Alice Asks the Big Questions by Laurent Gounelle

Author:Laurent Gounelle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2020-02-25T00:00:00+00:00

The following weekend, Alice was crossing the drawbridge of an enormous medieval château, hidden away on an estate with hundred-year-old trees, near a village in the Mâcon region, twenty or so kilometers from Cluny. She walked under a kind of archway and found herself in a garden surrounded by a horseshoe-shaped outer wall. A few rows of poorly kept box hedges surrounded the flower beds. It was meant to resemble a French garden, but the grass was too long.

Alice headed for a large studded door made of old oak that looked like the main entrance. Since there was no bell, she lifted the heavy cast-iron door knocker and banged it three times.

She almost expected a knight in armor to open it, but it was only an unassuming woman who looked tired and sad. A servant? A member of the family?

“Come in. He’s in the wine cellar,” she said in a timid voice after Alice had introduced herself. “Go on, it’s that way.”

She pointed to a dark spiral staircase that seemed to plunge down into the bowels of the fortress.

“I’d rather wait until he comes back up. If you would just let him know…”

The woman looked over at a man whose body and features appeared emaciated. At first, Alice hadn’t noticed him standing in the shadows. He slightly shrugged his shoulders without replying, his eyes glazed over.

“He probably won’t come upstairs soon,” the woman said with a sigh. “You’d be better off going downstairs to see him.”

Alice hardly wanted to do that.

She hesitated. Her hosts gave her a suspicious look. Their faces were colorless and their eyes sunken.

She slowly started down the stone staircase, whose steps were unevenly worn by the passage of time. The deeper she descended, the damper the air became. Once at the bottom of the stairs, she continued down a long passageway with vaulted ceilings of gray stone, dimly lit by lamps resembling the old tarnished copper lanterns that were once used on horse-drawn carriages.

The passageway ended in an immense wine cellar, also with vaulted ceilings but where the light from stately wrought-iron wall sconces created a warmer atmosphere, despite the stone walls and dirt floor. Dozens and dozens of large barrels were lined up in rows. At the back, an immense Persian carpet covered the floor, and on it stood an oak wine-tasting table surrounded by rather unexpected Louis XIII armchairs covered in red velvet. About thirty glasses were set out on the table.

Sitting in one of the armchairs was the famous Raphaël Duvernet, hair unkempt and white beard badly trimmed, holding a glass of red wine. In silence, he looked her up and down with his dark eyes.

She had seen him dozens of times on television a few years ago, so it was strange to see him in the flesh. His wrinkles had deepened, carving out furrows in his rather reddish, puffy face. She found him very stern, but behind his harshness she sensed a kind of distress.

Alice cleared her throat as she walked toward him, all smiles.

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