Chapter Three

On the Monday after her mother’s funeral, feeling like she had lead in her bones, Camille forced herself to get out of bed, shower, and put on clothes, and went downstairs to make breakfast for her father, the way her mother used to before she got sick. Christophe had been making his own, while Camille took care of her mother. But now she wanted to do it for him. Raquel, their housekeeper, would be in later to clean and leave dinner for them, but she had to get her children off to school in the morning, and came to work at ten o’clock.

Camille handed her father the newspaper and poured him a cup of coffee, and he looked up at her in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to be downstairs yet, and was impressed to see her so wide awake and organized. She was so much like her mother, it always made him smile.

“I have a lot to do in the office today,” she said quietly as she set a plate of scrambled eggs down in front of him, just the way he liked them, with two crisp strips of bacon and whole wheat toast.

“Did your mom tell you to do this for me?” he asked with tears in his eyes, and Camille shook her head. She hadn’t. She didn’t need to. Camille knew what she had to do. There was no one else to take care of him now.

Camille made herself a piece of toast, and wrote a list of everything she had to do that day. She had let some of the ledger work slide the week before. And she had promised her mother she’d check Cesare’s accounts again.

She knew how painful it was going to be, being in the office and not seeing her mother. And her father looked like a ghost. In the last few days, her mother had whispered to her several times “take care of him,” before she drifted back to sleep, and Camille intended to do that, and be diligent at the office. She felt as though her childhood was over. She had to be a grown-up now, and be there for her father. He was used to a strong woman at his side, and Camille knew he would be lost without Joy.

They walked to the office together after breakfast. Her father disappeared to his part of the building, and Camille went to her office next to her mother’s, which was silent and empty now. When she walked in, she found Cesare going through some papers on her mother’s desk, and he jumped when he saw Camille.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked him bluntly, and he shrugged and said that he was looking for his expense accounts.

“I gave them to her last week, and I can’t find my copy of them. I was going to copy hers.”

“She hasn’t been here since August,” Camille corrected him in a firm voice. He always lied, which drove Joy crazy.

“Well, then I gave them to her before that. You know what I mean.” He looked irritated, and tried to sound intimidating when he spoke to Camille, as though she was just a kid. But she was far from it, especially now. She owed it to her mother to keep things in good order, and she had the know-how to do it, whether Cesare believed it or not.

“No, I don’t know what you mean. And don’t just come in here and dig around on her desk. If you want something, ask me for it. A lot of her files are in my office now anyway, including the expense accounts. They’re in my safe,” she said, which wasn’t true, but she didn’t want him snooping through the papers on her desk either. It was a presumptuous thing for him to do, and typical of him. Because Christophe valued him so highly, Cesare took full advantage of it.

“Then give me my expense account,” he said rudely. “I want to add some things to it, and get paid out. I haven’t been reimbursed in months.”

“Yes, you have. I saw her sign a check to you the last time she was in the office.”

“It was only part of what she owed me,” he said stubbornly, trying to bully Camille, and raising his voice. He was agitated and waving his arms as he talked to her, just as he often did with Joy.

“I’ll go through my files. But if you have additional expenses, I need the receipts.” She was matter-of-fact about it.

“What did she do? Teach you how to drive me crazy, just like her? Receipts, receipts, always receipts. You think I’m stealing from you? That’s what she thought.” Camille suspected her mother was right. Not big amounts, but small ones from the vineyard expenses which seemed okay to him.

“Don’t you think it’s a little soon to be complaining about your expense account? The funeral was on Saturday. I’ll get everything squared away this week. Just give me the receipts,” she said coldly.

He glared at her, stomped out of the room, and slammed the door, just as he had with her mother, and Camille smiled after he left. Some things were apparently never going to be different, like Cesare not having receipts to justify his expenditures, and Camille knew her father let him get away with it. It was unlikely to change now.

Camille checked on her father several times that morning, and went through some of her mother’s files that afternoon. Christophe had lunch with two new vintners, and Camille ate a salad at her desk.

The week seemed endless without her mother, and the nights were long and sad. Her father went to bed every night at eight o’clock, and she lay in her bed reading some of the files she brought back from the office. But by the end of the week, she was caught up. She hadn’t let herself fall behind, even when her mother was sick. Work was how she had kept her sanity while her mother was dying.

Thanksgiving was difficult, and Christmas was awful. They had Thanksgiving alone in their kitchen. Christophe said he didn’t want turkey, and had turned down all the invitations they’d had. He said it was too soon for him to want to go out, and Camille didn’t want to either, so she made a leg of lamb, French style, with lots of garlic and mashed potatoes and string beans, it was surprisingly good. Her father had taught her how to make it years before, while she watched him cook. And somehow they got through the day. Christmas was even worse.

Camille bought the gifts they needed for their employees, and she got a number of small, thoughtful gifts for her father, the kinds of things Joy would have found for him, and a cashmere sweater that Camille knew he’d love. She had two of the vineyard workers help her set up a tree at the château, and Raquel helped her decorate it. Her father looked miserable when he got home and saw it. And he had been mournful at their office Christmas party. Sam Marshall had invited them to join them on Christmas Eve, knowing how hard this Christmas would be for them, having been through it, but Christophe declined that too. He hadn’t accepted any invitations to Christmas parties this year. Joy had been gone for two and a half months, and the wound was very fresh, for Camille too. But she was so busy taking care of her father that she had no time to think of anything else, except work. The mission given to her by her mother was to take care of him, and she was trying to.

They went to midnight mass on Christmas Eve, and for a bike ride the next day after they exchanged gifts, and Camille was relieved that the holidays were almost over. They were agonizing this year. She knew it would get better, but these early months were hard to live through, and she missed her mother too. She knew her father was trying to make the best of it, but he had been loved and cared for by an adoring wife for twenty-three years, and getting used to being on his own again was excruciating for him, even with Camille trying to anticipate his every mood and need.

She would have liked to catch up with her old friends home for the holidays, but didn’t want to leave her father alone, and even on New Year’s Eve he wound up going to bed at nine o’clock and she watched TV alone. The next day, he said he was going to have to start traveling again for business in January. It was a relief to hear him say it. He had neglected all their big accounts since Joy got sick. Camille knew she would miss him while he was away, but it was better for him to keep busy, and get out in the world again. It was healthier for him than remaining plunged in his mourning day after day.

His first trip was to Britain, Switzerland, and France, and he stopped to see his family in Bordeaux for a weekend. He looked better to Camille when he got back, and seemed more alive than he had in months. He had even picked up a new account in London. They had salesmen and reps to handle the more ordinary accounts, but for all the years they’d been in business, Christophe visited the most important accounts himself, and it served them well. He was a charming, intelligent man, and knew everything there was to know about viticulture. He had lived it all his life, in France and in the States. And no one promoted their wines better than he did. He was planning a trip to Italy and Spain in March, Holland and the Lowlands sometime in April, and was thinking about Japan, Hong Kong, and Shanghai in May. He had a lot of catching up to do with their big foreign clients.

He was just back from his trip to Italy in March, which had gone well, when he was invited to a big dinner for the more important vintners in the Napa Valley, and Camille asked him at dinner in their kitchen that night if he was going. It had been lonely while he was away, but she had her hands full with all the work she was trying to keep up with. She had a lot on her plate, and she was exhausted and had a bad cold when he got home.

“I’m jet-lagged, and I don’t want to go,” he said, helping himself sparingly to Raquel’s tacos, which he usually loved. He had lost a lot of weight since Joy died.

“It would be good for you, Papa,” she said, encouraging him. “I’m sure Sam is going, why don’t you go with him?” It pained her to see him so sad all the time.

“I’m sure he’d rather take a date than go with me,” her father said glumly, tired after the trip.

“Is he still dating the congresswoman from LA?” She knew about it vaguely, but never saw him with her, although Barbara had been gone for a long time now. Sam Marshall was an attractive man, but he kept his private life to himself and out of sight.

“I think he is, but he doesn’t talk about it,” Christophe commented.

“Why do you think that is?”

“I think she’s careful to avoid the press, and she stays away from the social scene up here.” Even though they were good friends, he and Sam never discussed it and Christophe didn’t want to pry. They talked about their grapes, not his love life. “She’s about his age, and a very nice, intelligent woman. I don’t think she wants her involvement with him in the press. I’ve seen him in St. Helena with her a couple of times, but it’s always very low key. He introduced me to her, just by first names, but I knew who she was.”

“Do you suppose Phillip knows?” She wondered how he felt about it, and if Sam would marry again.

“Probably. She’s not the kind of woman who wants anything from him, which must be a nice change.” Every gold digger in the Napa Valley had been after him since his wife’s death, and he had become proficient at avoiding them, and a congresswoman from LA sounded impressive to Camille and interesting for Sam. She wondered if her father would find someone like that eventually, but he was still too much in love with his late wife to even want to go out to dinner with friends, let alone start dating. Joy was a hard act to follow, and would be for a long time, Camille knew.

“You should go to the vintners’ dinner, Papa. It would do you good.”

“Would you go with me?” he asked cautiously.

“I’m sick, my nose is red, and I have a ton of work to do.” She hadn’t been social since her mother’s death either, but her father was more depressed than she was, and she was worried about him. At least he was traveling again.

“I’ll think about it,” he said vaguely, and didn’t seem like he would. “We should go away for a weekend somewhere one of these days,” he said kindly. “You haven’t had any fun in a long time either.” She was touched that he had noticed. He had been totally absorbed in his own misery for the last five months but she was managing and busy with work. She’d been emailing and texting with her friends from school to stay in touch, particularly with those far away. It was hard to believe she had graduated only nine months ago. It felt like an eternity.

The next day her father surprised her when she got home from work and saw him leaving the house in a suit and tie. All she wanted was to climb into bed. Her cold had gotten worse.

“I’m going to the vintners’ dinner,” he said, embarrassed. “You were right, Sam is going. I said I’d meet him there.” Camille’s face broke into a broad smile. He had listened to her after all.

“I’m glad, Papa. You look terrific. Great tie.”

“I just bought it in Rome.” It was a vivid pink Hermès tie, and unlike him to wear anything so bright, but it made him appear upbeat and young, which was a major change after the last five months, when he had looked like he had dressed blindfolded every day, and pulled something old and tired out of his closet, mostly in black and gray, which suited the way he felt.

“Well, have fun at the dinner,” she said cheerfully, as he headed toward his car.

“I doubt it. Just a lot of boring old vintners talking about chemicals, barrels, and their tonnage last season. I may fall asleep.” He smiled at her.

“Tell Sam to wake you up,” she said, blew him a kiss, and closed the door to the château as he drove away in his racy sports car.

But the party wasn’t at all what he expected when he got there. It was the usual crowd of important vintners, all of whom he knew, mixed with one or two smaller ones. There were a few members of the Napa social scene, whom he also knew and didn’t care for, and some new faces he’d never seen before, who seemed like pretentious wannabe wine connoisseurs to him. He felt suddenly uncomfortable once he got there, and realized that he’d have to talk to people he didn’t know, and make a social effort that seemed beyond him for the moment. It was a seated dinner, with escort cards indicating which table you were placed at, and he saw from the chart on an easel that his seat was between two women he’d never met, which felt awkward to him. The party was at the home of one of the older vintners, and he saw Sam talking to their host across the room when he walked in, and didn’t want to interrupt.

Christophe accepted a glass of the host’s white wine from a waiter with a silver tray, and he stood there for a moment, sipping his wine and feeling lost. It was the first time he had gone to a dinner without Joy, he missed her fiercely as he wished he hadn’t come and had gone to bed instead.

“What a wonderful tie!” a female voice with a French accent said. Christophe turned and found himself gazing at a tall, thin woman who was very fashionably dressed. She had dark hair pulled tightly back in a bun, was wearing a severe black suit, and she looked very stylish for the Napa scene. She had bright red lips, a broad smile, dancing eyes that appeared to be full of mischief, and she was undeniably French. He hadn’t seen a woman like her in a long time. She had a heavy gold bracelet on one arm, and was wearing sexy stiletto heels.

“Thank you,” he said politely for the remark about his tie, with no idea what to say to her after that. He had been married for a long time and he felt stiff and strange being out without his wife. He wondered what Joy would have thought of the Frenchwoman as she smiled at him. “I just bought it in Rome,” he said, for lack of something better to say.

“One of my favorite cities. All of Italy in fact. Venice, Florence, Rome. Were you there on business?” He nodded. He felt foolish speaking English to her since they were both French, but her English was quite good, and after twenty-five years in the States, his was excellent, with only a slight accent.

“Are you visiting the Napa Valley?” he asked, switching into French, and she smiled.

“I just moved here from Paris. Where are you from?” she asked, curious about him.

“Originally, Bordeaux. I’ve lived here for a long time.”

“You must be a vintner if you’re here tonight,” she said admiringly. “Would I know which one?”

“Château Joy,” he said modestly, and her eyes opened wide.

“My favorite pinot noir. What an honor to meet you,” she said with just the right amount of effervescence. She was seductive without trying to be, and very French. American women didn’t flirt like that, nor did American men. They talked about business and sports. Men and women were more provocative in their conversations in France and their style in addressing each other. But he was out of practice and didn’t want to play the game with her. He hadn’t flirted with a woman since he met Joy.

“What made you move to the Napa Valley?” He wasn’t really curious about her, but it seemed the right thing to say, and put the conversational burden on her.

“My husband died six months ago,” she said simply. “We had a château in Périgord, but it’s too sad in the winter, and I needed a change of scene.”

“That’s very brave of you,” he said and meant it. “It’s not easy moving somewhere you don’t know anyone.”

“You must have done it, when you came here from Bordeaux,” she said easily, wanting to know more about him.

“I was twenty-six years old when I moved to Napa. Everything is easy at that age. I came here at twenty-five to take some classes, and decided to build a winery here.” She smiled at what he said.

“That was brave of you too.” It had been, but it hadn’t felt that way at the time, especially with Joy’s help.

“I lost my wife five months ago,” he said and then regretted saying it, but she had mentioned being widowed for six months, which had opened the door for him.

“It’s a tremendous adjustment, isn’t it?” she said gently. “I’m still feeling rather lost.” She lowered her eyes for a moment and then looked back up at him. She seemed suddenly very vulnerable despite her stylish appearance, and he knew just how she felt. “My husband was a great deal older, and he was in ill health for the last few years, but it’s still a terrible shock.” Christophe nodded, thinking of Joy, and he didn’t speak for a moment, and then Sam came over to say hello to him, and greeted the woman Christophe had been talking to.

“Good evening, Countess,” he said, almost in a mocking tone, and chatted with Christophe for a few minutes, while he ignored her.

“You two know each other?” Christophe asked them, and Sam nodded.

“We’ve met,” the woman he had called “Countess” said coolly, with a mildly flirtatious glance at Sam that he pointedly ignored and walked away.

They were called in to dinner a few minutes later, and Christophe found himself sitting next to her, with a very elderly woman on his other side, who was talking to the person next to her, and didn’t speak to Christophe.

“Do you have children here with you?” Christophe asked her after they sat down.

“I have two sons in Paris, who are coming over this summer. But they have lives in France. One is a banker, the other is at university. They don’t want to move here. My husband had children my age, but we’re not close,” she said with regret, and Christophe didn’t question her about them. It seemed like a painful subject to her, and if she’d been that much younger than her husband, maybe they were jealous of her. She was a very attractive woman, and appeared to be in her mid-forties or possibly younger, but in fact, she was his exact age. “Do you have children?” she asked him, seeming interested in everything about him. She was socially adept, and very smooth.

“I have a daughter. She just graduated from college last year, and she works at the winery with me. Her mother did too. It’s a family run business.”

“How wonderful for you, to have your daughter close to you.” He nodded and noticed that her place card said “Countess de Pantin,” so she was using her title, which must have impressed people in the States, although it didn’t affect him one way or another, having grown up with lots of titles around him. He was more impressed by how open, warm, and intelligent she was.

They talked about his recent trip to Italy, she asked lots of questions about the winery, and said that she had been a model at Dior in her youth, and had met her husband then, when he was shopping with his mistress and fell in love with her. They both laughed, the scenario sounded very French. She politely turned to the man on her other side after that and chatted with him, and Christophe lapsed into silence for a while, musing about their conversation then inevitably thinking of Joy again, wishing he was there with her. He and the countess chatted briefly over coffee, and she said that she was starting to give little dinner parties, to get to know people in the area, and make some friends. It sounded admirable to him, and more than he could have done at the moment. Entertaining alone seemed unbearably depressing to him.

“How would I get in touch with you?” she asked him as they left the table, and he mentioned the name of his winery again. “Of course.” And then she disappeared and he talked to Sam for a few minutes, thanked the vintner who had hosted the dinner, and then left. He saw the countess in the parking lot, waiting to get her car from the valet, as she lit a cigarette, which surprised him, but she was French, and he was used to Frenchwomen smoking, whenever he visited his family in France. They had left Christophe’s Aston Martin out front, and he got in it with a wave to her, as another valet brought her car, a Mercedes. The countess smiled at Christophe as he drove away, and she thought about him on her way home to the house she had rented for six months. It was a showplace that had been built on spec and was up for sale, and most likely to appeal to newcomers to the Napa Valley, who wanted to impress their new neighbors and get their house in a magazine. She already knew she was going to invite him to dinner, she just didn’t know when. And she was going to invite Sam Marshall too. He was someone she’d like to know better as well.

Christophe saw the light on in Camille’s bedroom when he got home, knocked, and opened the door to say good night to her. She was blowing her nose and smiled when she saw him.

“Did you have fun?” she asked hopefully.

“Not really,” he said honestly. He’d been lonely going out on his own, but at least he had made the effort and even wore his new tie. “But I met some new people. A French countess who just moved here from Paris.”

“How fancy,” Camille commented with a smile and he nodded agreement.

“She probably won’t stay here long. She’s a little too glamorous for the Valley, but she has two sons coming to visit this summer. Maybe they’d be fun for you to meet.” Camille nodded and blew her nose again. But at least her father had gone to the dinner. It was a first step back into the world, and she was proud of him. She somehow imagined the countess as very grand and very old, and was glad her father had good company for the evening. He blew her a kiss and closed the door after telling her he hoped her cold would be better in the morning.

“Thank you. I love you, Papa. I’m glad you went tonight.”

He smiled, thinking of the very elegant countess. “Me too.” He wondered if she really would ask him to dinner, but he didn’t care either way. He was thinking of Joy as he went back to his room, and how much fun it had always been, talking to her about the evening when they got home from dinner parties. But all of that was history now. He smiled at her photograph on his night table as he got into bed a few minutes later, and whispered to her as he turned off the light. “Good night, my love.” And he knew there wasn’t another woman like her in the world.