by Zondervan
“Wow,” I say to Taylor and Gabin. “I wonder what made her so mad.”
Taylor sighs. “Same old, same old.”
“What?”
“Eliza wants what Eliza wants—and she can’t stand it when she doesn’t get it. And drinking seems to exacerbate the problem.” Taylor shakes her head. “I think I’ll go check on her.”
Now it’s just Gabin and me, standing in the foyer. “I think I better check on Paige,” I finally say.
“Yes.” He nods. “But…uh, I first…I have a question?”
“What?”
“Is Blake…is he…uh…your…uh…”
“You mean is he my boyfriend?” I say for him.
“Oui. Yes. Is he?”
I frown. “Not exactly. But he’s a very good friend.” I smile at Gabin. “And you are a very good friend too.”
He nods with what seems a sad expression. “I see.”
“Bonsoir, Gabin.” I smile at him.
To my surprise, he gently takes my hand and kisses it. “Bonsoir, Erin.”
I’m sure I look slightly shocked as I tell him goodnight again then hurry up the stairs to the third floor, where I find Paige getting ready for bed.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
“Sure, I’m fine.” She turns and really looks at me. “How about you?”
I tell her about my little exchange with Gabin.
She shakes her head. “Poor Gabin. I think he was smitten with you.”
“Smitten?” I frown as I kick off my shoes. “I don’t think so, Paige. For starters, I told him from the beginning I wasn’t interested in a serious relationship.”
“So you make the rules for the heart?”
“I tried to lay my cards on the table for him,” I protest.
“But surely you could see that he was really into you, couldn’t you?”
I press my lips together and consider this. “I don’t know,” I say slowly. “Honestly, this whole thing has caught me off guard. You’re the one who’s used to dealing with guys. I’m the novice. I don’t know what I should’ve done differently. I thought maybe he was just being overtly attentive because he’s French.”
She laughs. “Fine. If you say so.”
Okay, now I do feel guilty. Should I have seen this coming? Should I have done something to prevent it? I never in a million years meant to hurt Gabin. Wouldn’t continuing a relationship with him seem like it would do just that?
“Chateau Bertrand is a beautiful place,” I say sadly as I unzip my dress, “but I’ll be glad to get out of here.”
“Did the fireworks show fizzle after Dylan and I made our exit?” she asks as she rubs some lotion into her elbows.
“Pretty much.”
“I was worried that Eliza’s mom was going to walk in and we’d be in the middle of it. Eliza said she was due to come home tonight.”
“That’s right, it’s the local fashion show tomorrow.”
“Which is why we both need a good night’s rest.” Paige turns off the light by her bed. “I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be rough.”
I’m actually wondering if we’ll even be allowed to do the fashion show tomorrow. The way Eliza was acting tonight, I wouldn’t be surprised if she threw Paige and me and our crew out the door before breakfast. And, the truth is, I would be relieved. Too much stress.
But tomorrow comes and Eliza acts as if nothing whatsoever happened last night. Oh, she’s a little more subdued than usual and I can’t help noticing her “arranged seating” has fallen by the wayside. For the most part, she is being fairly nice. When her mother waltzes into breakfast, Eliza politely introduces her to everyone and I begin to think last night’s drama was just a crazy dream and that today will be smooth sailing after all.
But I quickly see that’s not going to happen and so, as soon as I finish breakfast, I slip away to spend some time alone. More than ever I feel like I’m in over my head. I still feel uneasy about Gabin, and whether or not I’ve hurt him and if there is something I should do. I bow my head and ask for God to lead me, to give me some direction, and to help me to live my life in a way that honors him. I ask him to bless this day…hopefully without any more fireworks. Then, as I’m walking back to the house, I see Gabin putting his suitcase in the trunk of his rental car.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
He comes over to me with a serious expression. “My apology,” he says. “It is time for me to go.”
“You don’t want to stay for the fashion show?” I ask.
“No, I must go.”
I reach out and take his hand. “Thank you for being my good friend,” I tell him. “I hope you’re not sorry you came.”
He smiles as he squeezes my hand. “No…not sorry. It is my pleasure to know you, Erin.”
“And mine too.” My hand slips out of his and I stand there wishing there was something—anything—I could say to make this easier. “Thank you for being my friend,” I tell him.
“Au revoir, mon cheri.”
“Au revoir.” I feel unexpectedly sad as I watch him drive away. I wonder if maybe I liked him more than I realized. And yet, I know that’s silly. He and I are so different, different worlds. I’m sure it’s simply the romance of this place messing with my mind.
“Where’s Gabin going?” Blake asks me as he joins me in the front of the house.
“Home.” I turn to him with a forced smile.
“Oh?”
“It was time.” I start walking back toward the house.
“Are you sad that he left?” Blake’s voice is laced with concern.
“No, not really. I just hope I didn’t hurt him.”
“You mean because he was into you?”
“I don’t know.”
Blake opens the door, stepping aside to let me pass. “He was, you know.”
Wanting to defuse this moment, or just avoid it, I playfully punch him in the arm. “And did that make you jealous?” I say in a teasing tone.
He makes a sheepish smile. “Maybe.”
Thankfully, the fashion show is fairly small and doesn’t take too long. Because it’s a fundraiser, there seems to be more focus on the food and wine and socializing than on actual fashion. I can tell that both Paige and Fran are a little disappointed. As we ride back to the house, I remind them that this weekend was for an episode that we hadn’t even planned on initially.
“So even if we don’t use it, it’s no big deal, right?” I say lightly.
“I suppose.” Paige sighs. “But it’s sure been a lot of effort for nothing.”
Fran laughs. “Hey, we got some good footage as well as a nice little vacation on a lovely estate.”
“Some of us had more of a vacation than others,” Paige says. I tell Fran a bit about Eliza’s little fireworks show last night.
“Too bad the camera guys didn’t catch that,” Fran says.
“Who knows with that girl?” Paige tells her. “That might not be the last of it.”
And when we’re back at the house, I wonder if Paige might be right about Eliza. Despite her invitation to everyone, including the camera crew, to enjoy a late lunch by the pool, she is acting very chilly toward Paige and me, and I get the feeling that the sooner Eliza sees the last of us, the better it will be for everyone. I wish we could just pack it up and go right now, but our return tickets to Paris are for tomorrow.
After an hour or so of basking in the Bordeaux sunshine (and the Eliza frost) Paige and I decide to retreat to our tower room and lay low until dinner time. If I had my way, I’d grab a ride back to Paris tonight. Instead, I decide to pray about the evening, asking God to bring something good out of what feels like a waste of time—and at the very least avoid any bloodshed.
Chapter 18
Thankfully, tonight’s dinner, our last meal in the chateau, is not a formal affair. I’m also relieved to see that Fran and the crew have been invited, which seems to work as a buffer of sorts. Because the spring evening is unusually balmy, we are eating outside. Mrs.
Wilton makes an appearance, but she doesn’t seem comfortable with what she calls “Eliza’s friends” and she doesn’t stick around for long.
After her mother excuses herself, Eliza starts opening more bottles of wine. And, although we’re done with our meal, she continues to encourage everyone to sample more wines and to “drink up,” like she wants everyone to get loopy. Unfortunately, Benjamin seems more than willing to comply.
“Haven’t you had enough?” Taylor asks him as he generously refills his glass.
“Am I about to get your rehab spiel again?” he snipes back.
“Only if you need it,” she says sweetly. “And I think you probably do.”
He leans closer to her and smiles. “You are seriously pretty, Taylor Mitchell. I wish I’d known you back before you jumped on the wagon because I’m sure that you and I would’ve been really good friends back then.”
“Kind of like Mia Renwick?” She sighs and shakes her head.
Benjamin looks like someone punched him as he turns away.
“Oh, Taylor,” Eliza growls at her. “Give it a rest, okay?”
“You mean I should pretend that it’s okay for Ben to get drunk here tonight, when we all know that a young woman was killed because of—”
“Lighten up!” Eliza snaps back at her. “You are a serious buzzkill.”
Paige tries to gently intervene, but that only makes Eliza madder. It’s obvious that this can only get worse—like battle lines have been drawn and the big artillery is about to come out. I’m getting ready to excuse myself and make a fast exit.
“Hey, everyone,” Blake says loudly. “I have a fun idea.”
“What?” Eliza turns to him with a bottle of wine still in her hand.
“Something we can all enjoy,” he says with a charming smile.
“And that is?” Eliza shows the tiniest spark of interest.
“Well, I discovered a pretty cool place over near the vineyard,” he tells her. “A big fire pit with benches all around it. Like someone has had bonfires there before.”
“Oh, yeah.” She nods. “The fire pit my dad and brother built.”
“So how about if we go make a fire and hang there?” Blake removes the bottle of wine from Eliza’s hand, placing it on the table. “I was only a boy scout for a couple of years, but I’m sure I can still make a fire.”
“That’s an awesome idea,” Dylan says with enthusiasm. “I haven’t been to a bonfire since I was a kid.”
Suddenly everyone is on board and we all take off in different directions. Some of us go up to change shoes and grab sweaters. Others head for the fire pit to get it started. Before long, Paige and I are equipped with flashlights and trekking through the darkness with several others. By the time we get there, a fire is crackling and JJ is warming up his harmonic awhile Alistair tunes a guitar. “This was hanging on the wall in the farmhouse,” he tells us. “We’ll find out if it’s more than just a decoration.”
“I feel like I’m at sleepover camp,” Paige says happily as we sit down on a log bench.
“Me too,” I say. “Too bad we don’t have the ingredients for s’mores.”
It feels like whatever animosity was churning back at the chateau is slowly fading away. And it’s not long until JJ and Alistair start sounding pretty good in the music department. And just like that we’re all sitting there around the fire and singing along to whatever camp and folk songs we can come up with and actually remember the words to—it’s actually a lot of fun.
But after awhile we get kind of stuck. No one can think of a new song and all we hear is the snapping of the logs. Then Dylan stands up and clears his throat. “Okay, kids, do I have a treat for you.” He chuckles. “It’s a poem I memorized in the sixth grade.” In a dramatic and mysterious voice he begins to recite it.
“There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
He pauses, waiting for our reaction of dramatic gasps, and then he continues in his creepy low voice.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee,
where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam
’round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold
seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way
that he’d “sooner live in hell.”
We all sit spellbound as Dylan recites this long, gory poem about how one gold miner cremates his frozen friend. We clap wildly when he finally finishes.
“That was brilliant, man.” JJ gives him a high five.
Paige shakes her head in disbelief. “Who knew Dylan Marceau, the brilliant designer, also recites poetry?”
“Anyone else with hidden talents?” JJ asks.
Eliza stands up and grabs Taylor’s hand to join her. “Let’s sing Bloody Mary from South Pacific.” So the two of them, with really good voices, suddenly break into the rousing song, complete with an interesting dance routine. Once again, we all clap and cheer as they take their bows.
“Who’s next in our Bordeaux Has Talent lineup?” Fran calls out.
Blake grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet. “What are you doing?” I ask frantically. “I have no talent, remember?”
He whispers in my ear that we are about to sing Amazing Grace to the tune of Gilligan’s Island like we sometimes do in fellowship group. And although I’m reluctant, I agree. To my relief, Taylor actually stands up and joins us which greatly improves the musical quality of our contribution. Again, once we’re done, everyone claps. But it might be from relief.
“That song actually means a lot to me,” Blake says as Taylor and I both sit down. “And if it’s okay, I’d like to tell you why.” Since no one protests, Blake continues, sharing his testimony about how he grew up in a Christian home, but how he finally had to come to his faith on his own. “God doesn’t have grandchildren,” he says earnestly. “I finally realized that just because my parents were Christians didn’t mean that I was. I had to take my own spiritual journey toward God. And it’s been really good. I’m the first one to admit I’m not perfect, not even close, but God is changing me, making me into a new person, a person I am learning to like. I know we’re all at different places in life,” he says finally, “but I just wanted to let you guys know that God loves each of us—and he wants us to love him too. I want to challenge everyone here to think about that—to give God a chance.” Blake shrugs like he’s kind of embarrassed. “I guess that’s all.”
Again we all clap—some with more enthusiasm than others. Then Taylor gets up and tells a different but similar story. She talks about how she was lost and miserable and how she used alcohol as an escape. “I know Ben’s sick of hearing me talk about rehab, but here’s the truth: I never would’ve made it through rehab and sobriety without God’s help. That’s what made all the difference. And even though Eliza wants to strangle me sometimes, she can attest to the truth.” She points at Eliza. “I have changed, haven’t I? And that’s because of God. Right?”
Eliza nods. “Yeah. Taylor used to be the wildest girl I knew.”
“But now you’re going for that award?” Benjamin teases her. Eliza just looks down at the fire, shaking her head as if she doesn’t want that prize.
“This has been a cool evening,” JJ says as he gets his harmonica out of his pocket. “It brings a certain song to mind. Feel free to sing along.” He starts to play and after the first stanza there are some hoots of laughter along with some groans.
Fran slaps her knee and lets out a big chortle. “I just knew we’d sing Kumbaya before this was over and done!” But she joins in the singin
g and I even get a feeling that she’s enjoying it as much as I am. And as crazy-corny as this whole camp-fire thing seemed at first, I can tell that everyone has kind of enjoyed it. Maybe sometimes we just need to act like kids around the campfire again. It sure beats drinking and fighting.
As we trek back to the chateau, I grab Blake’s hand and commend him for coming up with the bonfire idea. “I think it was inspired,” I tell him.
He chuckles. “Yeah, it seemed pretty out there at first, but then I thought maybe it was God.”
“Absolutely.” I nod. “Definitely God.”
Chapter 19
Paige, Dylan, and I ride the train back to gether to Paris on Tuesday morning. Meanwhile Blake and Benjamin are on their own—sort of. Eliza told them they were welcome to stay on at the chateau. Although Blake really wants to come to Paris and I suspect Benjamin does too, Paige wasn’t giving him much encouragement.
Anyway I’m not sure if the three of us are simply tired or talked out, but it’s pretty quiet in the first class car. Finally, I wonder if it’s me. Maybe Dylan would like to talk to Paige alone—in fact, I’m fairly certain he does. I head off in search of coffee and pastry and don’t go back until we’re coming into Paris. At the terminal, Dylan hugs both Paige and me, but I can tell that her hug is more intense. Then we part ways with him. His plan is to grab a cab back to his hotel where he will pack up and head back to New York later in the day.
Fran picks us up in the town car, going over this afternoon’s itinerary. “We have time to stop at the hotel for about an hour,” she explains, “to drop things off and do hair and makeup before the next interview.” She smiles at Paige. “And, don’t forget, this is our pièce de résistance.”
“Who is it?” I ask absently.
“Givenchy!” they both exclaim.
“Oh.” I nod as if this means something more to me.
At the hotel, Paige carefully selects an ensemble that she is confident will please the Givenchy people. She even makes me dress a bit nicer than my usual Camera Girl outfit, although I keep it simple with a black skirt, white blouse, and a black cashmere cardigan. Next to Paige, who is wearing a pink and gray plaid jacket and pink skirt, I’m sure I look downright boring.