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

take risks, but you’re no fool. Just tell me.’

‘I should have let you lock the door to the riddling room last week.’

His expression darkened. ‘You mean the Russian buyer? What the hell has he done?’

‘He saw everything, he knows everything, and now he’s staying with Jean-Rémy at his house. I haven’t heard from him since…’

‘You were expecting to?’

‘Desperately. I’ve been so stupid – and after all we’ve been through!’

He put his hand on hers. ‘A woman capable of love and making mistakes, like everyone else. Here.’

She dried her eyes with his handkerchief and stared out of the window. The entire garden was a vegetable patch and Marta was hacking at the dry ground. Louis snatched his hands away when she looked up at them.

‘I shouldn’t have come.’

‘I’m glad you did. This isn’t the worst crisis we’ve ever faced. Your secret was bound to get out sooner or later, and you don’t even know yet that it has.’

‘I knew you’d understand, darling Louis. I can see that you are needed here, with your family, but if you are willing, I have a plan that might salvage something in this mess. I calculate that we still have months over everyone else and if we can be the first to ship to Russia, my champagne has already impressed enough buyers over there to stay in the lead. But it would mean asking you to go to Paris to call on any connections you can, and finding a way to get the year of the comet champagne shipped before anyone else has the same idea. It’s a lot to ask, especially when Paris is in turmoil. I’d happily go myself, but a woman would be too conspicuous with all the curfews and…’

Louis held up his hand. ‘You don’t need to say another word. Of course I’ll go. I would have had the idea even if you hadn’t. We’ve survived drought, jail, revolution and near-bankruptcy. This is nothing compared to all that, a minor setback, that’s all.’

‘It’s more than a setback, and my fault entirely. I’ve given away the only advantage we had.’

‘I’ll find a way. It’s not just the winery, is it? You’ve fallen for that bastard. He doesn’t deserve you, but that’s not my business.’ He frowned. ‘Strange how we’ve both fallen for Russians and we are now trapped by our actions, but if things had been different…’

Marta appeared in the doorway, holding Misha’s hand, a little carbon copy of his father, with his mother’s eyes.

‘Louis, milaya, Misha was asking for you.’

‘Of course, I’m sorry, I must be going,’ choked Nicole.

The rue des Murs blurred with her tears. Marta was absolutely right to fight for her little family. Louis was the best salesman in Reims and he could have found a job with any one of the merchants within a thirty-kilometre radius, yet he’d stuck with her, and Marta was working the land to put food on the table because of it. This plan had to work, for her, for Louis and his family, and for all the workers who depended on her.

When Nicole arrived back at the cellars, Madame Olivier was waiting for her in her office, a smear of powder barely concealing a swollen black eye.

‘What happened?’ asked Nicole.

‘It looks worse than it feels. I must try not to be so clumsy with that barn door. He said he’d fix it, but the catch came off a week ago and he did nothing about it. Entirely my own fault, blundering around. It’s much easier for me if you don’t mention it again.’

Nicole bristled. ‘Take my advice and leave all those unfixed catches, nails sticking up, and broken stairs your husband so regularly forgets, and never go back.’

‘Some things are more important than a few bruises – I’d rather put up with them than invite scandal, like you, if you don’t mind me saying.’

‘What do you mean, like me?’

‘I don’t mean to pry, or gossip, but I couldn’t help noticing your encounters with your latest buyer and the sparkle in your eye, which I see so rarely nowadays, when you’re with him, which I must say is more frequent than decency allows.’

Dear Madame Olivier, she loved gossip and could never resist, but she always looked out for her.

‘If this is your way of telling me to be careful, there’s no need. There is absolutely nothing between me and that man. In fact, it can’t have escaped you that the whole battalion have left town, along with him.’

‘He hasn’t quite left… I met him at Monsieur Moët’s. Such a charming gentleman and he quite offended Monsieur Moët with his praise of you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He was at the tasting yesterday at Épernay. He insisted that none of Monsieur Moët’s wines could hold a candle to yours and that he could never hope to beat the competition and Monsieur Moët was very ungallant and said—’

‘I’d rather not know,’ said Nicole. ‘I’m sick of it all. But thank you for the information as always. You don’t need to any more, you know. I worry that I am the cause of your black eye from all your… rushing around.’

‘That’s my business, thank you. Funny isn’t it, that the town couldn’t care less about this’ – she touched her eye painfully – ‘but they do about you and your comings and goings, which are nobody’s concern and do no one any harm. Well, I must be going, but I thought you should know, that’s all.’

‘And I’m grateful, Madame Olivier, really. I just can’t seem to pick myself up like I used to.’

Madame Olivier tutted, kissed her with a, ‘No time for such talk, chin up,’ and left.

Nicole slumped into her chair, opened the ledger, winced at all the red entries and closed it again immediately.

A slow week passed. The air was as stale as she felt and Nicole did nothing. The thought of the cellars, or the fields, or anything to do with the business was too depressing, considering the advantage she may have given her biggest