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“And you,” Olivier says, “are filthy.”
Sebastien wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and smearing more dirt across it. He has a ruggedness that reminds me of the farm boys back home. “Somebody has to keep up the grounds since you’re never here.”
Ouch, that tone was not subtle, despite his smile.
Time for me to change the subject.
“So, Olivier, you were taking me…”
“I was taking you to meet my brother. And now you’ve met. Even though he might be rough around the edges,” Olivier says with a smirk, “my family is the most important thing to me in this world.”
“This is true,” Sebastien says earnestly. “There is no one more committed than Olivier. He’s the first to stand up for us.”
“Don’t worry, brother,” Olivier puts his arm around Sebastien. “You are a close second.”
“You’re lucky we are in the presence of a lady, or else I might have just thrown you in the lake.”
They do a series of obviously choreographed punches on the shoulder and gut like schoolboys. I can’t help but gawk at my stuffy boss play-fighting with his adult brother.
Sebastien claps a hand on Olivier’s back. “Must get back to the work here. You know how time consuming it is, managing the groundskeepers.” He then turns to me. “As for you,” he points a finger in my face, “I’ll be pleased if you last two days. That will already be a day and a half longer than anyone else.”
If I were in a comic book, there would be a great big ‘GULP’ written over my head right now.
He walks off with a salute.
“Your efforts will be rewarded,” Olivier shouts after him.
“You are the brains,” Sebastien calls out. “I’m just the handsome brawn.”
The cart with Sebastien and the groundskeepers speeds toward the vineyards before Olivier can try to get in the last word.
“Olivier,” a woman shouts behind us, and we turn.
The woman who came into my bedroom with breakfast is holding a tray with two tiny coffees on it. I’m going to have to adjust my morning caffeine routine, as I’m sure I won’t find any double lattes with soy milk in this place.
“Merci,” I say, taking the minuscule coffee.
“Andrée understands English,” Olivier says.
“I understand, but I no speak,” she adds proudly.
“I see,” I say slowly. “Thank you for the coffee.”
She leans into me and speaks faster than a runaway train. “Il faut que tu fasses très attention pendant ton séjour ici.” She lowers her chin like she’s sharing an important secret. “La personne dont tu vas prendre soin est un amour, une étoile, une légende de la cuisine française!” Her eyes glare at me, but then her aspect changes and she stands straight. “Si tu comprends ça, tout ira bien.”
Once again, her demeanor changes, and she smiles wide. I caught about one word in three, but none of it made any sense.
“Please,” she adds in a thick accent, “have a good coffee.”
“Thank you,” I try to say, but it sticks in my throat. “Merci beaucoup.”
She turns and marches into the house and I look at Olivier. “And now you’ll tell me what she said?”
“Don’t worry about her,” Olivier says. “She has been with our family for three generations. She’s a touch… protective.”
“No kidding.” I down my espresso in one gulp. “Listen, Olivier, I still don’t know what you’ve brought me all the way out here to do. Am I supposed to work in the fields? Clean the toilets? I’ve spent an entire night here, and you’ve introduced me to everyone—”
“Ah,” he says, his face turning into a frown. “But you have not been introduced to everyone.”
