The Blackstone Chronicles - By John Saul Page 0,51
special effort to please her troubled husband, Madeline had covered the table with one of her best lace cloths, set out the sterling candelabra that had belonged to Jules’s mother—the same candelabra that could be seen in the portrait of her that they’d found in the attic, and which now hung in the library—and gotten out the Limoges china with the hunting pattern that had always been his favorite. Celeste had even found a dozen roses at the florist that perfectly matched the red of the burgundy Madeline had opened half an hour ago.
Madeline turned the outside lights on, transforming the dark landscape beyond the windows into a brilliantly sparkling winterscape. As she waited for her husband and daughter to join her, she decided that no matter how bad Jules’s mood had been today, the dinner she’d prepared, and the setting she created in which to serve it, couldn’t possibly fail to cheer him up. But when Celeste came into the room as the last of the clocks’ chimes died away, her father was not with her.
“Do you think he’ll come at all?” Celeste asked as she took her seat while her mother poured the wine.
“I don’t know,” Madeline replied, sounding far more calm than she felt.
“But—”
“But nothing,” Madeline cut in, perfectly matching the level of wine in the third Waterford goblet to that in the other two. “If he won’t tell us what’s wrong …” Her voice died away as she heard Jules’s footsteps coming through the dining room.
When he appeared in the doorway, she forced a smile that managed to mask the many emotions that had been churning through her all day. “I’ve fixed all your favorites,” she said, moving toward Jules to take his arm and draw him into the room. When he pulled away from her, she chose to ignore it, and pulled his chair out for him. “Filet mignon, just on the medium side of medium rare, a baked potato with all the things that are bad for you, green beans with almonds, and a Caesar salad. And I broke out a Pauillac, one of the ’eighty-fives.”
Jules eyed the table carefully, as if searching for something that might be ready to strike out at him, and for a moment Madeline was afraid he was going to bolt from the room. But then he moved away from his chair and seated himself in her own. He looked up at her, his eyes glinting in the candlelight. “Suppose I sit in your chair tonight?” he asked, a strange smile twisting his lips—one that seemed to Madeline to be oddly triumphant, as if he’d just won some kind of victory over her. “Would that be all right with you?”
“Of course,” she replied, immediately settling herself into what was ordinarily Jules’s place at the table. It felt distinctly odd, but if this was what it would take to soothe her husband, so be it. She picked up her knife and fork, cut off a small portion of the steak, and put it in her mouth.
Jules abruptly stood up. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll sit there after all.”
Her jaw tightening, but saying nothing, Madeline stood and picked up the plate in front of her.
“Leave it there,” Jules commanded.
Celeste, who until now had said nothing at all, finally broke her silence. “For heaven’s sake, Daddy, what are you doing? Did you think Mother poisoned your food or something? It’s as if …” Celeste’s words died away as her father’s eyes bored into her, glowing with a feverish light she’d never seen in them before. She quickly shifted her own gaze to her mother, who shook her head just enough for Celeste to understand that she would do well to change the subject. “Maybe we could talk about the wedding,” she began, realizing the moment the words were out of her mouth that she’d made a mistake.
“And what wedding would that be?” her father demanded, his voice ice cold.
“M-mine and Andrew’s,” Celeste stammered, her words barely audible.
Jules’s gaze pierced her. “Really, Celeste, how stupid do you think I am?” Once again Celeste glanced at her mother, but this time her father saw the movement of her eyes. “Don’t look at her, Celeste. She can’t help you this time. I’m on to her, and I’m on to Andrew. I’m even on to you.”
Celeste set down her fork. She had begun to tremble. “Why are you doing this, Daddy? Why are you talking like everyone’s out to get you? Why are—”