Lifting and dropping her shoulders, Justine examined her hands, clasped in prayer. “Sophie died.” She blessed herself. “Nearly a year ago.”
The words shot through Claire, tearing open the wound David’s death had caused. The pain sharpened with the realization that she might never know the truth. “I’m so sorry.”
Madame shook her head. “Christmas Eve.” She hugged herself. “The grief her son must endure at the happiest time of the year.”
“She had a child?” Claire acted surprised. “It must be difficult for her husband also.”
Madame cocked her head. “Sophie was the single mother of the boy.” She picked up her towel and dried a glass. “And an extraordinary vintner.”
At least Justine didn’t know David was Luca’s father. Claire had to find Luca, without telling Madame Justine any more than she had to. “But what happened to her son?”
“Sophie’s brother, Gilbert, adopted him. He treated the boy like a son from the very beginning.” She opened a leaded-glass-paned door and placed the glass on a shelf. “But the world awaits the tasting of the next vintage of Château Soltner. We must see if her brother can reproduce Sophie’s brilliance.”
Was the man she’d angered Gilbert? “Sophie’s brother is now the vintner?”
Justine closed her eyes, inhaled, Claire guessed for patience, and nodded.
Claire’s shoulders relaxed as she deduced Gilbert was not Sophie’s husband. But why had he accused her of wanting to take Luca to America? Did he know David was Luca’s father? He must have. Her nerves jangled, making her lips tingle. She might never know how David became Luca’s father. She pressed the glass against her lips to calm them and sipped the wine. None of it mattered. The only thing that did matter was her promise to David’s spirit: she would deliver his medical records to the child’s adopted father—even if he sicced his dog on her—and make him promise to have the boy tested.
A couple entered the dining room, and Justine left the bar to greet them.
Could Claire convince Gilbert to accept David’s medical records? She turned the wine glass on the cocktail napkin a quarter turn, and another turn, and another turn. Would the man even listen to her? She’d already lied to him. The truth was her only option. She could only hope he would respect it…and her.
She’d visit again the next morning. Getting Gilbert to listen to her would require more courage than facing his dog.
Chapter 10
Jetlaghadcaughtup to her, and having slept till noon, Claire left her hotel after lunch. Not wanting to alert Gilbert of her arrival, she asked the taxi driver to let her out at the foot of the driveway to Château Soltner and to wait for her return. She trudged up the gravel hill. Tall poplars lined either side of the driveway, their icy branches sparkling in the bright sunshine. The afternoon light cast a violet-pink aura over the rolling hills of vineyards, lightly dusted with snow—magical.
She needed some magic. She had rehearsed her speech until she fell asleep the night before. Although her determination was inexhaustible, she had to be careful. Gilbert was angry and obviously threatened if he thought Claire wanted to take Luca to America.
As she reached the courtyard, the bear-of-a-dog barked and leaped to his paws. Claire reached into her pocket, pulled out a bone, and tossed it far beyond him. The beast galloped away and pounced on it.
She clutched her purse, ran to the door, and pulled the metal bell chain. A bright clang shivered in the air.
A scuffling noise came from behind her. Hands on hips, Sophie’s brother snorted. “You’ve returned?”
She brought her hands up. “I lied. I never knew Sophie. My husband did. Actually, he knew her very well, because Sophie sent a photo of Luca to him. And she wrote, ‘Our son,’ on the back of it.”
The anger in his eyes dulled. “Seems you’re the last to know.”
“The wife always is.”
He huffed a laugh. “It is not how you perceive it.”
Right. Her hands trembled, and she gripped her purse tightly. “I apologize for lying to you. I thought you were Sophie’s husband, and I didn’t want to be the one to tell you your son was not yours.”
He smoothed his moustache. “Why are you here?”
“David—”
“Get. Out. Now.” His voice was low and menacing.
She pulled the large envelope from her purse and extended it. “These are David’s medical records. Luca could have inherited David’s heart condition. If so, the sooner it is discovered, the easier it is to treat. Please take them.”
He crossed his arms and looked down upon her like she was a banana slug.
“Fine.” If she gave the envelope to the dog, Gilbert would have to take it away. She clapped her hands and shouted, “Remy, come.”
