Adrienne’s withdrawals receded the
way a tide goes out after a tsunami… with waves of anxiety and cramps…
muscle-memory... hunger… they receded, and she began to feel better, drinking
orange juice and coffee… lots of coffee. This is the phase where the hunger
usually kicked in, the obsession, another fix would.... But she was relieved
and happy this time to be able to spend a few months on her family’s estate
southwest of Biarritz where; besides Alesandro, the Algerian cook, and a
Spanish Basque house maid, she had the whole property to herself. She rode her
roan, Ariel, in the hills above the estate alone and sometimes with Alesandro.
She heard him tell, for the first time, in detail of Carabanchel; her father’s
part in freeing him and traversing the Pyrenees between Spain and France alone
or with the fiery woman, Iniga.
“Did my father and Iniga…”
“No, she was still but a child when
he first knew her.”
“I am just curious…” she asked
defensively as he seemed annoyed at her probes.
Rémy and Adrienne’s mother, Johanna,
returned to the house after spending most of that time in Paris taking care of
the rest of Fournier estate. Much to Rémy’s chagrin; Johanna eventually stepped
in and wrangled control from him, taking over where she and Marcel secretly
conspired to venture since the early years of their marriage.
Johanna’s face had ten extra years
etched by weary lines, and her eyes drooped ever so slightly, as she joined
Adrienne in the dining room. However, ageless to her daughter she still
possessed an aristocratic bearing…an undeniable spirit within that had gotten
stronger since returning from Paris. Rémy had taken off to Bayonne in his
latest ostentatious acquisition, an Austin Martin, so Adrienne understood this
to be a discrete business sitting.
They embraced and held each other
until their sobs receded and sat at the same teak dining table where there were
so many arguments with her father, “Mother I have wanted you to hold me since
returning. I miss you more than anything. I assumed father would live forever
and now I miss him so. I am so sorry I treated him badly.”
“He has had a heart condition since
his imprisonment in Asturias. He loved you and knew the sorrows you faced and
was proud of your paintings. He admired them and loved the fact you never asked
for help. Despite my urgings, you know. It’s a miracle he lived this long.”
“I know. It breaks my heart to
think…”
“He loved you most of all because
you never flaunted like Rémy. He’s upset with me. We fought. He thinks he has
all rights as the male heir. Nonsense. Let me say, he wanted complete control
of the estates finances. This can’t be so. He loves the trapping of wealth and
despises the responsibility that comes with it. He will squander it and do
everything he can to cut you off.”
“But mother, I’m worse than him. I’m
a junky.”
“More nonsense. I’ve put all of it
in order and made sure your stipend is generous enough to live well. He can run
the business, but I held back the rest of the inheritance in a trust so that he
can’t waste it. You want to paint. You paint, he can play the big shot.
“Mother, but I.”
“Stop. You are an artist. The world
needs women artists. Marcel valued that over anything else. I’ve assumed the
role of the matron of the estate until I die, and he can have his share after
that and do what he wishes. In the meantime, I am to make sure that Marcel’s
work continues.”
“I never thought of you as matron,
Ma-Mére.”
Johanna laughed, “You must have
noticed how well I kept your secrets.”
“Oui,” Adrienne smiled, “you were my
confidante, Ma-Mére.”
“Sure, I keep secrets well. I still
do. I can say that I learned more than most during the war and I had something
to do with covert financing of the resistance.”
“I never knew anything about that either.
You know everything about me, but I know so little about you and father.”
“It is better that you don’t know,
for now.”
Adrienne wanted to know much more
but her mother changed the subject as she probed further; so, she went to
Alesandro on their next ride, and complained, “Mother is so secretive. I can’t find out anything.
She knows all about me. I’ve told her more than I’ve ever shared with anyone.
I’ve learned more than anything I knew before, but… but she served an aperitif,
you see, and never the entrée.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you more, but you
must never let on and never share any of this with anyone while she lives.
“Oui, Mes lèvres sont scellées. My
lips are sealed. forever.
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