Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Marlow stepped into Guillaume’s bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. She still felt numb after the face-off with her parents but was managing to hold it together until she got a WhatsApp from Noah.
Sorry that happened, Marlie. God. So harsh. What now?
And it was in that moment that she realized, she had no idea what the answer was.
What now?
It was only then that she broke down and cried. Her sobbing echoed off the walls, and she hoped no one could hear.
Blotches everywhere. Damn. A few splashes of cold water on her face helped.
The Cannes job was out of reach, obviously—it was the mythological Cannes, after all, the pinnacle of festivals, the Big Big Show—but she wanted to do the interview—and do well—because Guillaume had recommended her. What she really needed was Oscar’s job. It was the only way out of this mess.
You’ve got this, Marlow told herself, as she went to her laptop and clicked on the meeting link. But in truth, she wasn’t so sure.
Sabine sat at a table they’d put in the tiny Maison Perdue courtyard, Aubin snoozing on a blanket in the sun by her feet, shirt off, earphones on, arm draped over his eyes. The sun shone, it was peaceful, and they were watched over by the patron rabbit saint of Maison Perdue.
Two days had passed since their first driving lesson, and Sabine had made it to second gear.
She eyed Aubin, looking divine, and wondered if making it to second gear was the car equivalent of making it to second base.
What would that be like with Aubin? Maybe another walk in the Parc des Roches was in order.
She was working on a new tiny book: The Ten Best Things in France.
The cover illustration was the jar of Nutella on the table before her with a hunk of baguette.
She was trying to get the oval shape of the jar just right.
Each drawing in the book was a study of the godly spread: Nutella on a piece of baguette, Nutella on a spoon, a close-up of the Nutella label …
The text for The Ten Best Things in France went like this:
Nutella
Nutella
Nutella
Nutella
Nutella
Nutella
Nutella
Nutella
Nutella
Nutella
She joined Aubin on the blanket, moved his arm to use it as a pillow, and leaned into his lean, muscular chest, warmed by the sun. She wanted to kiss him. Maybe she didn’t have to wait until Parc des Roches to try other things. She leaned in and bit his earlobe gently.
He cracked open an eye. “Strange, yet nice. What is this for?”
“Teaching me to drive standard.” She rested her chin on his pec.
“What else do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. Something. I’m not sure.”
“Well, when you decide, let me know.”
Sabine was contemplating that when she heard a familiar voice. “Hello?”
She looked up and saw her grandmother, flanked by her grandfather and Noah, and Guillaume behind them, holding two pieces of carry-on luggage. She was up like a shot.
“Aubin,” said Sabine, “this is—these are—this is my Grams Iris, my Grandad Bill, and Uncle Noah. Hi. Wow. What are you all doing here?”
“Visiting,” said Iris. “Mr. Fortin was kind enough to get us here.”
“Great. We were just—hanging out.”
“I see that,” said Iris, tossing over Aubin’s T-shirt. He got to his feet and pulled it on.
“Busted,” said Noah under his breath, smiling.
“Not helpful,” said Sabine.
Marlow sat still on a bedsheet in front of Luc’s studio window as he painted her, sun on her skin.
It was the first time she’d felt comfortable being naked and looked at.
Metaphorically she’d felt naked so many times, like people could see right through to the fraud beneath.
But here, with her almost forty-year-old body, even with its imperfections, seen through Luc’s eyes, she felt beautiful.
Luc sat on a stool in an old muscle shirt, bare feet and shorts covered in paint splotches like every other inch of the studio, painting and humming under his breath.
Marlow could see out the window to the valley below. A few clouds passed across the sun, turning stretches of fields different shades of green, fleetingly.
“What are you thinking there, staring off?” Luc asked.
“That there is nothing wrong with this moment,” she said. “Maison Perdue looks infinitely better than it did at the beginning of the summer. I still have my place in Toronto—”
“You can even call it your pied-à-terre.”
“Yves hasn’t stolen Sabine’s heart.”
I’ve fooled around with two men, and both now seem fine with it, she added to her mental list—though she did not say that part out loud.
“Also, I did well enough in the interview for Cannes.”
“And you say you did even better in the interview for your boss’s job.”
“I feel like it’ll be mine when I get back. I’ll know any day now.”
There was also the upcoming appeal about the purchase of Maison Perdue, but even that felt far away. Marlow would manage. She somehow always did.
She looked around the cluttered studio. “I like your house.”
Luc laughed. “I have the classic contractor’s problem: everyone else’s house gets renovated but mine. How do they say that, about the shoemaker and his children?”
“The cobbler’s children go unshod.”
“Yes. This house hasn’t changed since my parents died. And probably not since their parents died. But for me, it is the comfort.”
“For me, too,” said Marlow.
“And you look formidable in it. Stay as long as you’d like. In my studio, in my bed …”
She drew a breath. “You said you would not use sexy talk.”
“I did not. Or if I did, I should not have. I want to make sexy talk with you. I want you in my bed. It’s important you know that.”
“Fine. What you said is you would not fight Guillaume. As long as that’s the case, make sexy talk. I like it.”
“What’s not to like, having two men want you?”
“Exactly,” said Marlow. “Living the life.”
And then Sabine stepped into the studio, followed by Aubin, Guillaume, Marlow’s parents, and her brother.
Iris saw Marlow naked, leg draped over the chair arm, bushy bits hanging out for all to see, and gasped.
Bill’s face morphed into Munch’s The Scream.
Sabine looked just as she had when they’d seen the dead rat.
Aubin immediately paled, turned, and walked away, and Guillaume just stood there in shock.
“What the hell is going on?” her father bellowed, heading for the dining room.
“What are you doing here?” asked Marlow, grabbing the sheet to cover herself.
“We came to ask you the same thing!” said Iris.
“Oh Marlie,” said Noah, laughing, “you never fail to disappoint.”
“I believe I will take some air,” said Guillaume, heading outside to join Aubin.
“Luc’s an artist. He’s painting me,” said Marlow. “Shall we step outside?”
“Not like that you won’t,” said Bill.
“I’ll get dressed first.”
“At least you haven’t completely lost your mind,” said Iris.
“I’m thirty-nine,” said Marlow. “I can pose for a portrait if I want to.”
“Naked?!”
“How many nudes are hanging in the Louvre?” said Marlow.
“I hardly think this painter is going to end up there,” said Iris.
“And I will also take the air,” said Luc, heading outside.
“Don’t be rude, Mum,” said Marlow. “We are in Luc’s house.”
“Is that his name? You didn’t introduce us.”
“Sabine, take everyone to our house. Put on some coffee.”
“It’s too late in the day for coffee,” said Iris.
“Too bad,” said Marlow. “Noah, find something to give to them. I’ll be right over.”
Now clothed, Marlow emerged from Luc’s to find him and Guillaume chuckling and shaking their heads.
“Apparently, I like to keep it exciting,” she said. “How’d they get here?”
“They took a taxi from Neufchateau to the winery,” said Guillaume. “On the drive here, they thought you and I might be together.”
“Ah,” said Marlow.
“I had hopes you and I might soon get there,” he said. “I told this just now to Luc.”
“Oh, yes?” said Marlow, senses tingling.
“And I said I thought I might be with you,” said Luc.
“You said you didn’t want a situationship!” said Marlow.
“I also said I wanted you.”
“I’m sorry,” said Marlow. “I thought I’d cleared things up by, well, to put a fine point on it, only sleeping with you, Luc, once, and only sleeping with you, Guillaume, after Luc said he didn’t want to keep it up. Not keep it up! You know what I mean.”
“We slept together several times, if I recall, over one night,” said Luc.
“So did we,” said Guillaume.
“I can see I’ve made things complicated,” said Marlow, “and I will try to undo that—as soon as I deal with my parents.”
Marlow stepped into her house. They followed. Her tiny kitchen was already overcrowded. Aubin and Sabine were holding hands despite disapproving looks from Bill and Iris. Noah was investigating the cupboards with dismay.
“What are we going to have for dinner?” he said. “There’s nothing here.”
“And where on earth are we going to stay?” said Iris. “I’ve been upstairs. There are only two beds.”
“It would be my honor to host dinner,” said Guillaume, stepping into the breach.
“That would be lovely,” said Marlow, thankfully.
“And you are most welcome to stay at the vineyard,” he said to Bill, Iris, and Noah. “I have more than enough room.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” said Bill, “but perhaps we’d better stick close to our daughter. She clearly needs all the help she can get. Is there a hotel in town?”
“No,” said Sabine.
“I’ll call Madame Klein and arrange dinner,” said Guillaume, stepping back outside.
“I can ask Madame Belleville if Bill and Iris can stay there,” said Luc. “She used to run her house as a bed-and-breakfast.” He stepped out, too.
“Sabine,” said Iris, “your ‘friend’ can run home. We need some family time.”
Aubin squeezed Sabine’s hand and headed outside.
“Now, Sabine, off to your room so we can talk with your mother,” said Iris.
“Sabine is eighteen. She can stay,” said Marlow. “Besides, what’s all the fuss about?”
“The fuss,” said Bill, “is that since you asked for a twenty-thousand-euro loan, it’s become clear what a mess you’re in. And while we don’t think it’s appropriate to rescue you, we realized you do indeed need saving.”
“It’s disappointing really, at your age,” said Iris.
“That’s a bit harsh,” said Noah. “Marlow made one mistake buying a cheap house in France. I would’ve done the same thing. It’s pretty charming here, if I do say so myself.”
“Stop defending your sister,” said Iris.
“Then stop picking on her,” said Noah. “So she doesn’t live up to what you wanted for her.
She’s a great mother and she’s done it alone.
Marlow has a job, and I don’t. It may not be the career you want for her, but it is a career.
And she has a good chance of getting a promotion, so stop telling her she’s a failure. ”
Marlow was stunned. Noah had defended her before, but this was a shot across the bow.
“I think so, too,” said Sabine. She also never stood up to her grandparents. “I’ve had the most amazing summer here, thanks to Mum.”
“Doesn’t matter!” said Bill. “From where I stand, you got perfect marks in high school, and you’re throwing that all away. What your mother did, wiling away her summer here aimlessly, was foolish for herself, but it was disastrous for you. So we will get to you next.”
“No, you won’t,” said Marlow. “We are fine. Sabine is better than fine. Whatever mistakes I’ve made, I’ll fix. And while I appreciate the concern you’ve shown by flying thousands of miles to help, I’m not feeling particularly helped at the moment. Instead, I feel …”
“Ambushed?” offered Noah.
“Bullseye. So. Dinner at Guillaume’s. You can sleep at his house, or you can stay at Madame Belleville’s. In the morning, we’ll find something to occupy you for however long you decide to stay. And then I will see you in Toronto in September, where I hope to be starting my new job.”
At Guillaume’s, Madame Klein and Noah bonded as foodies, and she let him help prepare dinner. The food rolled out, course after course. He loved the fresh ingredients, the incredible wine, and her chef’s garden where he plucked fresh herbs and ripe vegetables.
At the table, laid with good china and crystal wine glasses, Marlow’s parents were relaxed and in their element. Guillaume was the consummate host. Luc was on his best behavior. Aubin was personable and supportive of Sabine.
After dinner, everyone stepped outside. Guillaume and Aubin gave Bill, Iris, and Noah a tour of the vineyard and the abbey cellars.
“I’m sorry,” said Sabine. “I took you for granted. All your hard work. Lying about seeing my dad, staying in Paris when you didn’t know where I was … it was really not good.”
“You’re allowed to have a father, as bad as he is at that job,” said Marlow. “Have you heard from him since he ditched you at the passport office?”
“Nope,” said Sabine. “But seriously. This whole thing is my fault. If I’d just chosen a university, you wouldn’t have been so stressed at our sushi dinner, you wouldn’t have had most of the bubbly yourself, and you wouldn’t have drunk-bought a one-euro old house in France.”
“I did that,” said Marlow, “because I hate my job.”
“But you’re trying to get a promotion. Doesn’t that mean more of the same?”
“Yes, but I need it in case I can’t sell this house. And maybe to prove to myself that I am good enough for Oscar’s job—or maybe to prove that to my parents? Not sure. Anyway. I need a big-ass solution, and soon, if I’m going to get out alive.”
The group emerged from the abbey. Aubin made eye contact with Sabine. She waved.
“You like him,” said Marlow.
Sabine nodded. “I’ll tell you one thing I regret. I regret, a little, not going to my formal.”
“What! I even bought you a ticket!”
“I told you not to do that!”
“So sue me.”
“If I’d gone with Aubin, I might’ve worn a dress and a dumb corsage that matched his cummerbund. And gone on a stupid cruise and kissed under fireworks that matched the napkins.”
Marlow nodded. “Even just to see how Rachelle, Imperial Goddess of Fundraising, could waste all that money. That in itself would’ve been a spectacle. How much did she raise again?”
“Tons,” said Sabine. “She’s super connected and knew people who had things to sell in the auction.”
Marlow looked up into the giant sky of stars, mulling something over.
“What are you thinking, Mum? You look like you’re dreaming up something.”
“I’m not a hundred percent sure yet,” said Marlow. “But I might have an idea.”