6
Isabel
With Vincent gone, I was on my own again, with still a few more hours to go until dinner. I was reasonably confident I could find my way back to my room, but didn’t relish the idea of spending the next four hours cooped up inside on my own.
I decided to head outside to explore the grounds and get some fresh air. I soon found myself in a rose garden, surrounded by roses of every color imaginable. A city girl all my life, the sight all but took my breath away. I thought I could wander this garden for hours, totally entranced. The scent of roses hung in the air, light and refreshing, without the cloying stickiness I associated with rose-scented perfume.
A rosebush bearing almost unnaturally bright blue flowers pulled me forward, and I bent to examine it. “Careful of the thorns,” a voice warned behind me, and I jumped, emitting a tiny scream of surprise.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” said the owner of the voice, a tall man with a shaved head. He had clearly been working in the garden, his deeply tanned skin glistened with sweat, and he was shirtless, revealing an impressive physique. Was being hot a requirement to work here? I wondered vaguely.
“That’s all right, I startle easily,” I said, embarrassed. “Hi. I’m Isabel.”
The shirtless man smiled. “So I gathered. I’m Alexandre, I’m the gardener here.”
“So this is all your doing?” I said, gesturing to the lush greenery around me. “It’s incredible; I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Alexandre grinned, pleased. “Merci, mademoiselle. Yes, this is my passion project. I like to spend as much time here as I can.”
“I can see why,” I said, trying and failing not to gape at his bare chest. If he noticed, he gave no indication.
“Come, let me show you around,” he said, offering me his arm. I took it, certain that my heart was beating loud enough for him to hear. Alexandre led me through the garden, pausing here and there to allow me to admire new sights.
“Here we are,” Alexandre said, coming to a stop. Looking up from the pink rose I’d been admiring, I gasped. Ahead of us, in the very center of the garden, sat a small table and chairs, decorated with an assortment of colorful flowers. “I was hoping you would come to the garden today,” Alexandre said, leading me forward. “And I thought you might be thirsty after your day of travel.” He pulled a chair out for me and I sat, stunned.
“This is incredible,” I said. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say nothing,” Alexandre said, eyes twinkling. “Just enjoy.” He retrieved a bottle, slick with condensation, from an ice bucket in the middle of the table, and popped the cork expertly. “Non-alcoholic,” he said in answer to my questioning glance. “I just like the bubbles.”
Something about this incredibly masculine man saying the word “bubbles” made me giggle, and I accepted the proffered glass with a smile. There was a moment of companionable silence as we each took a sip.
“Tell me about yourself, Alexandre,” I said, breaking the silence.
Alexandre was quiet a moment, rolling the sparkling wine over his tongue. “There’s not much to tell,” he said. “I grew up in the south of France, and travelled a great deal, doing odd jobs here and there. I met Vincent during one such job, and some time later he offered me this position.”
“So you didn’t know Jacques when you came here,” I said.
“Not then, no. But I have come to know him very well over the years.”
“What is he like?” I asked.
“Jacques? He is … ” Alexandre paused, as if choosing the right words to describe his employer. “He is a good man, and he wants to do good things. But he is also afraid and very, very sad.”
“What is he afraid of?” I asked, surprised.
“That is something he will have to share with you himself, when he’s ready. He may look like a big, scary man, but on the inside he is soft like the rest of us.”
I was quiet as I digested this, and Alexandre topped off my glass. “We had a hard time convincing him to let you come,” he said.
“Vincent implied as much,” I said. “What I don’t understand is why?”
“Why it was difficult?”
“Why you wanted me to come.”
“It was time,” Alexandre said. “Jacques has made impressive progress, but he has been stagnant for a long time. It was time to break out of his rut, for all of us.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to this, so I changed the subject. “Do you still travel?” I asked.
Alexandre’s expression grew solemn. “Non. None of us have left the castle grounds, except for the briefest of errands, for many years. Jacques needs us too much.”
My mind boggled. “None of you have left for five years?” For the first time since I’d arrived, I was truly shocked. To be cooped up in one place, even a home as opulent and impressive as Castle Villeneuve, was inconceivable to me. How could they all stand it? What had they been doing for five years?