unscathed, yet worry that he would be persuaded by the older kids to do it again.
And underlying these emotions was an emptiness I was afraid to name.
eight
So worried had I been over the young boy, that I’d completely forgotten about Sergei. I could only hope that he had either stayed at the shack or had managed to find his way home. But to my amazement, he’d managed to follow me the few kilometres to the Health Centre and was waiting patiently outside, albeit with the encouragement of numerous pats from passersby. After giving him a rewarding hug, I returned with him to the Fishing Camp to pick up my skis, where we were able to hitch a ride back to Three Deer Point.
A black Mercedes awaited me in the drive. I tensed as the fashionably clothed figure of Yvette’s brother stepped out of the car. What did he want?
Yves approached with the confident stride of a businessman. His camelhair coat slapped against what looked to be a plastic grocery bag swinging from his hand. Sergei, who’d been distracted by a squirrel, ran barking towards him. Yves froze, then stepped back as the dog approached.
“He won’t hurt you,” I said, but I knew from the terrified look in the man’s eyes that this was more than a simple dislike of dogs, so I took Sergei by the collar and coaxed the unwilling animal into the house, where he continued to bark behind the closed door.
“Merci,” Yves said simply when I returned, then continued in a voice that held none of the clipped rudeness I’d heard when he’d kicked me out of his sister’s room the other day. “I apologize for this surprise visit. Perhaps a phone call would be sufficient, but I prefer to speak to you in person.”
His words only served to make me more wary. “Yvette’s okay, isn’t she?”
At first, he appeared confused, then smiled one of the most inviting smiles I’d yet encountered. “Sorry. I don’t mean to frighten you. My sister is much better. No, I have come to tell you that my father will permit your ski marathon to cross over his land. Good news, non?”
“Very good news.” I smiled back, wondering how Eric had managed to convince the old man.
“We want to thank you for saving Yvette. If you had not found her, I might have lost my dear sister.” He paused, then continued. “But we ask that you keep within the boundaries you have marked. My father intends to log the surrounding forest and does not want the mature trees damaged.”
“No problem. And if a mature tree is in the way, we’ll adjust the trail, rather than chop it down. Please thank your father for me.”
“I wish to tell you it is only for you that he does this. He does not like these Indians. They hunt on his land. And they try to take some of it away by saying it is an ancient burial ground.”
So perhaps the real reason for Papa Gagnon’s kicking us off his land had more to do with a little matter of a land feud that Eric had failed to mention than Yvette. Which probably meant Eric had lied about having the old man’s agreement.
I thanked Yves again and waited for him to leave.
He didn’t. “I would like also to apologize for my rude behaviour.”
I guessed I must have looked even more startled, for another inviting smile spread across his face. “Please, you are a good friend to my sister, non? I do not want my bad manners to harm this friendship. So please, accept this small gift.”
He held up the bag, which turned out to be no trivial grocery bag, but one stamped with Gucci across the top.
Embarrassed, I hesitated to take it. He smiled again. “Please, I insist.” So I took it and hoped it wasn’t really from Gucci. Although it weighed considerably more than a small gift, he managed to quell my fears by saying, “From my cellar.” So I opened the bag expecting to discover a nice but mediumpriced bottle of wine. Instead, I pulled out a 1990 bottle of Château Mouton de Rothschild.
Flabbergasted, for I knew the king of wine when I saw it, I handed the bottle back, telling him gifts were not needed for my continued friendship with Yvette. But he persisted, so I invited him into the house to share it. Not only would this be a way of thanking him for his valuable gift, but it would also ensure that I wouldn’t be tempted to drink its entire contents.
With Sergei locked in the kitchen, I changed out of my sweaty ski clothes into something more presentable, while Yves made a fire to warm up the living room. When he’d offered, I had been reluctant to agree, since the sight of the twill pants and cashmere sweater had shouted “urban man”. But he assured me that he’d been making fires since he was a boy growing up on the family farm.
I needn’t have worried. By the time I returned, feeling a little less like a country hick in the only city clothes I could still squeeze into, a designer pair of slacks and matching silk shirt, Yves had a fire roaring up the chimney of the ceilinghigh stone fireplace. He turned at the sound of my step and gave me one of those appreciative looks that only Frenchmen seem able to give, which made me equally glad that I’d refreshed my hair colouring the night before.
I went to the dining room to retrieve two of Aunt Aggie’s best crystal goblets and a crystal decanter; for nothing less would do for this wine. Yves drew the cork out of the bottle with a distinctive airtight pop that promised perfection and poured it into the decanter.
While the wine breathed, I went to the kitchen to find some fitting food to go with it and remembered the tasty pâté of venison with dried blackberries Eric had concocted after one of his recent hunts. Thinking it would serve him right, I dismissed any qualms I might have about feeding this to another man.
But I couldn’t quite get rid of the sense of guilt I felt over breaking my promise to Eric not to drink. Still, it would be rude not to sample Yves’s gift. Besides I wouldn’t be drinking the entire bottle by myself, which would have been standard procedure two years ago.
I returned to find Yves wandering around the large pinepanelled room with its ten foot ceiling, the Great Hall Aunt Aggie used to call it. He, however, betrayed his urban leanings. Rather than centreing his interest on the expansive view of Echo Lake through the room’s wall of windows, he directed his attention to Aunt Aggie’s prize antiques. Although they weren’t quite as fine as some of the pieces in Yves’s father’s house, nor as old, they would still be considered real finds by any reputable antique dealer.
“Merveilleux,” Yves said, running his hand over the inlaid mahogany design of the chess table. “But I think this was not made in Canada.”
“No, I believe my great-grandfather brought some of this furniture over from England when he built this house.” I pointed out the burled walnut book cabinet with its lead glass doors and the fanciful what-not filled with Aunt Aggie’s china figurines.
“Such a joy to have these family treasures, non?” I agreed but didn’t tell him about my annoyance at the amount of care they demanded, particularly since housework wasn’t exactly at the top of my to-do list. I beckoned him to sit in one of the two wing chairs on either side of the fireplace, while I sat in my usual spot on the sofa.
I swirled the dark red wine around in my glass and breathed in the subtle aroma of caramelized spice with a hint of blackberry. Wonderful.
Yves’s slightly almond-shaped eyes smiled the same conclusion across the top of his glass. “Santé,” he said and held his glass up towards
