The French House

by Helen Fripp

  No news came from him and after a week she heard rumours in the bakery that all Russian troops were heading back to the border. He couldn’t just leave without saying goodbye, could he?

  Pinot was happy to be saddled up and ridden fast to the camp. When she got there, it was deserted. Nothing but patches of campfire ashes and a hundred tent-shaped patches in the field where they’d been. A couple of soldiers were picking up litter and debris, trailing sacks for the purpose.

  She spurred Pinot to the two men and they stopped and saluted.

  ‘Madame,’ said the one with the most medals on his jacket.

  ‘Bonjour, Capitaine. Where is everyone?’

  ‘Gone, Madame. We’re going home at last. It’s a long march back, but towards happiness and not a moment too soon. My son will be four years old now – he was a babe in arms when I left.’

  ‘I have some final business with General Marin. When did he leave?’

  ‘He hasn’t been here all week, Madame, but he’s not far, at Monsieur Moët’s mansion in Épernay. Who can blame him; it’s a bit grander than a tent in a field and they’re old friends.’

  Pinot stamped as she gripped his flanks.

  ‘In fact, I’m desperate to get on the road after this and catch up with the lads.’ The soldier fished in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled sealed note. ‘If you’re going back to Reims, could I trouble you…? He said I was to deliver this before I go, but it would save me a few hours.’

  She blinked at the note. It had her name on it. She forced a smile.

  ‘Happy coincidence. It’s for me! He hadn’t forgotten his business after all and I’m glad to save you some time. I wish you luck, my friend. Go home to your family and look after them well – you’ve earned peace for the rest of your life!’

  He saluted her once more, tied his sack and kitbag to his horse and rode off, whistling with his fellow soldier.

  As soon as he was out of sight, she opened the note. Two words: I’m sorry. And at the bottom of the envelope, something metal. She held it up to the light: a round cork-branding tool carved with a picture of a comet – exactly like the one he’d joined their names with on the cellar wall.

  The realisation was a punch in the guts. She’d given him – and now Moët – the riddling tables.

  Chapter 29

  Another Life

  Mid-May 1814

  The doorway on rue des Murs was flaking and worn; the medieval walls bulged. Nicole had known Louis all these years and never been to his house. Washing hung across the road and slops piled up in the streets, landing wherever neighbours chucked it from the windows. She’d been so preoccupied with her own troubles, she’d never once stopped to think about the circumstances of her closest and most faithful business ally, and he’d never said a word to her about the pittance she paid him in these difficult times.

  She rapped on the door and his wife Marta answered. She was thinner than she remembered, and her hands were red-raw. Marta stiffened.

  ‘Madame Clicquot. What brings you here?’

  ‘Is Louis… Monsieur Bohne at home?’

  Marta beckoned her in with a jerk of her head and Nicole squeezed past her in the narrow corridor.

  ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you in your home, but it’s urgent.’

  ‘Wait here.’ Marta’s Russian accent was much stronger than Alexei’s.

  Louis came running, buttoning his shirt collar and wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he said.

  ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Of course, follow me.’

  He took her to the parlour, overlooking the garden, and pulled out a chair for her. A threadbare rocking horse stood in the corner, the fire was dying in the hearth, home-made curtains hung at the window and the sun streamed in. A happy, cosy home. She felt like an intruder.

  ‘What’s happened?’ said Louis.

  ‘I’ve been a fool.’

  ‘I doubt that. You 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.’
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  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 rival. All there was to do was wait to hear from Louis.

  She was sitting outside on the veranda looking idly at the rows of lavender and trying not to think, when Madame Olivier came bustling up the path, waving two letters.

  ‘I promised Thomas at the poste I’d deliver them as I was coming this way. I wonder who they’re from?’

  Nicole grabbed them from her. ‘Not who you’re imagining, but thank you for coming out of your way, Madame Olivier.’

  ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ said Madame Olivier, straining to look at the contents. ‘Unless you’d like me to wait for you to reply? I’m going back that way.’

  ‘Very kind, but I can manage, thank you.’

  Nicole hurried to her office to open the letters in private. One was from Louis, and the other’s authorship presaged by the trademark expensive ribbon – Thérésa!

  She opened Louis’ first.

  He was already in Paris, which apparently was packed, with barely a hotel room to be had. He was sleeping on a pallet at a friend’s hotel, he said, though she suspected he didn’t have the funds for anything else. The little she had been able to give him for the journey was pathetic. British and Russian troops were everywhere, mustering for their homeward journeys, but the whole place was rejoicing at the restoration of order. He was going to see tomorrow if he could secure an audience with the Russian ambassador, and to that end, he’d managed to find a place to hang his only remaining decent suit, slightly threadbare and out of fashion now, but respectable, nevertheless.

  She thought of the first time she had met Louis – ruddy cheeks, shock of ginger locks, shaggy wolfskin coat and knee-high galoshes, exuding warmth and fellowship. Now his hair was thinning and all he had to his name was a threadbare suit and hope. Hope that rested on her shoulders alone. She prayed that his faith in her was not misplaced.

  The ribbon on Thérésa’s letter was slippery and smooth; it was a long time since she’d felt such fine material. She pooled it carefully on her desk – Mentine would be delighted – and opened the letter.

  I’m here in Reims, back in your little country backwater! Paris is teeming with soldiers and so much boring politicking, so I have escaped to tranquillity. Are we friends again now? Come and see me straight away in the rue de la Vache.

  As ever, etc.

  Your Thérésa

  It was an irresistible invitation.

  Nicole hesitated by the mirror, tidied her hair, pinched her cheeks and hurried to Thérésa’s grand mansion in town. The last time she was here was with Xavier, in the dead of night. Wherever Thérésa was, the sickly-sweet whiff of scandal was never far away and it would be a welcome distraction. What poor man had fallen foul of her charms this time?

  ‘You came! So we are friends again?’ exclaimed Thérésa and hugged her so tight her bun fell out. She fixed it back up.

  ‘Of course. You know no one can resist you for very long.’

  Nicole knew that she could never be as careless with Thérésa again. But she was too much fun. When Thérésa was in town, she brought colour and an edge of danger and she couldn’t bear to cut her out of her life completely.

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly. Come along.’

  She hurried her through the house, arranged them both on the sofas in the orangery and called for fashionable English tea. Thérésa looked as fresh as the first day she’d met her nine years ago. She couldn’t even count how many husbands ago that was.

  Thérésa took her hand. ‘The last time we met, you and your lovely Mentine were making a dramatic flight from Paris. You say your life is dull in comparison to mine, but there’s always something gloriously portentous happening. You must tell me all the latest gossip.’

  ‘Oh, just the usual. My business is on its knees and the whole town is delighting in my demise. It’s only what they think I deserve for having the temerity to work for a living.’

  ‘Tsk, darling. Do I detect the spark has left my country firefly?’

  ‘I’ve had my successes, but disaster is never far away.’

  ‘You mean your friend General Marin?’

  ‘Not you as well, listening to the town gossip?’

  ‘I’ve heard all about how you single-handedly fought off ten Prussian ruffians, were rescued by their general and since then he’s been buying your wine like it’s water and following you around like a puppy dog.’

  ‘You’ve got that very wrong.’

  ‘I don’t think so, chérie. I heard it all from the man himself.’

  ‘Don’t tell me he’s another in your long line of victims?’

  ‘Alexei! He’s been a friend since I can remember. Don’t look at me like that, not that kind of friend. Of course, one has to try, but he was too bloody honourable for any of that.’

  Despite everything, Nicole was flooded with relief.

  ‘Can we change the subject?

  ‘So you are a little in love with him. And he with you, though he’s done his best not to show it. Listen, I know him. He’s married and, unlike most other men, he’s loyal to the end, whatever the temptation. His wife needs him, and he won’t have her taken from his home and put in an asylum, though God knows, it would be the best place for her. She’s never been the same since their son died in Alexei’s arms on the battlefield. He watched him bleed to death, helpless. I hear he cried like a baby and his wife collapsed when she heard and is like the walking dead, alive but lifeless.’

  Everything fell into place. He’d tried to tell her in so many ways. The day in the square when he saw her with Mentine on the way to the dress shop, the drawing of the missing duckling, the constant look of pain in his eyes.

  ‘He wanted to help you, but he didn’t want you to know.’

  ‘I don’t understand. There’s no one in France who wants me to fail more than Jean-Rémy, and Alexei has done everything he can to help him with that ambition.’

  ‘Let me help things along a little,’ said Thérésa.

  Before Nicole could protest, she was whisked through the grand ballroom, into the next room.

  ‘I’ll leave you two to chat,’ said Thérésa.

  Sitting nervously by the fireplace was Alexei. He jumped to his feet.

  �
��I’m leaving tomorrow for Paris, then back to the border and Russia. I wanted to explain.’

  ‘You should have told me you had a family.’ She surprised even herself in asking him that question before calling him out on his defection to Moët.

  ‘I didn’t want to break the spell.’

  ‘I’m glad that’s how you felt, too.’

  ‘Thérésa gave me something,’ he said.

  It was then she saw the leather bag on the chair where Alexei had been sitting.

  ‘Thérésa’s necklace from the Tsar! Where did you get it? The last time I saw it, it was locked in my office drawer.’

  ‘She said you stole it from her, so she got it back. Don’t ask me how, she’s got more of a head for manoeuvres than anyone I’ve known in my entire army career. Don’t be angry, I was worried you wouldn’t trust me, and she said this would help.’

  He held it out to her. ‘Proof that I am on your side. You know I could use it to buy myself a lot of favours, or sell it to Moët, but you should have it.

  She took it, still not sure whether to trust him.

  ‘What the hell were you doing at Jean-Rémy’s?’

  ‘He invited me and I accepted. I saw you struggling, the whole town against you, and one of the most powerful vintners in the country hell-bent on bringing you down and I wanted to do something about it. He thinks I’m brokering a deal for him to get his comet champagne to Russia before you’ve even thought about it. All the time he’s trusting me to get him through the trade blockades to St Petersburg buys you more time. The truth is, I don’t have as much influence as he thinks when it comes to trade matters.’

  Nicole looked at the necklace and smiled. This could be her biggest coup yet.

  ‘This gives you all the influence you need.’

  She leapt to her feet so she could think straight and look at the plan she was forming from all angles.

  ‘I understand you’re one of the Tsar’s most trusted generals? You can at least get a message to him where others couldn’t?’