He turned his back to her and walked away.
Sara followed, her only choice to be left behind in darkness, or to see where the light might lead her.
She hurried after his straight back, chasing after him as shadows nipped at her heels.
They passed from stone walls surrounding them through a second set of doors only slightly less massive than the others and out to a cobblestoned courtyard where a few stars flickered weakly overhead.
A short flight of steps and through a third pair of doors, Sara found herself once more ensconced within massive stone walls, although this time, a ceiling overhead held the sky at bay.
Her heels clip clopped as she moved quickly to follow Brazier Abraxis, and despite the mystery surrounding her, Sara smiled at the sound. She imagined that it must have been like that at one time, the sounds of horse hooves resounding in the courtyard through to the large entryway where they now walked.
Wasting no time, he led her to a flight of stairs. They might have been a type of marble, but what Sara found most curious about them was that each had a bowed appearance, as if they sagged under the weight of so many centuries. She imagined, though, that it was due to simple erosion as so many footfalls over countless years had worn them down in the middle.
At the landing of the second floor, he turned abruptly from the stairs and together they walked down a long, narrow corridor. Under their feet, old wooden floorboards creaked and complained, as if too fatigued to support yet another passerby.
Still another pair of doors before them at corridor’s end and as he pulled one open, Sara could make out just how high it went.
The ceilings in this place must be twenty feet high, she marveled.
And, at last, beyond this final door, Sara saw warm light that felt like the welcome for which she still waited.
A long table ran the length of the room. Long enough to seat at least fifty people and at its far end, she saw a fireplace that went beyond the extravagant with its outrageous size. Within burned massive lengths of wood, most bigger around than Sara herself. But, she could not deny that the light and heat of those dancing flames was a heartening change for the better.
And as they walked along the length of the table, Sara remarked that two places had been set for dining at the end closest to the fireplace.
Simple white linen covered the table’s end while shining silver, crystal and porcelain awaited two for dinner. Candles burned in a pair of fixtures and added a last touch of gentle ambiance.
“You must be famished,” he said, glancing briefly at Sara before looking away again. “My little jet flies fast, but crossing the Atlantic still takes a good eight hours.”
Sara nodded looking down at the spotless dinnerware before her.
“I ate on the plane, but it feels like its been a long time since then,” she replied.
“Yes, of course,” he said, then added, “And how did you find the tournedos?”
Sara smiled and said, “Well, it was easily the best airplane food I’ve ever had.” She did not continue her thought, keeping to herself that it had been the only airplane food she had ever had.
“I thought you might like it,” he said, pulling out a chair for Sara. As she sat down, he gave it a little push that left her tucked in as neatly at the table as any professionally trained waiter might have done.
“It’s agreeable, I find, to savor a bit of France before one arrives...sets the tone, if you will.”
The anger of only a few minutes before seemed to be dissipating from his voice. He stood beside her as he spoke, then placed a warm hand upon Sara’s shoulder.
“I also find it very, very agreeable to see you seated at my table.”
Sara looked to the flames crackling and snapping not far away, and even if it felt like she was playing with fire, she reached up to the hand upon her shoulder and pushed it away.
“Well, I didn’t know I was coming to France, did I?” she said calmly, willing herself to be cool headed where he seemed to let his blood boil. “I didn’t know anything. Your people wouldn’t tell me.”
She heard him sigh, then watched as he walked to place himself opposite her, standing beside his own place at the table.
His eyes held her own as he considered her. In them, Sara saw the flecks of green and gold that made the amber color appear to flicker like the flames in the hearth. She wanted to look away, to refuse the spell of his fascinating regard, but he held her, his gaze as intensely focused upon her as ever.
“Is it true, Sara? The absolute truth that you did not know?” he asked.
Careful...he’s not asking the question you think he is.
Sara licked her lips, then said, “I tried asking, but no one would tell me anything.”
Brazier Abraxis shook his head.
“Don’t pretend to misunderstand me, Sara. Don’t disappoint me like that.”
She took a breath, then replied, “I only found out when Flair gave me the cellphone just before he dropped me off last night. Until then, I literally had no idea who you were.
“And that is the truth,” she said, then added, “As it is, I don’t even know what to call you...maybe you’d prefer ‘Mr. Abraxis’?”
The man across the table reached over to a carafe of dark red wine. A bottle stood at an angle nearby, in a sort of wire cradle that held it tilted to one side.
“Don’t call me that...please, “ he said as poured the wine into a wineglass shaped like a tulip. “I don’t want you to be like the rest of them.
“Call me Braze.”
Then, he continued as if the conversation had not just come within a hair’s breadth of catching fire.
“This is a Château Margaux. The wine in the jet’s reserves was a Saint-Emilion, and while quite good, the Margaux stands head and shoulders over it in quality.
“Unfortunately, it is a demanding wine and while the flight crew is excellent, I would not trust them to observe the strict conditions it requires.”
Yet, you trusted them with me, didn’t you?
He poured a glass for himself, then waited for Sara to take a sip. She did not know much about wine. Other than a few Californians, she had known next to nothing by way of comparison. However, she could not help but notice the rich complexity of the wine and how it changed from one moment to the next. Flavors of dark red berries that slipped into a strangely pleasant hint of licorice.
“Good, yes?” he asked over his glass then took a drink from his own. Sara watched as he held the wine in his mouth just a moment before swallowing.
“It’s predominately Merlot, but there is a certain fraction of Cabernet Franc as well. Very round...as it should be after so many years.”
Sara tasted it again, wondering if she would ever understand the nuances of good wine.
Braze nodded to her then said, “I’ll be just a moment,” before walking out of the room through a door just beside the fireplace.
It did not take him long to return and in his hands he carried a very large silver tray with several dome covered platters upon it.
He set it down just at the end of the table and said, “You’ll have to excuse me, but I am far from being an accomplished cuisinier. Normally, I have people for such things, but I have decided that for now it would be better if the chateau was just for the two of us.”
The wine warmed her belly and while Sara wanted to be angry with him for being so mysterious and treating her like a stranger, she could not help but feel another kind of warmth when he had said the words, just for the two of us.
It felt to her that it was like sharing a secret. One in which they would pretend, for just a little while, that they were a loving couple about to have a romantic, fireside dinner.
“Is this your family’s chateau?” she asked.
Braze chuckled quietly then replied, “No. I acquired the property only two years ago. This is the Château des Morangias, at one time the home of a marquis’ son whose family fell into disgrace before losing all their lands and titles. It was here that the last of them came to live as a recluse, if not as something of a madman.”
Sara’s brows furrowed as she considered what he had just said.
“But, I get the feeling that your family is from here, right?” she asked.
“From France, yes, although that goes back several generations and before that, the family lines are less clear,” he said, then continued, “But, not from Basque country, no. Originally my family was from a region once known as the Gévaudan. Have you heard of it?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Sara replied, “As it is, I barely remember ever hearing of Basque anything.”
Braze smiled and Sara was struck once again at the transformation it engendered in the man before her. It was almost as if she could see the boy that he was come forward for a fleeting moment, before the man of the present hid him away again.
His eyes took a serious turn as he said, “I appreciate that you do not try to hide what you do not know from me. That you do this...it feels like trust to me.”
He came back around to her side of the table and when she felt his hand upon her shoulder and his lips at her ear, Sara did not push him away.
“Is that what it is, Sara? Do you trust me?”
His words tickled her and she replied, “I think so...yes.”
“Then close your eyes, Sara. Close them and trust me.”
Without hesitating, without pausing to consider the implications, Sara closed her eyes.