Six
Maggie had to admit it was good to be home. Even just a few days away had her relaxed and humming as she drove up the long driveway toward the house.
An old farmhouse, Domaine St-Buvard was built with materials from the rough landscape. Stones of varying sizes were cemented into sloping knee walls, corralling thick hedges of lavender with stalks of whimsical pink penstemon peeking out from the other side. Cherry-colored roof tiles spanned the entire roof and bright blue shutters, handmade in the village and latched with ironware forged in the seventeen hundreds, punctuated the otherwise bleak façade of the mas with a gesture of wit and insouciance.
She parked next to Laurent’s Renault and wondered what her brother had thought when he’d first seen Domaine St-Buvard.
The front door to the mas swung open and Grace stood framed in the doorway.
“Need help with bags?” she called.
Maggie climbed out of the car, pulling her carry-on behind her. “Nope. Where is everyone?”
Grace stepped aside as Maggie entered the front door.
“Laurent is in the kitchen, Haley’s playing with the babies in the living room, and here’s you and me hugging hello.”
Maggie laughed and wrapped a free arm around Grace. “I’m so glad to be home,” she said. “I’ve got to see my little man before I go into withdrawal.”
She set her bag down on the pale, yellowing stone tiles of the large foyer just as Zouzou burst into the room and threw her arms around Maggie’s knees. Behind Zouzou, Maggie saw Haley, dressed in skintight jeans and a linen tunic with little Jem balanced on her hip.
Maggie kissed Zouzou and picked her up. She was surprised to see how thin Haley was.
“Welcome home, stranger,” Haley said as Maggie set Zouzou on her feet. She held Jem out to her.
“Oh, I’ve missed this!” Maggie said, hugging Jemmy as he squealed with giggles. “What a happy boy you are. Did you miss me at all?”
“He missed you as only a boy can miss his maman,” Laurent said, coming into the foyer, a smile on his lips.
“Hello, you,” Maggie said, going to him as he pulled both her and Jem into his arms. “Got everyone settled in I see.”
Laurent kissed her and patted her bottom. “Dinner in an hour,” he said before turning back to the kitchen.
“I love your home, Maggie,” Haley said as the three women went into the living room.
A tray of iced drinks sat on the coffee table. “Oh, my God, that man is a mind reader,” Grace said, seating herself and reaching for one of the glasses.
Maggie settled next to her with Jem on her lap. He clapped his hands together and pulled at her silk scarf, stuffing one end of it into his mouth. Her little poodle mix, Petit Four, jumped up on the couch and settled against her thigh. Maggie touched the dog’s topknot curls absently.
Haley patted the couch next to her and Zouzou clambered up. “I see your uncle Laurent hasn’t forgotten you,” Haley said, handing the child a section of socca from a plate of still-warm chickpea cakes.
“J’aime ça!” Zouzou said, stuffing the cracker into her mouth and looking in the direction of the coffee table for more.
“How much work have you done on the place?” Haley asked Maggie.
Maggie sighed and reached for her drink. “Well, I did get Laurent to agree to get the bathrooms updated, thank God. And we repaired the terrace because I kept tripping over the broken pavers, but that’s it. I wish we could do more.”
“Well, it’s simply gorgeous,” Haley said.
Maggie knew Haley was being generous. She and Ben lived in one of the wealthiest zip codes in Atlanta. Maggie was sure Haley’s idea of French Provincial was nothing like the living room in which she was currently sitting, which was anchored on one wall by a massive floor-to-ceiling fireplace of stacked stone and had a double set of French doors on the opposite wall which led to the terrace.
You’re never truly dissatisfied until you look at a thing through someone else’s eyes, Maggie thought.
Domaine St-Buvard was comfortable. It was big and rambling, but it was nobody’s idea of a French country estate by any means. The kitchen had its original stonewalls, two-foot thick and exposed. The terra-cotta tiles on the kitchen floor dated back to the nineteenth century and the ceiling arced to an apex that held a large, circular skylight. The cabinets were glass-fronted to show colorful local earthenware bowls and plates within.
Off the kitchen a steep staircase led to the wine cellar—and because it was used for wine storage, it was the only room in the house with air-conditioning. Old, stained oaken barrels lined the cellar’s limestone walls. A rack holding at least one hundred bottles of wine faced the staircase, minimizing the steps necessary to replenish party supplies.
Maggie flinched when she thought of their basement. Something terrible had happened down there one Thanksgiving five years ago. To this day, if she didn’t have to go down there, she didn’t.
“I would kill to live your life,” Haley said, sipping her cocktail.
“I didn’t know you were interested in France,” Maggie said, tipping her head to the side to see Haley better. “You should have visited before now.”
“I know we should have,” Haley said solemnly.
“I wasn’t fussing at you. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Grace stood. “Glad you’re back, sweetie,” she said to Maggie. “I think I’ll help Laurent in the kitchen.”
“He lets you do that?” Maggie asked. She kissed Jem’s cheek. “Daddy doesn’t like us anywhere near where the magic happens, does he?”
Grace laughed and left, her drink in hand.
“He doesn’t really keep you out of your own kitchen, does he?” Haley said.
“Are you serious?” Maggie grinned. “Trust me, it’s his kitchen.”
“Well, I guess everything is different over here.”
*****
An hour later, showered and dressed in a simple linen sheath with sandals, Maggie slipped into the kitchen, where Laurent faced a full panoply of pots and pans on the stove.
“Tiens, chérie,” he said, gruffly. “Go to the terrace. It is too hot in here for you.”
He turned and wiped a sleeve across his cheek, his eyes taking her in, fresh from her shower. He wore his dark brown hair almost to his shoulders and shaggy. His eyes were dark, nearly pupiless. Maggie always found them sexy, but a little disconcerting too.
“But you’re in here,” Maggie said, stung at being ordered out—especially after Haley’s comments.
“And I will be in our bedroom later,” he said, a smile edging his full lips, “where you may have my undivided attention.”
“It’s not all about sex, you know,” Maggie said as she swiveled on one foot to make a dramatic exit.
“Yes, it is,” he called after her.
She strode to the double set of French doors, opened wide to the terrace. It was after nine but still light out. She saw Grace had lit candles and placed them in nearly every room visible from the outside where the table was set for dinner. The heat of the day had given away to a definite chill and while not uncomfortable, the stack of sweaters and light shawls by the door would be welcome later.
Haley stood at the outdoor table, her jeans replaced by a long tunic dress. She’d put her hair up too, Maggie noticed. She turned when Maggie stepped out onto the terrace.
“Grace said you had a babysitter come over to take care of the kids tonight,” she said by way of greeting.
“I did. Danielle Pernon’s grandniece is visiting. The kids love her and she loves babysitting.”
“I would have been happy to give them their baths tonight.”
“Well, you can do it tomorrow night,” Grace said as she joined them. “Isn’t it heavenly out here? Maggie’s got a small plantation of lavender planted just over there. Can you smell it?”
Haley frowned and looked in the direction where Grace pointed.
“The candles are perfect, Grace,” Maggie said
. “And the table is beautiful. I’m such a slouch.”
“You were tired after your long drive from the coast,” Grace said. “Setting the table is fun. It’s the washing up afterward when you’ll be hard pressed to find me.”
Maggie laughed. “Laurent does that, too, although he may leave it ‘til morning tonight.”
“Oh? Reward redemption night, is it?”
“You are so amusing, Grace.”
Haley turned away and rubbed her arms as if cold.
“There are wraps by the door,” Maggie said to her. “Shall I get you one?”
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Where’s Ben? I haven’t even seen him yet.”
“Is that a criticism, because I warn you I’m not as desperate to please as some people.”
Maggie turned to her brother as he stepped onto the patio. He wore jeans and a polo shirt with loafers. Although she didn’t expect a hug, a smile would’ve been nice.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he said as he found a seat and slumped into it. Laurent came out onto the patio carrying five wine glasses and a bottle of wine.
Grace turned to Haley. “So, Maggie says the two of you were in school together. Is that how you met her brother?”
“That’s right. Ben was three years ahead of us.”
“So you knew Lanie, too.”
“Not really,” Ben said. “She was just one of my little sister’s amorphous-faced silly little friends. Made no impression.”
“Unlike, one would presume, another of her little friends?” Grace smiled at Ben and nodded in the direction of Haley, clearly indicating that now would be a good time to compliment one’s wife.
Ben didn’t respond.
Haley said, “Did I mention, Maggie, that Ben and I went to my fifteenth reunion at Pace?”
Maggie smiled. “No, you didn’t. Was it gruesome?”
“No, not at all. I was surprised I could convince Ben to come with me, but I think he ended up enjoying himself. Didn’t you, Ben?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Ben said and reached across the table to take one of the wineglasses that Laurent had filled.
“Was Lanie there?” Maggie asked turning back to the conversation. Laurent got up from the table and returned to the kitchen.
Haley frowned. “I didn’t see her. Did you, Ben?”
“How would I know? I barely remember what the woman looked like, for crap’s sake,” he snarled.
“Well, you know Lanie,” Haley said to Maggie. “If she were there, we would’ve known.” She turned to Grace. “Lanie wasn’t the shy type even back in high school.”
“Those are usually the most fun types,” Grace said.
“I’m afraid Lanie didn’t have a very fun high school experience,” Haley said sadly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Maggie?”
Maggie squirmed. The embarrassing fact was that right after she and Lanie parted ways, Maggie had become obsessed with a new student named Jeremy (or was it Joshua?) who had absorbed the whole of her concentration until he graduated—the year before her—and left her briefly heartbroken. She simply hadn’t thought much about Lanie that year.
“I guess so,” she said. “I know Annie said the two of them were going through a lot because of Annie’s divorce.” She decided not to mention Annie’s drinking.
“Oh, Laurent,” Haley said. “What is it that smells so heavenly?”
Laurent emerged from the kitchen and set down a large, heavy casserole on a platter stacked high with thick-sliced homemade toast.
“Oh, it’s brandade,” Grace said. “And Laurent’s is killer. Did you double-dose it with garlic?”
Laurent rolled his eyes as if to imply, what else? The table laughed.
“Yeah, I hope you’re not sensitive to garlic,” Maggie said, picking up one of the pieces of toast. “Laurent brought on early labor for a friend of ours after she ate his bourride.” Maggie used a spoon to dip into the steaming casserole and settled a large dollop on top of her toast, which she held carefully over her plate.
“What in the world is it?” Haley asked, reaching for a piece of toast. “It smells like…like the best thing I’ve ever smelled in my life.”
“Wait until you taste it,” Grace said. “It’s salt cod, right, Laurent?”
Haley’s hand froze over the dish. “Fish? This is fish?”
“Well,” Maggie said, “it’s fish pulverized with olive oil and potatoes and artichokes and about a ton of garlic. We normally only have it in winter and, believe me, you can weed half a hectare after lunching on this.”
Haley nibbled on her toast and eyed the casserole unhappily.
“What’s the matter, dear?” Grace said.
“She doesn’t eat fish,” Ben said, scooping up a large serving onto his plate. “I don’t suppose you have any chicken tenders for her?”
“Ben, stop it,” Haley said under her breath, her gaze dropping to her lap.
Maggie knew Laurent’s policy on picky eaters and she knew he would be pretty seriously disgusted by Haley’s inability to behave as he felt a guest ought to. Even so, she also knew he had strong views on how a host should behave, which is why she wasn’t surprised to see him remove Haley’s plate and retreat to the kitchen.
“There is leftover pizza from lunch,” he said over his shoulder.
“You are an embarrassment to me,” Ben said between his teeth.
“Oh, settle down, Ben,” Maggie said, smiling encouragingly to Haley. “It’s no big deal.”
Grace helped herself to the brandade and passed the breadbasket to Haley. “Fresh from the boulangerie two villages over,” she said brightly.
“Thanks,” Haley said softly, taking the basket.
Ben ate his brandade, ignoring Haley’s discomfort.
This was going to be a long visit.
“So, Maggie,” Grace said, “how was Annie? Is she going to be okay, do you think?”
Maggie waited until Laurent placed a plate with two pieces of pissaladière in front of Haley. She noted that Haley didn’t look much happier with the pizza than she had the fish.
“Well, she’s pretty devastated, obviously. I don’t know what kind of support system she has back home, but she does have a parish and I think she mentioned she’s active in it.”
“That’s good,” Grace said.
“She asked me to look into the evidence the police have on Olivier Tatois—”
The fork Laurent dropped was not an accident and Maggie knew it.
“Why in the world do you think Olivier is innocent?” Ben asked her, spooning himself up more brandade. “You don’t even know him.”
“I don’t necessarily think he is innocent,” Maggie responded. “I’m just trying to confirm that the police have the right guy.”
“Why don’t you think they do?” Ben asked.
“I don’t have an opinion one way or the other. As you said, I don’t know him. But Lanie’s mom asked me to make sure.”
“So, as usual, this is Maggie thinking she knows more than the professionals.”
“Wow. That’s a little more direct than we’re used to from you, Ben,” Maggie said. “Refreshing.”
“I’ve heard the stories of your so-called sleuthing escapades. I am in contact with Mom and Dad, as it happens.”
“Good to know. Just not at Christmas or Thanksgiving.”
“I have my own family, Maggie,” Ben said pointedly.
“Which most people don’t use as an excuse not to see their parents,” Maggie retorted. “Besides, no offense, but a couple is not a family.”
Haley sucked in a gasp of breath, her face a mask of hurt.
“Chérie, may I see you in the kitchen, please?”
“In a second, Laurent. Think about it, Ben. If you and Haley were to break up right now, it would be no big deal in the larger scheme of things. But that’s not the case if there was a kid in the mix.”
“Maggie, now,” Laurent said.
“How dare you, Maggie!” Haley was on her feet, her chair knocked to the floor behind her.
Maggie felt Laurent wrap his hand around her arm and tug her out of her chair.
“We have recently learned the benefits of time-outs,” Laurent said over his shoulder as he guided Maggie toward the kitchen, his hand firmly on her back. “And we will return momentarily when we are using our inside voices.”
Maggie stomped into the kitchen and then whirled on Laurent. “I need that jerk to realize he’s the worst son in the universe.”
“As he is not your son, perhaps you are not the best judge of that, chérie. Besides, your brother wasn’t listening to you but you were upsetting your brother’s wife very much.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Maggie said, clenching and unclenching her fists. “He is a pompous, uncaring jackass.”
“Bien sûr,” Laurent said pulling her into his arms and stroking her hair with his large hand down her back. “Breathe, yes? Big breath.”
“Don’t treat me like Jem,” Maggie said crossly.
“Of course not. Jem would be spanked by now,” Laurent said, shaking a finger in her face and grinning. “I am treating you like a naughty grown-up girl.”
Maggie laughed and eased into his arms. “That guy makes me so mad.”
“On this I believe we are all clear,” Laurent said, kissing her and rubbing her back. “Can you behave when you return to table? Even knowing there must be an apology first to your brother’s wife?”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Maggie said, sighing. “I got carried away. I shouldn’t have said all that.”
“Especially not to one trying so hard to have the bèbè.”
“Really? You think so?”
Laurent shrugged and Maggie didn’t probe further. The things he picked up on with people and their subtle reactions would rival Sherlock Holmes. She’d long ago learned to take his observations as fact and move on. Saved a whole lot of time.
“Now I really feel bad.”
“Tcht,” Laurent said, making that dismissive sound he did with his tongue. Maggie had heard him use it many times with the dogs. It didn’t thrill her that he was using it on her now. “Just apologize and go forward,” he said.
Race to World's End (Rowan and Ella Book 3) Page 34