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

Nicole watched dispassionately as the first grapes of the harvest were placed on the altar and whispered back. ‘Has he written to Napoléon on your behalf?’

‘Of course he has. I’ve delivered him the only thing he couldn’t buy. You don’t mind, do you?’

Nicole shook her head and lied. ‘All forgotten.’

‘Just business. I knew you would understand. Friends?’

‘Friends.’ She took Thérésa’s hand and put it on her cheek. ‘You will keep your side of the bargain and not tell him about my riddling tables?’

A line of vintners in red robes processed solemnly down the aisle. She would be richer than all of them.

‘Of course not. I would never have done it anyway. You didn’t actually believe I would, did you?’

‘You can do anything you like to anyone and still make them love you for it.’

‘Let’s not talk about it any more.’ Thérésa cupped her hands together to pray and lowered her eyes. ‘I have never seen Jean-Rémy so happy. If you had any sense, you really would join forces with him, but I know how stubborn you are. Well, I can’t advise you any more.’

At the press later that day, Louis slammed the door of the office behind him.

‘What are you doing?’

‘What do you mean?

‘Flirting with that man in front of the whole town this morning at church.’

‘It’s none of your business. Go back to your wife.’

‘I have your best interests at heart, Babouchette. I’m warning you. Natasha noticed it too.’

‘You have no right to come in here, lecturing me. You make your choices, and I make mine.’

‘Thérésa is involved, I know she is. You’re playing with fire and you won’t win.’

‘I’m busy, the harvest is still coming in and there aren’t enough men. Please concentrate on that rather than some imagined misdemeanour. The daylight’s running out and the feast of St Rémi has at least motivated the workers that are here. We need to make the most of it.’

‘Be careful, please.’

‘Stop worrying about me.’

Louis left. Acid regret filled the space where he stood.

In the evening, she visited her parents at their grand mansion. She hurried past Etienne’s bar, then past Thérésa’s house, just a few doors away from where her parents lived. The big, welcoming windows of her childhood home lit up the evening with hundreds of candles burning on the chandeliers.

Her parents were worried Mentine would not be safe at boarding school in Paris. Rumours gripped the whole country that as the French troops retreated, the Russian army would follow. Everyone was afraid they would follow them right back into the French capital and attack the rest of the country from there, a terrifying thought in the quiet streets of Reims. Nicole listened, but she had other, more immediate things on her mind. She had only come to have an excuse to pass Etienne’s bar.

She left early, to get back to Bouzy, she told her parents, but she had some business first. Gesturing for the coachman to wait, she hurried to the bar, still in full swing, celebrating the feast of St Rémi.

Etienne opened the back door, just at the time they had agreed.

‘Did you give him the note?’ asked Nicole.

‘Don’t worry, I did as you said. He didn’t want to show anyone your letter of congratulations – best worker of the year, you say? He looked pretty happy about it, but he wouldn’t show anyone what it said.’

‘You know Xavier, he just likes to get on with it and he wouldn’t want to tell the lads he was being praised by a woman.’ And he’s totally out of his depth. ‘Thank you for your help though. My carriage is waiting, so I’d better go. Good night.’

The town-hall clock struck nine as she waited in the shadows. Xavier wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t follow the instructions she had written. The pink ribbon she had saved from Thérésa’s note was stuffed in his top pocket. She was pleased with that authentic touch. The evening was chilly now and he pulled his best tweed jacket tight around him, jerked down his cap over his eyes, headed for the side door of Thérésa’s house and rapped on it.

When there was no answer, he rapped again, staggering slightly.

‘It’s me,’ he whispered up at the window. ‘Xavier!’

No reply.

‘Thérésa!’

The timing was perfect: Thérésa was back in Paris, smoothing things over with Napoléon, thanks to Moët’s help.

‘Lovely evening, Xavier,’ said Nicole, stepping out of the shadows.

His face fell when he saw her.

‘I know everything. She’s dangerous, you know, and using you.’

‘She asked me to help with the garden.’

‘At this time?’

He looked stricken.

‘I wrote the note with the pink ribbon. You think she’d risk any proof in writing to you?’

She paused to let the information sink in, almost feeling sorry for her old friend.

‘You told her about my riddling tables. What were you thinking? I thought we had an agreement.’

‘I never…’

‘What would your wife say about this?’

He hung his head. ‘I’m a relief to her after all those fops and posers in Paris.’

‘That’s exactly who she’s with now. We have known each other all our lives, haven’t we?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘She’s using you. It’s impossible for a woman like her to really love any man.’ Or woman, she thought ruefully. ‘The great Thérésa Tallien would drop you like a stone if there was any whiff of scandal and she laughs at men foolish enough to fall for her. It was my trade secret she wanted from you, that’s all. Have you seen her since you told her?’

He shook his head.

‘Think about it. Your wife would be devastated.’

‘You can’t tell her. Not with our son away at war. It would break her.’

‘Then stay away from Thérésa.’

He hunched over.

‘We’ve been friends forever. You were my stalwart. I have paid your wages all your life, promised a share of the profits, but you would throw it all away for her?’

She could tell by the way he looked at her that he would do it all again if Thérésa gave him one ounce of encouragement.

‘If you ever meet her again –