The Chateau by the River
Page 37
She had missed him so much. Gabrielle clung to him with equal fervor and despair. She was still angry with him, but the feeling of loss and the relief at having found him superseded every other emotion.
“Forgive me, Gabrielle,” he whispered brokenly. “Forgive me. I am nothing but a fool.”
“You hurt me, Thomas,” she murmured. She felt tears rise in her eyes.
“I am sorry. So sorry. I do not deserve you.”
“It is not about deserving, Thomas,” she said gently. “I love you, that is all.”
He shook his head.
“I am poisonous, Gabrielle. I hurt all those around me. First my mother, now you…and when the castle burned down, I thought it was an omen. You should leave me and run far, far away.”
She drew back and framed his face with her hands.
“No, Thomas, you cannot think that. It is not true! Should I remind you that you do not believe in omens? I do. The fire had nothing to do with you. You are not poisonous, Thomas!”
“It was because of me that my father was so brutal with my mother. I was the cause of her suffering. And I made you suffer too!”
“The baron is the only one responsible for your mother’s misery. If you had not been there, he would have found another pretext. You are not poisonous, Thomas. On the contrary, I am certain that you brought your mother great joy, as you do to me.”
“I love you, Gabrielle. I love you so much. My life has no meaning when you are gone.”
“I love you too, Thomas. Never forget it again.”
“Never,” he agreed, clutching her tighter still.
They stayed in each other’s arms a moment longer.
“Forgive me,” he whispered again into her neck.
His warm breath on her skin made her shiver.
“I am still angry with you.”
“I know. Be angry as long as you like. But please forgive me. Please.”
“On one condition.” She backed away and met his gaze. “I want you to promise me something.”
“Anything you want.”
“I want you to promise me that whenever you have a problem, no matter what it is, you will tell me about it.”
“I will.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear I will tell you about it.”
“Good. And never forget I love you.”
“I promise.”
“Very well. I forgive you.”
Of course, the pain from his flight would take some time to fade, as would her anger. She could not simply forget the awful weeks she had lived through with a snap of her fingers. But she had not come all this way to make things more complicated. She had crossed the Atlantic to understand and to convince Thomas she loved him. To find him, because she could not picture her life without him. And now that everything had been laid bare, that he was in her arms, she was at peace at last.
They were together. That was all that mattered. It was time to turn over a new leaf and look to the future.
So she smiled and said:
“Well, Mr. D’Arcy, haven’t you waited long enough? Isn’t it time for you to kiss your fiancée?”
She saw relief bleed from his eyes into his smile and he leaned down, laying his forehead against hers to whisper:
“I cannot believe you crossed the ocean for me.”
“I would do anything for you, Thomas. You are my entire life. I never want us to be apart again.”
“Never,” he confirmed.
Then he kissed her.
Their fairy tale could begin at last.
Chapter 37
Alexandra
From: Alexandra Dawson
To: Éric Lagnel
Object: Vineyard
Éric,
Great news! The vineyard project has been approved!
I will mail you the contracts shortly, I just need you to give me an address to send them to. My boss has also appointed me manager, so I will be on-site to supervise operations.
Since I will be your main contact, I’ve included my professional contact details below.
I hope you’re doing all right in Africa and saving the world one child at a time.
Take care,
Alex
From: Éric Lagnel
To: Alexandra Dawson
Object: RE: Vineyard
Thank you.
I’ve given Marine power of attorney. You should deal with her from now on.
From: Alexandra Dawson
To: Éric Lagnel
Object: RE:RE: Vineyard
Marine just informed me and I’ve added her to our files. I’ll deal with everything through her. Do you want me to send you the monthly reports anyway?
Alex
From: Éric Lagnel
To: Alexandra Dawson
Object: RE:RE:RE: Vineyard
Do as you like. I’m not sure I’ll have time to read them.
From: Alexandra Dawson
To: Éric Lagnel
Object: RE:RE:RE:RE: Vineyard
I’ll send them. It’s your castle. You can read them or not.
Take care,
Alex
From: Alexandra Dawson
To: Éric Lagnel
Object: Chandeniers Vineyard—September report
Attachment: Chandeniers_Vineyard_September_Report
Éric,
As agreed, here is the monthly report on the project’s advancement for September (enclosed). As you will see, we’ve selected the companies that will be doing the building. We’ve chosen the ones who offered the closest match in structure and materials to the castle.
We’re in talks with the INRA to find some vine stock dating back to the first vineyard. As soon as we have news to share, I’ll send it along.
Take care,
Alex
From: Alexandra Dawson
To: Éric Lagnel
Object: Chandeniers Vineyard—October report
Attachment: Chandeniers_Vineyard_October_Report
Éric,
Here is the October report.
Just so you know, construction should begin at the end of the winter. I’ve added the blueprints approved by Marine and my bosses at the end of the report. I hope you’re okay with them. I’ve petitioned Bruno for a construction permit and I’m waiting on his reply.
We’ve identified the vine stock; now we only need to prepare the soil with our experts. Full details are in the report.
I hope you’re doing well. Marine told me you came back to Chandeniers for a flash visit. Max must have been happy to see you.
Take care,
Alex
From: Alexandra Dawson
To: Éric Lagnel
Object: Chandeniers Vineyard—November report
Attachment: Chandeniers_Vineyard_November_Report Chandeniers_Cocktail_Invitation
Éric,
Here is the November report.
Everything is fine, proceeding on schedule.
The next report will be sent from Chandeniers. I’m leaving to supervise the construction, which will start in February, or March if the weather is not on our side. I will also be managing the preparation of the soil and the planting of the vine stock.
Enclosed is an invitation to the presentation cocktail party where we will officially present the vineyard to the town officials, the press and professionals. Michael Davis, CEO of Lola’s Vineyards and Elizabeth Chadway, operations manager and my boss, will be there. It’s an important occasion for this project, and it would be good if you could be there. It’s your land, your castle.
See you soon, I hope,
Alex
* * * *
Chandeniers-sur-Vienne
&
nbsp; December
He wasn’t there.
I examined every face as carefully as if I were playing Where’s Waldo, scrutinizing every guest, thinking I might have missed him the first fifteen times, or that he might have arrived in the meantime, but there was nothing to it.
I had to face the truth.
He hadn’t come.
That stubborn son of a bitch really hadn’t come.
At least if he had been in Africa saving the world, I could have understood. But I knew for a fact that he had returned to Chandeniers for the holidays. And despite that…he wasn’t here tonight.
Disappointment washed over me, with a tinge of anger, and my throat and heart grew tight. I shook my head, ashamed at myself.
He had answered none of my emails for months, had ignored me utterly ever since he had left, and still I hoped for a gesture, a word from him, like a lovesick schoolgirl.
It was pathetic. I was pathetic.
When was I going to finally get a clue and stop waiting for the impossible?
I sighed again and glanced down at my champagne flute. Anyway, I repeated to myself, I hadn’t organized the cocktail party for his benefit. It was for Marine and Bruno, for the town and region officials, for the restaurant owners and wine merchants and the press. To celebrate the birth of the vineyard and the rebirth of the castle.
Had I hoped that it would make him come out of the woods and give me an opportunity to see him, maybe even talk to him? Of course I had. But to be perfectly honest, part of me had always known he wouldn’t come.
Éric Lagnel was as stubborn as they came.
“Alex, are you listening?”
“Excuse me? Sorry, I—er, I was thinking of my speech.”
I smiled apologetically and mentally shoved Éric to the back of my mind to focus on my companions. Bruno and Marine were staring as though expecting me to reveal the secret to the philosopher’s stone, while my boss Elizabeth stood on my left and Michael Davis, CEO of Lola’s Vineyards, on my right. They had flown straight in from California this very morning, just in time for the vineyard’s opening night.
“What were you saying?” I asked.
“That you have outdone yourself,” Michael repeated. “This cocktail party is wonderful.”
“Absolutely,” Elizabeth agreed. “Everything is perfect. Have you tasted the canapés? They are to die for!”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll let the caterer know.”
“But beyond tonight’s party,” Elizabeth went on, “I want to thank you for the work you’ve done over the last months. Your investment is amazing, and I have no doubt that with you at the helm, the vineyard will be a success.”
I felt myself blush. Coming from someone as demanding as my boss, it was a flattering compliment.
I had worked hard to meet the challenge she had entrusted me with, and for the first time in a long while, I was extremely proud of what I had accomplished.
No matter what Mr. Sulky had to say.
“A toast,” Bruno declared, raising his glass at me. “To Alexandra, for her boundless devotion over the last few weeks to Chandeniers, its vineyards, its castle—and its citizens.”
“To Alexandra!”
The glasses clinked, and I took a sip of the champagne to hide my crimson cheeks and my smile—equal parts happy and embarrassed.
“I just did my job,” I replied modestly.
“You did much more than your job, Alexandra,” Bruno replied. “And everyone is very grateful.”
The glance he threw my way was jarring. Was he referencing the man currently pretending to ignore my existence? Had he said anything about me? Would I sound as pathetic as I thought I would if I asked?
“Speaking of my job,” I piped up, changing topics before I could embarrass myself in front of my bosses, “I think it’s time to unveil the name of the first Chandeniers vintage.”
I walked up to the lectern, flashcards in hands, smiling widely.
“Good evening, everyone, and thank you for joining us tonight,” I began as soon as I had the room’s attention. “You have no idea how glad we are to have you. For those who don’t know me yet, I’m Alexandra Dawson, and I’m here as a representative of Lola’s Vineyards, an American wine company. Our CEO, Michael Davis, and our operations manager, Elizabeth Chadway, are here with us tonight.”
I motioned to them. They both waved and signaled for me to continue; I cleared my throat.
“Nobody likes a long speech, so I promise to keep it short. Some of you may already know that there was a time when the castle of Ferté-Chandeniers was home to a vineyard. It was a small one, and after a mere thirty years of activity it disappeared during the Revolution. We are gathered here today to give the Chandeniers vineyard a chance to rise from its ashes and ascend to the glory it couldn’t reach last time. For several months now, Bruno Lepic, mayor of the town, Marine Clément, representing Éric Lagnel, the owner of the land, and I have been working closely together on this project. And tonight, I have the immense honor of announcing that we are ready for the rebirth of the Chandeniers vineyard. We have signed with local craftsmen to build the storehouse, and I can promise that it will match the architecture of the castle and town. We have also been working with the INRA, and with their help we have identified a strain of Cabernet Sauvignon vine stock that is very close to what our research tells us was cultivated here. The wine brewed in Chandeniers in a few years will therefore be both modern and charged with history. With the history of this beautiful town.”
This was it. In a few moments, I would present the result of several weeks of hard work, sleepless nights, rejected drawings and brainstorming sessions with Elizabeth. From the very first minute, the very first meeting, I had overseen and approved everything, from the color of the storehouse doors to the setup of the vineyard itself. I had also designed the graphic DNA of the vineyard and chosen the name of the vintage. I had all but selected the oak casks myself. This vineyard was my baby. I had poured all of my heart, my soul and my energy into it.
Excitement and dread warred inside me at the thought of submitting the fruit of my labors to the judgment of the outside world. My hands shook slightly as I moved over to the easel set up a few paces away with an enlarged brochure waiting to be revealed. Under the white sheet was a series of computerized images of the future vineyard, complete with rows of grapevines, cellar and shop, as well as the future label of our first bottles. I grabbed the sheet in one hand and tugged it off.
“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present the Chandeniers Vineyard and its first vintage: La Rose de Chandeniers.”
The crowd began to applaud, and the guests nodded enthusiastically, smiling in approval. I could barely contain my emotion as I considered the brochure and its contents, hoping that wherever she was, Gabrielle was as happy as I was to see the castle come back to life after such a long slumber.
Comforted and energized by the audience’s reaction, I returned to the lectern and gazed over the crowd, ready to continue with some information about the preparation of the soil, the planting of the grapevines and an estimate of when the first vintage would be ready, when my gaze fell upon him. I froze, every thought flying out of my head.
There he was, across the room, leaning against the door, azure eyes on me, his expression undecipherable.
My heart missed a beat.
I had been wrong.
He had come.
* * * *
It took me several seconds to gather my thoughts in something approaching order—instead of focusing on his powerful charisma or the fact that his deep tan made his eyes even bluer.
With immense effort, I managed to snatch my gaze away from his and glance down at my flashcards. Where was I again? I knew I was supposed to say something, something important, but for the life of me I could not recall what. I swapped the cards around. The letters, th
e words, the sentences all danced in front of my eyes meaninglessly. One single thought occupied my brain. He had come back. He was here.
And my heart beat stronger than ever for him.
Somehow, I managed to soldier through my presentation in spite of the whirl of emotion inside me. I felt his eyes on me all along. I tried my utmost to ignore him, to focus on the people in front of me, on my bosses, on the presentation—and I failed. My gaze returned to him every time, as though drawn by a magnet. And in my mind, a slightly—very—insane hope grew with each second.
Could he have come back…for me?
There was nothing, absolutely nothing in his face, as undecipherable as the Voynich manuscript, to indicate that he had forgiven me. But hope was a twisted, harmful thing, rushing into the smallest crack to exploit any weakness and strangle the voice of reason.
Strictly speaking, there were dozens of reasons why he could be here tonight, none of which had anything to do with…us. But even as I repeated that to myself, I could not help but hope. And as I read my flashcards as coolly as possible, I hoped, waited with bated breath, dreamed of only one thing—for him to wade through the crowd, his eyes on mine, and there, in front of everyone, proclaim that he had been wrong to leave, that at last he understood that he loved me more than anything else and that he no longer wanted to live without me.
Of course, life—mine in particular—not being scripted by Nora Roberts nor by the late and lamented Nora Ephron, things did not happen at all the way my romantic mind and imagination would have it. Instead of passionately declaring his love, Éric vanished the minute I handed the microphone over to Bruno and Marine. And I, hurt, disappointed and apparently lacking anything resembling judgment, followed him.
Almost as though I enjoyed inflicting pain on myself.
* * * *
The December cold cut me the minute I stepped out, teeth already chattering, but I didn’t pay it any mind. I glanced around for Éric, and an unpleasant sense of déjà-vu washed over me when I caught sight of him striding toward his motorbike.
Before I could think about it, I called out to him.