Chateau of Secrets: A Novel

by Melanie Dobson

  “Waiting for what?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “You must tell me, Michel.”

  But he didn’t speak anymore about Philippe. “Papa would have tried to hide the valuables down near the lake.”

  She took a step back. “I will go look for him.”

  “Not by yourself, Gigi.” He glanced back over his shoulder, at the dark corridor. “I will go with you tonight.”

  “Do you think . . .” She couldn’t bear to finish the question, couldn’t bear the thought that he might be lying wounded by the bombs.

  His voice dipped low. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  — CHAPTER 14 —

  Austin turned off the ignition in the airport parking garage and intertwined his fingers through mine. “I am the luckiest man in the world.”

  I glanced out the window, at the red and blue lights flashing along the cement wall. “The security cameras are watching.”

  He pulled me closer. “I don’t care if the whole world knows how much I love you.”

  His kiss reminded me of all I loved about him—his confidence and passion and fervent dreams for our future. As I sank into him, in the privacy of the parking deck, he held me as close as he could with a console stuck between us.

  What was I thinking, going to France weeks before my wedding? Even with Austin’s encouragement, even with the allure of visiting the château, I didn’t want to leave.

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t go—” I began to say.

  Austin hushed me with another kiss, one that made my toes tingle. “I’ll be waiting here when you return,” he said. “And then next time you travel to France, we’ll be together.”

  “You will love it in Normandy,” I said.

  Grinning, he brushed my long hair back over my shoulder. “I would love anyplace if I’m with you.”

  I kissed him one last time, and with a glance at the dashboard clock, began to inch away. I didn’t want to step outside, but my flight left in an hour.

  As he removed our luggage from his trunk, I reapplied my lip gloss and we strolled into the Richmond airport like an old married couple, side by side about three feet apart. Together but distracted.

  Before we made it to security, a young couple stopped Austin. Nervous, they began to gush about their desire to have him as their next governor. His smile charismatic, he thanked them and then disarmed them by asking the questions he asked of everyone—where did they live and what did they want for the future? As they chatted, I discreetly checked the time on my phone. My flight left in thirty-five minutes now, his in an hour.

  He introduced me as his future wife, the third-grade teacher who would champion education reform. I smiled politely and then stretched my fingers over his arm. A gentle tug brought him back to the reality that we were in an airport, trying to catch two separate flights to New York. Others might wait for the candidate, but I was pretty sure the commercial airlines would not.

  By the time we arrived at the gate, I was out of breath and the attendant was calling for final boarding.

  “Did Olivia send you the research notes?” Austin asked.

  I tapped my briefcase. “They’re all on my iPad—I’ll read them on the plane.”

  “I’m going to miss you,” he said.

  I’d only be gone a week, I told myself. After that we had a lifetime together. “I’m going to miss you too.”

  He pecked my cheek. “Call me when you get to Paris.”

  I smiled. “I’ll call you when I land in New York.”

  Worry flashed in his eyes. “Someone from the party is picking me up at the airport. I’m afraid they have meetings planned all day for me.”

  My smile fell. “Of course.”

  “But I’ll send you a text.”

  I slid my boarding pass out of my purse. “Good enough.”

  “I’m sorry, Chloe. I wish you were going with me.”

  I didn’t mean to be insensitive to his commitments. I just wasn’t quite ready to say good-bye.

  “No stress,” he commanded, “for an entire week.”

  The attendant called my name from the podium, and Austin stepped back, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “I suppose I should catch my flight too.”

  I shooed him away. “Go.”

  Before I stepped onto the Jetway, my fiancé was gone.

  • • •

  Steely clouds anchored themselves above the New York skyline, dark and foreboding. Our plane circled the airport three times before the pilot was cleared to land. After the plane parked, hail began to pelt the windows, and inside the terminal the attendant informed me and every other passenger on my flight that we were grounded until the thunderstorm cleared. Pending weather, the next flight to Paris would leave tomorrow morning at ten.

  I glanced around the lobby. People were already draped over most of the seats, and both luggage and children had strayed onto the walkway. The weather might keep me out of the skies for the next twenty-four hours, but it didn’t mean I had to stay off the roads.

  Perhaps I could join Austin at the Plaza.

  I wasn’t naïve enough to think it would be a romantic evening, but I much preferred spending the night at the Plaza than at the airport. And maybe Austin and I could duck out after the event for a walk in Central Park or even a midnight carriage ride.

  I called Austin’s number, but his phone went straight to voice mail. He’d probably been whisked off to a meeting the moment he landed.

  My luggage would be transferred to my next flight, but I could secure an elegant dress and shoes on Fifth Avenue. And if I called ahead, perhaps I could make an appointment with a stylist to do my hair and makeup.

  Smiling, I climbed into the cab. I wouldn’t try to call Austin again.

  Instead I’d wait and surprise him at dinner.

  Chapter 15

  Gisèle slipped out of the château after midnight and hurried west, toward the forested hill that dipped down to a lake and ancient caves where Michel loved to hide as a child. Her flashlight trembled in her hand, but she didn’t dare turn it on.

  The narrow path wound under the stone walls of an old guardhouse to the brick wall that separated the landscaped lawn from the towering oak and beech trees. A rusty iron gate linked the wall, and the hinges creaked when she edged it open.

  An aeroplane flew over the château, and she ducked under the canopy of branches until she heard a low whistle filtering through the trees. She whistled back.

  “Gigi,” Michel whispered.

  “I’m by the gate.”

  Her brother crept up beside her. “We must hurry,” he said.

  She followed him down the winding path that descended to the lake. Every minute or two, the beam from his flashlight swept across the floor, and then they were covered in blackness again.

  “Lisette came by today,” she whispered as they walked.

  He slowed his pace. “What did she say?”

  “She’s worried about you.”

  “You can’t tell her where I am,” he said, worried.

  “Can I tell her you are safe?”

  He shook his head. “She must forget about me.”

  “None of us will forget about you, Michel.”

  He flashed his light again and they scanned the fallen branches and overgrowth on the forest floor.

  “Why don’t you like Philippe?” she asked as they neared the lake.

  “I want you to marry someone who loves you.”

  She stopped walking. “You don’t think Philippe loves me?”

  “Not like he should.” He hesitated. “He wants the château.”

  “But the château will be yours one day.”

  “Philippe is a gambling man.”

  Michel resumed his walk, and she fell behind him, trying to sort out the implications of his words. What was Philippe betting on?

  The trail flattened, and ahead of them, moonlight trailed across the small lake, like the filmy train of a bride. As they rounded
the edge, Michel scanned the rocks and downed logs along the shore. On the other side of the lake was the shadowy entrance to a cave.

  Michel ducked inside, and when he flicked on his light, she stepped in behind him.

  “Stop!” he yelled, but it was too late.

  Against the wall was her father, and she rushed forward. Dark bruises circled around his eyes. Dried blood caked his ears and cheeks. “Papa,” she whispered, shaking him.

  Michel placed his hand on her shoulder. “Gisèle.”

  She pushed her brother away. “No . . .”

  Her head dropped to her father’s chest, listening for the whisper of his heartbeat, but his body was still. “Papa!” she yelled, shaking him as if he might wake again, but there was no life left in him.

  Rushing outside, she retched in the bushes.

  Papa had said the Germans would respect the aristocracy, that he would follow her to Lyon. That he would be safe.

  Michel was beside her again, but this time she didn’t shake him away. He put his arms around her and she sobbed on his shoulder.

  Had the Nazis killed him for the silver? As if silver was worth more than the life of her father, a hero of a man. How could Hitler’s soldiers kill good men, innocent men, as they plundered Europe?

  Her entire body trembled as she collapsed to the ground. “I shouldn’t have left the château without him.”

  “This isn’t your fault.”

  She clutched the crucifix that hung around her neck. “They murdered him.”

  “And they will pay for it,” he said, anger teeming in his voice.

  She curled over her knees, rocking back and forth. “We must bury him.”

  “The others will help me retrieve his body. We’ll bury him beside Mother.”

  Michel stepped back into the cave, but she couldn’t go back inside. Her hands clasped around the cross, she whispered her prayer as she counted the beads.

  Our Father who art in heaven,

  Hallowed be thy name;

  Thy kingdom come

  Thy will be done

  On earth as it is in heaven.

  Michel appeared back at the entrance, his hand outstretched. She looked down at his palm in the flashlight beam and saw an onyx-and-gold cuff link with a tiny diamond in the center.

  He folded his fingers around it. “I’ll kill a hundred boches to avenge his death.”

  Her heart seemed to collapse within her. As much as she wanted revenge, she couldn’t lose two of the men she loved. “It won’t bring him back,” she said. “We should both go to Lyon.”

  His eyes seemed to blaze. “I won’t cower, Gigi.”

  She didn’t want him to cower, but she had to protect her younger brother. If he went into Saint-Lô now, the Germans would surely kill him.

  “You must wait,” she begged.

  “You can go with Philippe,” he said, his voice broken. “But I have to stay here. I have to fight them.”

  Her anger collided with her fear as she walked back up the trail beside him, her body numb.

  “I will help you,” she said before he slipped back into the shadows.

  She wouldn’t leave her brother here alone.

  — CHAPTER 16 —

  After the rain stopped, I reemerged onto Fifty-ninth Street, a chai latte in hand. Ahead of me was Central Park, along with the elegant façade of the Plaza, overlooking the trees. Storm clouds still threatened the shoppers who paraded along the sidewalk, but at least I could walk to the hotel without getting drenched.

  On my cab ride from the airport, I’d secured a hotel room for the night, along with an appointment at their salon. After checking in, I had four hours to find the right dress and shoes before the artisans began working their magic on my makeup and hair. It was almost impossible to surprise Austin—I couldn’t wait to see his face when I walked into the ballroom.

  As I crossed Fifth Avenue, a black limousine rolled up to the curb next to the hotel and a bellman rushed forward to open the door. Austin emerged from the car, and my heart leapt. Perhaps it would be just as fun to surprise Austin now, away from the spotlight. In the timing of providence, perhaps, instead of my own.

  I pulled my phone out of my bag and quickly typed.

  Turn around.

  Smiling, I lifted my finger to send my message, but before I sent it, I glanced back up. Instead of walking into the Plaza, Austin extended his arm back into the limousine. Another figure emerged on the sidewalk beside him. A woman.

  And she was stunning.

  I watched with a mixture of awe and horror as she reached for Austin’s hand.

  Dropping my phone back into my purse, I watched them laugh together as they strolled up the front steps. What if someone recognized him?

  I supposed it didn’t matter. Surely she was only a colleague from the party headquarters in New York.

  The woman’s ebony curls bounced with her laughter, and her white summer dress glided behind her like that of a Greek goddess. I glanced down at my navy capris, wrinkled from the plane ride, and tan-colored blouse. There was no comparison between me and a goddess.

  But it was Austin who had kissed me this morning, three hours ago. It was Austin who told me how beautiful I was and how much he loved me. As I watched him with this other woman, my head felt like it was about to explode.

  There had to be an explanation—but why didn’t he let go of that woman’s hand?

  The bellman opened the door to the lobby, and Austin and his escort disappeared under the golden lights.

  Hiking my handbag over my shoulder, I rushed toward the hotel, and the same bellman who’d opened the door for Austin opened it for me. The lobby radiated elegance, with its marble columns and oriental rugs. To the right of the registration desk was a giant fern. I didn’t exactly hide behind it—I merely paused beside it and no one seemed to notice, perhaps because they were all staring at the eye candy dangling on Austin’s arm.

  And how could they not stare? She was more striking than the gold encrusted around the lobby’s windows and doors.

  I clutched my handbag to my chest. My dad would tell me not to be impulsive, to wait and make a decision after I had all the facts. The woman was probably a campaign manager for a candidate in New York or someone’s assistant sent to escort Austin to his meeting. In a few minutes, the three of us would be laughing about the misunderstanding. It would be awkward but understandable. If she wasn’t a business associate . . .

  I couldn’t allow myself to linger on that possibility.

  The man at the registration desk slipped Austin an envelope and told him his room—the Edwardian Fifth Avenue Suite—overlooked the Pulitzer Fountain from the eighteenth floor. Austin turned to pick up his suitcase, and I almost wished he would glance up and see me hovering beside the fern.

  He didn’t notice me.

  Now that he had his hotel key in hand, I prayed he would say good-bye to the woman. Bid her a good day. But there was no handshake as they parted ways. Or the kiss of the French on both cheeks. The woman trailed Austin to the elevator and slipped inside.

  As the doors began to close, I saw Austin lean down. Even though I knew the scene would haunt me, I couldn’t look away. Before the doors shut, I watched the man I was supposed to marry kiss her lips.

  The bright colors of the lobby fused together and I felt as if I might faint. Air. I needed fresh air. Rushing back out the lobby doors, I collapsed against a column and pounded my fists against the stone, gasping the warm, fume-laden air. The relentless horns of taxis rattled my head. Messy tears flooded my cheeks.

  How could I have been so stupid?

  I punched the column again. I’d known something was off the moment Lisa mentioned the trip to New York. Or perhaps it was before, when Austin lectured me on the importance of my commitment and then put me on a plane to France.

  No wonder he hadn’t wanted me to call him during my layover. And why he’d neglected to invite me on this trip. His meeting would indeed encompass all of his time.
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br />   My head whirled as I pressed against my brows. It was too much to comprehend.

  “Are you all right, miss?”

  I looked up at the tall form of a uniformed bellhop. My body shook as I tried to right myself. “It’s just a headache,” I said, pointing to my forehead.

  What else could I tell him—that I feared my fiancé was sleeping with another woman? That my relationship, my future, was crumbling before me? He might tell me to ditch the guy, but it wasn’t that easy.

  “Can I get you some Advil?” he asked.

  When I shook my head, he backed away.

  I’d given my heart, along with my dreams, to the traitor upstairs. If I ended our engagement now, the media would feast on the story of Austin’s indiscretion. My closest friends would pity me, while those who didn’t know me—including the hundreds who’d already received a wedding invitation—might wonder what I’d done to make my fiancé unfaithful. Others might joke about a last fling before he tied the knot.

  I thought Marissa had been jealous of what Austin and I had, but I’d been a fool. She and my parents would tell me to march upstairs and break it off.

  Instead of confronting him, I could take a taxi back to the airport for the night and then fly on to Paris in the morning. Pretend I never saw him kissing that woman. Guzzle mint juleps all the way across the Atlantic until my heart was numb.

  A picture slashed violently through my mind. It was me, thirty years from now, the miserable Mrs. Vale. Like Austin’s mother, I would have to tolerate his sorties for the sake of—for the sake of what? Being the wife of a politician or the money that came from being married to a successful man. Or to hold my broken family together by pretending that everything was fine and then demanding that everyone join me in looking the other way while my husband flaunted his latest affair. Instead of standing up to my husband, I would ask our precocious son to pass the potatoes.

  No one respected Mrs. Vale—including Mrs. Vale. If I tolerated Austin’s unfaithfulness, I would never be able to respect myself either.

  If I broke our engagement, I’d be the punch line of late-night jokes and tabloid headlines, but better to be a punch line than the miserable wife of a man who preferred to be with other women.