The Viscount – Chapter Twelve

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THE VISCOUNT OF MAISONS LAFFITTE

CHAPTER TWELVE

 Paltier absently rubbed a dusty bottle of champagne in the wine cellar. It was only six o’clock in the morning, but he had a train to catch in the direction of Montpellier, where he would be joining his brother for the New Year’s celebration. He always took his annual vacation this time of year, but he wouldn’t dream of leaving the house without having personally selected the foods and wines for the Viscount’s intimate dinner with Mlle Duprey.

He thought about how stark the house seemed when the actress was there, as opposed to the lively warmth that the Viscount’s young wife used to bring. It just wasn’t the same. Paltier carefully placed the champagne bottle in the leather bag he had carried down with him, and then set about searching for just the right wines that would accompany both the smoked salmon and the thinly-sliced roast beef.

Christmas had been a family affair. Paltier remembered how he opened the door to the Viscount’s niece as Sylvie barreled her way in to give her uncle and cousin a hug. Adelaide followed more sedately, and held out her hand to Paltier with a warm smile. She walked over to her brother and kissed both his cheeks, saying mischievously, “England has ruined Sylvie’s manners.”

Sylvie’s cheeks turned pink and she turned charmingly to Paltier to say, “How do you do?” She then kissed her uncle and cousin, murmuring demurely, “How good it is to see you again.” But her exuberance could not be hushed for long, and she threw her arm around Camille and said, “Show me the speakers you got.”

Adelaide watched the pair of them run up the marble staircase and was reminded of how many times the same scene had unfolded before her but with two sets of shorter, chubbier legs. She turned towards the Viscount who was headed up the other marble staircase towards a spacious room with wood floors. He strolled over to a table by the fireplace and took a cigar out of the drawer, which he then lit.

“Ugh. The annual holiday cigar,” Adelaide said, wrinkling her nose. “That’s one habit from our father I wish you had not acquired.”

“At least it’s only once a year, and not every evening,” he answered with a puff. He sat down on one of the settees, and gestured for her to do the same. She sat on the yellow one across from his.

 “Where is Maman?” she asked suddenly.

“I believe they have run into traffic,” he said unconcernedly. He took another puff.

His sister smoothed out her skirt, and said with an air of innocence. “It’s too bad Eléonore and Thierry were otherwise engaged.”

The Viscount let out a low chuckle, but then fell into silence. Adelaide looked at him shrewdly. “Okay Charles, what gives? You’re not one to share much about what’s going on, but this is melancholic, even for you.”

The Viscount looked at her for a moment, then turned to the small round table by the settee and flicked some ashes into an ashtray that was sitting there. Finally, he said, “The school suspects that Camille is doing drugs.

Her lack of reaction made him think that she somehow knew that already, until he looked at her face, which was stunned. After a short silence, she asked, “Have you spoken to him about it?”

“No,” he said, and flicked some imaginary ash from his brown corduroy pants. Adelaide knew her brother well, so she just waited in silence for him to continue. At length, he did. “My own son is like a stranger to me. He tells me nothing, and I find I don’t have it in me to pry. He knows I am here for him, and when he’s ready, he will open up.”

Adelaide understood men enough to pause before uttering hasty words, which would only cause her brother to become more stubborn (and which would probably include the word “idiot” among others). She spoke carefully. “Still, you would not be remiss if you let him know what the school told you, and remind him that you are there for him. Teenagers can sometimes forget that.”

She could see that her normally proud brother was considering her advice, and decided not to press her advantage. “Shall we –” her words were interrupted by the bell ringing.

“Ah. Maman,” the Viscount said getting up. Paltier was already hurrying past him to be able to welcome his mother in from the cold.

“Good evening, Paltier,” the dowager said regally from the doorway. Her children walked over to the stairwell and descended the marble stairs in order to greet her.

“Merry Christmas, Maman,” they each said, kissing her dutifully. The Viscount took her arm as they walked back up the staircase.

“I see you decided to put your tree in that corner this year,” his mother said, immediately upon entering the room. Adelaide raised her eyebrows at her brother behind their mother’s back. The Viscount turned towards Paltier who was hovering discreetly by the entrance. “Kindly let the children know their grandmother is here, and then you may bring in the appetisers.”

Paltier headed for the stairs quickly. He hadn’t intended to hear what the Viscount revealed concerning his son, as he felt very strongly about the great family being entitled to their privacy. But he had come up just short of the entrance as they were speaking. He would never discuss it with another soul; but in his own private council, he felt that it would explain a lot about Camille’s behavior. He sincerely hoped that the Viscount would heed his sister’s advice.

When he arrived at Camille’s door, he tapped lightly and made them privy to their grandmother’s arrival. “Oh I suppose we shall have to go down,” he heard Camille say, ungraciously.

“Savage,” Sylvie teased. Paltier smiled to himself as he walked back down the stairs. His cousin was a very good influence on the boy.

When Paltier finally brought the tray of champagne over to serve the dowager first – as the Viscount expected him to do – he witnessed Sylvie’s affectionate greeting and Camille’s more sullen one. Bringing the tray around to each family member one by one, he was just in time to see Sylvie squeezing her uncle’s arm, and hear her saying in a low-pitched voice that was meant for the Viscount’s ears only, “Thank you, Oncle, for helping my friend.” The Viscount flashed her a smile.

When they had been seated at the table, and served, Paltier took his place in the back of the room to await the change of plates. Presently, the Viscount spoke up with news that did not surprise Paltier, as they had already discussed it a few days earlier. But he knew it would create a sensation. “I’ve decided to hold a spring ball in the château this year.”

His mother’s fork did not exactly clatter on the plate, but she lost some of her poise as she answered. “Charles, I am astonished.”

The Viscount, expecting opposition, was prepared. “The mayor has promised every available officer to be present the night of the gala. I do not expect a second theft to occur.

The dowager said with asperity. “It’s that actress of yours. You are holding this ball to impress her.”

“Maman!” Adelaide couldn’t resist crying out indignantly.

The Viscount pressed his lips together for a moment before replying. “There will be significant tax benefits to my doing this. I am motivated purely by financial reasons, and the duty someone in my position has to the town. Surely you understand that, Maman.”

Paltier did not hear anymore of the conversation because the Viscount signaled for him to remove the first course and bring the second. He sent word to the under-waiters to assist, but decided on his way down to the kitchen that he would be bringing the food in himself while the family was discussing such confidential matters.

He remembered all this in the dusty wine room, and wondered if the château would once again see some of its former glory – some of its former life – from the days when the young Viscount’s father had held the seat. He picked his leather bag up from the wooden shelf, carefully shielding his selections and made his way up the stairs.

As he disappeared from view, a shadowed figure crept from one of the side rooms. He looked both ways to make sure he was unobserved, although he did not expect to be. He stuffed his roll of bedding in the closed space underneath the heater where he knew it would not be discovered. Then he went to the door leading to the garden, took out his key, and noiselessly slipped it in the lock and stepped out. The air was biting and it was still dark, but he knew of a place where he could get a cup of hot coffee this early – even on New Year’s Eve.

* * *

Thomas was eating handfuls of popcorn cheerfully, allowing stray kernels to fall on the floor. Nat King Cole’s Christmas album was playing in the background, although Christmas was over. Chastity just loved it so much and it made her feel cheerful. The decorations were still up, and the white lights on the tree made her home feel cozy.

Thomas took a break from eating popcorn to inquire, “Dad, what did you do to celebrate New Year’s when you were in prison?”

Marc was sitting on the couch next to where Thomas was seated on the floor. He looked down at his son. “There wasn’t much of a celebration. Christmas was better because we had good food to eat, and even a couple of gifts if we were lucky. But the guards weren’t exactly going to let us stay up late and have a party on New Year’s.” He grinned and tousled the boy’s hair.

“I bet you’re glad to be here celebrating with us, aren’t you?” Thomas smiled up at him, and his hand went back into the popcorn bowl.

Chastity went towards the kitchen, bringing the dessert dishes with her. She wasn’t precisely nervous, but she wasn’t completely at ease either. Having Thomas’ father over in such an intimate setting was unprecedented ground. She checked her reflection in the mirror that hung in the small dining room. She was wearing a black cardigan with black sequins sewn into it, which caught reflections of light and set off her auburn hair perfectly.

Satisfied, she went into the kitchen and put the dishes down. Leaning against the counter, she blew out softly. Suddenly, Marc appeared in the doorway. “Can I help with the dishes?”

“No, no, that’s fine,” she protested.

“I insist,” he said, and grabbed the heavy meat platter and set it in the sink. She watched as he poured soap onto the sponge. Chastity wasn’t exactly a neat freak, but even she could see that the cold water wasn’t going to cut through the grease. She would have to wash the dishes again.

She busied herself with putting the plates in the dishwasher, and they worked in silence that way for awhile.

“Chassy,” Marc said finally, using an old nickname. “Thank you so much for allowing me to be part of your evening. It means a lot to me.”

“I’m glad you could come, Marc,” Chastity replied, not quite lying.

Marc picked up the clean ceramic bowl that had held the potatoes and began drying it with a towel. He looked at Chastity as he did this, and when he set the bowl down, she finally looked back up at him.

“What?” she asked.

 He was looking at her intently. “Do you think there is any chance of us …” He trailed away uncertainly, still staring at her.

Her mouth opened in surprise. She should have noticed that his feelings had shifted these past months, but she hadn’t been paying close enough attention. She had only been trying to figure out what her own feelings were.

“Marc, I don’t know.” She shook her head. “It’s been a long time and we have both changed a lot.”

“What I want” he responded, “is to start fresh – as the people that we have become. Create a new story.”

“But I still don’t feel like I know you.” She laughed self-deprecatingly. “Honestly, I’m not even sure I know myself.”

Marc set the dish towel on the counter behind him. “Maybe we could start by spending more time together,” he said pleadingly. “I think nothing would make Thomas happier.”

Chastity, flushing at his presumption, walked over to look into the living room to hide her confusion. Thomas was now lying on the couch, and though he was still awake, his eyes were glazed and he seemed to be just about to drop off. She saw that the clock said three minutes to midnight.

Marc sensed her anger and folded his arms. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know the right thing to say here.” He sighed.

Chastity turned back to look at him, softened by his admission. “I’m sorry too. I need time, Marc. There’s just no way to rush this – there’s too much history there.”

He stood  looking at her, and finally nodded. The mood shifted subtly and Chastity felt lighter – as if their conversation had cleared the air. She was about to propose they go in to celebrate the New Year with Thomas when Marc grabbed her arm and planted a soft kiss on her lips.

“Happy New Year, Chassy,” he said, giving her a small smile. Then he walked into the living room.

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