Chapter 11
After a restless night, Claire drank a pot of coffee to sharpen her mind. Holding onto the banister to calm her jitters, she descended the steps to the hotel reception area. Sophie’s brother scrunched his knitted cap as he waited. His bright blue-gray eyes alighting on hers, he dashed toward her.
“Forgive me. I’ve not properly introduced myself.” He extended his hand. “I am Gilbert Soltner.”
“Jeel…?” Claire tried to wrap her lips around his name. Madame Justine had said, ‘Gilbert.’ “We don’t have that name in English.”
He laughed. “Americans say ‘Gilbert.’ But in France we say, ‘Jeel-bear,’ with a soft ‘G.’”
“Ah. The French pronunciation is beautiful.” She shook his hand. “Jeel-bear.”
“Bon. Let us go to a place where we can speak privately. Would you like an Alsatian breakfast? I know of a wonderful patisserie.”
She liked this Jeel-bear far more than the man she’d met the day before. “Yes.”
He offered his elbow, and she held it as they walked through Petite Venise, the medieval Old Town of Colmar.
Half-timbered buildings with steeply pitched roofs of terracotta tiles lined the canals.
Windows in every building displayed Christmas: Gnomes, teddy bears, stars, ornaments, straw animals, giant ginger people.
Stuffed white storks with red ribbons around their necks bedecked every souvenir shop.
They entered an alleyway, and Gilbert opened a dark red door with a white lace curtain covering its window.
Bells clanged a cheery jingle, and the scent of baking butter and sugar and chocolate enticed her to enter a cave-like dining room filled with pine chairs and tables.
Gilbert led them to the back where niches and shelves were carved out of the butter-yellow rock walls.
“What was this place?” she asked.
“This cave was part of a farmhouse, where they kept animals.” He ran his hand along the ledge of a large indentation. “This was where they put hay and grain for the animals to feed. The higher, smaller shelves were for candles and lanterns.”
“It’s so very old and charming. I’m glad it has been preserved.”
He pulled out a chair for her. “May I order an Alsatian specialty for you?”
“Please.” She pulled off her scarf and coat.
He called out to a young woman wearing a lacey white blouse and red apron. He spoke in French, and she hurried to the kitchen.
She returned and placed a bottle of clear liquid and two short glasses on the table.
Gilbert poured. “This is a local clear brandy, not the stuff tourists buy in the market. This Mirabelle is very special.”
Claire never had brandy so early in the day, but she sipped. “Umm. Sweet yet fresh and a bit of a tart taste. Are Mirabelle plums yellow?”
“Yes.” Gilbert’s eyebrows rose. “Did David help you to train your palate?”
A memory of David feeding her a Mirabelle plum while her eyes were closed made her smile. “I suppose he did.” She took another sip. “This is a bit strong for me so early in the day. May I have a cappuccino?”
“A café crème. Certainly.”
The waitress delivered the coffee and two plates of plum tarte.
“I left a message at the hotel yesterday. I felt badly about the way I welcomed you.”
“I was out all day yesterday and didn’t get your call. I was shopping for fabrics and got back pretty late.” She placed a napkin on her lap. “The last time I was in France, nearly thirty years ago, I bought so much I had to ship cartons of fabrics to my friend Marti. I might still have some left.”
He laughed. “Did you go to Tissus aux Deux RR?”
She shook her head. “Tell me more.”
“They have the best home décor fabrics.” He rubbed his palms along his thighs.
“After Sophie passed, I needed something to take my mind from her and wine, something Luca and I could to together. So, we began redecorating the chateau and had great fun choosing colors. We finished the grand salon and the first of twelve guest bedrooms. We have much more to do. But now that Luca is back at school, I think he is relieved he no longer has time for this project.”
“Do you make the drapes and cover the furniture, yourself?”
“Oh, no. I work with a retired woman who was a tailor. She enjoys sewing and earning a bit of money, and I enjoy her company. She has great experience and excellent skills. Do you sew other things besides maillots?”
“How do you know—”
“David bragged quite a bit about your designs.”
She smiled a sad smile and nodded. “I design drapes, pillow shams, tablecloths, clothing. I enjoy the challenges of working with different fabrics.”
“Ah, yes, velvet has a…” he ran his fingers back and forth along the table, “you call it a nap?”
“Yes, and because of the nap it changes color.”
“Ask me how I know of this quality.”
She laughed in sympathy. “So, sorry. That’s one mistake you make only once.”
“Fortunately, the store still had a few meters left and now the chair arms are all the same color. And I am grateful to the salesperson who explained you need more fabric for the matching of plaid before I purchased thirty meters.”
“Excellent advice. I’ll have to visit that store.”
He raised his glass. “I am happy to take you.”
A current of warmth tingled with excitement moved through Claire. She’d never discussed fabrics or design with David. She and Gilbert shared an enthusiasm and interest for both.
Gilbert’s smile waned. “If my wines are not as good as Sophie’s, I will sell the grapes to other wineries. I will have to turn the chateau and vineyard into an event space and wedding venue, and all the rooms will need to be redecorated.”
“Are you worried your wines won’t sell?
He shrugged. “I think I make a fine wine, but Sophie’s were—” he kissed his fingertips, “exquisite!”
“In America we say, ‘She’s a hard act to follow.’” Claire dug into the ruby-red fruit tarte.
“Mmm…This is exquisite!” She was stalling.
“I’m afraid I am at a disadvantage here.
I hoped to meet Sophie so she could explain how David is Luca’s father.
Perhaps I’m being a bit stupid, but I’d like to know the truth if you know it—if you don’t mind.
” Her voice squeaked. She took another huge bite of the tarte, as if it might give her courage to hear the truth.
“I apologize for my rudeness the other day. I suspected you were David’s wife the moment I saw you. He spoke often of you, about how beautiful and intelligent and funny you are and how proud he was of your determination to invent a…life-saving swimsuit?”
She smiled through sadness.
“After not hearing from him after Sophie’s diagnosis, and we’d not seen or heard from him in more than a year, I feared he had learned of Sophie’s death and sent you to investigate so he could take Luca away. After all, he was Luca’s birth father, but I panicked and behaved badly. I apologize.”
“I get your point.”
“I have legally adopted Luca in France, which I hope is respected in the United States.”
“I would never take anyone’s child.” Her words rushed. Although she didn’t know the truth about how Luca came to be, she did know her husband was honorable. “And if David made a promise, he would never go back on his word.”
“I know what you say about David is true. He was a very good friend to me and Sophie. We would not have enjoyed the success we’ve had without him.
He had a good and kind heart. I’m terribly sorry he has passed.
” He inhaled deeply, his eyes reddening.
“The news was a shock to me, and I am deeply sorry for my own loss of a very dear friend. And the loss to Luca and you.”
“Thank you.” She swallowed against tears. “Can you please explain from the beginning? Were—” she swallowed a hard lump. “Were David and Sophie…?”
He downed his brandy. “David bought our wines for a popular boutique wine store outside of New York City. They kept ordering more of our wines, and David continued to taste and order new ones for them, twice a year. He was very curious about my winemaking methods, and I enjoyed demonstrating them. We had, what you call, a camaraderie?”
She nodded.
“One day I was cooking a cassoulet, and he’d said it was his favorite French dish, so I invited him to stay.
Sophie joined us for dinner and, perhaps because we all had much to drink, Sophie complained that all the men she dated were not to her liking, and she just wanted to have a child.
She had investigated using a donor, but she lamented that the most important quality she wanted in the father of her child was to have a good heart and that quality could not be determined in a profile. ”
The realization that Sophie’s desire for a child was opposite of Claire’s spurred a squirming in Claire’s stomach. David found a woman who wanted the same thing he did. “She deeply desired a child.”
Gilbert nodded, poured himself more brandy, and offered Claire another pour.
She shook her head, thinking there was no man as good hearted as her David, even if it was his damaged heart that killed him.
Gilbert stared at the brandy. “I said, ‘You mean a good heart, like David’s?’ I was joking, but Sophie’s look was serious.
” He crossed his arms. “David’s face grew serious also, and when Sophie saw it, she made a joke and said she’d continue to interview men.
Maybe she would run an advertisement. She did not want the man in the child’s life.
Surely some man would find that package attractive. ”
“One would think.” Claire held very still, fortifying herself for the blade of truth.
Gilbert broke off a piece of tarte. “The next morning, David visited us in the cave. He told Sophie that he would agree to be a donor if she wanted. She should think it through and if agreeable, let him know when he returned. But Sophie didn’t need any thinking-time, she immediately agreed.
She also promised she’d hire an attorney to draw up an agreement and make an appointment for David at the fertility clinic to make a donation—only for her—during his next business trip. ”
Claire’s heart squeezed as she closed her eyes, memories of David’s kind eyes and dimpled smile warming her.
Why hadn’t David told her? He’d not had a physical affair—but wasn’t not telling her about his son almost as much of a betrayal?
She didn’t want to be angry with him, but heat pulsed up her back.
Gilbert pulled a large envelope from his jacket pocket. “Both David and Sophie wrote letters to Luca for him to read on his eighteenth birthday. I made copies for you.”
She stopped chewing, the tangy fruit stinging her tongue. The thought of touching the envelope made her hands grow cold.
He pushed the envelope across the table. “A copy of their agreement is also in there.”
She looked at it as if it were a sleeping snake.
He sipped his brandy. “You should know that, initially, Sophie didn’t want Luca to know David was his father. That was a specific clause in the contract.”
The pulsing heat washed through her. “But David wanted children more than anything.”
“I was not privy to their discussion, but I think that because this is a very small town, and Sophie is well known, she didn’t want everyone to think that she and David were lovers.
Eventually, Luca began asking about his father.
Sophie asked David, and they decided to tell him, despite their original agreement. ”
Claire pulled back. She searched for the power to speak, but her words jumbled, sticking in her mouth. “David…met…Luca?”
He nodded. “Luca was only a few months old the first time David met him. He visited many times, during which Luca didn’t know that David was his father.
But when Luca learned David was his father, he was overjoyed.
” Gilbert downed the rest of his brandy.
“He calls him ‘Papa David.’” Pride sat in Gilbert’s eyes.
A whooshing sound filled Claire’s head. The room closed around her. David had known and loved his child for seven years and never told her. How could he leave his son? Why did he keep her out of their relationship?
Gilbert cleared his throat. “Luca lost his mother nearly a year ago, on Christmas Eve. I cannot tell him he’s also lost his father. That is why I wanted you to leave yesterday. I wanted to discuss this with you, without Luca present.”
Sparks of light swirled. Why hadn’t David told her?
He’d kept the birth of his son, the boy calling him Papa David, this enchanting little seven-year-old boy—someone he loved at least as much if not more than he loved her—a secret from her for nearly eight years?
She hunched over as her lungs caved around her aching heart.
She grabbed her coat and pulled it over her shoulders. Gripping the chairback, she struggled to stand. “I’m sorry. I…can’t…I need…I can’t be here right now.”
She grabbed her purse and fled out the door, down the alley, across a square, sliding on the icy cobblestones, searching for her hotel.
She crossed a wooden bridge but couldn’t remember if they’d crossed it coming to the patisserie.
She ran along the quay, sliding in the snow.
How could she not remember the address of the hotel where she spent her honeymoon? It was near the river.
She hid behind a brightly lighted Christmas tree and pulled out her phone. She had saved the hotel address and requested directions, but she couldn’t decide whether the app was telling her to go right or left.
The way to the left was across a bridge. Nope, she wasn’t going anywhere near water.
She ran a block to the right and was wrong.
She retraced her steps and stood at the foot of the bridge.
Roiling water rushed along, shelves of ice clinging to the quay.
She inhaled, squeezed her eyes shut, and bolted across the wooden bridge.
As her feet hit cobblestones, she opened her eyes to the hotel shimmering in the distance.
She spun around, making sure Gilbert was not near, and ran all the way to her room. Why did David keep his son a secret?