5. Luc
5
LUC
T he brandy hit the back of my throat with a satisfying burn. I narrowed my eyes in the late afternoon sun. It flooded the terrace, bathing the old stonework in warm light. I’d been sitting here for the last hour, watching the bees in the lavender. They danced around the blooms with no clear purpose. The nectar they gathered weighed down their legs. The similarity between their lives and mine made my gut churn.
I considered my fate. Wrestled with the decision I’d soon have to make. My grandmother would arrive tomorrow, and I knew her well enough to guess she’d come armed with a few options to tempt me–suggestions for suitable brides.
I ran my finger around my glass, tracing the pattern etched by some master craftsman many years ago. Why did everything in my family have to be so old-fashioned? So ancient. Like the damned codicil in my father’s will.
I drew my brows together. I still hadn’t been to the winery. To see Thierry. To confess what I risked with my inaction. He’d worked for my family and crafted our wines since he was a young man. Ripping him away from his home wasn’t a step I took lightly. But locking myself into a loveless life wasn’t something I could contemplate either.
If I had more time and more breathing space, surely I would find someone I could learn to love. Someone who could love me.
Apollo shifted at my feet, snoring and barking into his cheeks. Though officially my dog, he didn’t pack down small enough to fit into a suitcase. Or the life I led. I’d hardly visited Marsan in the last six months. It was a wonder he recognised me. His recall training had disappeared completely.
I tipped the rest of the brandy down my throat as I ran my eyes over the linen tablecloth. Apollo had lurched at the woman by the pool. The terror on her face stayed with me. Then he’d played tug-of-war with her dress, ending with us all taking an inadvertent swim. I worried my bottom lip, recalling her large blue eyes when she heard my name. Her shock as she stood dripping wet in her underwear was etched in my mind, as were the lithe planes of her body.
The clattering of heels on stone broke through my thoughts. I turned to see Agnes heading through the terrace door off the main house. Her starched blue blouse and red lipstick contrasted starkly with the soft sandstone of the house’s walls. Her florid cheeks puffed, and she waved her hands like she tried to stop traffic.
“I’m so sorry, Monsieur, but your…”
A familiar voice came from the salon, and I closed my eyes, bracing for impact–my grandmother. A wave of lavender scent washed over me, and I opened them again. Teased silver curls framed her face, and she wore a voluminous taffeta gown and gloves. She looked more party-ready than grandson-grilling ready. She held her arms outstretched.
I stood, a reluctant smile growing on my lips. “No tiara, Grand-Mère?”
She stepped towards me with one silver brow tipped to the heavens. “It was easier to wear the gown than to pack it. Sometimes, I despair at the basic abilities of my staff. The last time I travelled, my clothes had more creases than my forehead.”
I let out a breath as she leaned in for a kiss. Her thin, red-stained lips pursed together as she held her cheek towards me. After the obligatory double kiss, I offered her my arm before guiding her to sit at the table. The chair dwarfed her sparrow-like frame. But my grandmother was no fragile thing. She could be terrifying.
Grand-Mère turned her gaze to Agnes, who stood by the door, fidgeting with the back of her chignon. “You can go now. Merci.”
With an almost curtsy, the housekeeper scuttled away as if she’d left something burning in the oven. Once alone, my grandmother turned to me, eyeing my empty glass.
“You’re a day early. Would you like a drink?” I asked.
She glanced around, as if we were being watched. “What time is it? It may be a little early for spirits, but it’s been a trying day.”
I grinned. My grandmother never turned down a drink. “I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be our little secret.”
Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and she pulled on the fingers of her gloves to remove them. I crossed to the cabinet to pour her a brandy and top up my glass.
“You’re looking well. Something’s agreeing with you.” Her voice dripped over me like treacle. Too sweet, too sickly.
I brought our glasses to the table and sat down. “It could be the fresh air.”
She cleared her throat. “I think you may have had too much of that. I read some rather alarming news articles in the car.”
My gut shifted, and I gritted my teeth. “Don’t tell me the government is proposing an extra tax on pearls.”
She raised a hand to her neck, running her fingers through the string of silver orbs resting on her crepey skin. “I’m more concerned about stories about you, of your recent escapades with your friends.”
I chuckled. “Really? You know the press makes up most of the stories you read. My name sells newspapers. There were no escapades.”
She shifted in her chair, angling herself away from the sun. “What about the photographs? The young ladies? People will get the wrong idea.”
A heaviness settled over me. Here it came—the segue into her no doubt carefully planned offensive—her latest campaign to marry me off to a suitable woman.
I shrugged, running my hand over the smooth white tablecloth. “I’m invited to a lot of parties. What would you have me do? Refuse to be photographed with anyone under fifty?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You could ask them to wear more clothes.”
The corners of my lips trembled as I fought a smile.
“Luc, we’re a proud family. We're celebrated. We have standards to maintain. And you are doing little to help.”
I held up my palms, fending off her words.
“I’m serious. Time is running out for you. You won’t always be this... this…” She waved around her heavily ringed hand. “Pretty. A double chin is only a few years away. And then where will you be?”
I let out a dry laugh. “I’m only twenty-nine. I don’t think I need to worry about a double chin quite yet.”
Grand-Mère fluttered her arms like she was about to take flight. “But what plans do you have? When you’re not going to parties and draping yourself with models, what are you doing with your time?”
I shrugged. “I keep busy.”
“Yes, but doing what? You have little interest in your father’s legacy. His life’s work. Thank goodness for your sister.”
I took a sip of my drink, the ice clinking against my glass. “ Delphine was destined to lead the business. Father planned it that way. We both know it.”
Grand-Mère fell silent, playing with the fabric of her dress. Its faint rustle set my teeth on edge.
“Well, if you won’t take responsibility for your position in the business, at least take your family obligations seriously. Luc, you must marry.”
The skin at the back of my neck prickled. Here came the major assault—the same discussion we always had. I stayed silent, studying the unlit candelabra in front of me.
“The family name will die out if you don’t do your duty. Your sister is of no use. Works herself to the bone. And her children, if she ever has them, will not be real Du Comtois.” She tipped her head to one side, sucking in her thin lips. “You know, Veronique Lacroix is still holding a candle for you.”
I suppressed a pained grimace. My grandmother had tried to set me up with Veronique for years, ever since I attended a family wedding. Veronique was nice enough. An old family friend. But there was no attraction.
“And she has her own money. She’s committed to her charitable works. I’m sure her family could overlook the news headlines if there was a wedding. Children.”
A fizzing crept up my chest. The thought of marrying Veronique, or anyone, to maintain the family name left a bitter taste. “Grand-Mère, please. Would you farm me out like a stallion? Ready to impregnate the first rich woman you approve of? This is the twenty-first century.”
My grandmother scoffed, her brows lifting skyward. “Well, what’s wrong with Veronique? She’s a lovely girl. Good teeth. Sturdy hips. Money, too. She understands the life you’ve been born into.”
I growled and shook my head.
Grand-Mère placed a hand on my arm, and I stared at its blue-veined back. “Luc, I am only asking you to fulfil your duty. You can take lovers when children arrive. Having a mistress is quite normal—at least it was in my day.”
“I can’t,” I ground out, my pulse beating hard in my chest.
“You must.”
I turned towards her and drew my brows together. “I must take lovers? I’m not sure my new wife would approve.”
She let out a sigh and tipped her drink back before bringing her eyes to mine. “It’s time to settle down. Accept your responsibilities and stop this silly gallivanting around in the wrong circles.”
Our discussion was the only thing going around in circles. It always did. Every fibre in my body screamed out against what she proposed. “I can’t do as you ask.”
She sucked on her teeth. “For heaven’s sake, why? I know you care little for this place, but would you see the rest of us lose Marsan?”
My chest ached, threatening to implode, but then, out of the corner of my eye, a flash of colour took my attention. I turned and saw the woman from the pool. She walked across the grass, towards the terrace, an enormous bunch of wildflowers in her arms. Her cheeks glowed pink in the sun and she stopped short of the steps as if noticing the two of us sitting at the table.
I don’t know what possessed me, but her blonde hair glowed in the late afternoon light, like a sign from heaven. Like a beacon of hope. A signal–she could be my saviour.
She stepped up onto the terrace, the back of her pink flip-flops hitting the flagstones with a thwack. They clashed with the pretty yellow sundress she wore. I stood up and walked toward her, and her eyes widened.
I cleared my throat. “Grand-Mère, we won’t lose Marsan. I’ve already found the woman who will make me happy.” I stepped into her path, my lips curving upward in what I prayed was a charming, easy-going smile. Hoping she didn’t slap me, I threaded my arm through hers. She tensed under my fingers, and I cursed myself for touching a woman without asking first. But she didn’t push me away. Fight me off. She looked more confused than terrified.
“Please allow me to introduce…” Heat infused my cheeks. I didn’t even know her name.
The woman’s eyes grew even wider as she turned to me. “Iris,” she murmured.
God, I hoped my smile conveyed my gratitude. “Oui. Iris. Iris…”
“Hawthorne.”
“Exactly, Iris Hawthorne. The woman who has agreed to make me the happiest man in the world.”
Iris’ jaw almost hit the flagstones beneath her feet. She took a breath as if to speak, but no sound came out. “No, no need to be shy. People will find out eventually. Why not today? Amongst family. Iris, this is my grandmother Estelle Du Comtois.”
As the words spilled from my mouth, a burn crept across my chest. Iris looked as if she was starring in a hostage video.
My grandmother rose slowly. Regal. Proud. Iris stood paralysed, like someone had frozen her to the spot. Her eyes were the size of dinner plates, and her face was ashen. I just hoped she didn’t faint right here on the terrace. I wasn’t sure my first aid skills were up to par.
“How thoughtful of you to bring flowers,” I said, taking the bouquet from Iris’ stiff arms, passing it to Grand-Mère. “My grandmother adores lilies.”
Iris blinked four times, her lashes batting fast.
My grandmother almost dropped the flowers on the table, and looked between the two of us, her eyes like a pinball in a machine. “This? This young woman is who you will marry?”
When she said it like that, it did sound far-fetched, but I’d let the bull out of the gate. The horse had bolted. There was no taking my lie back now.
Iris sucked in a little breath beside me, as if she’d only just grasped the meaning of the conversation. I pulled her linked arm closer, as if we were walking down the aisle already. “Indeed. We can hardly believe it ourselves.” That much was true. I snuck a look at my bride-to-be, and her cheeks burned crimson.
My grandmother ran her eyes over my surprise fiancée, lingering on her shiny face and scraped-back hair. “Does your sister know?”
“No,” I ground out. Delphine would run a name check on my new fiancée at the first opportunity if she knew I was engaged. “We wanted you to be the first to know. But please, can we ask that you say nothing to my sister? Not yet. Iris doesn’t like attention and with our romance being rather sudden, Delphine is bound to have questions.”
By now, my grandmother’s eyes had taken the full tour of Iris’ body, including an extended stop at her hips. I didn’t doubt she’d ask to check her teeth any second, as if assessing a prize racehorse.
Finally Grand-Mère made it up to Iris’ flushed face. She set her mouth tight. “The girl doesn’t say much, does she?” I died a little inside. Tact had never been my grandmother’s M.O. She sat back down in her chair with a creak of wood. “And she could be taller. Where did you say the two of you met? She doesn't look familiar.”
I rolled my eyes inside. Best to nip this examination in the bud. Give myself a chance to explain the situation to my unsuspecting bride-to-be. Once I justified my position, surely she wouldn’t give me away. She’d see I’d had no choice than to involve her.
I gave a dry chuckle. “Iris is probably a little overwhelmed. She has a delicate constitution. ”
“Those shoes would suggest otherwise,” my grandmother sneered.
My gut rolled. I had to end this debacle before Estelle said something that hammered the final nail into my matrimonial coffin.
I unwound my arm from Iris’ and took my grandmother’s hand. “How about we give my fiancée a little space to process the surprise of meeting you? If we’d known you were arriving today, we would’ve welcomed you properly.”
Her silvery brows knitted together.
“We’ll have dinner together. Later. Just the three of us. You can get to know each other. After all, you’re my two favourite women.”
My grandmother’s eyes glinted. She cast another assessing eye over Iris and gave me a tight smile. “I will speak to Agnes. Ask her to organise something special.”
My blood ran cold. If she got to Agnes first, there’s no telling what the housekeeper would say. “No need. I’ll speak to Agnes. Why don’t you lie down? You must be exhausted after your long journey. I’ll have one of the staff bring you some tea.”
With a small nod, my grandmother stepped over to Iris. With claw-like nails, she touched Iris’ chin, tipping it up into the light. “Good jaw. Strong.” With a final narrowing of her eyes, she let go of Iris’ face before sweeping into the house in a rustle of taffeta.