The Wine Widow

by Tessa Barclay

She didn’t appear for Sunday lunch. The manor house kitchen was abuzz with the drama that had taken place in Calmady, but no one said a word or gave a hint to Nicole. She knew something was wrong but couldn’t find out what ‒ Madame de Tramont stayed in her room, claiming she had a headache, and certainly, from the tisanes and hartshorn being taken in by the maid, it seemed to be true.

  Her first notion of what had happened came next morning. The butler announced that Monsieur Labaud was in the hall, asking to see her before the day’s work started. She left her breakfast untasted to hurry out to him. ‘What’s wrong? Has the cuvée ‒’

  ‘It’s not about the wine, madame,’ Jean-Baptiste said. He made a gesture inviting her to lead the way to her office. She did so, with a sinking of the heart. Something bad was about to happen, judging by Jean-Baptiste’s face.

  ‘Well?’ she challenged, whirling about as soon as he had closed the door behind them.

  ‘I’ve come to give you notice that I’m quitting your employment.’

  Icy fingers clutched at her chest. A momentary blackness hovered. When she recovered only seconds later, Jean-Baptiste was guiding her to a chair.

  ‘What ‒ what ‒?’

  For one blissful moment she thought it was some nightmare she had just had.

  But then she looked into her lover’s eyes, and knew she had not dreamed it.

  Chapter 13

  When Jean-Baptiste began to explain, it was a confirmation of all Nicole’s worst fears, and more.

  ‘She went to your house! Oh, how could she ‒’

  ‘She feels she has a responsibility as head of the family, my love. We may not see it that way, but her conviction that she’s the guardian of the family honour is strong. So she blunders in where others might let well alone. And the result is, I must go.’

  ‘No, I won’t hear of it! Go, just because she has ordered you ‒?’

  ‘No, no, it’s not that, Nicci.’ He sighed. ‘It’s more than that. I suppose I was always aware that Yvonne knew about us …’

  ‘What?’ Nicole cried in dismay.

  ‘Oh, come now, Nicci ‒ you know village life. Nothing can be a secret. If you thought Yvonne didn’t know, you were fooling yourself. And now, of course, she’s had to come out with it, to put the old lady in her place. The only thing is … I can’t hurt her any more.’

  They had always avoided discussing Jean-Baptiste’s wife. Nicole knew her, of course, had known her quite well when she was a village girl herself. Yvonne was plump, fair-haired, and of average good looks. She went to church regularly, made all her own preserves, and never talked about anything except the growth of her few rows of vines and the progress of her children. In Nicole’s eyes, she had always been ‘middle-aged’.

  She and Jean-Baptiste had been married for sixteen years. Nicole understood that it had been a marriage more or less arranged by the families, none the less happy for that. Of the three children Lucien, the eldest, appeared to have musical talent which was fostered ‒ against doubts on Yvonne’s side ‒ by his father. Andre was interested in the vines. The girl, Josephine, was a smaller version of her mother, earnestly nursing her wooden doll and discussing its symptoms of croup with the other little girls.

  ‘If you leave Tramont, you hurt me, Jean-Baptiste,’ Nicole said. ‘Doesn’t that matter to you?’

  He didn’t even trouble to answer that reproach. Instead he said: ‘You see, I saw Yvonne quite differently yesterday. She stood up to the old lady ‒! I was amazed, I’d never seen her like that. And I realized something that hadn’t really occurred to me before, my dear. Yvonne really loves me.’

  ‘Oh, Jeannot ‒’

  ‘You’ve got to understand. She’s one of those people who gets nothing out of life except what’s given to her. She’s a simple woman ‒ she just accepts whatever happens, and lives with it. It seems that for the past months she’s had to live with a lot of secret grief. I can’t do that to her any more, Nicci.’

  ‘But if she always knew, and did nothing ‒’

  ‘What do you want? That I should meet her unhappy eyes every time I go home, and know she’s wondering if I’ve been with you? Be always apologizing?’ His face went grim. ‘Perhaps it’s arrogant, but I can’t live like that. There could only be two choices ‒ either I stay here and brazen it out no matter how it hurts Yvonne, or I go. So I’ve decided to go.’

  ‘You’ve decided! Without even discussing it with me!’ She took him by the arm and actually tried to shake him. ‘How dare you do that!’

  ‘There isn’t anything to discuss. I’ve made up my mind. I wrote to Monsieur Uthers last night ‒’

  ‘To whom? Uthers? Who is he ‒ oh, the American!’ Her hands flew to her cheeks. She felt cold and frightened. ‘The American? You wrote to America?’

  ‘No, to Paris. He’s still there. He told me he wouldn’t be sailing until April because he intended to visit other wine-makers.’

  ‘You had his address in Paris? I don’t understand!’

  ‘He offered me a job on his winery in California, Nicci. Of course I refused ‒ I didn’t have the least interest in it then. But he insisted on giving me his card with the Paris hotel written on the back, in case I changed my mind. And I have.’

  ‘You can’t go to California, Jeannot!’ She threw herself against him, arms around his body to hold him safe and hard. ‘You can’t go so far away! I won’t let you! Don’t, don’t talk about a thing like that, Jeannot, please don’t!’

  ‘But I can’t stay here, Nicci.’ He held her gently, stroking her cheek.

  ‘All right, I agree ‒ you feel you must leave Tramont, and I give in over that. But you could get a job at any champagne house in the district by simply asking, Jeannot ‒’

  ‘What would be the good of that? We should see each other, it would be inevitable. We should come across one another in Epernay or Rheims and we’d be in a hotel making love within half an hour.’

  ‘Jeannot!’ She was blushing at his bluntness. She hid her face against his chest. ‘No, we’d be honourable ‒’

  ‘Don’t fool yourself, Nicci. You went to England, remember? To break it off between us. And the minute you came back we were in each other’s arms the very first moment.’

  She had no argument against that. She struggled with the tears that were welling up as she understood that he really meant it ‒ he was leaving her, going to the other side of the world.

  ‘Yvonne and I talked it all out yesterday,’ he explained, his voice a little unsteady. ‘She’s forgiven me for my unfaithfulness ‒ or at least, she’s said we can put it behind us, because she’s so … so good she doesn’t think there’s anything to forgive. And though she’s scared at the idea of leaving France, she feels it may be for the best because the little girl has what Yvonne calls growing pains ‒ but you know it could be the first sign of the bone-twister, and this climate is hard … California is sunny, Monsieur Uthers says. Mild weather all the year round.’

  ‘He would have told you the streets were paved with gold if he thought it would get you there!’ Nicole said, straightening and trying to argue back. ‘What on earth would you do there, Jean-Baptiste! You’re a man of Champagne.’

  ‘There are other wines besides champagne, you know.’

  She gave a shaky laugh. ‘That’s almost heresy. When I hear you talk like that, I know you mean it.’

  ‘That I mean to go? Yes, it’s settled. I’ll wait to hear from Monsieur Uthers, of course, but I know he’ll take me. He said we should have a good house and I could have a share of the profits. He even said he knew of a good music teacher for Lucien.’

  She was shaken to understand how much negotiation had clearly taken place, while she was totally unaware of it. She’d looked on Jean-Baptiste as a fixture, like the sun in the sky or the buildings of Rheims. Unable to bear it, she burst out, ‘What shall I do without you?’

  He took both her hands, yet kept a distance between them. ‘Don’t be too worried. I’ve thought of a replacem
ent as chief cellarman. You must promote my assistant, Compiain’s son ‒’

  ‘I didn’t mean that, Jeannot! You know I didn’t ‒’

  ‘But it’s got to be thought of. I can’t leave you with no one to direct the cellars. Arnaud is less communicative than a thistle and about as handsome, but he knows the wine. He’s been due for a promotion for some time now. He might have gone elsewhere to get it, since there seemed no chance of my moving out. But now he’ll stay, and be glad of it, and he’ll make good champagne if you just keep complaining when he goes a little astray with the blending.’

  ‘Jeannot, don’t talk business! You’re going away ‒ leaving me ‒ I can’t bear it ‒’

  ‘Yes you can. You’ve got other things to fill your life.’

  ‘What? You mean all this?’ She made a sweeping gesture that took in the office, and beyond it the estate with its cellars and the land with its rows of vines. ‘They mean nothing compared with losing you ‒’

  ‘Nicci, you got over it when Philippe died, and that was a worse thing than this separation.’

  She started, a gesture of surprise and denial.

  ‘Oh yes it was, Nicci. Don’t let’s lie to each other. Philippe was the man you really loved.’

  ‘But I love you, Jeannot ‒’

  ‘Yes, but not … not the way I feel about you.’ He gave a great sigh from his deep chest, easing the burden of putting his thoughts into words. ‘I always loved you, Nicole. From the moment you stopped being a little girl, you were the only woman in the world as far as I was concerned. But there seemed no point in even thinking about it. You loved Philippe ‒ it brimmed over from you like champagne from a narrow glass. I knew I was only second-best ‒ well, that was all right. You see, in love, there’s always someone who loves and someone who is the beloved. You were my beloved, my darling, and you always will be. But you’ll turn to other things, just as I will, and life will go on, and we’ll both survive …’

  ‘Oh no! No, no no! I can’t bear it, Jeannot! Don’t leave me! Don’t ‒ the loneliness will kill me!’

  ‘Not you, my angel.’ He took her in his arms and kissed her, deeply and with intensity. Only afterwards did she understand that it was a farewell kiss.

  There was an unexplained delay in starting work on the Tramont estate that morning. Madame, usually out and about soon after eight, was nowhere to be seen. Even Labaud was late in going to the cellars.

  Nicole had gone to her mother-in-law’s boudoir. She knocked as always.

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Clothilde.

  ‘It’s Nicole.’

  ‘Oh! I … I can’t see you. I have the headache.’

  ‘Madame, please let me come in. I have spoken to Jean-Baptiste.’

  A silence on the other side of the door seemed to last for infinity. Then Clothilde said faintly: ‘Come in.’

  She was sitting by her fire with a breakfast tray on a small table before her. The croissants were untasted, the coffee looked cold and uninviting. Clothilde herself seemed to sag in her comfortable little armchair.

  It was rare for Madame de Tramont to be seen except at her best. This morning her hair hadn’t yet been done, nor was there that faint trace of powder on her cheeks to tone down her florid complexion.

  She looked up at her daughter-in-law almost fearfully. ‘What has Labaud said to you?’

  ‘He’s leaving.’

  ‘Oh.’ There was neither triumph nor pleasure in the faint exclamation.

  ‘Madame, a while ago I told you to leave, and now I tell you again. But I don’t say it in anger this time. I think we should find each other poor company for the rest of your proposed stay. So it’s best that you go.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Clothilde. It was almost a relief to have the decision made. She’d been debating whether to pack and go, yet it seemed like retreat to do so. Retreat not from her daughter-in-law, but from Jean-Baptiste Labaud.

  ‘I won’t heap reproaches on you. You thought that what you did was right, I suppose. But I can tell you you have lost me the best and most dependable friend I ever had.’

  ‘Friend!’

  ‘Oh yes, Jean-Baptiste was my friend. He was other things too ‒ the best chief of cellar in the whole Champagne region. Did you think of that, before you went rampaging into his house to make his life impossible here?’

  ‘I … I … I was more concerned with morals.’

  Nicole nodded. It was useless to go on with the conversation. They were worlds apart in their view of life. At the door she paused, turning back to look at the older woman. ‘Madame, have you ever been in love?’

  ‘What?’ cried Clothilde in astonishment.

  ‘Your marriage with Monsieur le Marquis was arranged?’

  ‘Naturally. But we became devoted to each other.’

  ‘Devoted … Did you love him? Did it make your very bones melt when he took you in his arms?’

  Clothilde gaped at her in complete incomprehension.

  ‘No, I see it was never like that for you. Ah, well … I’m sorry for you, madame.’

  She opened the door and went out, leaving Madame de Tramont more unhappy than she could explain.

  Chapter 14

  Though Nicole steeled herself for the ordeal of an estate party to say farewell to Jean-Baptiste and his family, she didn’t see him again before he left for Paris to join Franklin Uthers for the voyage to America.

  A despairing letter came from Paulette, the ink running here and there where her tears had spotted the paper. ‘I beg you to come! Auguste has gone. I now find there are unsettled debts all over Rethel. Contracts for building work cannot be met. The workmen are besieging me for their wages. I don’t know what to do! Help me, Nicci!’

  It was impossible to deny such an appeal. Nicole told Monsieur Pourdume to make a handsome present of money to Jean-Baptiste when he attended the farewell party in her stead, and set off for Rethel. By train and post-chaise it took only one day.

  The Ardennes was a district that Nicole found forbidding. She had always thought it a pity that Auguste’s home was there, for she was sure her sister was intimidated by the darkly-wooded hills stretching up from the valleys of the Meuse and Aisne, so different from the chalky plain of Champagne.

  When she stepped down at the tidy little stone villa, her sister flew out to fall on her neck in tears. ‘Oh, Nicci! If you only knew how glad I am to see you! Oh, Nicci darling, sort out this terrible mess for me!’

  Little Edmond, hanging on to his mother’s skirt, burst into tears. Nicole detached herself from Paulette after giving her a hug and a kiss, picked up the wailing child, ordered the coachman to bring in her valise, and led the way indoors.

  ‘Now,’ she said, sitting her down on the sofa, ‘tell me all about it.’

  ‘I don’t know how to explain it! I never knew he felt like that! He was so angry, Nicci ‒’

  ‘But about what?’ And then she took a good look at Paulette. ‘You lost the child?’ she asked gently.

  Paulette had just started a baby when she came for Christmas, but had been strong and well. But it seemed the strains of nursing her mother and then the funeral, and the difficult journey home in the cold spring rains, had caused a miscarriage.

  ‘Auguste blamed me for it. He said I didn’t take proper care, that I packed my bag and ran each time you crooked your little finger ‒’

  ‘Paulie!’

  ‘Oh, he said so many strange things! I suddenly understood that he hated you ‒’

  ‘Hated me? But why? I never did him any harm.’

  ‘You have money,’ Paulette said, wiping her eyes and trying to be calm so as to explain. ‘You are a success.’

  ‘A success,’ Nicole repeated with hidden bitterness.

  ‘Yes, and now, you see, I realise that Auguste is a failure ‒ it rankled, he compared himself with you and somehow he felt you had harmed us, I don’t know how. He said I depended on you too much, and only married him to get myself out of the attics at Madame Treignac so a
s not to be an embarrassment to you ‒’

  There was enough truth in that to make Nicole colour up. ‘But he came courting you,’ she said. ‘We didn’t seek him out ‒’

  ‘No, oh no, there’s no truth in any of it, really. I liked him, Nicci, I was sure I could love him. And he seemed to think a lot of me. But … I don’t know … I think I got on his nerves. You know I can never stand up to anyone who raises their voice …’

  ‘Oh, darling,’ murmured Nicole, embracing her. ‘My poor darling … So you were never really happy, and all the time I thought …’

  ‘It got worse since last autumn. I realise now that he was in a terrible pickle over money. Auguste is one of those men, you know ‒ a perfectionist ‒ never really finishes a job, always wants to do just one more thing to make it better. And of course he ran behind schedule on all his contracts and incurred extra expenses that his clients refused to pay for ‒ quite right, I suppose, they stood by his estimate and refused to be responsible for his “improvements”.’

  ‘But where has he gone? When will he be back?’

  Paulette threw her wet handkerchief over her face. ‘Never!’ she wept. ‘Never! He packed up his belongings and put them in the little waggon and drove to Sedan. The waggon was found abandoned outside the railway station there. He seems to have taken a train into Belgium. He’s gone, Nicci ‒ he told me he was never coming back, that I was like a millstone round his n-neck …’

  ‘Never mind, never mind,’ soothed Nicole, rocking her like a child. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish if he was making you unhappy!’

  ‘But … Nicci … a woman without a husband … What ever shall I do!’

  ‘Never mind,’ repeated Nicole. ‘I’ll look after you. Don’t fret, Paulie ‒ you’ll never want for anything so long as I have a sou to share with you.’

  ‘Oh, Nicci, Nicci …’

  So Paulette wept herself out, and Edmond huddled against his aunt for comfort, and at last it was bedtime and a night’s sleep restored some strength to the forsaken wife. In the morning Nicole ordered the little housemaid to prepare a good breakfast and made her sister eat; it seemed she hadn’t sat down to a meal since Auguste walked out four days earlier. Then Nicole sent out for a stick of barley sugar for Edmond, told him to be a good boy while Mama and Aunt Nicci went out on business, and took Nicole to the town centre.