Chapter 2 #2
Jacques parted his lips. “I…well…you are rich.”
Bastien lifted a brow at the sudden support.
A bit late, he thought, to be taking his side.
All these years of quarrelling with each other over the simplest matter just because Jacques said yes while Bastien decided no, because Jacques thought it was wrong and Bastien insisted everything that felt wrong was right—why pick this moment?
“But one hundred bottles of champagne for courtesans to bathe in…” Jacques trailed off. “One might think you’ve become mentally unsound, brother.”
I spoke too fast.
“Mentally unsound, inclined towards les raffinements de la vie”—Bastien stretched—“semantics, really.” Then levelled Jacques an icy stare. “Not that you’re any mentally sounder. All those splurges on jewellery for Celine?”
Jacques clicked his tongue and rose too. The chord was plucked. Bastien was mocking him with the same refrain at this point, but why learn a new one when it already worked so well. This one was easy. Celine herself made it easy.
“She is to be my fiancé soon. What’s your excuse?” Jacques demanded evenly, even as his hazel eyes darkened into brown. “Unless you plan to marry all twelve of your darlings?”
A shrug. “They might not be handpicked by Grandfather but if it’s love—”
Before he could finish the jibe, Monsieur Ménard brought his hand down on his desk. Even the wood flinched this time. “Enough, the both of you.”
Jacques and Bastien started in unison: “But he—”
“Sit down,” Monsieur Ménard demanded. The office fell into a silence broken only by the sound of tires rolling over the gravel in the driveway outside.
“No more fights, no more spending, no more nonsense.” He eyed them both, warning them to remain quiet, then checked his pocket watch.
“Let us get back on the subject and settle this before I leave.”
“Let me guess,” Bastien started. “You’re going to cut me off again? Don’t you think that little game has grown old?”
“Yes, in fact I do, Bastien. That’s why I’m cutting you off until you pay everything back.”
The suggestion didn’t register immediately. Though, it wasn’t a suggestion, not really.
“What do you mean by pay you everything?”
“Every. Single. Franc. Everything you spent imitating Edward of Wales.”
Before Bastien could let out an incredulous laugh, Jacques did so first. “As much as I would love to see that happen—”
Ana?s broke her silence to continue her brother’s thought. “—Pépé, you don’t really expect him to—”
“I am being serious, Ana?s.”
She clamped her lips shut at the sharp tone.
Bastien wished some phantom force could do the same with his jaw. Instead he was standing there, gaping, trying to take everything in. The threat of being cut off had never included any deadlines before. It had always sounded casual, provisory, just to keep Bastien’s feet on the ground for a while.
Now it sounded real.
The unbidden laughter finally escaped. “You can’t possibly—”
“I can, Bastien. And I am. If you want to act like a child, that is perfectly fine with me. I will treat you like one.” His grandfather walked to a mirror hanging on the wall and began fixing his tie.
“The careless spending and dallying with strangers every night will come to a stop. So will the weekly appearances in scandal sheets. You will find a job, any job, it matters very little, as long as it’s honest work, and you will restore all the money you’ve spent.
Otherwise, your accounts will remain frozen indefinitely. ”
Bastien hesitated for a moment. Bit down on his cheek to stop his next remark from leaving his lips. Anything else he’d say would only fuel the fire.
“Any other options?” he forced out.
Monsieur Ménard eyed him from the mirror. “You could sell something.”
“They won’t take the car back. I asked.”
“I wasn’t talking about the car.” At Bastien’s confusion, he added: “That studio you are so headstrong about keeping is only gathering dust—”
“No.”
Monsieur Ménard pressed his lips together. “As you wish then.”
Curling his fists tightly into his lap, Bastien tried to push his luck. “And if I don’t do as you say?”
“You will.”
That was it then: short, blunt, final. No room for argument. No room for useless apologies with his grandfather.
“That is all for now,” Monsieur Ménard said flatly. “Go and make yourselves presentable. We are to dine with the LeBeaus tonight at their house. And Bastien?” His grandfather paused by the doorway. “I forgot to mention it. You are to stay elsewhere as well.”
Bastien’s spine locked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are kicking him out?” Jacques and Ana?s asked in unison. Jacques, at least, had the decency to look bewildered. His lips parted as though he wanted to apologise to his brother but they both knew he wouldn’t with Grandfather there.
Good. Because Bastien didn’t care for Jacques’s delayed guilt either. This had just turned into something bigger than their usual quarrels and the sibling rule of fighting and forgetting ten minutes later would fail to mend anything.
“A halfhearted punishment will only teach a halfhearted lesson,” their grandfather said.
There was an almost pained expression in his eyes which Bastien would have believed, had it not shifted into disappointment within seconds.
Monsieur Ménard heaved a burdening sigh.
“I hope this time will put things into perspective for you. Find what’s meaningful in life, because believe it or not Bastien, not all pleasurable things are worth chasing after. ”
Bastien would beg to differ. That Cadillac was quite worthy.
“Where do you suppose I am to stay?” he demanded curtly.
“Use that brilliant imagination of yours. I’m sure there’s another inspirational figure out there like Edward of Wales who has been in this position before. Imitate them this time.”
He didn’t wait for Bastien’s response when he picked up his hat and left the office.
A heavy, palpable silence settled in the room. Bastien stared at the slit that had formed between the curtains and watched as his grandfather greeted someone in the driveway. When the car drove away, he slumped into his chair, his mind roiling.
Ana?s was the first to start fidgeting, picking up her pearls, twirling the string around her finger and letting it uncoil before she picked it up again. Bastien cringed at the sound.
“Well,” she started. “That was—”
“Insane,” Bastien finished the thought for her. “The old man has gone insane.”
Jacques scoffed. “When he has you to contend with…”
“You,” Bastien threatened, “don’t talk.”
Gracefully, Jacques rose from his seat and walked out of the room.
No way in hell.
Bastien marched for the door. He caught Jacques at the base of the staircase and clasped his shirt in a forceful grip. “You don’t get to leave just like that.”
Jacques eyed the wrinkles on his racing uniform. “Fun as it was to watch him nail you, I have to practice. If you’ll excuse me.” He tried to extricate himself from the grip.
Bastien did not budge.
“I don’t want to fight, Bas.”
“You should have thought about that before becoming Grandfather’s snitch.”
“Bastien!” Ana?s tried to squeeze between them, simultaneously tugging them away from the stairwell. “I will talk to Grandfather, he likes me most. He’s not going to kick you out if I ask him—”
“Were you not listening just now?” Bastien snapped. But his anger was wasted on Ana?s, so he faced Jacques again, hauling him closer. “If my life goes to hell, so will yours, brother. I will make sure you regret this.”
“Yeah?” Jacques challenged. One glib remark was enough to have them at each other’s throats again. “We’ll see if you’ll have time between finding a job and looking for a new home.”
“Jacques!” Ana?s exclaimed, shoving them away from each other. “Stop it!”
Bastien didn’t look at her. He knew that if he met her gaze his outrage would dissipate. So his resentment remained. And with nowhere to be spent, it accumulated.
Bastien stared at his brother, a smile forming slowly on his lips. “Watch out, Jacques. I have plenty of time on my hands tonight.”
And where better to continue their family drama than a family dinner at the LeBeaus?