Good heavens. Raoul wasn’t just the head of a famous Burgundian family. He was a titled aristocrat, too removed from ordinary life for her to imagine being any part of it. And two years ago he’d lost his wife and child. It was only natural that he had a man’s appetites and needs and had found himself attracted to Abby on his trip. It didn’t mean anything.
But he wasn’t your typical male. A brief relationship was all that could come of their being together. She’d have tonight with him, but tomorrow she would leave and fly to Italy while she still had the strength to tear herself away.
He pressed a remote on his keys and the doors swung open. They passed through and continued along a drive lined with trees and velvety green lawns. But when he turned to the right, she gasped, not prepared for what awaited her.
Set among the foliage lay an enormous ochre-toned château. The sides with their turrets bookended a middle section where there was one of those geometric patterns of tiles on the roofs covering the three stories of mullioned glass windows.
This was the ancestral home of the Frenchman who’d climbed out of the old Renault at the train station yesterday? It was no longer a mystery why he hadn’t come for one pitiful stranded
tourist in his Maserati. Unpeeling his many layers needed to happen in increments.
“I’ll give you the grand tour of the whole estate by car first, then I’ll feed you.” He kept on driving. In the distance she saw a helicopter on a landing pad. The ancient and the modern, side by side.
They continued along a private road behind the château where there was a miniature structure built along the same lines as the château with a pond in front.
Beyond it were many outbuildings and vineyards in the distance where the estate employees processed and stored the wine. There had to be hundreds of workers to keep it all going. “This is like a town within a town that has grown from the Middle Ages. My parents’ home in San José was built twenty-five years ago. We thought it was old.”
“America is a young country.”
“Have you been there?”
“Several times.”
Of course he had.
He followed the road around, making a loop. “You see those vines to the south? They’re young, under twenty-five years old. We don’t include them in our premier cru bottling.”
“Why not?”
“Because it takes the vines that long to express the greatness of the terroir where they are planted. My grandfather taught me that the young vines remain young vines, however fine the grapes they produce. To quote him, ‘They’re like you gifted teenagers.’”
“Your grandfather sounds kind.” The warmth in his voice revealed his affection for him.
“I plan on your meeting him and my grandmother. Your sense of humor and your knowledge of Lord Byron will appeal to him.”
“Why does he love Byron’s writing so much?”
“My grandfather had a dog he named Vercingetorix in honor of the most notable Gallic warrior who fought against Caesar. After his dog died, he happened to come across Lord Byron’s, ‘Epitaph to a Dog,’ and he wept. That started his love for the poet. He read everything.”
Abby nodded. “Like ‘The Prisoner of Chillon,’ that’s another piece that touches your heart. Byron had been devoted to his dog, not caring it had rabies. He nursed it without worrying about infection.”
“My grandfather used to add his own words, ‘All the virtues of man without his vices.’”
At this point she was positive she would wake up at any moment to discover Raoul was not only bigger than life, he was a figment of her imagination. He drove them back toward the château, but he stopped in front of what he called the petit château by the pond.
“I’m sure you need to freshen up. Let’s go inside and I’ll show you to your apartment while you’re here. This is used when we have important guests who must stay overnight. The grand château is a relic, too museum-like and formal to enjoy. One day soon I’ll take you on a tour of it, but I guarantee you’ll much prefer staying here in privacy and modernized comfort.”
There wouldn’t be another day after tomorrow with him. She was leaving as soon as he let her take a look at the notebook, if there was such a thing. To stay any longer would be a mistake she would never recover from. Her mind could tell her she’d come with him to see if this work really was Byron’s. But her heart had a mind of its own where the man himself was concerned.
The apartment turned out to be a home within a home, lavish enough for a queen with every accoutrement imaginable, including a kitchen with anything she’d want to eat or drink. Raoul carried in her suitcase and set it down on the exquisite parquet flooring. They exchanged cell phone numbers.
“I’ll be back for you in an hour and we’ll go out for dinner.” He disappeared behind the French doors too fast for her to say goodbye.
The conversation with Ginger rang in her ears. What I don’t understand is why he feels he has to bribe you. A man as attractive as he is could get his way with a woman anytime without using subterfuge to entice her. He must want you to go with him very badly.
What was the truth? Did he want to be with Abby beyond logic or reason? That’s the way she felt about him, but she couldn’t honestly answer her own question. She didn’t want to answer it because if the truth didn’t match the man she thought he was, she knew it would devastate her to the point she’d never get over it.
After he left, she unpacked her suitcase. The task only took a few minutes. She showered and put on a café-au-lait-colored sundress with a short-sleeved white jacket. Once she’d brushed her hair and put on lipstick, she went back outside full of nervous energy while she waited for Raoul’s call and drank in her lush green surroundings.