The Comte had arranged everything as he had intended it should go. He said he knew that Katie was eager to observe the manner in which they conducted the wine making at the chateau.
“Here we observe tradition,” he said. “Everything must be done as it was hundreds of years ago. You will want to see the treading.” He told Raoul that he must look after his guest. He summoned Raoul’s tutor, Monsieur Grenier, to take charge of the two of them. The housekeeper, Madame Le Grand, appeared and was presented to me. She would make sure that the children’s wine was well watered. She knew they were longing to taste the vendange cake.
So tactfully was it all arranged that Katie went off happily with them, which left me alone with the Comte.
It was an unforgettable scene.
We saw the men with their laden baskets marching to the troughs in which the grapes were to be trod to the sound of music. They must have been about three feet deep when the treaders appeared.
The Comte was watching me closely. “You are thinking this is unhygienic. Let me assure you that every precaution has been taken. All the utensils have been disinfected. The treaders’ legs and feet have been scrubbed. You see, they are in a special sort of short trousers … all of them, men and women. This is how it has always been done at the chateau. They will sing our traditional folk songs as they dance. Ah, they are beginning.”
I watched them, dancing methodically as their feet sank lower and lower into the purple juice.
“They will go on till midnight.”
“Katie …”
“Is very happy with Raoul. Grenier and Madame Le Grand will see that she is all right.”
“I think I…”
“Let us enjoy a little freedom for a while. It is good for us … even the children. Have no fear. Before midnight strikes you will be safely on your way. I give you my word. I swear it.”
I laughed. “There is no need to be so vehement. I believe you.”
“Come with me. We will escape the turmoil. I want to talk with you.”
And so I found myself in the scented courtyard on that starlit night … alone with him … and yet not alone … for we were within sound of the revelry and every now and then the night would be punctuated with a sudden shout; and there was the constant music in the background.
A servant appeared with wine and the vendange cake delicately served for us with little forks and napkins embroidered with the Carsonne crest.
“This,” he said, “is vintage chateau wine which I have served only at special occasions.”
“Such as the vendange.”
“That takes place every year. What is special about that? I meant the day when Madame Sallonger is my guest.”
“You are a very gracious host.”
“I can be charming when I am doing what I like to do.”
“I suppose we all can.”
“It is those other occasions which indicate the character and betray our faults. I want to hear about you. Are you happy?”
“As happy as most people, I daresay.”
“That is evasive. People’s contentment with life varies.”
“Happiness is rarely a permanent state. One would be very fortunate to achieve that. It comes in moments. One finds oneself saying, with a certain surprise, I am happy now.”
“Are you saying that at this moment?”
I hesitated. “I am very interested in all this. The vendange, the chateau … It is all so new to me.”
“Then can I conclude that if it is not quite happiness, it is a pleasant experience?”
“It is certainly that.”
He leaned forward. “Let us make a vow tonight.”
“A vow?”
“That we will be absolutely frank with each other. Tell me, do you feel drawn to this place?”
“I wanted to see it properly from the moment I had my first glimpse of it. You see, I was born close to here. There has always been a mystery about Villers-Mure. I am excited to be near it.”
“I was born here in this chateau. So our birthplaces are very near. Tell me, how do you feel about your grandfather?”
“Rather sad.”
“Don’t let yourself be sad on his account. I find a certain pleasure in contemplating him. I feel very strongly about him. He is the sort of person I dislike most. It is more amusing and interesting to have deep feelings about people and I am one to have such feelings. I hate or I love … and I do both most intensely.”
“It must make life rather exhausting.”
He looked at me steadily. “Your upbringing would have been very different from mine. The English are less formal than we are, I believe. Yet they cloak their feelings in assumed indifference. I call it a kind of hypocrisy.”
“Perhaps it makes life easier not to have to cope with the intense hatred and love you mention.”
He was thoughtful. “Perhaps,” he said. “I was interested to see your Katie and my Raoul together. She is quite uninhibited.”
“That is a natural characteristic.”
“As Raoul’s solemnity is with him.”
“Katie has always had absolute security. She knows she can tell me anything. I am always there to help her. I think it makes her spontaneous. It gives her confidence.”
“You mean Raoul has missed that?”
“You can tell that better than I.”
“I have not been such an exemplary parent as you have.”
“I have done what is natural.”
“I believe that child means everything to you.”
“That is true.”
“She is a lucky girl.”
”I should like to believe that.”
“You were brought up by Madame Cleremont.”
“Yes. I also was lucky.”
“A good woman.”
“You speak as though you know her.”
“I know most that goes on here, and there was a scandal at the time she left. Your mother was once the beauty of the neighbourhood. I was a child but I had long ears and I used them to good avail. So I knew that Henri St. Allengere was in love with the village beauty and that wicked old Alphonse had refused to sanction the match, that there was a child on the way, and Henri could either desert the girl or get out. Henri decided to desert the girl. Poor Marie Louise. She lived with her mother who cared for her and they said broke her heart when Marie Louise died giving birth to a daughter.”
”I was the cause of the trouble.”
“The innocent cause.” He smiled at me. “When your grandmother wanted you recognized and made demands on the old tyrant, he did not want you here so he passed you off to those English connections—the breakaway Huguenot branch of the family. Madame Cleremont was the bait. She was a genius at the machine and a highly respected member of the St. Allengere work force. He would give her to the Sallongers if they would take the child as well and allow her to be brought up in their household. So he rid himself of an encumbrance and a perpetual reminder of his son’s misdemeanour. And then you married one of the Sallongers, and that should have been the happy ending. But something went wrong.”
I felt the pain of memory—those days and nights in Florence … each day falling more and more in love with Philip … and even the horrible experience of Lorenzo’s death.
“Now you are looking sad,” he said. “You are remembering your marriage.”
“It ended so disastrously. It was so brief.” I found myself telling him about Philip’s disappearance from the house and the discovery of his body in the forest.
“Why?” he asked.
“I do not know. I can never know. We were happy. We had just bought a house. It is a mystery.”
I told him of that terrible time, of the verdict at the inquest.
“It is incredible,” he said. “It must have been some secret which he could not bear you to know.”