The Chocolatier's Wife (49 page)

“You have
your own problems.” Her voice cracked.

He
started to point
out that she was
always willing to
shoulder his problems,
so
it
was
only
fair,
and
then
realized
that
he
had
a
chance
to mend
the
bridge
between
them
a
little.
“If
it
is
the
dress
you
are
to
wear
on our
wedding day,
I
suppose that it is our
problem?”

She
looked
up
at
him,
and
he
couldn’t
tell
if
her
gaze
was
narrowed because her poor eyes were so puffy, but
he
saw a
bit of anger there all the same.
He
waited
for whatever biting
response
she
would
throw
at
him.
He was
prepared
to
apologize,
even, but
she
pulled
away
and
shrugged,
and that hurt more
than
anything she could have
said.

“Why
did
you
come
here?”
he
asked.
The
unsaid
question
was,
why
not to me
,
but that,
he knew,
was answered already.

“I
could
not
bear
to
be
in
that”
—she
jerked
her
head
towards
the
main house— “another moment.
I
do not really have
anywhere else to go,
do I?”

The
butler
appeared
at
the
door.
“Your
brother
will
see
you
now,”
he
said,
ending the conversation.

William
stepped
back,
choosing
not
to
risk
speaking, bowing
instead and
taking his
leave
without
even
saying
farewell.
He
would
not
see
her again today, he amended, but he would find
that damned dress.

Andrew
was
standing
by
the
window,
looking
out
across
the
yard
to their
pa
r
ent
s
’
house,
which
loomed
like
a
foreboding
guardian
over
the small garden san
d
wiched in
between them.

“I
want my shipment,” he said without preamble.

“Good
morning,
William,
won’t
you
sit
down?”
his
brother
said,
throwing himself into the chair by the fire.

“There’s
nothing
good
about
it,
or
about
yesterday
morning,
either.
My cacao
is
a
b
solutely
not
on
record
in
any
of
our
warehouses.
I
need
it
if
I
am to start my bloody shop back
up.”

“Maybe the police confiscated
it?”

“There
would
have been
a
writ. They
gave
me
one
for
what
they confiscated
from
my
shop,
and
then
I
was
informed
I
would
have
to
pay
for the
cost
of
destroying
it.
A
double
bitter
blow,
to
pay
for the
supplies
then pay for
them to be burned! And
now my own brother refuses to help me.”

“I
refuse
to
help
you?
Some
of
us
are
working ourselves
to
madness, picking up the pieces others left behind.”

William’s
eyes
narrowed.
“I
left
everything
in
perfect
shape.”
That was one
thing
he
had
made
certain
of.
“Not
one
mess
did
I
leave
for
you, little brother,
save
for
this
i
n
famous
accusation
of
murder.
I
handed
you
the family
fortune
and
all
I
ask
is
that
you
help
me
find my
own.
I
think
it’s fair.”

“I
keep
trying
to
tell
you.”
His
brother’s voice
was
gentle,
almost pleading. “I
am
not made for
this.”

“Then
hire
a
manager,
little
brother.
Most
men
in
your
position
do. Then
all you have
to do is keep an
eye on
him.”

“You never
did.”

“Well,
I
suppose
I
didn’t
want
another
voice
telling
me
what
to
do,
even if I
had power over
it,”
he said ruefully. “Besides, father never
did,
either.”

“You
two
are
just
alike.”
Andrew
leapt
up
to
get
himself
a
drink.
William thanked him
for
the brandy,
remembering that his own had never
arrived. “I
am
nothing
like
father,
not
in
the
least,”
he
protested.
He
did
not manipulate
for
his
own
ends,
he
did
not
buy
people
when
nothing
else
worked,
or
worse, sell them.

“Yo
u
bot
h
charg
e
ahead
,
d
o
wha
t
yo
u
wan
t
t
o
do
,
withou
t
thinkin
g
o
f
anyon
e
else
.
Yo
u
thre
w
thi
s
i
n
m
y
la
p
t
o
g
o
an
d
tr
y
chocolat
e
selling
,
for God’
s
sake
.
Couldn’
t
yo
u
hav
e
a
t
leas
t
chose
n
somethin
g
usual
?
Something peopl
e
hav
e
don
e
an
d
tha
t
w
e
kno
w
works
?
Tel
l
me
,
di
d
yo
u
eve
n
mention thi
s
t
o
you
r
poo
r
f
iancé
e
befor
e
yo
u
leapt
?
An
d
wha
t
abou
t
Lavoussier
?
I
f
yo
u
hadn’
t
charge
d
i
n
an
d
take
n
th
e
Pandor
a
th
e
poo
r
ma
n
woul
d
hav
e
bee
n
abl
e
t
o
marr
y
hi
s
sweetheart
,
bu
t
no
,
yo
u
ha
d
t
o
d
o
i
t
all,
”
h
e
sai
d
darkly
.

“Ah,
so
that
is
why
he
hates
me.
He
was
not
able
to
make
his
fortunes
in time
to
wed?
But
what
is
to
stop
him
now?
‘Tis hardly
as
if
the
woman
can marry
another in
his place.”