“Oh? Who did you think I was?”
“You were snoring in Pierre’s bus, bare feet up on the dash. You refused to speak English. You yelled at other drivers.”
“Bah oui.They were rude.”
“I was sure you were an—”
“—asshole, yes. We know this already.”
“But you’re a sensitive painter. With a generous heart. You’ll do anything for Mirabelle.”
“You haven’t finished posing for me, by the way.”
“And you brought people to this party.”
“You have breathed life into my home,” he said, taking her hand. Luc’s palm was callused from his renovation work, there was paint under his fingernails, and yet he stood here in a pressed shirt and tie. A man of contradictions.
“I know I owe you and Guillaume an answer—”
“Don’t worry about that now. Let’s get tonight under our pants.”
She burst out laughing. “You mean under our belts.”
“Mesdames et messieurs,”Pierre called out,“la vente aux enchères!”
Pierre was at the mic, live auction items within reach. Lali sat at a table nearby to keep track of the bidding and takepeople’s payments. The crowd pulled in tighter. But just as Pierre was about to begin, Rémy stepped up onto the makeshift stage and made a speech about how pleased she was to see the square alive, how important the one-euro program was, how hard she’d worked on it … She nearly claimed responsibility for the party—a very Oscar move—which made Marlow snicker into her wine glass. Pierre finally lost patience and wrestled the mic from her hands.
It turned out that he had experience as an auctioneer, helping farmers sell equipment and run estate sales. He warmed up the crowd by auctioning off a few things that the more affluent crowd bid on politely but without overdoing it—crates of wine, for example. A year-long parking permit in Neufchâteau. Pierre was priming the pump. So were they.
The next thing up for grabs was Madame Belleville’s necklace. She sat there dignified, smiling, reserved yet invested—but also, Marlow could see that she was fearful no one would bid on it. Guillaume stepped up, knowing Madame Belleville was thegrande dameof Mirabelle. He lobbed an impressive figure to start things off—way over where Pierre started the bidding. Madame Belleville gasped. Then Guillaume’s colleagues, taking his cue, acted their way through a bidding war, which thrilled Madame Belleville. At the last moment, Delphine trumped everyone’s offer, won the bid, and draped the necklace around her neck. Everyone applauded Madame Belleville, and she teared up.
The next item was a six-week residency at Château Beaupré. Pierre opened the bidding at three thousand euros. Yves raised his hand. Sabine reacted. Yves made eye contact with her.Oh my God,thought Marlow,he’s buying it for Sabine. Not only was he trying to have her move to France, but he was also trying to persuade her to be an artist, which almost pissed off Marlow more. A few people bid against Yves. Marlow’s world was spiraling out of control. She needed this to stop, and yet she knew it was unstoppable.
The bidding got up to five thousand euros. Sabine begged Yves to stop. Six thousand. The Europeans dropped out, except one artist from the Château, a chiseled model: leather pants even though it was late August, leopard fur chunky oxfords, and a satin shirt open to the navel. But Yves went higher and won the residency. Marlow felt sick.
Sponsoring the bench in Mirabelle Square was next. Guillaume opened the bidding. Luc stepped into the fray. Fedir joined in but soon had to drop out because Guillaume popped it up to a new level. Luc stuck with it. Marlow was horrified—he couldn’t afford to compete with Guillaume—but she could smell the testosterone from where she was standing. Everyone in the square was watching two men compete for her over a bench. It would be laughable if it weren’t entirely her fault. The bidding went up to some astronomical amount. Then Rémy outbid both men. The bench was hers.
Noah bought a four-course meal offered by Madame Klein.
Delphine was smitten by a painting of Luc’s, and overbid on it by a mile, asking if he would teach at the Château and promising to connect him with a gallery owner friend in London who would die for his work.
Pierre auctioned two tickets to the gala reception of Yves’s film at Renegade in October. Delphine and the vintners bid on it, because Yves brought the glamour to the party. Even Marlow’s parents bid, despite the fact that he was Sabine’s deadbeat dad. They wanted to impress others with who they knew and with the depth of their pocketbooks. Marlow had to laugh, and noticed she was not having a knee-jerk reaction to her parents’ behavior. Huh. They won the exorbitant tickets and were very pleased with themselves.
The live auction ended with every item sold. Lali helped people pay up while Marlow found an empty chair on the restaurant patio and flagged down her brother.
“You’d better put some food into me, or I might just faint right here,” she said. He put a plate of appetizers in front of her and said, “Eat and don’t move until you’re done.”
She took a breath and looked around, feeling ecstatic about how successfully the fundraiser had gone so far. This must be how Party Patti felt after one of her massive galas for Renegade.
Just as she was about to take a bite of sautéed chanterelles on baguette, Sylvain sat down.
“Bonsoir, bonsoir la belle,” he said. “Et bravo! Quelle fête extraordinaire!” Then he launched into a long-winded one-way conversation, full of gesticulation, about how he had come up with a brilliant idea to buy theépicerie in the square for one euro and turn it into his medical clinic. Marlow was going to reply that she thought this was a wonderful idea when Sylvain saw Rémy and got up to pitch his grand plan.
With any luck, Lali could be the resident doctor. Just as Marlow lifted her chanterelles on toast to her mouth, Angus, the recent theological graduate, sat down across from her.
“I’m Angus MacPherson,” he said in a thick Scottish accent.
“Hello! Marlow Linden.”
