district.
Philippe de Savin, tall and handsome, walked out of the lodge as they crossed its stone terrace. With him were several people whom Sebastien remembered vaguely from parties at their house in Paris. Antoine suddenly became brusque and whispered to Sebastien to hold Maman’s hand.
When Sebastien did so he found it trembling. Alarmed, he looked over at his mother’s pale, strained face. She was staring at one of the women among Papa’s friends. “
Madame la comtesse
,” she said softly. “I didn’t know you were visiting.”
The woman nodded without smiling, then turned and walked away. Papa looked angry. His other friends abruptly said that they had to finish their argument about the Americans’ President Kennedy—some admired him, some didn’t. They would settle the disagreement over hot rum inside.
After they left, Papa lowered an icy blue glare on Maman, He looked so strong and certain all the time; Sebastien wanted to be like him, but wished that he weren’t so stern. Maman’s hand clenched Sebastien’s until it hurt.
“
Here
you invited her?” Maman asked in a bitter voice. “Where the family would be?”
Papa frowned harder. “Go back to the chalet, Gwenael.”
He pivoted in his very formal, soldierly way—Papa had been a resistance hero during World War II—and walked back across the terrace. When he disappeared into the lodge Maman seemed to shrink and sag. Sebastien gazed from Maman’s tragic eyes to Bridgette’s tearful ones and Antoine’s furious glower.
“What is it?” Sebastien demanded. “You all know. Tell me. What’s wrong with Papa?”
Antoine grabbed him by one shoulder. “Come. We’ll bring Maman some hot chocolate. Bridgette, you and Maman sit down at a table.”
Sebastien protested by dragging his feet as his brother pulled him toward the lodge. Looking back he saw Bridgette, her arm around Maman, heading to a chair.
“What is it?” Sebastien asked again, and wrenched away from Antoine’s grip. “I’m old enough. Don’t treat me like a baby.”
Muscles flexed in Antoine’s clenched jaw. “So be it. I learned about Papa when I was only a year older than you.” They went inside the lodge through enormous double doors carved with Alpine landscapes. The room was filled with plush chairs and game tables. Waiters moved regally among patrons dressed in beautiful ski clothes. Other skiers stood around a large stone fireplace in the center of the room. The place smelled of wood smoke, fine liquor, and money. Papa and his friends were not in sight.
“Here. Come here.” Antoine led Sebastien aside. They watched the crowd. “Listen closely and try to understand. Maman loves our Papa more than anyone else in the world, even more than she loves us. You’ll realize that when you get older and see her through a man’s eyes.”
“Of course she loves Papa! And he loves her!”
“No. He is ashamed of her because she comes from common people. He thought she could fit in with his friends, but she never learned how. She’s no good to him as a hostess. She can’t help him entertain his important business contacts. All she can do is raise children. But he won’t leave her, because he knows that she would never give him a divorce. Maman is old-fashioned. In fact, sometimes I don’t think Maman even lives in the same century with us.”
“You’re lying! Lying! Why would he be ashamed of her?”
Antoine shook him roughly. “She was just a fisherman’s daughter he met on a holiday during the war! She was a good Catholic girl who wouldn’t screw him unless he married her! He thought he was going to die at Normandy, so the marriage wouldn’t matter. But he didn’t die—and so there he was, stuck with an ignorant little Breton girl not fitto be more than a servant. Our maman. And me, a son he didn’t expect. So he made the best of it!”
Sebastien shoved him away. “How do you know all this?”
“Grandfather told me before he died. He was a cruel old
Philippe de Savin, tall and handsome, walked out of the lodge as they crossed its stone terrace. With him were several people whom Sebastien remembered vaguely from parties at their house in Paris. Antoine suddenly became brusque and whispered to Sebastien to hold Maman’s hand.
When Sebastien did so he found it trembling. Alarmed, he looked over at his mother’s pale, strained face. She was staring at one of the women among Papa’s friends. “
Madame la comtesse
,” she said softly. “I didn’t know you were visiting.”
The woman nodded without smiling, then turned and walked away. Papa looked angry. His other friends abruptly said that they had to finish their argument about the Americans’ President Kennedy—some admired him, some didn’t. They would settle the disagreement over hot rum inside.
After they left, Papa lowered an icy blue glare on Maman, He looked so strong and certain all the time; Sebastien wanted to be like him, but wished that he weren’t so stern. Maman’s hand clenched Sebastien’s until it hurt.
“
Here
you invited her?” Maman asked in a bitter voice. “Where the family would be?”
Papa frowned harder. “Go back to the chalet, Gwenael.”
He pivoted in his very formal, soldierly way—Papa had been a resistance hero during World War II—and walked back across the terrace. When he disappeared into the lodge Maman seemed to shrink and sag. Sebastien gazed from Maman’s tragic eyes to Bridgette’s tearful ones and Antoine’s furious glower.
“What is it?” Sebastien demanded. “You all know. Tell me. What’s wrong with Papa?”
Antoine grabbed him by one shoulder. “Come. We’ll bring Maman some hot chocolate. Bridgette, you and Maman sit down at a table.”
Sebastien protested by dragging his feet as his brother pulled him toward the lodge. Looking back he saw Bridgette, her arm around Maman, heading to a chair.
“What is it?” Sebastien asked again, and wrenched away from Antoine’s grip. “I’m old enough. Don’t treat me like a baby.”
Muscles flexed in Antoine’s clenched jaw. “So be it. I learned about Papa when I was only a year older than you.” They went inside the lodge through enormous double doors carved with Alpine landscapes. The room was filled with plush chairs and game tables. Waiters moved regally among patrons dressed in beautiful ski clothes. Other skiers stood around a large stone fireplace in the center of the room. The place smelled of wood smoke, fine liquor, and money. Papa and his friends were not in sight.
“Here. Come here.” Antoine led Sebastien aside. They watched the crowd. “Listen closely and try to understand. Maman loves our Papa more than anyone else in the world, even more than she loves us. You’ll realize that when you get older and see her through a man’s eyes.”
“Of course she loves Papa! And he loves her!”
“No. He is ashamed of her because she comes from common people. He thought she could fit in with his friends, but she never learned how. She’s no good to him as a hostess. She can’t help him entertain his important business contacts. All she can do is raise children. But he won’t leave her, because he knows that she would never give him a divorce. Maman is old-fashioned. In fact, sometimes I don’t think Maman even lives in the same century with us.”
“You’re lying! Lying! Why would he be ashamed of her?”
Antoine shook him roughly. “She was just a fisherman’s daughter he met on a holiday during the war! She was a good Catholic girl who wouldn’t screw him unless he married her! He thought he was going to die at Normandy, so the marriage wouldn’t matter. But he didn’t die—and so there he was, stuck with an ignorant little Breton girl not fitto be more than a servant. Our maman. And me, a son he didn’t expect. So he made the best of it!”
Sebastien shoved him away. “How do you know all this?”
“Grandfather told me before he died. He was a cruel old
Similar Books
