“How did you buy it?” She felt panic rise in her throat as she asked.
“With a promissory note. I know these people very well.”
“How much was it?” She sounded nervous and he looked amused. “How much was your share?”
“It was a bargain. They let me pay for half a share now, with the note, of course, for eight hundred thousand dollars. I don't have to pay the other half till next year.” And she knew by now that he never would. She would be responsible for it, and they would have to borrow more against her trust. Two years before, ten million dollars had seemed like a vast fortune, now she was constantly terrified that they would go broke. In Bernard's hands, ten million dollars disappeared like dust.
“Bernard, we can't afford it. We just finished paying for the house.”
“Darling,” he laughed at her naivete, as he leaned over to kiss her, “you are a very, very rich woman. You have enough money to last forever, and we are going to make a fortune on this. Trust me. I know these men. They've done it before.”
“When do you have to cover the note?”
“By the end of the year,” he said blithely.
“That's in two weeks.” She nearly choked at what he said.
“Believe me, if I could, I'd cover it myself. Your advisers at the bank are going to thank me for doing you a favor,” he said, without batting an eye, and Marie-Ange lay in bed awake, thinking about it, all that night.
In the morning, when she called the bank and told them, her advisers were in no mood to thank Bernard, and for her sake they refused to let her borrow the money against her trust to cover the note. They flatly wouldn't allow it, and at lunch the next day she had no choice but to tell Bernard, and he was enraged.
“My God, how can they be so stupid! And now what do you expect me to do? My word is my honor. They'll think I'm some kind of liar, they might even sue me. I signed the documents two days ago. You knew that, Marie-Ange. You have to tell the bank that they have to pay.”
“I did,” she said grimly, “maybe we should have asked the bank before you signed.”
“You're not a pauper, for God's sake. I'll call them myself tomorrow,” he said, implying that she had handled it badly. But when he called the trust department, they were even more direct with him, and told him in no uncertain terms that her trustees would not allow her to borrow against the trust again. “The doors are closed,” they said. And when he talked to Marie-Ange about it, he was furious with her.
“Did you tell them to do that?” he asked suspiciously, accusing her of double-crossing him.
“Of course not. But we've spent a fortune on both houses,” and he had spent another million dollars or more on art and bad debts from other deals. Her trustees had told her that they were protecting her, and what was left of her fortune, for her own good. She had to think of her future, and her children. And if she couldn't restrain her husband, they were more than willing to do it for her. But Bernard was like a caged animal over it for the next several days. He ranted and raved at her, and behaved like an angry, spoiled child, but there was nothing she could do. They sat through meals in stony silence, and by the weekend, when Bernard came back from a brief trip to Paris, he finally sat down with Marie-Ange in his study, and told her that in view of her obvious distrust of him, and her bank treating him like a gigolo, obviously at her direction, he was thinking of leaving her. He was not going to tolerate being treated this way, or living in a marriage where he wasn't trusted, and was treated like a child.
“I have had your best interests at heart since we met, Marie-Ange,” he said, looking wounded. “My God, I let you stay here when I didn't even know you, because I knew how much it meant to you. I spent a fortune restoring the chateau because it's a relic of your lost childhood. I bought the house in Paris because I thought you deserved a more exciting life than being hidden away here. I have done nothing but work for you, and for our children, since the day we met. And now I discover that you don't trust me. I cannot live this way anymore.” She was horrified by what she was hearing, and even more so at the thought of losing him. She had two small children, and she might be pregnant again. The idea of his leaving her, and leaving her alone in the world again, with her children, filled her with terror, and made her want to give him everything she had. It also never occurred to her that the expensive restoration he was claiming, she had actually paid for herself, or that the “fortune he had spent” was hers. She had paid for the house in Paris, after he had bought it without even asking her before he made the commitment, just as he had committed to the promissory note for a million six hundred thousand dollars now, without ever asking her.
“I'm sorry, Bernard … I'm sorry …,” she said miserably, “it's not my fault. The bank won't lend me the money.”
“I don't believe you even tried. And it is most certainly your fault,” he said harshly. “These people work for you, Marie-Ange. Tell them what you want. Unless of course you want to humiliate me publicly, and refuse to cover a debt I entered into for you. You're the one who would benefit from this investment, as would Robert and Heloise.” He was everything self-sacrificing and noble as he accused her, and she felt as though she had shot him in the heart. And in return, he was breaking hers.
“They're not my employees, Bernard. They're my trustees, you know that. They make the decisions. I don't.” Her eyes implored him to forgive her for what she couldn't give.
“I also know that you can take them to court, to get what you want, if you want to.” He was the image of injured virtue as he explained it to her.
“Is that what you want me to do?” She looked shocked.
“If you loved me, you would.” He had put it all on the line, but the next day, after Marie-Ange spoke to the bank again, they still refused, and when she threatened them with court, they told her in no uncertain terms that she would lose. They could point out easily how quickly and how recklessly her money had been spent, and they told her that no responsible judge in the world would overturn the trust under those circumstances, for a girl her age. She was only twenty-three, and they knew how grasping Bernard would look in those circumstances, and how suspicious to the court, but they did not say that to her.
And when she reported the conversation to Bernard, he said coldly that he would let her know what he decided to do. But she had been warned. He had already threatened to leave her if she did not cover the debt. And it was a matter of less than two weeks before he had to pay.
She was still beside herself over it the night of their Christmas party, and Bernard hadn't spoken to her in days. He felt humiliated and mistrusted and abused, and he was making her pay for it in spades. And she looked very nervous as she greeted their guests. He looked, as always, elegant, dignified, and cool. He was wearing a new dinner jacket he had had made in London, and a pair of custom-made patent leather shoes. He was always exquisitely dressed, and she was wearing a red satin gown he had bought her at Dior. But she felt anything but festive, and she was worried sick that he would leave her by the end of the year, when she couldn't cover his debt. He acted hurt that she didn't feel he was doing everything for her.
He said not a word to her as they led their guests into the dining room for dinner, and later on when the music struck up, he danced with every woman in the room, save his wife. It was a painful evening for Marie-Ange, in every way.
And all but the last guests had left, when someone in the kitchen commented that they smelled smoke in the house. Alain Fournier, their caretaker, was washing dishes in the kitchen, and helping the caterers clean up, and he said he'd take a look around to see what it was. At first the caterers insisted it was the oven they were cleaning, and someone thought it might be the candles lit throughout the house, or the cigars the guests had smoked. But just to be on the safe side, Alain wandered upstairs to look around. And on the second floor, he found a candle that had leaned too far toward the heavy new damask curtains. The tassels on the curtains had caught fire quickly, and one whole side of the curtains was on fire when he came upstairs.