Peter and I are met at Zurich airport by a driver. Peter recognizes him by sight. We hop in the back of the Mercedes and soon we're racing down the autobaun. Two hours later we are pulling up to the boat launch at Lac Ste. Jeanne.
As the evening sun settles over the serated ridge, I take in the gorgeous vista before me. The writer me makes mental notes: the plane, the car ride, the Alpine lake. You have a pronounced sense of going somewhere, of covering ground.
It's like a journey back in time.
The island is just a half hour boatride away. As we circle to the back side, I glimpse the house. It's an elegant stone construction with a terraced lawn and a castle-like turret. As we tie up at the dock, I see a figure running across the lawn to greet us.
"Pierre!" she shouts.
"Pierre?" I ask, sardonically. I had always known him as Peter.
"Family secret. The first of many to fall" he cracks as he waves to her. It's his sister, Isabelle.
Isabelle is a creature to behold. Lean and graceful, she bounds across the expanse of grass, a full mane of brown curly hair flowing behind her. As she reaches the dock, I see her face, beautiful in the afternoon light. She has a beaming smile as she hugs her brother.
"Izzy, this is my friend Jake I told you about." He turns to me.
"Bien sur. Of course, L'ecrivain fameux. The famous writer."
She has the most charming French accent. And that face. Perfect high cheekbones and the most beautiful hazel eyes I've ever seen.
"Enchante, Mademoiselle."
"Oh, he speaks French? Pee-Pee you didn't tell me."
"No, my French is atrocious. I've just used up my entire vocabulary."
"Pee-pee, you didn't tell me he was charming as well as handsome!" she says warmly. She takes us both by the arms.
"What about our bags?" I ask. Peter replies with a flip of his hand.
"Auguste will take care of them."
As we head up to the house, I can't resist.
"Pee-pee?"
Peter laughs. "I told you, all the family secrets will be bared."
And with that, the three of us walk arm in arm to the house.
I'm totally unprepared for what I encounter inside. The large antique door opens to a stone entry way. Beams of dark wood grace the ceiling and enormous Persian rugs line the hardwood floor. Huge flower arrangements frame the stairway to the upper floors. I can see straight through an open door to the back of the house, into to a large room with a huge stone fireplace. Summer house? More like a villa.
"I'll let Mum and Dad know you're here" says Isabelle as she strides off.
I follow Peter up the stairs which lead to a suite of rooms facing the lake. He takes me to where I'll be staying, a beautiful, high-ceilinged room with floor-to-ceiling French doors opening onto a large terrace. A large canopied bed, armoir, and marble top dresser complete the room.
"This'll be your digs for the next week" says Peter.
"Not bad" I reply. "Not bad at all."
"This is the young people's floor. Mom and Dad's rooms are upstairs."
"Rooms?"
"Oh yes, they've had separate bedrooms for years. Helps keep the peace."
"I understand." And I did. All too well.
"Do you want to meet the the royal highnesses or rest up a bit?"
"Hey." I reply. "Bring it on."
Peter smiles and we head off down the hallway.
"This is Isabelle's room next to yours. This is mine. This is the playroom. Parents not allowed."
We circle down to the first floor, this time descending a different staircase. It takes us through the kitchen where two servants are preparing that evening's dinner. Peter gives a large woman in an apron a big hug.
"Francesca! La plus belle femme du monde!" Peter cries as he plants a big kiss on her forehead. An older man comes over to shake Peter's hand. "Claude, comment allez vous? Jake, meet Monsieur and Madame Fleury, the greatest cooks in all of Switzerland. They're the glue that holds this place together."
I shake hands with them both. The door opens and a striking young woman enters in a maid's outfit. She's a dark beauty, maybe nineteen, with lovely legs and dark, romantic eyes.
"Justine! Comment ca va? Tu es plus belle que je souviens!" He kisses her on both cheeks, clasping hands.
"Justine, je me presente mon ami Jake. Jake meet Justine. She's the lovely daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Fleury, the most beautiful little pastry ever to grace this household, AND...she speaks absolutely no English!"
Justine smiles and gives a little curtsy. I nod my head and say "Bonjour." I feel our eyes hold each other's gaze for a brief moment.
As we head out of the kitchen, Peter says under his breath. "Oh, if she wasn't practically my sister, my God!"
We make our way to through a large formal dining room and into the living room, the large room with the fireplace I'd seen on my arrival. An older gentleman in a smoking jacket is sitting in an easy chair reading the newspaper. On the couch is a younger dark-haired woman, very well dressed, holding a cigarette and tumbler in one hand and a book in the other.
"We're here" calls out Peter as he strides in the room. He goes to his mother and kisses her on both cheeks. He then crosses to his father and shakes his hand, formally. I'm struck by the contrast between this greeting and the one I'd just witnessed in the kitchen.
"Mother, Father, I'd like to present my friend Jake Scott." I'm a bit surprised by the formality of the introduction and I put on my very best manners. I shake hands with his Mother first.
"Enchantez, Madame. Avec plaisir." She gives me a look that strikes me as pleasantly surprised.
"Welcome to our home, Jake. Why Peter, you didn't mention how handsome your young friend was. It's a pleasure to have you as our guest."
"And Peter's descriptions of your beauty didn't do you justice" I respond, hoping not to hear Peter bust out laughing.
"Oh, Peter, he IS charming." She looks me up and down. "Tres charmant."
I move to Peter's Dad to shake hands and give a slight bow. "Merci Monsieur pour votre invitation."
I was laying on the bullshit, but it felt like the right thing to do. I glance at Peter and he was just watching me
with a smile on my face.
