Chapter 6 #3
“So you have bought a house with one euro,” he said. “Did you get your money’s worth?”
“Is this a trick question?” asked Marlow.
He smiled and waited for her answer, with no seeming judgment, just curiosity.
“Yes and no,” she said. “I don’t know how a house can be sold for a euro, even if it’s a disaster like Maison Perdue.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s a disaster. Some have no walls, ceilings, windows, electricity …”
“Maison Perdue has no electricity.”
“It has wiring.”
“True. But there must be a catch.”
“Oh, there are many, je suis certain,” said Guillaume, pursing his gorgeous lips and giving a bemused Gallic shrug. “But we can look at the paperwork in the morning.”
This was not what Marlow needed to hear, but she was too sated to care.
Tomorrow would yield the solutions she’d need to get back on a plane to her boring job and her infuriating boss and her judgmental family and her daughter’s lack of decision-making and their cramped apartment and Marlow’s Murphy bed containing no hunky naked maison de champagne owner.
After Madame Klein brought out a board of cheeses, then dessert, Guillaume took a phone call and stepped away onto the lawn.
“I’m so full,” said Sabine. “And desperate for bed.”
“Me, too,” said Marlow. “But things seem OK for the first time in about forty-eight hours.”
“This place is awesome. And Guillaume seems nice.”
“So far, he has zero strikes against him,” said Marlow. “Hopefully he’s not an axe murderer.”
She left the terrace to capture the moon over the vineyards on her cell phone camera.
Sabine heard a sound behind her. She turned to find Aubin, now in chinos and a T-shirt, approaching with a plate of food. Aubin of the forbidden grass incident.
“It’s you!” he said, sitting down, surprised.
“It’s you!” she said back. Equally surprised.
“So you are working for my uncle.” Now it was clear. He was an heir to this unbelievable place—no wonder he came off so smug.
“Answer’s still the same. Nope.”
“Then it’s a mystery.”
“No again. I know why I’m here.” She knew she was being a bit petulant, but he was really starting to get on her nerves.
Guillaume returned to the table. So did Marlow.
“I see you’ve met my nephew, Aubin,” said Guillaume.
“I haven’t,” said Marlow. “Hi.”
Aubin stood up like some pretend gentleman and shook her hand. “Enchanté.”
“This is Marlow Linden and her daughter, Sabine,” said Guillaume. “They have bought a house in Mirabelle. It’s not inhabitable yet, so they are staying here as long as they wish.”
Sabine saw her mum swoon just a tiny bit. Wow. Her mother was going to hook up with a maison de champagne owner. That was fast.
“Tomorrow, while we go through your paperwork,” said Guillaume, “perhaps Aubin can show Sabine a few sights. He is finished with school, and even though he works here for the summer, I can give him a day off.”
“Oh, that’s not—I can help my mum,” said Sabine. She was not going to get roped into anything of the sort.
“Great idea,” said Marlow. “Technically, we’re on holiday. We haven’t done that in a while.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Guillaume. “Aubin will take Sabine on a tour. It will be fun.”
Like a stick in your eye is fun.
“I’ll show you to your rooms,” said Guillaume. “I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
When Marlow and Sabine reconvened on the terrace for breakfast the next morning, there was a spread of fruit, baguette, preserves, and a platter piled high with croissants and pains au chocolat.
So. Much. Butter. Marlow watched Sabine pull a croissant apart and eat it, ends first, then the outer flaky layers, then the soft delicious inside.
The vineyards were beautiful in the sunshine. A groundskeeper tended to the garden. Madame Klein brought a new pot of hot coffee, tea, and juice. They ate like royalty. Maybe Guillaume was royalty. Who lived like this?
Aubin didn’t appear until the end of breakfast. “Bonjour,” he said, grabbing an apple.
“You were out late,” said Guillaume.
Aubin shrugged. “End-of-school party.”
“If you’re tired, it’s OK, you don’t have to take me around,” said Sabine.
“I’m fine,” said Aubin.
“Don’t you want me to help you work on the appeal?” Sabine asked Marlow. She was clearly trying to get out of this. It was a bit comical, actually. But it would be good for her to unwind with someone her own age.
“I can do that,” said Guillaume. “You’re in France! There is all of Haute-Marne to discover—begin with this petit coin. How do you say? This tiny corner.”
Sabine shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Marlow decided not to save her.
“I’ll get ready,” said Aubin, heading back inside. A dubious Sabine followed.
“Shall we get to work?” asked Guillaume. “Then we can deliver your paperwork.”
“Thank you so much. Maybe we can go a bit early, so I can see the house again. When I’m not in as much of a fog.”
“Of course. I have things to do nearby, then I’ll double back and get you.”
Thank God she’d run into this calm, dreamy, together man—a knight in shining armor. She melted a bit but caught herself. Do not complicate things. Do not fall for him. Do not hope he can save you. Do not do not do not.