Rebecca Winters - Having the Frenchman's Baby

“I’m discovering that Alsace is a land of enchantment. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.” She needed to change the subject. “How is Grandfather? What about his pulse-ox level?”

“I never got the chance to find out. Last night John barged in, so I left.”

The rivalry between her dad and his half brother reminded her of her own unwitting problems with her sister. They lived too far apart with Rebecca working in New York as a highly successful advertising executive.

Though they were unidentical and conducted different lives, they were alike in dozens of small ways. Rachel knew instinctively Rebecca would be enamoured of Alsace too. How sad they couldn’t have shared a trip like this.

She heaved a troubled sigh. This morning she didn’t want to think about insoluble family problems.

“Dad? I have to go, but I’ll call you when I get to Champagne.”

“Don’t stay in Alsace too long.”

“I won’t.” She frowned. “What else is bothering you? You sound more upset than usual this morning.”

“Titan stepped on a rusty nail. The vet took care of him, but he’s not himself yet.”

Translated, the Dobermann had been well sedated. Too bad that couldn’t be his permanent condition.

“I’m sure he’ll be back to normal in no time.”

Her father’s dog made everyone nervous, even Rachel. She preferred Saffy, the miniature poodle who belonged to her father’s wife, Bev. The poor little thing cowered every time she saw Titan coming.

That was exactly what Rachel did when her father felt threatened by John and became difficult, which was most of the time these days.

“I’ll talk to you soon, Dad.”

She hung up the phone, thankful to have found a small corner of paradise here in Thann where she could put that seething cauldron of tension aside for a little while.

A few minutes later she entered the hotel dining room. During those times when she had to sample wines, she always ate a good meal first, even if she wasn’t hungry. Today was a case in point. Luc Chartier’s stranglehold on her feelings seemed to have affected her appetite as well.

Luc couldn’t swallow the croissant, let alone his coffee. He pushed himself away from the breakfast table and got to his feet, startling his mother.

“Where are you going at this early hour?”

“To the hospital. Where else?”

“But you were there late last night—has something happened to Paulette you haven’t told us about?”

“Maman—” Giselle blurted impatiently. “Surely if there’d been any change in her condition, we would all know about it.”

She switched her dark gaze to Luc, “But I have to admit I’m curious why all this extra vigilance over her. What’s going on with you, mon frère?”

That was a question he couldn’t answer yet.

“I’ve been so busy lately, I decided to spend quality time with her. Dr Soulier says the more stimulation, the better.”

“As you should do,” his mother remarked.

Giselle threw her napkin down. “Why do you encourage him, Maman? After three years, we all know she’s not going to wake up.”

“None of us knows that,” Luc countered. “As long as there’s a chance, I’m going to do everything in my power to make it happen.”

“I don’t understand this obsession,” Giselle cried in frustration.

“I do,” their mother snapped. “Despite a piece of paper, Luc is still married to her in the eyes of God, and don’t you forget it, ma fille!”

At this point Giselle was on her feet. Her eyes looked suspiciously bright as she turned to him. “I can’t stand to see you go on like this.”

He and Giselle had always been close, but the situation with Paulette had strained their relationship.

“After today you and Jean-Marc won’t have to. I’m sleeping at my new house from now on, starting tonight.”

“So soon?” his mother questioned. “I was hoping you would stay here a little longer. Since your papa died, I love having my children around.”

He kissed her cheek. “We all need our space, Maman.”

“But you have no one to cook for you.”

“That’s the least of my worries.”

“Well, it’s one of mine! I’ll be by to bring you some food so you won’t starve to death.”

Giselle eyed him soulfully. “Paulette’s not going to wake up. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Enough!” their mother cried, pointing her finger at Giselle.

“You have your hands full taking care of your own husband and children. I would like to see how you would react if it were Jean-Marc lying in that hospital bed.”

Giselle’s cheeks went a ruddy color. “If we were already divorced, I can assure you I wouldn’t have stayed at his bedside three years waiting for the impossible to happen.”

“Nothing’s impossible,” their mother said firmly.

Giselle continued to look at Luc. “Remember what Papa always said? There comes a time when we must laissez-le de se faire.”

Trust his vintner sister to remind him of the old expression their father lived by.

Don’t add anything artificial to the process. Leave the wine to do what it is meant to do.

Translated, let Paulette’s family decide to shut off the machines and then see what happens.

Tears filled her eyes. “You’re not meant to live a monk’s life. At this rate you’re going to have a breakdown.”

Breakdown.

An interesting choice of words his guilt hadn’t allowed him to contemplate since last evening, when he’d first laid eyes on Rachel Valentine. A woman like her didn’t need a man with his kind of baggage.

“I have to go.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

Giselle was in pain for him, but right now he was too fragmented by opposing forces to think. At this point it felt as if all his energy was focused on the beautiful wine buyer from the UK who was less than an hour away from here.

“Tell the children I’ll be over soon to take them to the park.”

Luc pressed a kiss to her cheek, and another one to his mother’s. Then he strode out of the house to his car and drove away. But when he reached the crossroads where he would normally turn left into town, he yanked the wheel to the right and took off for Thann as if unseen hands were driving the car for him.

Rachel pulled into the courtyard of the convent. There were no other cars in the parking area. She was being given exclusive treatment by Luc Chartier’s right hand and ought to be thrilled about it.

A trim man with thinning brown hair came out the door to greet her. He looked to be about her grandfather’s age, but, unlike him, this man was in excellent health.

When she commented that he moved like a person twenty years younger, he said, “Blame it on the fruit of the vine.”

Rachel knew better. Giles had been blessed with good genes. So had her grandfather. But two years ago he’d gone into the hospital with blood clots in his legs, and had been bothered by them on and off ever since.

“I feel guilty that you’re spending your day off to show me around, Monsieur Lambert.”

“Call me Giles. There’s no reason to feel guilty. With my wife gone, I need to keep busy. This is a pleasure for me, and Luc knows it. Come along and we’ll get started.”

“Thank you.”

She followed him inside and through the door to the cave.

It was a marvelous room with a vaulted ceiling. There was a long bar and a fabulous stock of wines behind it she was dying to inspect. But what caught her interest was the huge, ancient-looking armoire on the wall opposite the counter. The doors remained open to display wine-making artifacts placed behind glass.

Next to it hung a massive chart that walked the layman through an understandable explanation of wine-making. The text was in French, English, German and Spanish.