A Bordeaux Dynasty: A Novel by Françoise Bourdin Page A

Jules finally asked coolly.
    Aurélien looked his son over from head to toe.
    “I’ve officially made you manager of the estate. Are you all right with that?”
    Jules’s expression went blank.
    Aurélien continued, “For months I’ve tried to figure out a way to make you Fonteyne’s sole heir, and I think I’ve found it.”
    The blood draining from his face, Jules stepped away from his father once more. With furrowed brows, he mumbled, “You … You did what?”
    He took on a look of horror, and his father raised his eyes to the sky. Jules walked up to Aurélien and put a hand on his shoulder.
    “You want them all to hate me?”
    “You’d prefer that they force you to sell the place some day?”
    Jules turned to the vines, his hand absentmindedly searching for his pack of cigarettes.
    “Sell Fonteyne?” he muttered.
    “Inevitably!”
    Jules had forgotten about Laurène and Robert, about anything that didn’t have something to do with the land that surrounded him. He examined his father’s face with a kind of desperation.
    “So we’re talking about your death. …”
    Jules’s low voice was filled with sadness. Aurélien tried to contain his own emotions.
    “It’s going to happen eventually. And I want you to be able to continue the work. I’m not so sure that it’s really a blessing for you. You’re going to have your brothers on your back, but I tried to protect you as much as possible. I didn’t screw them over. You’re going to pay them hefty annuities. But no one is going to be able to force you to sell a single vine. You’re going to be in charge.”
    Jules was torn by violent feelings. Rarely had Aurélien seen him so stunned, so ill at ease. He tried to reassure him by joking.
    “Hey, you look like I’ve given you the worst news in the world. You wouldn’t have a more pitiful look on your face if I’d disowned you.”
    Aurélien laughed, but Jules’s eyes remained glued to the ground.
    “Jules … Do you want Fonteyne or not?”
    Jules raised his dark gaze to his father.
    “Yes,” he said, with absolute candor.
    “Well, you’ve got it! All you need to do is sign the documents Varin is going to send us.”
    For a long moment they looked at each other in silence. Then Jules asked him the question that weighed most heavily on him.
    “Why?” he asked in a low voice.
    Both men knew full well what this simple word meant, what all it entailed. Jules, at age thirty, had never asked about his origins, about the circumstances of his adoption.
    “Why?” Aurélien said. “That’s simple. … Because you love Fonteyne and because you’re the only one that can manage it.”
    He’d ducked the question, deliberately, avoiding speaking about the feelings he had for his adopted son. Instead, he referred to Fonteyne, preferring to highlight Jules’s competence and his attachment to the land. The rest was too personal, and he didn’t care to open up to any one, not even Jules. Especially not Jules!
    They slowly headed back to the house. The sky was completely clear in the last superb moments of the afternoon. Jules decided to take advantage of the nice weather and ride his horse for an hour before dinner. He hurried over to the stable, lost in his thoughts. There he found Robert waiting for him, sitting on a bale of hay.
    “What are you doing here? Want to go for a ride?”
    “No, thanks! I just came over to see your horse. Out of curiosity.”
    Jules entered an empty stall, where he stored his gear. He took out a saddle, a blanket, a bridle, and a brush. He went past his brother and stepped inside his horse’s stall.
    “You’re the one who fixed up the stable?” Robert asked.
    Jules nodded but said nothing, vigorously brushing the horse’s chestnut coat.
    “That’s a beautiful animal,” Robert said.
    Jules glanced at him and asked, “Did you have a nice ride with Laurène?”
    Surprised and amused, Robert said, “I’m not the one who invited her. Relax, I’m not cutting into