Chapter 11
“Is there a reason you wanted to see me?” Isabelle Dubois asked, opening the living room door no wider than absolutely necessary.
Natalie cleared her throat and attempted to smile warmly, but genuine warmth was difficult to muster when her hostess was shooting ice daggers at her. “Yes, I just wanted to thank you and maybe ask you something, but if it’s not a good time…”
“It is never a good time while you Americans are here,” Isabelle interrupted, throwing the door open wide and turning her back on Natalie.
Was that a yes? Natalie wondered briefly before deciding she could deal with the potential fallout better than she could deal with the regret if she simply walked away.
Isabelle settled on the large, blue velvet wingback chair next to a window that seemed to diffuse the summer sunlight as it streamed in, making her look ethereal and almost regal as she considered Natalie.
“So, thank me, I suppose,” Isabelle said.
“I truly appreciate your generosity in allowing us to use the archives,” Natalie started. “It’s a remarkable collection. There are countless things I would never have had the opportunity to read without your kindness. Thank you for everything.”
The beautiful, middle-aged woman sniffed and looked away. “It was a great collection, but I am sure you are genuinely as impressed as you say. You hear things, you know, about the American education system, so I am not surprised.”
Irritation boiled in Natalie’s chest. It wasn’t rooted in any kind of patriotism; it was simply the way the woman paired her words and expressions that made her emotions prickle. “Well, I am genuinely thankful. You have some rare books—it’s been a privilege to read them.”
“Oui.” Isabelle eyed her up and down. “And, what? You want to buy them? Well, the answer is no.”
“Oh, I couldn’t buy them,” Natalie said. “I don’t have the kind of money they’re worth to spend on myself. If I did, I would buy them in a heartbeat—but unfortunately, I don’t.”
The two women eyed each other for a long moment, and Natalie wondered if she had taken the right tone. Her aim had been to be self-deprecating without sounding groveling—but whether she had achieved that was another matter entirely.
Finally, Isabelle glanced at the table beside her, where a crystal tumbler rested, filled three-quarters full with a deep, rich amber liquid. “Well, that is too bad.” She took a long sip. “For you, anyway. For me, I am not caring. What is your question, then?”
The dread she had felt since breakfast the day before, when she decided to proceed with this plan of hers, solidified into pure anxiety in her stomach, and her heart began to race.
“I know you’ve found our—well, my—presence here in your home to be…
unpleasant,” Natalie said. “I’ve tried to understand, but I can’t work it out.
I want to work with you, not against you.
If we can discover why the vines Fitzgerald Hills bought from you have suddenly failed in our care, it doesn’t speak to your vines’ health—only our custody of them.
And if we do seek to buy more from you, your price is the price—we won’t negotiate you down.
I guess I just want to understand why you seem to hate me. ”
As soon as she uttered the words hate me, she regretted it. Isabelle had seemed almost interested up until that moment, but upon hearing those words, she rolled her eyes. Standing, she turned her back on Natalie and gazed out the window for a few moments as she sipped her drink.
“Hate you?” she said finally, throwing a dirty look over her shoulder. “My family has been here on this land for hundreds of years. We had one of the most lucrative small-batch contracts in all of France, building it from nothing.”
Natalie sensed that, despite the fact Isabelle had stopped speaking, she would be well advised to stay quiet—it was not her turn to speak.
Isabelle turned then, her face pinched and angry. “And now? It is almost nothing again because my father—may he rest his soul—married an idiot after my mother died. And then, idiot that I am, I marry the worst type of businessman—arrogant, gullible, and utterly convinced that he knows best.”
The pure rage on Isabelle’s face nearly paralyzed Natalie as the beautiful yet terrifying woman drew closer. She stopped only a few feet from her, and Natalie could smell that the liquid in the glass was almost certainly scotch.
“My legacy will be to spend the last coin in the coffers. My marriage will have destroyed what we have been custodians of for longer than your country has existed. Even now, after I have finally wrested control back, it feels pointless. He has spent everything, and so there is nothing left for me to be in control of.”
Isabelle gestured broadly at the room around her while Natalie pretended not to notice that the movement made some of the liquor spill over the rim and onto the cream-colored carpet.
“But no, it is you that I hate. Of course, what else could it be but revolving around you? Americans, all the same.” Her nose wrinkled as her gaze dropped to Natalie’s feet, slowly climbing up her body as she appraised her with disgust in her eyes.
“I do hate you, I suppose, but only because you are here when I do not want you to be. I would hate you no matter who you were.”
A mix of renewed annoyance and relief swelled within Natalie as Isabelle cut off her words and turned her back on her. Part of Natalie felt genuinely concerned that her great-great-grandfather had done something despicable during his last visit.
“But your vineyard is so beautiful, and your wine is truly excellent—”
“How do you know that? You have not asked for any.”
Natalie felt her face flush. “No, I haven’t because, honestly, you seemed to hate me, so I thought asking to try your wine would be the best way to irritate you further,” Natalie said. “I bought a few bottles through the hotel. We’ve been drinking them at dinner since we arrived.”
Isabelle considered her intently. “Really? Interesting. Impressive, even, that you would not only bother but be so sneaky about it.”
“Is it really sneaky, though? I didn’t hide it. I just didn’t think talking to you would be of any use.”
Isabelle’s derisive snort cut her off. “You are probably right. What were you saying about my beautiful vineyard and excellent wine?”
Natalie swallowed hard before continuing.
“I mean it. The vineyard is stunning, and I’ve loved every bottle we’ve tried.
I don’t understand why you wouldn’t offer tours or wine tastings.
I know that the town isn’t as popular with tourists as other places nearby, but you have such an incredible place here.
You would be an attraction all on your own. ”
She held up a hand as Isabelle’s face returned to its resting state of general distaste.
“And become a show for the masses to gawp at? No. I do not think so. You should go now. Get out.”
Natalie wanted to say something more but knew it wouldn’t be heard. So, instead, she silently backed out of the room as Isabelle stalked back to the chair with her glass of scotch.