it and figure something out.”

  Robert sat by his father, brows furrowed.

  “I’m a poor judge in this case because you’re my father. Doctors usually don’t treat members of their own family. I think you’ll be treated just as well in Bordeaux as you would in Paris. I’m just asking you to monitor yourself regularly. As for the rest, you’re free—”

  “Thank goodness for that! I’ve heard it all this morning!”

  Robert produced a smile. Aurélien’s vitality fascinated him. He remained the same year after year, exasperating his sons and commanding their respect.

  “I am very worried, actually, but it’s about the weather! You’ve forgotten how the harvest is …”

  “I haven’t forgotten anything,” Robert said, laughing.

  Aurélien pointed at the stethoscope hanging around his son’s neck.

  “Put that thing away,” he said. “It makes me feel like I’m talking to a stranger. … Oh, the girls are back! We’ll finally get some lunch around here!”

  Robert watched Dominique and Laurène walking by the office across the terrace, followed by Fernande. All were carrying heavy bags. Laurène gave both men a smile, and then she made a face.