Danielle Steel - The House

Chapter 17

The plane landed at Charles de Gaulle airport at eight A.M. Paris time. It took her an hour to get her bags and go through customs. At ten A.M. she was driving down the Champs Élysées in a cab, with a broad smile as she looked around. She had slept well on the plane on the eleven-hour flight. It felt like it took forever, but now finally she was here. She felt like a heroine in a movie, as they drove through the Place de la Concorde with its fountains and across the Pont Alexandre III toward the Invalides, where Napoleon was buried. She was staying at a small hotel on the Left Bank on the Boulevard St. Germain, in the heart of the Latin Quarter. Jeff had given her the name of the hotel, based on a recommendation Marie-Louise had made, and it was perfect.

Sarah left her bags in her room, and walked all over Paris. She stopped for a café filtre in a café, and ate dinner alone in a bistro. She went to the Louvre, and rode on a Bâteau Mouche the next day, like a proper tourist. She visited Nôtre Dame and Sacré Coeur, admired the Opéra. She had been to Paris before, but somehow this time it was more exciting. She had never felt as liberated, or as free of burdens. She was just happy being there for three days before she left for Dordogne on a train. The concierge at her hotel in Paris had given her the name of somewhere to stay. He said it was simple, clean, and very small, which suited her perfectly. She hadn't come here to show off. And she was amazed at how comfortable she was alone. She felt totally safe, and despite her limited French, people seemed ready and able to help her all along the way.

When she got off the train, she took a cab to her hotel. It was an old Renault that bumped along the roads, and the countryside was beautiful. This was horse country, and she saw a number of stables as they drove out into the country. She also saw several châteaux, most of them in tattered shape. She wondered if Lilli's would be as well, or if it had been restored in the meantime. She was excited to see it. She had carefully written down the name, and showed it to the clerk at the desk of her hotel. He nodded and said something unintelligible to her in French, then showed her on a map and spoke in halting English. He asked if she wanted someone to drive her there, and she said she did. It was late in the afternoon by then, and he promised to have a car and driver for her in the morning.

She ate at the hotel that night. She had foie gras from nearby Périgord, which was delicious. They prepared it with cooked apples on the side, and salad and cheese afterward. Once back in her room, she sank into the feather bed, and slept like a baby until morning. She awoke with the sunlight streaming through the windows. She hadn't bothered to close the heavy shutters. She preferred the sunlight. She had her own bathroom, with an enormous bathtub, and after she took a bath and dressed, she went downstairs to a breakfast of café au lait served in bowls, and croissants made that morning. The only thing missing was a companion with whom to share it. There was no one to talk to about how delicious the food was, or how beautiful the countryside, as the driver that the hotel clerk had promised drove her to the Château de Mailliard, where her great-grandmother had lived during her days here.

It was a half-hour drive from the hotel, and they saw a beautiful church before they reached the château. It had once belonged to the château but no longer did, the young driver explained in broken English. And then slowly they drove along a narrow road, and she saw it. It looked enormous. There were turrets, and a courtyard, and a number of outbuildings. It dated back to the sixteenth century, and was very beautiful, although currently under reconstruction. There was heavy scaffolding around the main building, and workmen working industriously, just as they were on Scott Street.

“New howner,” the young driver said, pointing. “Fix hup!” She nodded. A new owner had apparently just bought it. “Rich man! Wine! Very good!” They smiled at each other. The new owner had made his fortune in wine.

Sarah got out and looked around, curious about the outbuildings and the property. There were orchards and vineyards, a huge stable, but no sign of horses. It must have been beautiful in Lilli's day, Sarah suspected. Lilli had a knack for winding up in amazing houses, Sarah thought with a smile, and finding men who spoiled her. She wondered as she looked at the château if Lilli had been happy here, if she missed her children, or Alexandre, or her home in San Francisco. This was so different and so far from home for her. And although she had none herself, Sarah couldn't imagine leaving one's children. Her heart went out to Mimi, as the thought crossed her mind.

None of the workers paid any attention to Sarah, and she wandered for nearly an hour, exploring the property. She was curious to look into the château itself, but she didn't dare, so she stood outside and looked up at it. There was a man standing at a window, looking down at her, and she wondered if they were going to ask her to leave. He appeared on the front steps a few minutes later and walked toward her with a quizzical look on his face. He was a tall man with silver hair, wearing a sweater, jeans, and workboots. But he didn't look like the other workmen. There was an air of authority about him, and as he approached, she saw that he was wearing a heavy, expensive gold watch on his wrist.

“Puis-je vous aider, mademoiselle?” he asked politely. He had been watching her for a while. She looked harmless, but he wondered if she was a reporter. Tourists rarely turned up here. Because of him, the press sometimes did.

“I'm sorry.” She put her hands out with a shy smile. “Je ne parle pas français.” It was all she knew, to tell him she didn't speak French. “American,” she said, and he nodded.

“May I help you, mademoiselle?” he asked again, this time in English. He was curious about who she was. “Are you looking for someone?” His English was accented but flawless.

“No.” She shook her head. “I just wanted to see the château. It's beautiful. My great-grandmother lived here, a long time ago.”

“Was she French?” He looked intrigued. He was a very striking man in his early fifties. He looked rugged, handsome, and smart. He was examining Sarah in intricate detail.

“No. She was American, married to a marquis. The Marquis de Mailliard. Her name was Lilli.” She said it as though offering him credentials, and he smiled at her, as though to offer her safe passage.

“My great-grandmother lived here, too,” he said, still smiling at her. “And my grandmother, and my mother. They worked here. My grandmother probably worked for yours.”

“She was my great-grandmother actually,” Sarah reminded him, and he nodded. “I'm sorry to intrude. I just wanted to see where she lived.”

“Not many people come here,” he said, studying Sarah. She looked like a young girl, in her jeans and running shoes with a sweater over her shoulders, and her long hair in a braid. “The château has been boarded up for sixty years,” he told her. “I bought it last year. It was in terrible condition. It's been untouched since the war. We're doing an enormous amount of work. I just moved in.”

Sarah nodded and smiled. “I just bought her house in San Francisco. It's an enormous house, though not as big as this. It's been uninhabited since 1930, except for a few rooms in the attic. Her husband, my great-grandfather, sold it when she left, after the Crash of 1929. I'm restoring it, and I'm moving in when I go home.”

“Your great-grandmother must have liked big houses, mademoiselle, and the men who gave them to her.” She nodded. That was Lilli. “We have much in common, we are doing the same work, on both her houses, it appears.” Sarah laughed when he said it, and so did he. “I hope she appreciates it. Would you like to come inside and look around?” He was very hospitable. Sarah hesitated, and then nodded. She was dying to see it, and to tell Mimi about it afterward, and Jeff, and her mother. Now she could say she had.