Read Online A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel by Françoise Bourdin - Free Book Online Page B

Aurélien?”
    “No doubt. … Well, I’m not sure. … You can never be certain with him. He was less strict with his sons for a while after her death, but it didn’t last! It was out of the question for them to miss the school semester because of it.”
    It was Pauline’s turn to be taken aback, and she didn’t try to hide it.
    “It? Their mother’s death?”
    Fernande gave a sad smile.
    “There was nothing to be done about it, you know? And he’s always been like that, be it with his sons, business, the harvest—everything has to be just so. He had so much pride in himself, his household, his wine … You don’t get to where he is with a soft heart, I can tell you that.”
    Fernande poured some more coffee in the mugs. Pauline had forgotten all about her wet clothes. The sun was now out, but she didn’t notice it, engrossed in the stories Fernande was telling her. Louis-Marie rarely spoke of his childhood, and Pauline had never shown much interest in it. Until now. …
    “So for softness,” she said, “the boys had you. …”
    Embarrassed, Fernande lowered her eyes.
    “I often consoled them when they were little. He was too strict with them, it’s true. … But I had to cuddle the children in secret because he wouldn’t have appreciated that kind of familiarity.”
    With every sentence that came out of Fernande’s mouth, Pauline recognized Aurélien, while discovering something different.
    “Is he liked around here?”
    “Is he liked? I don’t think he cares one bit about that. What he wants … well, it’s to remain on the top rung, of course! People living in the other houses and castles around here, other, smaller wine producers, it’s like a different world, you have no idea. …”
    The ring of the doorbell startled both women. Fernande jumped to her feet as though she’d been caught doing something wrong. She went to open the door for Louis-Marie, whose arrival annoyed Pauline. He’d brought his wife some dry clothing and she changed, reluctantly, but with no sense of modesty, in the middle of the room.
    Furious, Aurélien was pacing. He now regretted having sent Alexandre to Bordeaux and imposing Pauline on Jules—she must’ve been such a burden. He cast frequent glances out the window, cursing the weather. As soon as the sky cleared up a bit, more clouds started to gather.
    He came to a sudden stop, holding his breath. A dull pain, which he knew all too well, was slowly irradiating from his chest to his shoulder. He slowly went over to a chair. He just sat there for a minute or two, concentrating on his body, while the pain slowly lessened before disappearing.
    Not yet , he thought, forcing himself to remain calm. Not now …
    There was something terrifying about this harsh reminder. Aurélien felt like running to Robert’s room. And yet he remained seated, still, struggling against panic. He couldn’t picture himself seeking help from his son. He shut his eyes and realized that the pain was completely gone.
    I have to go back to that cardiologist. … I need to know if this is a false alarm or if I’m on borrowed time.
    He opened his eyes again, relieved to be feeling okay, and to find his son standing in front of his desk.
    “You could knock!” he barked.
    Jules was scrutinizing him, obviously worried.
    “I did knock,” he said, in a soft voice.
    His concern annoyed Aurélien.
    “All right,” he said sarcasticly, “so I’m senile. And what about you? If you can’t handle the monitoring of the machinery, tell Lucas and he can take care of it. I can’t have everything breaking down all over the place. … The tractor, the Jeep—that’s an awful lot. Or maybe you’re just becoming irresponsible. Did you at least check out the lower vineyards?”
    “Yes.”
    “And what about the barrels?”
    “I’m on it.”
    Aurélien eyed his son.
    “To what extent?” he asked.
    Jules planted his eyes on his father’s and said, in a low voice, “I’m taking care of the barrels.