The Wine Widow

by Tessa Barclay

  The coffin was lifted on the shoulders of the bearers. The cortège moved off on foot to the far side of the village where the graves were dug in the unrelenting clay of Champagne. The small military band fell in behind the mourners. The sound of their slow, sombre strains seemed to lie on the heavy summer air. To Nicole it had a dreamlike quality: she seemed to be sleepwalking in an unreal world to music too heart-rending to bear.

  The family vault of the de Tramonts was on the highest slope of the graveyard, surmounted by an elegant small mausoleum erected in 1714. Here the priest completed the funeral service. Some of the village women knelt as the door to the vault was opened. The bearers prepared to go down the six shallow steps with the bier.

  ‘Help me up,’ said Robert suddenly.

  ‘Oh, Robert ‒ no!’ gasped Paulette.

  ‘Help me up,’ her son said through gritted teeth. ‘I want to be on my feet to say goodbye to Delphine!’

  Paulette’s hand had been on his shoulder, restraining him. Now it fell away. Darchier and the footman lifted him up. He stood between them, shoulders hunched by their grasp on him, but on his feet.

  Afterwards, when they were home, Darchier said to Paulette, ‘You see? A time comes when a move has to be made. That time came today. It’s a beginning, at least.’

  ‘You think he’ll be able to do it again?’

  ‘I think so. And do it without help in the end.’

  ‘He’ll walk?’

  The male nurse hesitated. ‘I can’t be sure of that. But I hope so. If he works at it, and the paralysis retreats … who knows?’

  General Stiemendorf made one more visit, at the beginning of August, to thank Nicole for her cooperation in damping down the incipient resentment over her daughter’s death. ‘It seems there were a few further meetings between plotters who wanted to make some sort of vengeance attack, but support had leaked away.’

  ‘Then I am glad. But I didn’t enjoy all the trappings you added to the funeral, monsieur. I would have preferred to say goodbye to Delphine more simply.’

  The general had lived a good many years. ‘She is always with you, I am sure. You haven’t really said goodbye to her.’

  She said nothing.

  He handed to her an envelope containing an order on the Bank of Hanover for a very large sum in marks.

  She took it unwillingly. ‘This won’t bring back my daughter, General.’

  ‘No, madame. This has been a tragic episode. But war is tragic. I say so, even though it has been my profession.’

  He saluted, bowed with a click of the heels, and left.

  All billeted officers had been withdrawn at the time of the tragedy and now the infantrymen in the outbuildings put their haversacks on their shoulders and prepared to march out. ‘Ade, nun ade,’ they sang tuneful as ever, waving and accepting kisses from the girls as they left.

  The Villa Tramont was left to itself again. Only the family and the servants occupied it now. The work of the estate picked up. It was August, time to spray the vines again to protect against insect damage and mildew, time to hoe for weeds among the roots. In a few weeks Nicole would have to begin making choices about which grapes to pick first, which to leave for another burst of sunshine, which to buy from neighbouring vineyards.

  She shouldered the tasks with a strange weariness this time. Her spirit seemed held back by the chains of Delphine’s death. Why had she worked so hard all these years, except to hand it on to her children? And now Alys was in some foreign land, cut off from her, and Delphine was in her grave.

  For the time being Paulette and Robert were staying on. At first there had been much private discussion between the two sisters about whether it was wise to keep him in the country, so far from the surgeons and specialists of Paris.

  ‘But he’s made more progress in this last month than he ever did all last year,’ Paulette murmured. ‘Perhaps he’s better off here.’

  Darchier, when consulted, stated that he was quite happy to handle the patient on his own if the ladies had enough confidence in him. ‘You understand I’ve no medical qualifications, ladies. But I’ve seen men get better almost despite the opinions of the doctors. It’s a matter of character and determination now, if you ask me. And he’s shown he’s got determination.’

  It seemed he was right. At first Robert was helped to his feet twice each day, morning and afternoon. By September he was able to walk, supported on either side, across the drawing-room. Darchier declared that by Christmas he’d be walking on his own, ‘with walking sticks, of course, sir ‒ but you’ll be on your own legs.’

  ‘Christmas it is, then,’ said Robert.

  Nicole found him one October afternoon sitting in a sunny spot on the terrace overlooking the croquet lawn. He had a book on his lap, but it was forgotten as he gazed out at the smooth green grass.

  ‘Do you remember how we used to compete against each other out there?’ he murmured as Nicole sat down beside him. ‘Alys and Delphine, Edmond and I …’

  ‘Old Madame said you were a handsome quartet.’

  He made a little gesture that took in his bony body. ‘Not so handsome now … Ah well, who cares about that.’

  Nicole took his hand. There was more flesh on it than when she had first held it on his return. ‘Do you ever hear from Alys?’ he asked.

  She coloured. ‘I found a letter of condolence from Alys’s husband, Monsieur Hopetown, among the correspondence that piled up after Delphine’s death.’

  ‘Have you replied to it?’

  She sighed. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Say you’re sorry you disowned them. You ought not to be separated from her, Aunt Nicci, now that Alys is your only remaining child.’

  She pressed his hand. ‘You are my child, Robert.’

  ‘I never forget that. But it’s not the same, is it? It can never be acknowledged. Whereas Alys is the daughter of the de Tramonts.’

  After a pause she said: ‘Robert, do you blame me for what has gone by?’

  She found she was waiting with bated breath for his response. She had often felt an intolerable burden of guilt for the unhappiness she’d caused.

  ‘Blaming people is no use, Aunt Nicole. Delphine is dead and I’m not the same person I was three years ago.’

  ‘It’s true you’ve changed, Robert ‒ changed greatly.’

  ‘That’s because I’ve had to choose whether I would live or die.’ He smiled, tolerant of himself. ‘I thought I wanted to die, but it seems something inside me had a different view ‒ for here I still am.’

  ‘Darchier says you have determination.’

  ‘I also have Darchier. Perhaps, if he hadn’t come along in answer to Mother’s advertisement for a nurse to help me travel to the funeral, I’d have joined Delphine in the grave ‒’

  ‘Robert! Don’t!’

  ‘It’s all right. That man has changed the world for me. He’s shown me I can have back my independence.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘Two sticks by Christmas! That’s the slogan!’

  ‘I know you’ll do it, dear.’

  ‘Yes, and then what?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What am I to do with my life, Aunt Nicci?’

  She hesitated for a long moment. ‘You could help me, Robert.’

  ‘Here? But I know nothing about making wine!’

  ‘There’s more to running Champagne Tramont than making the wine. I need help to run the financial side. Times are very hard in the champagne trade ‒ we’ve had two bad years and look like having another, with nothing worthy of our label coming out of the presses. And then there’s this constant dread of the phylloxera …’

  ‘But that’s stayed much further to the south, Aunt Nicci. The bug doesn’t like cold climates, it seems.’

  ‘So far, so far …’

  ‘Come now, it’s not like you to be pessimistic.’

  She burst out suddenly, ‘Sometimes I get so tired of being the moving spirit of this place, Robert! I need someone to whom
I can talk … I need someone to lean on a little.’

  ‘No use leaning on me as yet,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’d only fall over.’

  ‘But if you would stay, Robert? If you would think of that as something to do with your life?’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said.

  Lord Grassington arrived at the end of that week. By pulling strings in London, he had managed to have himself accredited as neutral observer for the court martial of the hapless private from Feilberg.

  The death of a daughter of La Veuve Tramont had been reported in the London newspapers, causing much interest. On the whole the British had been pro-German at the outbreak of hostilities but the siege of Paris followed by the harsh peace terms had made them rather pro-French. This report of a tragic incident involving one of their favourite French families made everyone watchful; diplomatic sources were interested.

  The trial of Hans Gibblich had been put off from week to week because of the mental condition of the accused. The German High Command weren’t displeased: it gave time for hot feelings to cool and public interest to lapse. On the other hand, it gave time for the wildest rumours to grow, the chief of which was that Colonel von Jarburg had made improper advances to Mademoiselle de Tramont, she had defended her honour and escaped, and the colonel had ordered her shot to prevent her proclaiming the insult.

  Nicole had no way of knowing the facts. But Lenhardt von Kravensfeldt was allowed to make one visit to her, to report his colonel’s side of the story.

  He was rigid with suppressed despair, white-lipped, determined to be an officer and a gentleman to the last, ‘I assure you, madame,’ he said, ‘the Herr Oberst would never intentionally have done anything to distress the mademoiselle. He tells me, and I believe him, that she ran out in a state of high emotion after some unkind remarks about Prussian officers.’

  ‘And he tried to stop her.’

  ‘No, he called after her, the sentry misunderstood and thought she was an enemy agent under interrogation. There you have it.’

  Nicole knew the curt words for the truth. She could find nothing to express her sense of waste and loss. She sat looking blindly at the lieutenant.

  ‘Madame,’ he said in a hoarse voice, ‘tell me you forgive me.’

  Still her mind refused to function, her voice was crushed to silence in her throat.

  ‘Madame!’

  She managed to focus upon him. Tears were sliding down his white cheeks. He was standing to rigid attention all the while, one thumb touching the side-seam of his breeches, a glint of sunlight reflecting off the helmet he held under his arm.

  ‘I forgive you, Lieutenant von Kravensfeldt.’ She thought for a moment the military facade would crack. For one dreadful, chaotic moment she thought he was going to fall on his knees and grasp her hand. But then military discipline reasserted itself. He saluted, bowed, wheeled about, and marched out.

  Nicole had been informed she could attend the court martial if she wished ‒ a great concession, since it was supposedly a military matter only. She thanked the adjutant who brought her this news but refused.

  Now Gerrard came from Rheims with the result. ‘The poor lad was declared unfit to plead through “mental debility” ‒ a regimental surgeon and a civilian French doctor certified the condition. He’s been discharged.’

  ‘And now what happens to him?’ Robert asked with a weary shake of the head.

  ‘God knows. He’ll go home to his father’s farm in the State of Baden and try to live with what he’s done.’

  ‘What else happened?’

  ‘Von Jarburg was severely censured and removed from his post. Von Kravensfeldt was held to be less blameworthy having consulted his superior officer on a personal matter as he was entitled to do. But it’s a blot on his career. I don’t think he’ll ever reach the Emperor’s bodyguard now.’

  Nicole looked at Robert, to see how he was taking this news about the man who had loved Delphine. He was sitting quietly, his expression unreadable. Afterwards he said to Nicole: ‘I don’t hold it against him. If I could have offered for Delphine’s hand honourably, I’d have done everything I could to win it.’

  ‘The awful thing is, Delphine was scarcely aware of his existence. She was polite to him because I insisted on it ‒ but he was no more to her than a fly on the wall.’

  Robert drew her down towards him and kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘Don’t grieve too much. There’s been enough grief.’

  ‘I keep trying to tell myself that. It’s time to think about the future, such as it is.’

  ‘Aunt Nicci, I’ve decided to accept your offer to stay and work for Champagne Tramont. That’s if you haven’t changed your mind.’

  ‘Of course not!’ She clasped her hands together in thankfulness.

  ‘I’d like to start learning what I can, even while I’m still not totally on my feet. You could let me have the records and the books to study, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, at once. I’ll have my clerk Lebel put together a useful packet of records ‒ perhaps we could start with a study of our markets?’

  ‘Very well.’

  Lord Grassington was pleased when Nicole told him the news. ‘I think it’s time you began sharing your burden, dear. It’s a shame you and de Tramont didn’t have a son, but a nephew is still family … He’s a decent lad, bears up well despite his state of health.’

  ‘He’ll get better,’ Nicole said with conviction.

  ‘Do the doctors say so?’

  ‘Darchier says so, which is more important!’

  ‘Oh, Darchier …’ Grassington found the male nurse amusing. He reminded him of the kind of tough, kindly trainer one saw around London boxing rings. ‘Let’s hope he’s right. Now listen, my dear … I can’t help seeing signs that you’re hard pushed for money ‒’

  ‘Oh, Gerrard ‒ does the place look so neglected?’

  He laughed. ‘I’m a land-owner myself, Nicci. I can see the little signs. What I wanted to say was ‒ now don’t take this amiss ‒ if a loan would help, you have only to say so.’

  She gave a little gasp. ‘Take money from you?’

  ‘Dear, it would be strictly a business transaction. Good business, too, because these poor grape harvests can’t go on forever. Next year or the year after, you’ll make good wine again and plenty of it.’

  ‘I keep telling myself that. But sometimes, Gerrard ‒ I get frightened …’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ he said, putting a friendly arm about her. He had to return to London to report on the court martial to the Foreign Office and then take part in a debate in the House of Lords on farming policy. He took his leave reluctantly. ‘Shall I see you in London soon, Nicci?’

  ‘Perhaps, but it isn’t easy getting permissions and passes while the occupation force remains in command. I think they have a suspicion that any movement of any kind means you’re smuggling your money or yourself out of their reach ‒ and we still have to pay off that accursed indemnity.’

  ‘But the balance left to gather is getting less all the time. Only about one milliard to go, I hear.’

  ‘Well, if we pay it off next year and the Germans depart, I may start travelling again, Gerrard dear.’

  ‘I look forward to that.’

  After he had left, for a few days Nicole felt strangely lonely. Dearly though she loved her sister and Robert, she couldn’t talk to them about business matters in the easy mixture of love and good sense that Gerrard brought her. Robert would learn, it was true ‒ one day he would be able to speak up in a debate about what to do over future policy. But otherwise there were only the employees of the firm ‒ Emile Rodrigue with his understandable uncertainties, old Leboilean who was now so set in his ways that almost nothing might be changed in the vineyards without a fight.

  But it was November, the wine was ‘resting’, time to start making experiments for the cuvée of next February. She went to inspect the samples that Rodrigue had assembled in the laboratory of the chief of cellar, the room where
Jean-Baptiste had once held sway.

  As she came in that first morning, a sense of loss struck at her like an actual physical blow. Once, she would have been able to turn to Jean-Baptiste. But he was gone, and even Robert who looked so like him could never take his place.

  She worked hard that morning, sipping, making notes, listening to Rodrigue’s suggestions, reading measurements of sugar content and sediment. She knew already that they would make a poor champagne this year ‒ poor, that is, compared to the wine that had made her famous. The grapes had been small and sharp, the juice had looked dark, the new wine lacked vigour.

  At lunch she found Robert eager to discuss something he’d found in the records of wine shipments by barge. ‘Do you realise, Aunt Nicci, that you are paying out a fortune in transhipment charges? It would pay you to have your own dock on the river Marne from which to send the barges down to Paris.’

  ‘Robert, that would take a fortune. We’ll do it one day, perhaps, but not for the foreseeable ‒’

  In the distance came the loud rumble of the wheels of a heavy coach. Paulette cried, ‘Someone’s come in under the porte cochère! Are you expecting anyone, Nicci?’

  Nicole shook her head. It must be a travelling coach to make so much noise, for they were eating in the dining-room round the east side of the house. Who could it possibly be?

  Everyone stopped eating. Robert turned his wheelchair to look at the door of the dining-room. It opened. Menecque came in, flustered, pink with excitement.

  ‘Madame!’

  ‘Yes, what, Menecque?’

  ‘It’s Mademoiselle Alys!’

  ‘Alys?’ Both Nicole and Paulette jumped up. From the hall could be heard the sounds of trunks being set down, servants running, a baby crying.

  ‘Alys!’ shouted Nicole, and ran like a deer to see her daughter.

  Standing inside the big entrance were several people. Alys was a little to the fore, holding by the hand a toddler in a thick white flannel coat and buttoned boots. Behind her, gesturing at one of the footmen to take care, was a tall fair-haired young man. One glance from him to the toddler told Nicole that this was the father. At his side, holding a baby wrapped in many shawls against the chill November weather, was a dumpy girl in dark blue serge, the nursemaid.