“I meant no offense, I promise you. In fact, the opposite.”
“I get that. I think.”
“I meant only that you are... delightful.”
She laughed again. “Okay, now Iknowyou have an ulterior motive.I may be a lot of things, but I have never been accused of being delightful.”
Jean-Paul held her gaze for another long moment.
“So,” Cady said, clearing her throat. “I’ve found a few references to a carousel in the book, but it seems to become a metaphor for life. The book was written in the 1950s, so maybe the carousel was still there at that time? When was it destroyed?”
“Sometime during the First World War. I believe the remains of the carousel are still there on the grounds of the château, but the current owner has never allowed anyone to access it. Fabrice Clement is a... special sort.”
“Your elderly cousin lives in a château right outside of town and you’ve never gone to visit?”
“Of course I’ve gone to visit,” he replied with a shake of his head. “But he’s never allowed me in past the kitchen. It’s very complicated.”
The waiter brought three tall flutes of champagne, a small bowl of olives, and another of walnuts. He arranged them on the table with paper napkins, then hurried away.
“Fabrice’s father, Marc-Antoine, was my great-grandfather Pierre’s first cousin,” Jean-Paul continued. “Many in the family—including, very loudly, Pierre’s son, Gerald, who is my grandfather—believed Marc-Antoine should not have inherited the château.”
“Why is that?”`
He waved it off. “It’s a moot point, as far as I’m concerned—especially since I now stand to inherit the château, via my mother, after all—but it has caused a...problemwithin the family.”
“A rift?”
“Exactly. Four generations of rift, to be precise.”
“That’s a lot of rift. But... why didn’t you tell me before that you were going to inherit the château?”
“It did not seem pertinent. As I said, it’s a complicated situation. Do you like the champagne? Try it.”
He watched as Cady took a sip; the bubbles tickled her nose, butthe wine was dry and crisp with subtle hints of apple and apricot, unlike any sparkling wine she had ever tasted. It had nothing in common with the cheap, sweet bubbly she’d served at her own wedding.
“Good?” he asked.
“Very. Thank you. But back to your family: You aren’t involved in this rift?”
“I think it’s ridiculous to fight over rumors and accusations based on something that may or may not have happened a century ago.”
“Sounds like you’re the family peacemaker.”
Jean-Paul gave her a slight crooked smile. “I suppose I am. Though I’m not particularly effective in that role, I should add.”
“Is that why you chose to live in Paris?”
“In part. I came here for university, began working, and never left. I enjoy visiting Saint-Véran, and have considered moving back there one day. As much as I love Paris, I would prefer to raise my children in my native village. With the TGV it’s a quick trip.”
“The TGV is the high-speed train?”
He nodded.
“I didn’t realize you have children.”
“I don’t, not yet. But I hope to, someday. And you?”
Cady’s hand went to her stomach, and it dawned on her that she now went for hours at a time without thinking about the miscarriage. Still... she did the math in her head. If she hadn’t lost the baby, she would have been in her second trimester. If Maxine hadn’t died, the old woman would have knitted ten baby blankets by now, and the two of them would have been gathering castoffs from Maxine’s relatives: a top-of-the-line car seat, teensy onesies, a wooden crib. If things had been different, she would have been a mother in a few short months, and Maxine a grandmother.
