“You know it?”
“This rabbit used to be here.”
“With the carousel?”
“It was inside the house, here, actually.”
“Do you know who carved it?”
“Whoever carved the carousel, I assume.”
“And you saw it here, at the château?”
He nodded. “After the war, my father and I came back to stay for a while. There was still some heavy furniture, that sort of thing, that hadn’t been looted. Some guy came in and bought a bunch of it, said he knew a market for European antiques. We needed the money.”
“This is amazing,” Cady said. “I’ve had him for years. I’ve always loved him, and wondered where he came from. I’m sorry he’s not in good shape—I was going to restore him, but I wasn’t sure how that would affect the value.”
“You know how to restore things like this?”
“I’m no expert, but yes, I used to work in an antiques store, and I did a fair amount of restoration.”
“Huh.”
Fabrice gazed into the fire again, sliding back into his uncommunicative mode. Still, this was by far the most interest he had shown in anything since she’d met him.
“Do you think I could see the carous—,” she began.
“Enough already,” interrupted Fabrice. “Where’s that whiskey?”
Cady went to get the bottle from the cupboard over the refrigerator.
“Fabrice,” Jean-Paul said, “how would you feel if I moved in here for a while, just until you feel better?”
“I’ve got more than enough help with the girl here.” He gestured in Cady’s direction.
Jean-Paul glanced at Cady. “Cady has other things to do. She’s a photographer, on assignment. She’ll be on her way soon. I’m family.”
“She can take all the pictures she wants around here. And anyway, she’s American. I like Americans more than family. What’s family ever done for me?”
“It left you this château, for one thing,” answered Jean-Paul. “And we would have been a part of your life if you’d have let us.”
“This château that you adore? You don’t fool me, Jean-Paul. You just want to dismantle it, sell it for parts, and run back to your precious Paris.”
“I want tosalvageit. If I can. There’s a difference. If you would just allow me to bring in some people to inspect it—”
Fabrice waved him off angrily.
Cady did her best to pretend she wasn’t listening as she cleared the table and cleaned up the kitchen. Part of her thrilled to Fabrice’s words, to think she was preferred. Part of her clearly didn’t understand the family dynamics, and it felt awkward after Jean-Paul had gone out of his way to show her around Avignon. She felt torn about the fate of the château; like Fabrice, she wanted to see it stay in private hands, loved and taken care of. But she understood Jean-Paul’s point as well; a building like this was meant for a different time, a different way of life. Who had the resources for the renovation necessary to maintain such a residence?
She remembered having a fantasy, a very, very long time ago. Of living in a huge old home and filling the rooms with unwanted children. It was a nice dream, but as an adult she’d realized it wasn’t much of a recipe for making a living.
“You should leave, Jean-Paul,” said Fabrice, raising his voice. “Go tell your grandfather you’ll get this place, quite literally, over my dead body.”
“Fabrice, please—”
“Go!”
“I apologize. I seem to have ruined what was otherwise a lovely evening.” Jean-Paul stood, the muscle in his jaw working. “Cady, thank you so much for a delicious dinner. You can keep those photos for now, if you like. Fabrice, I enjoyed speaking about your days in Paris. I look forward to hearing more soon.”
