Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Marlow reeled. Sabine rushed over, looking sick. “I—I didn’t know he was coming, I swear.”
“What’s he doing here, then?”
“I don’t know. Or maybe I do.” Sabine turned towards her father, then turned back. “What do you want me to tell him? Do you want me to send him away?”
Marlow had no idea what she wanted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rémy arrive in an elegant black dress and shake people’s hands as if she were on the campaign trail.
“I’ll figure it out,” said Sabine, but Yves was already coming over.
“Bonsoir,” he said. “You both look lovely.”
“This is unexpected,” said Marlow.
“Yes, I’m sorry, I should have texted to let you know I was coming—”
“You think?”
“—but then I remembered that you don’t get cell reception up here, and I wasn’t even sure I could pull it off, so I just came.”
“Pull what off?” asked Sabine.
Yves turned to the stairs, where about two dozen people were spilling onto the square.
“Bringing guests. That’s what you need, right?”
“Yes, that’s what we need,” said Marlow, irritated and thankful all at once.
Madame Belleville looked overwhelmed at the ticket table.
“Sabine, can you help with tickets?” Sabine headed over as a woman approached, wearing silver go-go boots, tight neon psychedelic pants, a faux fur pink jacket with pink liquid eyeliner to match, and sparkly stars glued to her temples.
“Bonsoir,” she said, “you must be Marlow. I am Delphine, an old friend of Yves. I run an artists’ retreat, and I brought my residents—I hope that is all right.”
“It’s wonderful,” said Marlow, “Thank you.”
“Yves said there’s an auction. I want to donate a residency at Chateau Beaupré.”
“That’s amazing, but you don’t have to do that,” said Marlow. “You barely know me.”
“True, but I was inspired by your daughter’s art. She is gifted. And even though she has not yet decided whether she will attend, I want to support her in any way I can.”
Delphine headed for the stage. Marlow wanted to be furious with Yves, but he was helping, and wild Delphine with a galaxy of stars glued to her face was helping, too.
“I hope Sabine told you about Chateau Beaupré,” he said.
“She did. Right before she told me about you standing her up at the passport office.”
“I’m very sorry about that. I was called away for my film—”
“Don’t tell me that. Tell her.”
“I’ve tried. I will. You know I’m not dependable.”
“Oh, I know all right. Letting me down is one thing—I’d expect nothing else. But letting her down—your eighteen-year-old daughter—is another. It’s not forgivable.”
“I’m trying to fix it by being here. By supporting you both.”
“Fine,” said Marlow, glaring at him. “But if you disappoint her tonight, I will crush you. I will find a way.”
“I can only imagine.”
“Oh no, you can’t. It’ll be far worse than anything you could possibly dream up.”
Sabine watched her father leave Marlow and head to Delphine. She had a brick on her chest.
“Don’t worry,” said Aubin. “Your parents can manage. They’re adults.”
“But it’s my fault. I just asked if he’d donate two tickets to a film opening. I never thought he’d show up. My mum must be furious.”
“I don’t know. He brought people. They’ll spend their money.”
“But she hates him. She didn’t need this.”
“She looks fine,” said Aubin, as Marlow moved around the party, smiling and introducing herself to people she didn’t know.
“He’s here now. Maybe this was meant to happen.
” Aubin put his hands on her arms and his touch stopped the world spinning.
“Fedir is putting up the disco ball, and we will dance. You are my prom date, remember?”
The silent auction was a hit. Sabine allowed herself to bid on a tiny thing, and was outbid, then a second time, and was outbid again.
“If we bid on things we know we won’t get,” whispered Aubin, “we drive up the price.”
“But what if we actually win them? I don’t have any money, and I have no room in my luggage, and we go home tomorrow.”
“If we get it, I’ll buy it. I have money.”
Sabine’s grandparents were perusing the silent auction. They liked to appear rich (which they were), and they coveted things. Expensive things. Sabine smiled. This was a perfect way to get them to support their daughter and granddaughter without even realizing it.
So Sabine and Aubin wandered around, up-bidding silent auction items by twenty or fifty euros. Others outbid them, which made Bill and Iris competitive. They got suckered every time, much to Sabine’s delight.
Marlow was two glasses of Fortin red in to deal with a shopping list of anxieties: hoping the event wouldn’t be a flop, Luc wanting to know about his romantic fate, Guillaume wanting the same, her parents judging her every move, and, oh yes, her ex showing up out of the blue.
Could she call him an ex when they’d slept together a dozen times over one festival eighteen years ago?
OK, Sabine’s father. No, she refused to call him that. Yves. Call him Yves. And get a refill.
The square was full of an eclectic mix of guests: Aubin’s friends, Chateau Beaupré artists, vintners, locals …
Sylvain, King of the Chanterelles, appeared in a dapper suit with pants that were too short and a cravat, carrying a teacloth full of mushrooms for Madame Klein.
Noah was overjoyed to meet another foodie in France.
He and Sylvain disappeared into the restaurant to cook up the chanterelles.
Rémy chatted with Marlow’s parents, Sabine was having a great time with Aubin’s friends, and Lali and Fedir were hosting his coworkers from the vineyard.
“?a va?” asked Luc. “You have the air of stress.”
“The live auction. What if no one bids? It’s always embarrassing when no one bids.”
“They will bid. And look.” A new crop of people was arriving up the Mirabelle stairs led by the woman who ran the h?tel disséminé in Montsouris-le-Petit.
“You called Camille!”
“Of course. She has the same goal—to save these villages. She brought all her guests. Do you see the one in the blue shirt—there? The one making conversation with Rémy?”
Marlow looked at a handsome, gentle-looking guy in his twenties, introducing himself to Rémy, who did not seem broken up at all to have to make light conversation with such a looker.
“That is Angus, Camille’s friend,” said Luc. “He has just graduated from theological school in Scotland and is visiting. He is looking for a church—perhaps Mirabelle would suit him.”
She exchanged a look with Luc. “You are not who I thought you were when I first met you.”
“Oh? Who did you think I was?”
“You were snoring in Pierre’s bus, bare feet up on the dash. You refused to speak English. You yelled at other drivers.”
“Bah oui. They were rude.”
“I was sure you were an—”
“—asshole, yes. We know this already.”
“But you’re a sensitive painter. With a generous heart. You’ll do anything for Mirabelle.”
“You haven’t finished posing for me, by the way.”
“And you brought people to this party.”
“You have breathed life into my home,” he said, taking her hand. Luc’s palm was callused from his renovation work, there was paint under his fingernails, and yet he stood here in a pressed shirt and tie. A man of contradictions.
“I know I owe you and Guillaume an answer—”
“Don’t worry about that now. Let’s get tonight under our pants.”
She burst out laughing. “You mean under our belts.”
“Mesdames et messieurs,” Pierre called out, “la vente aux enchères!”
Pierre was at the mic, live auction items within reach.
Lali sat at a table nearby to keep track of the bidding and take people’s payments.
The crowd pulled in tighter. But just as Pierre was about to begin, Rémy stepped up onto the makeshift stage and made a speech about how pleased she was to see the square alive, how important the one-euro program was, how hard she’d worked on it …
She nearly claimed responsibility for the party—a very Oscar move—which made Marlow snicker into her wine glass.
Pierre finally lost patience and wrestled the mic from her hands.
It turned out that he had experience as an auctioneer, helping farmers sell equipment and run estate sales.
He warmed up the crowd by auctioning off a few things that the more affluent crowd bid on politely but without overdoing it—crates of wine, for example.
A year-long parking permit in Neufchateau.
Pierre was priming the pump. So were they.
The next thing up for grabs was Madame Belleville’s necklace.
She sat there dignified, smiling, reserved yet invested—but also, Marlow could see that she was fearful no one would bid on it.
Guillaume stepped up, knowing Madame Belleville was the grande dame of Mirabelle.
He lobbed an impressive figure to start things off—way over where Pierre started the bidding.
Madame Belleville gasped. Then Guillaume’s colleagues, taking his cue, acted their way through a bidding war, which thrilled Madame Belleville.
At the last moment, Delphine trumped everyone’s offer, won the bid, and draped the necklace around her neck.
Everyone applauded Madame Belleville, and she teared up.
The next item was a six-week residency at Chateau Beaupré.
Pierre opened the bidding at three thousand euros.
Yves raised his hand. Sabine reacted. Yves made eye contact with her.
Oh my God, thought Marlow, he’s buying it for Sabine.
Not only was he trying to have her move to France, but he was also trying to persuade her to be an artist, which almost pissed off Marlow more.
A few people bid against Yves. Marlow’s world was spiraling out of control.
She needed this to stop, and yet she knew it was unstoppable.