The French House by Helen Fripp (english readers TXT) 📗

painted it had got her ethereal white skin just right. The figure next to Alexander was unmistakably Thérésa. Underneath was an inscription: in perpetuum. Nicole searched the dusty corridors of her convent school education for the Latin: forever. The miniature portrait was surrounded by heart-shaped rubies, rich as claret, and underneath, scintillating on a delicate link below the image, was a diamond as big as an egg.

‘He should know that affairs with you are never forever, Tsar of Russia or not,’ giggled Nicole.

‘I knew you’d understand.’

‘Napoléon found out about this? Alexander I’s army has killed thousands of French men. You could be hanged as a traitor!’

‘He is being such an impossible prude about it, after all he’s done, and he’s threatening to tell my husband. Just a little flirtation, nothing more. And how do you think I secured Louis’ release for you? It was impossible for me to give back such a lavish gift. I have six children, darling, and men are so unreliable these days. You’re right, he’s threatening to have me jailed as a traitor. I’m not sure even I can charm my way out of this one. You will help me, won’t you?’

Nicole took the cherries and wine out of her bag. ‘Tell me everything. Only crystal will do for this wine. It’s ten years old.’

Thérésa rallied. ‘Yes, everything you do is so right.’

‘You would do better dealing in bottles like me. Life is so much simpler that way.’ She offered her a cherry.

‘Yes, but so dull.’ Thérésa took a bite and smudged the juice from her lips. ‘If this gets out, I will be frozen out of French society forever and my husband will be ruined, and that’s if I can save my neck and keep myself out of jail. I’m a practical woman, whatever you might think. I’m not getting any younger and I can’t lose another husband. If you help me, I can weather this storm, and when it’s blown over, I promise I’ll retire to a little mansion somewhere in Paris and even become respectable.’

‘I will most certainly not help you to become respectable. But I will help in any other way I can.’

‘No chance you’d sell a teensy bit of your land to Moët? Just to shut him up, he’s being such a bore. He’s very influential and I’m sure if I could tell him I’ve persuaded you…’

Nicole froze. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘What would it matter to you? You could buy different land with the money, somewhere away from Reims, and be free of him. He’s determined to stop you.’

‘Put it out of your head right now. I don’t even want to talk about it.’

‘Darling, so stubborn to the end. All right, all right, it was worth a try. I’ll never understand why you won’t do the smallest thing to make your life easier.’ Thérésa popped another cherry in her mouth, spat out the pip. ‘Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man…’ She picked up the final pip and looked Nicole straight in the eye. ‘… thief. What if I told your little trade secret? Moët would do anything for it, you know.’

‘Unlike you, I have no secrets,’ said Nicole, meeting her gaze with a growing sense of unease.

‘Now you’re not being honest with me,’ said Thérésa. She ate another cherry and held up the pip. ‘Rich woman?’

‘What are you trying to do?’

Thérésa’s eyes were granite. ‘You’re normally so perspicacious. I’ll spell it out. Moët is friends with Napoléon. He could put in a good word for me, bring back my social capital, get me out of hot water. All you have to do is sell some of your precious land to him and invest the money elsewhere.’

‘You’re not actually serious, are you? It’s more than just land, it’s my life. And I’ll never find such perfect, grand cru land on the open market. Families work centuries to own such prime spots and they never sell.’

Thérésa pushed the wine glass away. ‘I’m deadly serious, Nicole. I’m rather busy this afternoon, so will have to cut this short. Your clever little invention, the riddling table, the one that means your champagne will be clearer than anyone else’s in the world? Moët’s dying to know all about it. Sell, or your little trade secret becomes public knowledge. The choice is yours, darling. Don’t look so shocked. It’s a tough world out there.’

‘Who told you?’

‘Men will tell you anything if you get them in the right way. Let me know your decision. So sorry, I must rush now. Can’t keep Monsieur Moët waiting. I take it you’d rather not bump into him when he calls?’

Bundling herself out of Thérésa’s grand mansion, Nicole hurried along to her cellars, reeling. There was not a minute to waste. How could she ever have thought that Thérésa could truly by anyone’s ally, let alone hers? She had given herself to her so completely in the past that she thought that might count for something. She should have realised that their special bond was just another weapon that Thérésa used to get exactly what she wanted – complete devotion, and material gains. Nicole was just collateral damage. She felt sick with anger – and hurt, a foolish, naïve young girl again, despite everything that she had achieved. She should have been more watchful, and not let herself get blindsided by – what, love? Affection? Danger? She had worshipped all these things about Thérésa. What a bloody fool!

As soon as she reached the safety of the cellars, her heart slowed. The lamps lit her way like glow-worms on a spring night, bottles still and quiet and working their magic. She took a breath; it was her perennial place of safety. And there was a job to be done.

From her waist, Nicole took the heavy key, turned it, and quietly closed the door behind her. Four pairs of eyes stared out of the gloom, lit by a single lamp, gathered around the riddling table. Xavier looked more like an old