Authors: Cecile David-Weill
The Suitors (36 page)
“That’s wonderful!” I exclaimed with a joy made real not only by my sincere interest but also by my longing to say something that would please those green eyes set like jewels in lashes as black and silken as velvet.
“You think so?” He was clearly surprised by my enthusiasm.
Embarrassed at having overdone it, I felt myself blush. Just as I was about to stammer something to fill
the silence, I saw how moved he was by my emotional reaction.
“Would you like to come in?” he said with a grin, which brought laugh lines out by his eyes and put dimples in his cheeks.
“I …” I hesitated, glancing at Marie in a welter of conflicting feelings. How could I walk out on her in the middle of our important discussion? But how could I pass up this invitation from Rajiv, whose relaxed ease and gentle presence had practically left me in a daze?
“Actually, I was just about to tell Laure that I had to be on my way, I have a plane to catch,” announced Marie with what only a sister would have recognized as a sly smile.
With a grateful glance at Marie, I turned back to Rajiv.
“Then yes, thank you, I’d like that very much.”
The breeze picked up, and standing next to Rajiv, I smelled the delicate but intoxicating aroma of fresh, warm bread he had about him. In that moment, I wondered if it would be there in his wake that I would find my place.
Thank-you letterTo Patrick Ettinguer
September 3
, 1967
Dear Patrick
,
While we were chatting on the phone the other day, a whole stream of images was flitting through my thoughts, reminding me how much memory has its own seasons. The languid beckoning of summer takes me back each year to L’Agapanthe through one cue or another—blooming plumbago or a lush green lawn—and even as I was speaking, I was following their lead: there was Uncle Jean with his smile and red hair; Aunt Flora emerging from an elevator as from a tabernacle and sweeping down the right-hand steps on her way to the beach.… Why do we always take the stairs on the right, never those on the left? There was the clicking of Montrelay’s
clogs and the soft thudding of Pradenne Jacques’s espadrilles. Meyer’s ineffable dive into the sea, like an envelope plunged swiftly into a minister’s portfolio. The fidgety tinkling of ice cubes in Leo’s tomato juice. Edmond’s unforgettable striped sweater, which made me lose all my Ping-Pong matches because I could never keep track of the ball against those stripes. There was Roland, always bowing and scraping, and Guillaume, whose inexorable march out to announce our mealtimes always came to a sudden halt on precisely the same flagstone in the loggia. Ada’s voice on the stairs. And Jean de Bergh, who never failed, before joining any conversation, to cross his left leg over his right and then polish his glasses, so that I wondered no less unfailingly whether he intended to listen with his eyes and see with his ears. I remember Sacha de Courcy’s bedroom eyes, his voice, his hands on the guitar; the large intimidating dinners and the small enchanting ones; the tall Castros and the tiny Blériots. And against this human backdrop, there was the library where I discovered Flaubert, the pink loggia, the indolent water lilies in the basin of the small fountain, the lawn damp with dew, the sea urchins under the diving board, the shoals of mullet, and the water’s transparent depths, murmuring as in a dream. Those small terraces where no one ever lingered (there again, why?), inhabited by flowers that seemed careful not to breathe forth their perfume in full bloom, as if honoring
a kind of compromise between delight and decorum, which our parents’ generation observed in their own homes and in all things. Our generation seems to live like a car eternally caught between the accelerator and the brakes, with a mobile perpetuum of noise, like a musical canon, looping from airplanes to lawn mowers. Which reminds me of Jean the gardener’s mower and rake, their sound track tolerated for its regular hours, like a mechanical angelus in the monastic order of lawns …
4
Old Father Fox, who was known to be mean,
Invited Dame Stork in to dinner.
There was nothing but soup that could scarcely be seen:
Soup never was served any thinner.
And the worst of it was, as I’m bound to relate,
Father Fox dished it up on a flat china plate.
Dame Stork, as you know, has a very long beak:
Not a crumb or drop could she gather
Had she pecked at the plate every day in the week.
But as for the Fox—sly old Father:
With his tongue lapping soup at a scandalous rate,
He licked up the last bit and polished the plate.
Pretty soon Mistress Stork spread a feast of her own;
Father Fox was invited to share it.
He came, and he saw, and he gave a great groan:
The stork had known how to prepare it.
She had meant to get even, and now was her turn:
Father Fox was invited to eat from an urn.
The urn’s mouth was small, and it had a long neck;
The food in it smelled most delightful.
Dame Stork, with her beak in, proceeded to peck;
But the Fox found that fasting is frightful.
Home he sneaked. On his way there he felt his ears burn
When he thought of the Stork and her tall, tricky urn.
—Jean de La Fontaine, “The Fox and the Stork”
*
Jean-Denis Bredin is a prominent French attorney and a member of the Académie française.
The CharactersTHE FAMILY
Laure ETTINGUER, the narrator.
Marie ETTINGUER, the sister.
Flokie ETTINGUER, the mother.
Edmond ETTINGUER, the father.
THE PILLARS
Gay WALLINGFORD, a cultured woman of the world.
Frédéric HOTTIN, a playwright and the “uncle” Laure would have loved to have.
THE LITTLE BAND
Odon VIEL, an astrophysicist, the Nobel laureate of the group.
Polyséna DÉMAZURE, an Italian who is hard to understand in any language, married to Henri.
Henri DÉMAZURE, an international lawyer.
Laszlo SCHWARTZ, a famous artist, Flokie Ettinguer’s “crush.”
THE ODDBALLS
Charles RAMSBOTHAM, an eccentric English lord, passionately interested in gorillas.
Georgina de MARIEN, a Peruvian heiress, a nomad
de luxe
, and the recognized companion of Edmond Ettinguer.
THE END-OF-JULY REGULARS
Jean-Claude GIRAULT, a model of good manners and the perfect guest.
Astrid GIRAULT, Jean-Claude’s wife, prone to gaffes but very nice.
THE NEWCOMERS, WEEKEND OF JULY 14
Jean-Michel DESTRET, the first suitor, a French self-made man and a nerd.
Laetitia BRAISSANT, a political public relations agent and a leftist freeloader.
Bernard BRAISSANT, a political journalist and a freeloader like his wife.
THE NEWCOMERS, WEEKEND OF JULY 21
Béno GRUNWALD, the second suitor, a hedge-fund owner, jet-setter, and playboy who lives in London.
Mathias CAVOYE, a second-rate art dealer.
Lou LÉVA, an unscrupulous starlet.
THE NEWCOMERS, WEEKEND OF JULY 28
Alvin FISHBEIN, the third suitor, an American billionaire obsessed with organic food and yoga.
Nicolas COURTRY, a French Internet billionaire, Laure’s ex-boyfriend, who divides his time between New York and California.
Vanessa COURTRY, a bombshell of beauty and sex appeal who is married to Nicolas.
Barry SULLIVAN, called ANAGAN, Alvin Fishbein’s personal guru, a teacher of Jivamukti yoga.
THE STAFF
Roberto, the head butler.
Marcel, the under-butler.
Gérard, Roberto’s temporary replacement as head butler.
Pauline, the senior Ettinguers’ chambermaid.
Colette, a chambermaid.
Roland, the chauffeur.
And the chef, the caretaker, the gardener, and various kitchen underlings.
THE CAFETERIA CLUB
CHERYLA, a world-famous singer.
Héloise SALLOIS, the wife of François SALLOIS, a banker and French heavyweight in mergers and acquisitions.
Alain GANDOUIN, a French intellectual and adviser to politicians and business leaders.
And Maurice Saatchi, Lord Hinlip, Karl Lagerfeld, Martha Stewart, Diane von Furstenberg, Barry Diller, Christian Louboutin, Louis Benech, Larry Gagosian, Sandretto Re Rebaudengo, Ty Warner …
Staff Menu NotebookLUNCH:
Crab and avocado cocktail, tagliatelle with rabbit and mustard sauce, salad/cheeses, apple tartDINNER:
Leftovers, quiche, salad/cheeses/fruitLUNCH:
Tomatoes and mozzarella, roast chicken breasts, sauce diable, grated potato pancakes, salad/cheeses, lemon tartDINNER:
Leftovers, pasta bologneseLUNCH:
Tomato salad, cauliflower gratin, cutlets, salad/cheeses, vanilla puddingDINNER:
Quiche, roast lamb, ratatouille, salad/cheeses/fruitLUNCH:
Composed salad, roast chicken, fried potatoes, fruitDINNER:
Leftovers, potato omelet, salad/cheeses/fruitLUNCH:
Tomato salad, sauté of pork, salmon pâté, ratatouilleDINNER:
LeftoversLUNCH:
Carrot salad, deviled eggs, sauté of pork, cauliflower gratinDINNER:
Leftovers, ratatouille omelet