The House of the Wolf

8

"Don't mind Francine," said Yves. "She will get over it."

Upstairs, Genevieve could be heard remonstrating with her daughter, apparently through Francine's locked bedroom door. The rest of the group had retired discreetly to the sitting room. "Get over what? Was it something I said?" whispered Chantal to Yves.

"No, no! It is just that she is a little bit spoiled, you know? And now she has a cousin who is getting all the attention, so her nose – as you say in English – is a little out of joint."

This did not seem quite adequate as an explanation – she was sure it was not mere resentment, but pure hatred she had seen in the girl's eyes – but Chantal was prepared to accept it for now.

"Come sit by me, my dear," invited her grandmother, and Chantal complied. Thérèse had a leather-bound family album on her knee and was leafing through its stiff pages. "I want you to see these... Look, there is your father as a little boy! Isn't he adorable? And here he is with little sister Genevieve playing in the garden. And there is your Grandpère – my poor Émile! How I miss him still!" She sighed over the photograph, which showed a stout man with heavy black brows that made him look as though he were scowling. There was a picture of Genevieve, much younger and slimmer, resplendent in a wedding gown complete with long train and a veil with a tiara. On her arm was a pleasant-faced young man with light brown hair. "My daughter on her wedding day. She looks so happy, doesn't she? If she only knew then what would happen!" Thérèse sighed again.

"Did her husband die?" Chantal asked.

"He? No! He lives still – with another woman. His Church gave him an annulment and let him remarry." Thérèse shook her head. "I tried to warn her. I told Genevieve that Henri was wrong for her, that it could not last. But she was in love, the foolish girl, and would not listen to her maman. Now she is left alone with two children. Fortunately I took them all in."

Chantal glanced at Lysette, playing happily in a far corner of the room with a pair of dolls. "Oh, that's a shame. But at least you have your granddaughters."

"Yes, some good came of it. But not without a great deal of pain which could have been avoided." Thérèse turned the album page with a swift dismissive movement. Chantal wondered what it had cost the wayward daughter to return home after the collapse of her marriage, eating humble pie so that her children could have a roof over their heads. And what of Édouard? He had never come back at all after his wedding. What words could be so bitter as to be unforgivable? Thérèse and Genevieve had reconciled, after a fashion; but both Édouard and his father had a stubborn and unbending look in their pictures, their eyes keen and confident beneath the heavy black brows. She could only imagine what clashes they might have had.

Suddenly she felt uncomfortable. The glow of the wine had worn off, and she felt out of place here again. "Well, I really should get back to my hotel, I guess," she said, rising from her seat.

"I'll drive you back," Yves offered.

"Oh, I'll be fine."

"But you do not know your way about the city, and I took you a long distance from downtown. Please, let me drive you: I would feel terrible if you got lost."

She gave in and let him go with her to the door. Thérèse accompanied them. "Tell me what hotel you are staying in, Chantal dear, and I will be in touch. Perhaps you and I can do a little shopping together tomorrow, or meet for lunch?" She kissed Chantal on both cheeks again.

Feeling oddly reluctant, Chantal supplied the information to her grandmother. As Yves led her outside, her aunt came down the staircase with an expression of utter despair. "Maman, it is no use, she will not listen to reason –"