Chapter Five

Christophe had breakfast in the kitchen with Camille the morning after Maxine’s dinner party. She was wearing tennis clothes, and meeting her friends at Meadowood again, to play tennis with them. It felt good to be with people her age, and who were not in the wine business. Most of the time now it was all she thought about and the people she talked to were her father’s age. Her contemporaries had exited her life when she left college and her mother died a few months later.

“What time did you come home last night?” she asked with interest, as she set down a cup of coffee next to him. “I came home at one o’clock, and you weren’t back yet. Did you have a good time?” She hoped he had, although he looked serious that morning. He had been thinking of the night before when he woke up. It all had an unreal quality to it now, but he had enjoyed it as a one-of-a-kind evening. He knew he’d never see any of those people again, maybe even Maxine.

“It was amazing and crazy, and fabulous and somewhat weird. It was like being in a film. Movie producers and oilmen, a Saudi couple with houses all over the world, and he has three other wives at home. It was a totally different life. I know it exists here, and more and more in recent years, but your mother and I were never interested in that kind of crowd. But they were surprisingly nice, all of them. I enjoyed the evening.” He didn’t tell her he had come home at three, which didn’t sound respectable.

“What’s the countess like? Is she very old?” Camille asked, smiling at him.

“No, not really. By your standards maybe, not by mine. I think she’s about forty-five.” Camille looked shocked.

“She is? I somehow thought all countesses were old,” she said, and he laughed.

“Maybe in the movies. Some countesses have that title at birth. She was married to a very old man, and she’s younger than his children. It sounds like they gave her a bad time, with the inheritance laws in France, so she left. She’s thinking of settling down here, but I doubt she will. She’s a bit too jet set for the Valley, it sounds like she’ll move on to LA or Dallas. She’s here for another four months.”

“Does she work?” Camille was curious about her, especially if she was forty-five.

“Not that I know of, I didn’t ask. She was a model when she was younger. She’s been a wife to her late husband for the last ten years. He was ninety when he died.”

“Wow, that is old. Am I going to meet her? Are you seeing her again?” Camille looked faintly nervous, and he smiled.

“If you’re asking if I’m going to date her, no, I’m not. First of all, I’m in love with your mother, and probably always will be. I don’t want to get married again, or date for now. And a woman like Maxine would never look twice at someone like me. I’m not showy or fancy enough, I don’t have a yacht or a house in the South of France. I live in the Napa Valley and make wine,” he said humbly.

“She was married to a ninety-year-old man. How racy could that have been?”

Christophe laughed. “You have a point. But he was probably a lot fancier than I am, or ever want to be. So to answer your question, no, you probably won’t ever meet her, although I should make an effort to introduce you to her two sons when they come here. You might like them.” There were boys Camille’s age in the Valley, among the vintners’ families, but she knew them all, like Phillip, and she had no romantic interest in any of them, and she never went to the city, although it was close. He worried about Camille not having a boyfriend or dating, she spent all her spare time working, as he did, but she was young and deserved more of a life. Joy hadn’t worried about it, but he did. Joy always said she’d meet someone. And he didn’t want some dashing man to sweep her off her feet and take her away somewhere, like London or Australia or France, or Chile or South Africa, anywhere they grew wine. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her one day, but he didn’t want her to be lonely or unhappy either, so a nice local boy, heir to one of the wineries would have suited him fine as a son-in-law, but Camille found all the boys she’d grown up with in Napa boring.

Christophe was happy when she went off to meet her friends later that morning, and Camille seemed happy too.

But the following week Maxine made a liar of him, when she showed up at the winery unannounced. She asked to see him, and he came out of his office with a look of surprise, in jeans, cowboy boots, and a plaid shirt. She was wearing skintight faded jeans that showed off her slim figure and long legs, a crisp white shirt that was perfectly tailored, and black alligator Hermès riding boots that looked worn in, and she smiled broadly the moment she saw him, and kissed him on both cheeks, as his secretary watched.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, and she laughed.

“I apologize for the intrusion, but I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by. Your note was so sweet.” He had written her a thank-you note for dinner, and thought that Joy would have been proud of him. He had never been good about things like that, and she did them for him. But he had to do it himself now, and the dinner warranted at least a thank-you note. He had thought about sending flowers, but decided it would have sent the wrong message. He wasn’t trying to woo her, he had just had a very good time.

“The winery is beautiful,” Maxine said admiringly. “It’s much bigger than I thought, and what is the château up on the hill? I felt like I was in Bordeaux for a minute.”

“That’s where we live, I built it when we bought the land. I had every stone brought over from France. It’s a smaller version of my family’s château in Bordeaux, much smaller, it’s very human scale when you see it up close. Would you like a tour of the winery?” he offered, and she nodded enthusiastically.

“Is your daughter here?” Maxine asked, smiling. “I’d love to meet her.”

“Of course.” Christophe was touched that she had asked, and led her down two long halls to Camille’s office. She was sitting at her desk, frowning at her computer when they walked in, and she looked up in surprise when she saw her father, and the woman at his side. She had no idea who she was.

“Hi. Someone made a wrong entry about the last two tons of grapes we sold, from last year’s crop.” She wondered if her mother had done it when she was sick and perhaps in pain or distracted, but Camille was trying to correct it now. “Sorry.” She stood up with a smile, came around her desk, and waited for her father to introduce her to the woman with him. She wondered if she was a new client, or an old friend. Camille had never seen her before.

Christophe made the introduction. “Maxine de Pantin, my daughter Camille,” he said easily as the two women shook hands. For an instant, Camille appeared shocked and then recovered herself quickly. But she wasn’t anything that Camille had imagined. And this was the woman he had said she’d never meet and now here she was.

Camille felt like a mess next to the impeccably groomed woman who was wearing a faint but distinctive perfume, and looked smashing in the alligator riding boots and tight jeans, with her long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Camille thought she seemed very young, as well as very chic. Camille felt uncomfortable in an old faded Stanford sweatshirt, jeans with holes in them, and sneakers, but Maxine gazed at her warmly, and didn’t seem to notice what she wore.

“I couldn’t wait to meet you, so I dropped by. I’m sorry to be so rude,” she apologized. “Your father says such wonderful things about you.” Maxine beamed at her, which made Camille feel suddenly shy. She didn’t know this woman, and she acted as though she and Camille’s father were good friends. She had a very open, casual style about her that implied intimacy, even with Camille.

“I say wonderful things about him too,” Camille said quietly and smiled at her father, who put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders. They chatted for a few minutes and then he said he was going to give Maxine a tour of the winery, and they left. Camille stood watching them from the window, and saw her father laughing as they walked toward the winery buildings. She hadn’t seen him laugh in months, and his body language said that he liked her, maybe more than even he knew, as he walked close to her and leaned toward her when they spoke. It gave Camille a little shiver down her spine. She didn’t know why, the Frenchwoman had been very friendly to Camille, but something about her made Camille wonder if she was sincere. Her smile would have lit up the world, but her eyes looked dark and cold to Camille, and then she scolded herself for being so stupid about her. She was just someone her father had met. He had said he didn’t want to date her. And turning away from the window, Camille went back to work, feeling foolish for having been upset. It was just odd to see her father with a woman. But one day, she’d have to get used to it, even if it wasn’t now.

“What a lovely young woman!” Maxine exclaimed to him as soon as they walked outside. “She’s beautiful, and obviously very smart if she’s working with you.”

“She’s planning to go to business school in a few years,” he said proudly, “but to be honest, I’m not sure she needs it. She’s getting experience here she’d never get in school. Especially now, with her mother gone, she’s taking on a lot of responsibilities that my wife handled before.” It was obvious how much he loved both of his women, and Maxine nodded and looked touched.

“Your wife was a very lucky woman,” she said quietly, as they walked into the part of the winery where the barrels were kept.

The facilities were huge, much more than you could see from the road. It was an important winery, even if it wasn’t as vast as Sam’s. But Christophe made up in quality for what he didn’t produce in quantity, and didn’t want to. And he was impressed by the questions Maxine asked. She seemed genuinely interested in the wine business, and what he did. She knew a number of important wineries in France, and was interested in how he did things differently, and what was the same. He spent two hours with her, and he enjoyed the time. She didn’t seem as glamorous in his own familiar setting. Other than the fancy alligator riding boots, she behaved like a regular person, and he enjoyed talking to her and explaining his business in some detail. The time flew by, and it was nearly five o’clock when he walked her to her car in their parking lot, and then he thought of something.

“Do you want to come up to the house for a glass of wine?” He was almost ready to leave work by then anyway, and it was too late to start any new projects on his desk.

“I’d love that,” she said, looking pleased, as they lapsed back into French. “Are you sure it won’t be an intrusion?” she asked and he shook his head.

“Of course not. If you don’t mind, I’ll ride up the hill with you. I walked to work today.” He and Camille did that often, to get a little exercise before they started work, and it gave them a chance to chat before the day began.

He got into the Mercedes she drove, and directed her up the hill to the château. They could see it peeking out behind the big trees which surrounded it, and the road up the hill was winding. They couldn’t see how big the château really was until they drove up to it, and could appreciate its elegant proportions. It was small for a château, but a very large house by local standards, and Maxine looked startled as she got out of the car and stared up at it.

“It’s like being at home, back in France,” she said, sounding nostalgic, and he thought of the château she had lost to her stepchildren in Périgord, and felt sorry for her. She had had her share of tragedies and disappointments too, and there was a vulnerable side of her that peeked through her confident demeanor, which touched him.

He led her into the front hall, where he had hung portraits of his family in France, and his parents. And there were photographs of him and Joy in silver frames on the tables, and many with Camille as she grew up. Everything about the house was very personal, and she admired the delicate frescoes Joy had painted when they built it. The château was beautiful, and entirely different from the house she had rented, where it was all new. The home he had built looked as though it had been there for hundreds of years instead of just twenty-three.

He poured Maxine a glass of wine and they sat outside in the garden, where he used to sit with Joy on quiet evenings, and Camille found them there, with a look of surprise an hour later when she came home from work. Her father hadn’t sat in the garden since her mother died, and it gave Camille a shock to see Maxine ensconced in her mother’s favorite chair.

“Oh…I’m sorry…I didn’t know you were out here, Papa,” she said when she found him in the garden, after she followed their voices there, and saw the open wine bottle in the kitchen, of his favorite vintage, from the year Camille was born. He thought it was his best wine.

“I should really go,” Maxine said, switching back to English as she stood up and smiled at Camille. She had heard them speaking French as she approached, which bothered her. Her father had always regretted that Joy didn’t speak French. She had tried to master it when they were first married, but languages weren’t her strong suit and she had given up. He seemed so comfortable speaking to Maxine in his own language, and they looked as though they’d had a nice time together.

They left their glasses in the kitchen, and he walked her out to her car, as Camille heard him say, “I’ll give you the full tour next time,” which made Camille wonder what he was going to show her. Their bedrooms? His private library, where her parents had spent nights reading by the fire? Joy’s office at home? Everything about the house was personal and seemed intimate to her, and not to be shared with strangers, particularly a woman he’d only seen twice in his life, and hadn’t planned to see again, and said he didn’t want to. But she had shown up at the office, and now she’d had a drink with him, sitting in her mother’s chair, in their private garden. And something about it felt creepy to Camille, as though Maxine had invaded their space, and had intended to do it.

“I’ll call you when I get back from Holland,” he said as she got into her car and smiled up at him.

“I’m sorry I took up so much of your time today,” she said apologetically. “The winery tour was fascinating, and your home is spectacular,” she said, admiring it again as she turned the key in the ignition.

“I thoroughly enjoyed it,” he assured her. “We’ll have dinner at The French Laundry when I come back.” It was said to be the best restaurant in the Napa Valley.

“I’d love that,” she said happily, waved, and drove back down the winding driveway, and he walked slowly back into the house thinking about her. It had been pleasant spending time with her that afternoon, more so than he would have expected. She was easy to be with and to talk to, in spite of the fancy people she knew, she was very unassuming and unpretentious. He thought she’d make a good friend, and he was looking forward to taking her to dinner, to reciprocate for the evening he had spent at her home.

Camille had dinner on the table when he walked back in, and she was quiet as they sat down to Raquel’s tamales and enchiladas she had put in the microwave, and a big salad. They both loved Mexican food, and especially Raquel’s. Camille didn’t say a word as they started eating, and her father could see that she was troubled by something.

“Anything wrong?” he asked her and she shook her head, and smiled at him, but he could see a sad look in her eyes and wondered what had happened. She didn’t speak until she cleared their plates, and then she told him about the new ideas she had for social media, to bring their lower priced wines to the attention of younger people. He liked the idea, and she said she was researching companies to handle Twitter and Facebook for them. She had been doing it herself, and had for some time, but she thought they could outsource it and hire a firm to do it, who might do it better. “You do a great job with it,” he praised her, but she still seemed upset, and he reached out and touched her arm with a tender expression. He hated it when she was unhappy and she looked so sad, and had all through dinner. “What is it? What’s bothering you, Camille?”

“I’m just being stupid. It was weird coming home to see you in the garden with that woman. She was sitting in Mom’s chair, as though she belonged there. I guess I’ll have to get used to that at some point,” she said, with tears bulging in her eyes, and he put his arms around her.

“Not yet,” he said quietly, stroking her long blond hair that still gave her the appearance of a child at times, especially when it hung straight down her back or she wore it in braids on days when she was busy. “No one is ever going to take your mother’s place. I thought of it when she sat in that chair too, but I didn’t want to be impolite and tell her she couldn’t sit there. I guess we’ll both have to get used to that when people come here. But I hardly know her, I’m not pursuing her. She’s an interesting woman who has had some hard breaks too. She’s probably very lonely. She doesn’t know anyone here, and it’s a small community. It doesn’t hurt to be nice to people. That doesn’t mean I’m falling in love with her,” but Camille sensed something about her that she didn’t know how to explain to him. It was an undercurrent which was much less innocent than he was describing, and he could be naive about people. Her mother had always said so. Camille thought Maxine de Pantin was a woman on a mission.

“What if she’s after you, Papa?” Camille said looking up at him. He was a handsome man with a successful business, and a lot of women would have liked to catch him now that he was widowed.

“She’s not after me, Camille.” He smiled at his daughter. “She knows lots more important men than me. I’m just a little fish in a small pond to her. She can go back to Paris, or anywhere else, and catch a much bigger one. Besides, I’m sure she doesn’t need me. Those boots she had on today must cost the price of a vineyard,” he said, laughing, and Camille smiled, thinking about them. She had never seen alligator riding boots before, and had no idea what they might cost.

“I promise you, she has no interest in me, nor I in her, except as friends. You have nothing to worry about. And I won’t let anyone sit in your mother’s chair next time,” he said, and she smiled at him, and hoped he was right about Maxine. Camille didn’t know why, but she didn’t trust her, and she had an odd feeling that her mother wouldn’t have either. She always knew when women were after him, and warned Christophe about it. He always brushed it off and had trouble believing that women wanted him. He was totally happy with his wife, and had never looked at another woman. But Joy was gone now, and Camille knew how lonely he was, and how empty the house was without her. There was a hole in their lives as big as the sky now, and all she knew was that she didn’t want Maxine de Pantin to try to fill it. The thought of that made a chill run down her spine.