Chapter Ten

After her somewhat startling arrival, Simone settled into her new home very quickly, and she never complained about not being in the château. She wouldn’t have wanted to live in such close proximity to her daughter anyway. In the cottage she had freedom and autonomy. She studied what was planted in the vegetable garden, and wanted to add some things to it. And she had Cesare drive her to buy three new chickens, and was very pleased with them. They were supposedly good layers, and she had a basket of eggs for Camille every day to take back to the château.

Simone went for long walks in the vineyards with Choupette, who ran ahead and back to her, and chased rabbits. Simone told her young friend that she thought the vineyards were beautiful in the country she found fascinating. She had never been to America before, and now she was living in one of the most exquisite places. And unlike her own daughter, living in grandeur only a few feet away, Camille came to visit her after work every day. They shared a cup of tea, while Simone smoked her cigarettes. Camille had brought her several ashtrays which were always half full when Camille came to visit.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” she scolded her, but had brought her the ashtrays anyway, since Simone needed them and showed no sign of quitting.

“At my age, it doesn’t matter,” she said cheerfully. “What? Will I live to only ninety-two instead of ninety-eight? And if it’s only eighty-eight?” she said, lighting another one, as Camille smiled at her. She was totally endearing. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body, unlike her daughter, who was all about calculation, and herself. “I have no idea where she came from,” Simone said honestly, with a puzzled look. “Her father was a lovely person. We fell in love as children and he was kind to everyone. I was quite old when I had her, and we were so excited.

“Maxine was born angry and mean. She has always wanted what others have, nothing is ever enough for her, and she doesn’t care who she hurts if it gets her what she thinks she needs. No one has ever said anything nice to me about her. It’s sad really. She must be a throwback to some terrible ancestor who poisoned all her lovers and relatives perhaps.” It was impossible to believe the two women were related, they didn’t even look alike, with Maxine’s jet black hair and eyes, and the flaming red hair Simone had had all her life, and dyed to keep the same color now, and her brilliant green eyes, almost the color of the Napa hills in spring. A few days after she arrived, Simone set out some paints and small canvases she had brought with her, and explained that she did landscapes and paintings of animals, and Camille told her about her mother being an artist and promised to show her Joy’s beautiful frescoes in the château. “I’d love to see them,” Simone said warmly.

At Simone’s insistent questions, Camille explained to her about viticulture, and many of the things her father had taught her. She saw much less of him now, especially since they no longer ate dinner together, and he spent every moment he wasn’t working with Maxine.

“He’ll tire of her eventually,” Simone said when Camille mentioned it. “She takes a lot of energy.” But neither of them were prepared for what Camille found when she came home from work one day. She noticed it immediately. It took her breath away, as she stared at the pale yellow walls Maxine had had painted that day, to cover where Joy’s frescoes had been. Camille found her upstairs in her mother’s office, intent on the computer, sending emails. There were tears in Camille’s eyes as she looked at her.

“How could you?” Camille was shaking with grief and rage.

“How could I what?” Maxine asked, without turning around to face her.

“You painted out my mother’s frescoes.”

“Your father said he didn’t mind. The walls are a much happier color now. The frescoes and murals were depressing, and they were nearly twenty-four years old.”

“I know how old they were,” she said breathlessly. They were a few months older than Camille, since her mother had painted them when she was pregnant, while they were building the château and the winery. “My father said you could do that?”

“I told him I wanted to add some fresh color to the house, and he said it was fine with him.” But obviously he hadn’t understood her, because he was as shocked as Camille when he came home. Maxine looked hurt that he didn’t like her color changes. She told Christophe not to make such a fuss about them, and was annoyed about it.

“You treat this house like a shrine,” she reproached him. “I live here now.” He didn’t say anything after that.

Later he went to Camille’s room and told her he had photographs of them, and they could have them repainted.

“That’s not the same,” Camille said miserably. Her mother had painted the original ones with her own hands, and Maxine had destroyed them.

Camille told Simone about it when she had breakfast with her the next day, Saturday.

“It’s very like Maxine to do something like that. I’m sure she feels your mother around her everywhere, and every time she looks at you. She can be very wicked, you know, be careful of her, Camille.” It was hard to believe she was speaking of her own daughter. “She was cruel as a child too, to other children, and she wanted to hurt Choupette that day when she kicked her, in order to upset me. Choupette has never forgotten it, nor have I. She hates animals, and dogs particularly.” She changed the subject then so as not to upset Camille more than she already was about the frescoes. “We’re having hachis parmentier tonight. You’re in for a great treat.” Camille had had brain and tripe with her so far, and was not totally convinced about French cuisine yet.

“What part of the guts is it this time?” she asked ruefully, and Simone laughed at her.

“Don’t be such a coward. This is duck with mashed potatoes and black truffles.” She had found a store in Yountville which carried them. It was the season for them in France too. There had been white truffles imported from Italy recently. Maxine and Christophe had a feast of them at The French Laundry at an immensely expensive dinner, Maxine said she loved them and Christophe had ordered them for her in advance. He couldn’t do enough to please her, as Simone had predicted. It took a lot to keep Maxine satisfied, and feeling that she was getting her due. He bought caviar for her frequently and fresh crab from the city. Maxine loved her delicacies, although she stayed fashionably thin.

Camille had errands to do in St. Helena that day, and she ran into Phillip Marshall, whom she hadn’t seen since the summer. She knew he was engaged, but his fiancée wasn’t with him and she hadn’t met her yet. He was going to the hardware store, and she was on her way to get toothpaste and some other things for Simone. Camille had become her willing errand boy, since Maxine never did anything for her, and Christophe had been very busy with the holidays coming, and special events scheduled at the winery.

Camille was happy to see Phillip, and he waved when he saw her from across the street and came over to give her a hug and talk to her.

“How’s your new stepmother?” he asked her, and Camille was noncommittal. She didn’t want to complain, which seemed disloyal to her father, but he could see the truth in her eyes.

“It takes some adjusting,” also to the fact that she and Christophe spoke French all the time, even in front of Camille. Maxine refused to speak English to him now, and got angry when he spoke it at the house. She always said that they were both French, so why was he speaking English? He pointed out that Camille wasn’t fluent, and they were in America, but Maxine got angry, wouldn’t speak English with him anymore, and stuck to French, so eventually he did the same. “I have a terrific new French grandmother, though,” she said, smiling at Phillip. “Maxine’s mother. She’s a character. You have to come and meet her. She has flaming red hair, she smokes like a chimney, drinks wine, and cooks weird French dishes for me. She’s eighty-seven years old, she’s an artist, and she has a funny little French dog.”

“That’s something at least. What are you doing for Christmas? Are you coming to our party?”

“I hope so. My stepbrothers are coming, so that should be interesting.” She didn’t look enthused about it, and he could see she wasn’t happy. She seemed strained.

“Bring your new grandmother,” he suggested and Camille was hesitant.

“She and Maxine don’t get along, I don’t think that would work.”

“Just make sure you come. Francesca will be there,” his fiancée. “I want you to meet her. Are you dating anyone?” he asked her and she shook her head. He was always so shocked by how grown up she was now. In his head, she was still a little girl, but now when he saw her, he noticed how beautiful she was, and more adult than he remembered.

“I don’t have time to date. I’m busy at the winery. I’m trying to get my dad to do more social media, and I want to get more wedding business. It’s lucrative but my dad thinks it’s a lot of trouble.” The Valley was a highly desirable venue for weddings. The Japanese had recently discovered it, and were flying there in droves to get married and loved to play golf at Meadowood.

“It’s not a lot of trouble if you set it up right,” Phillip said. “We make a fortune on it, and we have a woman who runs the whole thing for us. She’s kind of a freak, but she does a great job.” Phillip was impressed that Camille was trying to modernize their winery and public face. “Dad and I disagreed on it at first too. But he came around when he saw our profits. I guess the old guys don’t like it. They’re purists and think it’s cheesy because it’s not wine, but it is big business today and an important source of income you can’t ignore.” She nodded in agreement and liked what he had to say.

“I hope you come to the party,” he said, and hurried off to the hardware store a few minutes later. Camille went to the drugstore, wondering what his fiancée was like. Half an hour later, she went back to Château Joy. Her father and Maxine were gone for the day, to a luncheon at a winery in Calistoga. Maxine was still pushing him to do parties at the winery, and dinner parties at the château. They were doing a Christmas party at the winery, a week before Christmas, and Maxine had finally convinced him to do a small dinner at the château, for some of the billionaires who had recently bought houses there. She had hired the most expensive caterers in the Valley, and invited the biggest high-tech guys and their wives. She was excited at the prospect, and Christophe had agreed to it to make her happy, but he didn’t really care. He would rather have given a casual dinner for other vintners and his good friends. But Maxine was far more socially ambitious than that. Christophe would have liked to have Sam there too, but knew he wouldn’t have come. It was the kind of dinner party he hated, in addition to his aversion to Maxine.

When the night of the dinner party came, the house looked perfect, the dining room table gleamed with their best silver and crystal, and it was set with a lace tablecloth that had belonged to Joy’s grandmother, and was an heirloom they only used on Thanksgiving and Christmas, which Maxine said she didn’t know when Christophe mentioned it with a look of concern. There were handwritten place cards at every place in her signature brown ink, and when Christophe toured the table admiring the flowers in an array of small vases with small exotic orchids in them, he realized for the first time that Camille wasn’t joining them. There was no place card for her. Camille had been aware of it for weeks and assumed that he was too. But she didn’t know any of the people, except what she’d read about them online, so she didn’t care, and it didn’t surprise her that Maxine had excluded her.

“Why isn’t Camille with us tonight?” he questioned his wife and she opened her eyes wide and looked startled.

“But, darling, she’s so young, I didn’t think you’d want her here, and the guests are very important.” The founders of some of the biggest tech companies had accepted.

“I always invite Camille to anything we do here,” Christophe corrected her, upset that Camille hadn’t been included. To him, that was a given, she was such an important part of his life and he hadn’t thought to tell Maxine to invite her, so he took responsibility for the oversight, and was sure it wouldn’t happen again. “Why don’t you set a place for her? I’ll go up and tell her,” he said, and Maxine instantly placed a hand on his arm to stop him.

“You can’t! We’d be thirteen at the table. Someone would be sure to panic, or even leave. We can’t do that. We’ll invite her next time.” He felt terrible about it, and went to explain to Camille that it was his fault for not telling Maxine to invite her.

“She thought you’d be bored with the guests. In fact,” he whispered to Camille, “I might be bored with them too.” They both laughed at that, and Camille said it didn’t matter. She left to join Simone in the cottage a few minutes later, and Choupette did a little happy dance when she saw her. Camille had a treat for her in her pocket and gave it to her.

She told Simone about the dinner party she hadn’t been invited to, and Simone wasn’t surprised.

“I have something special for you tonight, my dear,” she said with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth, as she stirred a pot of something mysterious looking. Camille had loved the hachis parmentier so her faith in French cooking had been restored. Simone preferred country dishes and what she referred to as “grandmother cooking,” “cuisine à la grand-mère.”

“What are you making?” Camille asked her and Simone served it a few minutes later with a flourish.

“Rognons!” Simone announced gleefully. Camille had been living on French country dishes ever since Simone had arrived, and she loved having dinner with her, mostly for the company, but she was surprised by how delicious the food was. Rognons were kidneys from an old recipe Simone said her mother had taught her.

“I might make pigs’ feet for you next week, or frogs’ legs,” she said, looking pensive as they sat down to dinner.

“I think I’d prefer if you didn’t. I had frogs’ legs once, I thought they were nasty,” Camille said honestly.

“They taste like chicken,” Simone said firmly.

“Yeah, but they’re not chicken. The Chinese say that about snake too.”

“All right, snails then, if you’re going to be difficult about it.”

“No,” Camille said definitively, “next week we’re having turkey. And my father cooks it himself. It’s Thanksgiving.”

“What’s that?” Simone asked with interest and her young friend explained it to her. “I quite like that, a holiday to be thankful for your blessings. That’s very touching.”

“It’s an important family holiday here, it’s almost as important as Christmas.”

“I’m sure Maxine will love it,” she commented drily and they both laughed. “She has more to be grateful for than anyone I know. She’s very lucky she found your father. She was on her way to the poorhouse before she met him. She was almost out of money. I was three months late with my rent thanks to her. I thought they were going to try and throw me out, but they can’t do that with old people in France. Otherwise, they might have. I think she’s spent almost everything she blackmailed out of Charles’s children.”

“How did she blackmail them?” Camille was interested in the story, and Simone seemed willing to tell it. She was a bottomless pool of damning information about Maxine.

“She threatened to take them to court and fight them for the château. She couldn’t have won, of course, since they owned three-quarters of it by French law. Children are protected in France. But she could have tied it up for five or ten years, and she knew they didn’t want that, and were planning to use it. She threatened to reveal their family secrets to the press as leverage to get what she wanted from them. Maxine will stop at nothing when she’s on a mission. They paid her off just to get rid of her, and she sold them back some of their paintings. It was quite disgraceful, and she talked to the press about them anyway. They were furious with her. They were happy to get rid of her, at any price. I must say, it’s a very awkward thing having a daughter whom everyone thinks so poorly of. I was always apologizing for her when she was younger. These days, I’m sure I don’t know the half of it, and it’s probably best I don’t. I hope she’s behaving here.”

She had no reason not to, and Christophe was giving her whatever she wanted. He had handed her charge cards to Neiman Marcus, Barneys, and Saks in the city, so she could go shopping, and a credit card for any other expenses. And he didn’t question her about what she charged to his accounts. The catered dinner they were hosting that night was costing a fortune. And she was helping him plan the winery Christmas party, which Camille normally took care of. But Camille’s father had given it to Maxine as a project, and she had already tripled the costs. The twenty-foot tree in the courtyard alone was going to cost them ten thousand dollars and another five to decorate it. Luckily, he could afford it, and Camille reminded him they could deduct it for business, but it still went against the grain with Camille to spend so much money when they didn’t have to. They had always given a terrific party at the winery, on a much tighter budget. With Maxine, everything had to be extravagant and lavish. She loved to show off. She said she wanted him to give the best parties in the Valley, and become famous for it. He said he was happy to let Sam Marshall have that distinction, but Maxine wasn’t, not by any means. She wanted to be the most important hostess in the Napa Valley. None of it surprised her mother.

Camille read about their dinner party online two days later. The person who had written about what an elite, intimate, exclusive event it was raved about it. And as Camille read the mention of it in a blog with news of the Napa Valley, she had the distinct impression that Maxine had written it herself.

Their Thanksgiving meal was much fancier than usual that year, with the caterer Maxine had insisted on hiring. Christophe had told her he liked cooking the turkey himself, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted on hiring a French caterer in the Valley, and invited two couples Camille had never seen before, and Christophe didn’t know either. One was Italian, and the other French, which seemed odd to Camille, and they spoke both languages during the entire meal and never English. Camille was the only American at the table, and Simone was there as well, anticipating the meal Camille had described to her in detail. Maxine stunned Christophe and Camille by having ordered pheasant instead of turkey, with caviar and blinis for the first course. Camille was fighting back tears by the time they finished dinner. Nothing on the table was the food she had told Simone about, which was traditional. This was just a fancy dinner party among strangers. Camille was crying when she went to her room after Simone left, and Christophe came in to apologize to her, as she lay on her bed sobbing and missing her mother. Nothing in their home was familiar anymore.

“Why did you let her do that?” she accused him this time. “Thanksgiving is special, it’s sacred. It’s all about traditions. She just bulldozed right over us.”

“I didn’t know she was going to. She didn’t tell me. She said she wanted to surprise us. She doesn’t realize that the classic Thanksgiving meal is important to us.”

“Why does everything have to be different now? And fancy so she can show off all the time?” She sounded like a little girl as he put his arms around her. His heart ached for her, and he missed Joy too. Maxine was a completely different woman than Joy, and he was sure that she was just trying to please him. There was no malice to it.

“I promise, we’ll have turkey on Christmas.”

“It was a terrible Thanksgiving,” Camille said miserably. It was their second one without her mother, and the ridiculously different, elaborate meal just made the loss more acute. She was tired of Maxine and her constantly changing things, and never for the better. It all seemed worse now and her father was changing too. He was trying to keep Maxine happy, and losing sight of Camille and what she needed. Maxine was always pulling on him, and telling him that Camille had to get used to life without her mother and grow up. But she was doing it all too quickly and he could see that. They had been married for six weeks, and she had already made some radical changes, starting with painting over Joy’s frescoes, which had shaken them both. He was going to ask her to slow it down.

“We don’t even speak English here anymore,” Camille accused him and he didn’t deny it. Maxine was more comfortable in French. And she complained constantly about Raquel, who had been with them for thirteen years, and had come to help take care of Camille as a child. Christophe could see the handwriting on the wall with that too. He was going to warn her that Raquel was part of their family by now and he wasn’t going to change housekeepers. But he didn’t have time to talk to her about any of it.

The Monday after Thanksgiving, Christophe came home to find a stranger cooking dinner, a Frenchwoman Maxine had hired named Arlette, and she informed Christophe that she had caught Raquel stealing a Hermès Birkin bag and fired her without notice. Camille was sobbing in her room and Maxine refused to allow Christophe to hire Raquel back, and turned it into a showdown with him. In the end, he sent Raquel a check for three months’ wages and an apology, and Camille was devastated to have lost someone so important to them, whom they loved. Maxine insisted she was a thief and lucky they hadn’t called the police. Camille told Maxine she would never forgive her for it, and took refuge at Simone’s cottage more than ever.

Maxine’s two sons, Alexandre and Gabriel, arrived two days later, and everything was about them from then on. Maxine treated her sons like princes. Alexandre was twenty-six, and Gabriel was twenty-four. They were handsome young men, but extremely spoiled. They helped themselves to whatever they wanted, with total disregard for Christophe or Camille.

Camille nearly fainted when she saw Gabriel drive out in her father’s Aston Martin, which he considered sacred, and Maxine had let him take it.

“I don’t think you should do that,” Camille said to her cautiously as Gabriel sped down the driveway, and an hour later he scraped a fender and the door in the winery parking lot, which Christophe heard about immediately and rushed out of his office to see what had happened. Gabriel was looking annoyed and said someone had parked too close to him, and insisted it wasn’t his fault, with no apology offered. It was a tribute to Christophe’s love for the young man’s mother that he didn’t lose his temper or make a scene about it, but Christophe looked like he had smoke coming out of his ears when he went back to his office. Maxine was convinced her boys were saints and could do no wrong.

The two “boys” took over the house, drank Christophe’s best wines without asking him, and they went to San Francisco several times looking for nightclubs. Suddenly the house seemed to be exploding with testosterone. Christophe asked Maxine to invite Camille to dinner, where all four of them spoke French, and Alexandre made lewd remarks to her in English and obviously found her attractive, and Gabriel was rude to her and ignored her. And they hadn’t bothered to visit their grandmother since they arrived and referred to her openly as “La Vieille,” the old one, and Maxine didn’t scold them for it. She thought they were charming and very entertaining, which Camille did not, and Christophe tried not to criticize her children and cause a problem. But they were rude and arrogant, disrespectful and badly behaved. They offended people everywhere they went, and Christophe was hard-pressed to hold his temper. Camille took refuge with Simone, who wasn’t anxious to see them either, and wasn’t blind to their faults. She knew the kind of havoc they could cause, particularly when the two boys were together. And they were planning to stay a month. It turned out Alexandre was “between jobs,” and Gabriel had a seven-week holiday from university, so they were in no hurry to return to France. They were talking about skiing in Squaw Valley. And they had apparently come to the States with no money. They were constantly hitting their mother up for dollars, and she asked Christophe for it. As far as Camille was concerned, they were a nightmare. She didn’t know what her father thought, and she didn’t want to ask him, but he looked stressed when he came home at night and discovered the latest disaster they had caused.

At dinner with Camille one night, Maxine mentioned casually that Alexandre was looking for a job, and maybe Christophe could find something for him at the winery. But that time, Camille spoke up before her father could answer.

“He doesn’t have a green card,” she said in a strong, clear voice, and Maxine looked daggers at her.

“I’m married to your father now, I’m sure that makes a difference,” she said in an unctuous tone, and Camille stopped her dead.

“Not to immigration. He’s not a minor. He can only get a green card if you get one and he’s a minor. Or as an adult, by lottery, or waiting for it in his country of origin which takes years, or by marrying an American.” They dealt with immigration issues all the time with their Mexican vineyard workers, and Camille knew their regulations and policies, and so did her father. “And we don’t hire illegal aliens,” Camille completed the picture for her, so there was no question of Alexandre getting a job with them.

“I’m afraid she’s right,” Christophe added. And Alexandre knew nothing about the wine business anyway, nor did he want to. He had shown no interest in how they ran the business, or in having a job at all. He could tell that it was lucrative from the way Christophe lavished gifts on his mother, and their lifestyle, but that was all he knew about it, and wanted to. He liked the cars Christophe drove, but he had no ambition to get a job in the States. He much preferred mooching off his stepfather and had neither shame nor gratitude about it. The way his new stepsons behaved went against the grain of everything Christophe believed in. And Maxine thought her sons were fabulous and charming. All Camille could see was good looks, no integrity, and bad manners.

Their history was dubious too. Christophe knew Alexandre had worked for a bank in Paris, according to his mother. Alexandre said he was tired of it and claimed he had quit before he came to the States, to pursue better opportunities. Simone told Camille he had probably been fired. She knew that he hadn’t been able to hold on to a job since he left university, and had been kicked out of every school he’d ever gone to. And as a child, he wanted to be a playboy when he grew up, but needed someone to subsidize it, and so far no one had volunteered. She said that Maxine’s late husband had been very generous with them, and gotten Alexandre several jobs, from which he’d been fired. He systematically dated rich girls whose parents invited him on luxurious vacations, and he was never invited back. And he cheated on all his girlfriends. He had a nasty side to him. Simone had warned Camille that he was just like Maxine. Gabriel was the less intelligent, considerably less appealing version although just as good looking. He’d also been kicked out of all the best schools the late count had paid for. He’d been expelled for cheating and using and dealing drugs. They were a true disaster.

“They’re a sorry pair,” their grandmother said about them, even though they were her grandsons. She wasn’t proud of them, or her daughter. But Maxine was a lot smoother, and had been even at their age. She used charm and her wits to get what she wanted. “I hear Gabriel damaged your father’s car after Maxine let him use it,” Simone said regretfully, sorry for her new son-in-law to have to house them and put up with them.

“How did you hear about that?” Camille was curious, she hadn’t told her yet, and it had only recently happened.

“Cesare told me when he dropped off some fruit, and some of your father’s wine.” She thought his wine was excellent, as good as the best labels in France. “I don’t know why,” she said, lighting a cigarette and closing one eye to avoid the smoke, “but I don’t like Cesare, although he’s always very courteous to me.” Simone was always candid with Camille, who was intrigued to hear her say it.

“Why not?”

“It probably sounds foolish to you, since I gather he’s been here forever, but I don’t trust him. There’s something sneaky about him, like a snake slithering in the grass.” Camille laughed at the description, which seemed apt to her. Simone was very observant and had good instincts.

“I feel the same way about him, and my mother never liked him either. She and my father used to fight about it. My father loves him, says he’s a brilliant and talented vineyard manager, so he puts up with him.”

“Maxine loves him, and he plays up to her, that’s always my first clue that someone is no good.” She had a way of cutting through the layers of falsity surrounding some people, and exposing their core, like a scalpel, or as though she had X-ray vision. There was nothing senile or demented about Simone. On the contrary, she was razor sharp, and saw it all, even about her own daughter and grandsons.

The boys continued their shenanigans, creating minor havoc, racing around the Napa Valley in a Ferrari Maxine had rented for them, at Christophe’s expense. He didn’t think it was a good idea, but he went along with it, not to be critical of her sons to Maxine, since he didn’t want her criticizing Camille. But it added a level of stress to life in the château, and Camille was happy to escape to her room, or Simone’s cottage whenever she could. The boys had finally gone to have tea with her, once, and hadn’t seen her again. They were utterly disrespectful of her and told their mother she looked as crazy as ever with her wild red hair, her dog, and her chickens. Simone had bought tall rubber work boots in St. Helena, to wear in the garden, and they agreed with their stylish mother that she looked a mess. The boys were as expensively dressed as their mother, and everything they owned seemed to be Hermès. They looked totally out of place in the Napa Valley. And they were unimpressed by Christophe. He obviously had money and was successful, but they thought he had no style and said he dressed like a farmer when he went to work, and his daughter was no better, although Alex conceded that she was a pretty girl, and he wouldn’t have minded spending a night with her. He said she had a good body under the dreary clothes. It was the only time his mother called him to order and told him to behave. She didn’t want trouble with Christophe over something like that, he thought his precious daughter was a saint, and there were other girls Alex could sleep with.

The boys showed up at the winery Christmas party, and they both got drunk and made advances at several women, who thought they were the sexiest French boys they’d ever seen. The party went off well, although Camille was still upset about the budget, but her father told her not to worry about it. Maxine was happy, and all the guests had loved it. The tree was bigger, the decorations more elaborate, and the food was terrific this year, and they could go back to their usual fare and budget next year. Besides, their crop had been huge this year, and they could afford the additional expense, if organizing the party had kept Maxine happy.

When Christmas came, Simone joined them, in a plain black velvet dress with pearl buttons and a lace collar. And she wore patent-leather Mary Janes like a little girl.

“Don’t you have something nicer than that to wear, Maman?” Maxine asked her. She was wearing a long red velvet skirt with a black angora sweater, and diamonds at her ears, and as usual she looked like the cover of Vogue. The men were all in blazers, and Camille had on a dark green velvet dress of her mother’s that fit her perfectly. Joy had worn the dress for Christmas every year. Camille had put it on to remind her father of her mother, and it brought tears to his eyes when he saw it, and nodded at Camille. It was a way of keeping Joy part of the holiday with them, in spite of Maxine’s overwhelming presence.

Maxine fooled them with the food again with another “surprise” for their Christmas meal. She had ordered goose instead of turkey, which was traditional in Europe but not the States. It was greasy and badly prepared, because unfamiliar to the chef. Camille couldn’t eat it and the others didn’t try. She didn’t cry about it this time. Christmas was disappointing but she was resigned to having everything different from now on. It was just the way it was.

Camille had expected it to be painful. She had given Maxine a cashmere sweater she had bought in St. Helena, and Maxine made it obvious that she didn’t like it and tossed it aside as soon as she opened it, and then gave it to the maid. She had bought her father a fleece-lined jacket to wear in the vineyards, which he loved. And she had gone all out and bought Simone a gold and red enamel lighter that she was crazy about and said was the best gift she’d ever had. And Camille had added a little red sweater for Choupette with a matching leash and collar. And to each of her stepbrothers a bottle of Cristal. They didn’t bother to give her anything, and Maxine had given Camille a red sequined evening bag that was one of her own, and she knew Camille would never wear. Christophe took a gold bracelet that had been her mother’s out of the safe. He’d been saving it for her, and he found a beautiful black coat for her at Neiman’s. He was extremely generous with Maxine, and gave her a diamond bracelet from Cartier that she put on immediately, and was very pleased with, and Simone gave Camille a little painting that she had painted herself of the château. And Camille noticed that Maxine and her mother didn’t exchange gifts at all. Maxine had given Christophe a Rolex watch that he loved, and put on in place of his old one, which Joy had given him. Maxine knew that and had been anxious to replace it. Camille’s heart sank when she saw him take off the watch from her mother, but he couldn’t do otherwise, and he slipped Joy’s watch in his pocket.

The evening ended early, everyone was tired, and the two boys were leaving early the next morning for Lake Tahoe to go skiing. Camille was relieved that the Christmas holiday was over. They had gotten through it, which was all she could hope for these days.

She thought it would be a relief to have the two boys leave for ten days. They were coming back after New Year. They were both excellent skiers and were looking forward to their trip. And it never occurred to them to ask Camille if she wanted to join them. She was happy they didn’t. Camille had her own plans for New Year’s Eve with three of her old school friends, including Florence Taylor, whom she’d stayed with the weekend that Maxine moved into the château.

Maxine wanted to give a party on New Year’s Eve, but with Christophe leaving the next day to France on business, he had told her he preferred a quiet night at home with his wife and insisted on it. She had complained, but he was adamant, he couldn’t stay up late the night before his big trip, and he had an early flight. They had missed the Marshalls’ Christmas party that year too, which was one of his favorite traditions. Maxine’s friends at the Swiss winery had given a black tie party on the same night, and she had insisted they go there and to keep her happy since it was so important to her, Christophe gave in to her and missed Sam’s party that he enjoyed every year. Maintaining a social life at the pace Maxine required wasn’t easy for Christophe, who had work and travel to juggle too. Maxine had nothing else to do. But he wanted to do all he could to please her.

Living with Maxine dictating everything, and wanting to do it all her way, was depressing for Camille and exhausting for Christophe at times. He had hoped to maintain their old holiday traditions, which Maxine made impossible and Christophe wanted to respect her needs too. He had felt pulled in all directions over Christmas, wanting to welcome her sons, honor his daughter, and satisfy Maxine all at the same time. He looked worn out by Christmas night, and Maxine was still pouting and arguing with him about the New Year’s Eve party he refused to let her give.

He silenced her with a kiss, and took her to bed. It hadn’t been the kind of Christmas he had wished it to be, and as he settled into her arms, he realized that living with Maxine was like a roller-coaster ride every day. Exciting, but stressful at times too. She was fabulous, but without a doubt, she was a handful. Loving her was like trying to keep a hurricane on a leash, and not get blown away.