The phone has been blessedly quiet. No interruptions. No phone calls from princes of London or Paris, Tours or Poitiers these nights. No one calls. No one stops by for a visit.
     But, let's not make an assumption that this displeases William in any way...
     It is simply surprising, that's all, when his cell phone rings, when the number that appears and the region from which it is originating doesn't, pardon the expression, ring a bell. Not Davydd. Not Edward. So who?
     You miss the image, and it's always an image, this time of a man in the process of pulling off his mudboots covered in limestone mud, looking for all intents and purposes like a modern man of the house, fresh in from his stroll with the vintners assessing the damage of last night's storm.
     "Hello?" he says. A simple enough beginning. A warm tone, quick. You may assume, then, that you did not catch him in bed. Lucky you.

     "Hello, William, it's Victoria." One can never tell if one's voice is going to be recognized. Particularly when calling from a hotel in Southern France.
     The good doctor Gifford had returned home not too long after the gallery opening, begging matters of city business that couldn't be left for too long. Though she did promise she'd be back through sooner rather than later. And she sounds acclamated to the time shift enough herself, the usual pleasant reserve one comes to expect from the young Ventrue.
     "How're things going? I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time?"

     "Victoria," a pleasant surprise, we've seen and heard much of you this year, have we not, "...no, not at all. I have just come in from outside. Where are you? The call says it was coming from France? I did not know you were back in Europe..." Scotland counts.
     "Eh," he snorts through a sigh, "...things are good, but the grapes are bad. Terrible," how he says that in English, his accent getting thicker and thicker as the years out of America go by, "... terrible storm. But you did not call me to hear me lament about my crops like an old man. We," the great and royal We of Plantagenet and Dunross, that is, "... are good. How are you? You could not stay away," he smiles and the warmth issues through, "... you miss us, do you not?" And he chuckles. Even if it is true.

     "I've heard a couple of the vinteners here complaining about a particularly wet year, it's too bad. Hopefully it doesn't ruin things horribly, though they're worried about things going sour." Ah, the 'family' business. Having taken over the vineyards in Oregon, she does get to be pulled in on shop talk now.
     "I'm in the Vezere Valley, actually. I decided I should do a tour of the vineyards I've been hearing about." The irony of being a manager of a winery when she can't drink wine is never lost on her. She grins audiably over the line, "It's been an interesting comparison without savoring the fruits of the labors here as it were. Some of them think my technique is surprisingly ancient in origin, so I should check with Maximilian."
     "I'm doing well though, it's lovely countryside. And it's good to have some time away. I'm glad to hear that things are good with you, I was going to see when you're going back to Strathfyr so I could pop through on my way out. Or up to Chinon if you're still there, I'm probably going to be here until sometime in the fall." Her voice takes on a lightly teasing quality, ah the new Victoria, "And of course I miss you both, how could I not."

     "It was not so wet as all that, not here, but all of a sudden we had March rains in August. Not good. So," an exhale, "...we will see what it does to the yield. I feel an off year, which I do not like. My little village," of ten-thousand-or-so souls, "...depends upon the harvest still to this day." But the ville of Chinon shall not suffer. William will bankroll it himself if he must...
     "The Vezere?" He sounds surprised. "Down to see the caves. I have not been there in a while. Good wine country, of course. You sound like you are having a lovely time." Alone. It is only you, yes? No mention of the other one. And he doesn't bring him up. You can hear William settling back, murmuring to a servant in French, a request for brandy and a towel. Maybe it is still raining. "We will be going back to Strathfayr after the harvest and the festival here. Probably late September. We are still in Chinon. You are so close, my feelings will be hurt if you do not come to visit. I will be very offended," he quips it, grins it, means it. "Ian, I am sure, would like to see you, too. I will tell him you are coming."

     "And I would be hurt if I didn't get the chance to come by. Hopefully I'll catch you before you go, I should manage it. I was going to see the vines there, of course, how could I not?" Victoria says easily, "I'll just have to make sure and schedule that leg of the trip near the end so I can be liesurely about it. Maybe I can even catch the festival, I've heard you talk about it before it sounds like quite the event."
     There, settled in a plan for the most part at least. "I'll be sure and call a few days ahead, of course, but do tell Ian I'm looking forward to seeing him. He and I didn't get to talk much last time, everything was so hectic. He didn't get the chance to correct me nearly as much as he'd like to, I know." She jokes back, and means it back too, though it's a fond kind of statement now, rather than the petulant one that could have been in the past.
     "Ui sends his regards, he's taking care of things back home." Ah, there's the answer on that. Twice in one season she's away from him, it looks like. "I've actually been visiting several people, so far. Maximilian had me drop off some things he didn't trust to ship. And I'm stopping by to see Raymond of Tours here, actually."

     He was going to comment on Ian's love of correcting you and Ui's continued presence in the States while you galavant across Europe but then you mention him. Raymond of Tours. And his interest is piqued. He will get to Ui later.
     Or not...
     "Is that so," that voice, you know that voice and you know the face that goes with it, the face that makes most people either drop their drawers or clutch their wallets. "Well, it is August. The time of year when all French go on vacation. Those who have the misfortune of working. You hit it off, as I recall, at the show?"
     Interesting, says the tone.

     She just chuckles. She does indeed know that tone, and what it means, "We both collect glass, yes. And he's very friendly, we said we'd exchange some collection pieces when we met before and I said I'd visit the next time I was here. So it seemed convenient to do both at the same time." Nothing to see here, says the proper tone of the Ventrue girl. Though she is most obviously amused. Gossip runs the world after all.
     "He speaks highly of you though. And of Ian, of course. And yes, he's here on vacation, though I'm not sure that he works, exactly. I haven't asked really. Though I'm sure you know."

     "I only know his avocation not his vocation," William corrects. "But, I must admit that Raymond Marillet is one of my favorite subjects. He is... terribly friendly. He is a nice boy. Well liked. I am not his only admirer, though it is nice to hear that it is reciprocated."
     In the background, Ah merci, a word of thanks for the brandy at last. "I would have no qualms about ruining him for other men," William chuckles, he sips at the brandy. "That is right," he reminds himself, as if, "..you share a love of glass. I seem to remember him speaking about that a little at the show."

     Laughing lightly, Victoria answers, "Well, I'll keep that in mind then if I see any others making eyes at him." She knows, of course, that the chances of that happening are... slim. Mostly because Ian would kill everyone on the planet.
     "Yes, my collection's gotten quite a bit larger. And I've picked up several things while I've been here that I just had sent to the chateau instead. I haven't been there in a while but I remember I thought it could use a little color in the winter." Poor abandoned chateau. Maybe staying through winter wouldn't be a bad idea. "The two of us got to talking about it there, I think when you introduced us, actually. I've only managed to ruffle his feathers once, so he seems infinitely patient." She does have a talent for that particular social faux paus.

     Both eyebrows lift to that. You upset Le Marillet? "You need some help now? Getting yourself out of a sticky situation?" Or did you just call to gossip? William is grinning on the other end. "You should wait until after you have sex with him, then call me. That is how kiss-and-tell is supposed to work," he instructs with a chuckle, a sip of brandy. And he wishes for a cigarette.
     "He is so mild-mannered. It is like pissing off Jesus. How did you manage?"

     Laughing again, Victoria picks up something and has a sip, "No, thank you, I'm handling everything just fine. So far anyway." She isn't going to let go of that offer just yet, though she doesn't seem to think it necessary.
     "And who says I'm going to sleep with him? He's a very good conversationalist. We're getting drinks later and I'm sure the conversation will be most proprietary." She doesn't, however, make any mention of the fact that she's a married woman... Curiouser and curiouser.
     "Oh, I said that his taking the seat in Tours caused a 'stir'. Which he seemed to think meant that I was commenting on how it must have gone badly and therefore he was doing a bad job. Which isn't, of course, what I meant at all. And I said so. He seemed a little touchy about it." Victoria, Victoria. Isn't that kind of like saying someone has an ugly baby?

     William laughs. Have you missed that sound? Warm, full of passion, at your expense...
     "Dieu, you didn't." He laughs again, eyes are wide and you are missing it. "Did you throw your glass of water in his face and storm out like Gretta Garbo after such a thing? That is like telling him you admire his wife's ode du bruised eye shadow and the lovely gap she has in her teeth, that he himself knocked out." Another chuckle, he is shaking his head, but then in all seriousness. "And... just so you know... the stir was not in his rise to prince but in my stepping down from an old and very outdated construct of hereditary peerage over two areas." Poitiers being the other.
     "So, you will have a lot of making up to do if you think he is going to have sex with you now," William patently ignores your words about sex with Raymond. Of course you will have sex with Raymond. I would. "You are getting drinks later. Did you ask him whether he liked his drinks in silk or chiffon?"
     We wouldn't be talking about wine. Come now, it's France. Wine is water. "Did you come... prepared?" William murmurs. "You are in France, surely you brought your finest silk or chiffon with you..."

     "Of course I did. I'm not going to tell you I did if I didn't, now am I?" Victoria says easily, she's obviously well aware at this point that she blundered, and not overly concerned about it for whatever reason. That could be because the man did ask her for drinks after the debaucle. "And you know, if someone said my dress caused quite a stir at the gallery, I wouldn't think that meant I looked like a hooker. I'd ask you and you'd tell me that I looked like a prostitute after the fact." At least she's good humored about the whole thing. "And I knew I remembered some kind of stir or another. So I wasn't entirely wrong."
     She laughs, "Well that's perfectly alright because I'm still not planning on sleeping with him. It'd just make things infinitely more complicated. And then I'd probably do something like ask him how I compared with some ill advised French mistress or another and really bollox things up."
     "And yes, I have a dress. I bought several, why waste a trip to France by not." She considers, "I'll just have to decide which one to go with."

     "I would," William grins it out. "In fact, you must do something for me, now that I mention it," and when has William ever missed out on mentioning something that would benefit him? "You must convey my greetings to him. In reply for his own courtesy. I would be pleased if he would stop in Chinon on his way home. We are right next door."
     Not right next door but within thirty minutes to an hour...
     "Life is full of complications, Victoria, that is what makes it a rich life. But, enough about sleeping with Raymond, however enjoyable I am certain it is. You are more than welcome to come to Chinon whenever you like. After mid-September, we will be in Strathfayr preparing for snow. You are welcome there as well, of course. Whichever works best for your schedule..."

     "Of course, I'll be sure and tell him. And mention that it was your stir and not his that I was remembering to complete making an ass of myself, just so you know ahead of time." Victoria says easily.
     "Yes, I suppose that's true. But this one is probably better avoided at the moment." Her luck with men is rather abysmal. "And I'm going to make sure and be in Chinon before the festival so I can enjoy it. It seems silly not to when I'm just down the road. Plus I can hide and not make any more social disasters for a few days before I go back to running a city behind what scenes there are in Seatle." She doesn't sound overly excited to go back, for whatever reason.
     "But, I should go pay particular attention to my ensemble if for no other reason than you told me to. And I'll call soon and give you any interesting updates if there happen to be some. Give Ian my undying affection and feel free to tell him everything so he'll have plenty of time to work up his speech for me when I get there. I wouldn't want him to have to come up with something on the spot after so long, it doesn't seem sporting."

     The tone is warm, congenial. Having sport with you is fun, but all good things have to come to an end sometime. "Cher, you will heal. I am sure his wounds were not so deep as all that," William murmurs. "You are, afterall, being asked to drinks at... what ungodly time of the night? By the Prince of Tours, no less. As for Ian, I will tell him you are visiting, oui... and so... he can work up his index cards and prepare his speeches," William drolls that out. As if.
     We all know he's into spontaneous torture. It's why we love him...
     William settles back with his drink. In fact, for a moment, there is nothing but the sound of him taking a swallow and clearing a breath over brandy. But then there is the sound of Italian being spoken quietly in the background, a little laughter. Laughter that William shares, "You should pay very close attention to your ensemble. The more attention you pay to it, cher, the more attention... he will pay to it." I feel like I'm Educating Rita. "A little fragrance, not too much, just a little. Wherever you would like him to go -- that is, in truth, for you to determine." And he has no hesitation in preparing Ui's wife to enjoy someone other than Ui. Why is that, one might wonder? Is it due to your own attitudes, is William psychic, or is he ...merely French?
     "Welcome to Europe," William grins, sips at his brandy and purrs that right into the phone. "So... is there... anything else?" Again, in the background, but a little closer, there is someone speaking in Italian. You can almost make out the actual words.

     "Oh, it's not that." Victoria says easily to the mention of her obvious recent separation, "Well, there's some of that, but it's more... I don't know." She seems to shrug it off, "He's the one who needs more healing I think." Which wouldn't really be a surprise to anyone. Ui's nearly Toreador in his love of love. "It really is for the best for everyone concerned." Victoria, on the other hand, is the pragmatist's pragmatist.
     "And that's exactly the problem, really. I don't want it to look like I paid all that much attention to it, really. But I certainly don't want it to look like I didn't pay any at all. I'm not interested in any late night nibbling." There are the sounds of shuffling a little that would indicate rising from her seat and crossing the room at the old inn. Opening of the armoir with a little creak to look inside.
     For whatever reason though, she doesn't seem at all surprised about the movement onto the next conquest in William's suggestion. Perhaps it's her knowledge of the Plantagenet's tastes. Or perhaps it's her knowledge of the relative tolerance of her childe that was afforded by him and Dunross.
     "Not particularly. I've got some wine to send to you if you'd like it, some of the vineyards had a particularly good season a few years ago and I picked up cases to send around." You can almost hear the thinking going on through the phone. Hangers sliding over wooden shafts inside the cupboard doors, "And I expect a couple more to come up."

     "Well, to be honest, I was talking about Raymond," William offers, "...but... he," meaning Ui now, surely, "... will live. I do not want to talk about it too much. It is none of my business, what decision you have or have not made. But how he moves from this point forward is up to him."
     William smiles again, it can be felt. "Europe... is not America. He is not inviting you for a drink to talk politics or the local weather. And here...in France especially... a woman shines best when she looks as if she pays attention to herself. It is only American women who wish to be casual about their first, and most formidable, gift. Themselves. Be confident. If you don't want to be nibbled, or to have him call you again, wear cotton. If you want to, if not be nibbled then considered for nibbling," brandy swishes in the glass, William watches it, "...wear your silk. Feminity is a glorious thing. You have it, cher. You should use it. You are a lovely woman, afterall," shocked that he noticed? "Accentuate that. Now, many American women mistake this for looking cheap and available. That is not what I am suggesting of course. Subtlety. Beauty. If one dresses the way one wishes to be undressed, then one is likely not to be disappointed."
     What you cannot see are indigo eyes following the trail made by a young man with white-gold hair, as well as another, an auburn-haired Italian. The Italian can be heard again: More brandy? I like the pear and honey, the liqueur.
     "Wine is always nice," William smiles. "I am always happy to sample what else is happening in the valleys, especially the others of my own valley. We had an incredible season two years ago. It will make up for the bad one I fear we shall have this year," a sigh, we have come full circle. "We will certainly sample. I have a very astute Italian in my service," a look to him, you can imagine. "And of course there is Ian and I. If we cannot tell you about wine, who can?" That is true. Their personal stock of alcohol is legendary in Europe. "So," he exhales, "... you will meet Raymond, have a lovely evening, extend my invitation, and most of all... enjoy yourself. Allow yourself a little freedom and a little fun, cher. Set that American work ethic aside," William grins, "... and vive la France...oui?"

     "Oh..." Well, now we know where her mind was, don't we? "Well, good, I'm glad. Though I don't think he took my remarks all that seriously." Back to Raymond again. Not to tread on the other subject at this point since it's been moved aside clearly enough. And none too sorry about that either, most likely.
     "Well, thank you. And that's true, I suppose. Maybe I'll just go with the silk and chiffon one. It's summery and dressy without being glitzy." She doesn't, however, seem surprised that there was notice taken. There was the trip to San Fransisco that thankfully never transpired. Things certainly would've been awkward after that. "And I have a flourite necklace that looks perfect with it."
     On to wine again, "Good, I'll do that. It seemed like they're lovely, the bouquet was perfect." She, of course, can't drink them. "And I'll get your survey of them when I come down." Never pass up an opportunity for professional bolstering, particularly when it's a joint interest. The winery still only being hers to manage after all.
     "Oui." She grins a bit, "I'll at least promise to forget about work five distinct occasions during the evening. That I'm sure I can manage without making myself a liar."

     "Silk and chiffon, very classic, very ladylike. I think that is the best. It is a good texture. Chiffon dissolves like sugar. Silk slides. Educated men pay attention to these things. As you will discover." You have yet to truly be with an 'educated' man, at least in his opinion. And William is happy for you that you are here, that you will have the opportunity to learn such things that America could never show you.
     "Very good," William smiles, "I am proud of you. Now, no more talk. We do not want to talk it to death, mais oui? We will look forward to seeing you. The castle is waiting for guests. Festival preparations in the ville are underway..."
     Ah, the trip to San Francisco. The platonic trip to San Francisco. For in truth he had nothing planned. He just wanted to get away and he didn't want to be alone. But all thoughts of the trip were set aside when Ian woke. He simply never had time to go after that. And it is the one place in America that Ian would never go. So...
     "It sounds like you will have a lovely night. And how could you not? Raymond is... a delight. A remarkable young man," and William can call him young. "I must go, I am having my boots removed for me and glasses of alcohol poured," he chuckles quietly. "Besides, you do not want to be late. Punctuality is very important..." William murmurs.

     She chuckles a bit, "Alright, that's the one then. I'm glad you approve." She's mostly teasing. It never hurts to get an opinion, and she hasn't ever been one to have hordes of girlfriends running around. They, most likely, would giggle too much for her tastes. Tori's been the closest thing and well...
     "Thank you, I'm glad to hear it. And I'm looking forward to seeing it, I never made it by when I was over before so I'm still just going on the stories." What ones she's gotten anyway. "I'm sure it'll be the hilight of the trip." And she really does seem to sound sure.
     Of course he's young, and she's but le infante. Which, really, she's used to. How could you not be when your sire was there for the conversion of Constantine and still converses in Latin for anything less than the most necessary occasions. "Well, thank you again, and I won't keep you. I'll call a couple days before I come out and check in, just to make sure nothing's come up." She switches shoulders with the phone, most likely checking her watch, "Oh, it is later than I thought. Well, night then. Take care and give Ian my regards, if you would."

     "I certainly will," William says, a soft note to end matters. He smiles brilliantly, "So, enjoy your night," the way he says that. He is already enjoying it for you! Hearing it himself, William laughs, "Okay," sudden American vernacular sounds strange in a thick French accent. "You have a good night. We will see you soon."
     And thus it is done...

Posted by rowan at September 20, 2003 01:34 PM