The Champagne Girls

by Tessa Barclay

  ‘Not at all. It’s a bid for freedom,’ she said, taking her tone from him. ‘I’ll tell you something very shocking. This gown has no whalebone in it.’

  ‘Really?’ He came close, to slip his arm around her waist. ‘Dear me. It’s true.’

  ‘Could you not have taken my word for it?’ she asked, stepping back, smiling.

  ‘But, mademoiselle, I’m a pioneer, an inventor. I have to test all suppositions myself.’

  He was tall enough to top her by a head or more. He wasn’t exactly handsome but he had an amusing face, the features a little askew, his nose broken. He told her afterwards that he had broken it in his first flying accident.

  ‘Didn’t that put you off flying?’ she asked.

  ‘Not in the least. It only made me more determined to master the art. Besides, it’s the coming thing.’

  ‘Nonsense.’

  ‘I tell you, it’s going to change the world. One day soon, an aviator is going to fly a machine across the Channel to England.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd! It would fall into the water!’

  ‘Not a bit. You’ll see.’ He took her empty wine glass. ‘Shall I fetch you more wine?’

  ‘No, thank you, I must go soon. I have to be in Paris for an early morning appointment.’

  ‘You’re going to Paris tonight?’

  She nodded. He glanced about the room. ‘With your family? Your brother? I don’t see anyone.’

  ‘I travel alone. Monsieur Emeigart.’

  It was his turn to be astounded. ‘You haven’t an escort?’

  ‘None. I often travel alone.’

  ‘But that’s … that’s …’

  ‘As strange to you as your flying machine is to me.’ She tapped him on the shoulder with her fan. ‘You see? The world is full of oddities.’

  ‘Mademoiselle, may I offer myself as a travelling companion? I too have to be in Paris in the morning.’

  ‘But, Monsieur Emeigart, I’m going by train, not by flying machine.’ She was laughing.

  ‘Well, so am I. It isn’t always suitable to travel through the air. May I travel with you?’

  ‘I see no reason why not.’

  He looked at her from grey-blue eyes which had suddenly grown serious. ‘I am very honoured, mademoiselle,’ he said, and there was something in his tone that let her know he meant more than the mere fact of sharing a railway compartment.

  Although they didn’t sleep together that first night, her affair with Charles began from that moment. They had a lot in common ‒ they were both adventurous, independent, yet glad to find a fellow spirit with whom to share something of their lives. As spring gave way to summer, it began to seem to Gaby that a marriage might emerge from their relationship. They had so much in common, yet each had separate interests that would prevent them from ever becoming too bound up in each other. True, there wasn’t the same intensity about their love that she’d found with Lucas ‒ but perhaps that was all to the good.

  All the same, she waited to hear him suggest it first. Free-thinker though she was, she still thought it right for the man to make the offer. And as yet the word marriage had never crossed his lips when he spoke of the future.

  That year the grape harvest was very poor. The little vineyardists everywhere were facing extinction and, in Champagne where they sold everything they grew to the big negociants, there was anger at the low prices. But it wasn’t only in the wine industry that there was unrest. Everywhere there were strikes and troubles.

  The final straw came when the railways went on strike. ‘It’s infuriating!’ raged Gaby. ‘I’ve got all these documents from David about the definition of the wine region, and I can’t get down to Calmady to present them at the meeting.’

  ‘You could go by road, darling.’

  ‘Charles, you know the railmen have got barricades at the main outlets. I don’t want to end up thrown out of the carriage and forced to walk.’

  ‘Well then. I’ll fly you there,’ Charles offered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll fly you. Why not?’

  ‘You have an aeroplane available?’

  ‘I’ve been demonstrating one in a field out towards the Bois de Vincennes. It’s not exactly mine, but I can use it to fly you to Calmady.’

  ‘But … how would we get to Vincennes? We can’t get a train, and carriages might be turned back.’

  ‘By river, how else?’ Charles said. He never admitted obstacles existed except to be surmounted.

  The flight in the little bi-plane was the most exciting thing Gaby had ever experienced. The wind driving past the open cockpit was cold and hard as steel. Her hair, fastened down under the leather helmet on loan from Charles, nevertheless escaped in long tendrils which flew behind. Her stomach lurched and turned over as the fields and woods sped by below. When they landed at last, in a series of running bumps on a paddock at the far edge of the Tramont estate, she got down trembling with reaction ‒ but eager to do it all again.

  ‘Mademoiselle!’ gasped the villagers who had run to see this wonder. They backed away, gaping, as she unbuckled the flying helmet and shook her hair free.

  Her father’s greeting was much the same. ‘Gaby! How could you do such a thing!’

  ‘But I had to get here with the papers from the parliamentary lawyers.’

  ‘That didn’t matter! You could have telephoned the main points ‒’

  ‘Oh? And would our friendly vineyardists have believed what you reported? No, no, Papa, you know they need to see it in black and white from the government. And besides,’ she added in a burst of enthusiasm, ‘it was fun! I enjoyed every moment.’

  Robert was re-introduced to Charles, whom he’d met once but quite forgotten. He took an instant dislike to him ‒ this man who could risk his precious daughter’s life in a flimsy flying machine. Although the journey had only taken about two hours, that was two hours too long for his child to be flying through the air in that dangerous fashion.

  Charles had nothing to do while the meetings with the local vignerons and negociants went on. He went calling on his friends the Jussarts while Gaby and her father and uncle were shut up with the representatives of the big firms in Épernay.

  But Robert had been alerted to the relationship between them. Something about their easy way with one another told him that they were more than just friends. He made inquiries. And then he called his daughter to the library for an interview.

  ‘What is your relationship with Monsieur Emeigart, Gaby?’

  She frowned. ‘What makes you ask?’

  ‘Are you expecting to marry him?’

  She turned away from him to gaze out of the window at the dark green of the shrubbery. Yes, she was expecting to marry him. But she couldn’t say so until Charles himself showed some willingness ‒ she certainly didn’t want her father making formal approaches.

  ‘I haven’t thought about that,’ she lied.

  ‘That’s just as well, because he is already married.’

  It was lucky she had moved away and was looking in the opposite direction. The pallor of her face would have told him that the cruel thrust had gone home. If he could have seen how he had hurt her, he would have been ashamed. But Robert was angry, angry that she should throw herself away so obviously on an adventurer.

  ‘Did you know he was married?’ he insisted.

  She kept her voice absolutely cool as she replied, ‘We’ve never talked about it. Ours is not that kind of friendship.’

  ‘What kind is it, then? Is he hoping he’ll persuade the Tramonts to invest in those ludicrous flying machines through his friendship with you?’

  ‘Such a thought has never entered his head. Papa. I’m surprised it should enter yours. Why do you dislike him so much?’

  ‘Anyone can see he’s a ne-er-do-well.’

  ‘He’s nothing of the kind. Just because you can’t see the possibilities of his machines, that doesn’t ‒’

  ‘They’re toys for rich men! What can they possibly do
that’s useful?’

  ‘Frederic says they can be useful. He says they would be invaluable in war.’

  ‘In what way? To frighten simple natives by flying over their heads, I suppose!’

  ‘No, by acting as scouts for the artillery. Charles is negotiating with the Bulgarian and Servian governments ‒’

  ‘Bulgarians and Servians! My god! Anyone who expects to make money out of that crowd is a madman. Gabrielle! It would be better if you withdrew from any “friendship” you have with this fellow ‒’

  ‘It would be better, Papa, if you refrained from meddling in my affairs!’ She swept out, her head held high.

  But of course she couldn’t let what he had told her simply lie unspoken in her heart. Charles flew his machine back to Paris but she took the train, the railways having resumed a partial service by now. When they met again in his apartment by the university, he knew at once that something was troubling her.

  ‘Your father didn’t take to me, did he?’ he suggested.

  ‘Charles … He says you’re married.’

  ‘Why, yes.’

  ‘You never told me.’

  ‘I thought you knew.’

  ‘How could I know?’ she flashed.

  ‘Well, the same way as your father presumably found out ‒ by talking to the Jussarts.’ Charles set down his Scotch and soda, stood up, and came to her. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I truly thought you knew.’

  She shook her head.

  He put his arms about her and tried to draw her near. She resisted. ‘Gaby,’ he protested, ‘don’t be angry about it. What difference does it make?’

  All the difference, she wanted to say. I thought we’d get married one day … I was hoping, planning …

  She said stiffly, ‘Where is your wife?’

  ‘In Brussels. I haven’t seen her in about two years.’

  ‘What is she like?’

  ‘Why on earth d’you want to know that?’

  ‘What is she like?’ she repeated.

  For answer he went to a bureau, opened a drawer or two, and finally emerged with a leather portfolio containing photographs. He sorted through them, then turned to her holding one out. ‘Our wedding photo,’ he said.

  It showed a much younger Charles in white tie and tails standing proudly beside a plumpish dark girl in a rather badly designed wedding dress. She was clutching a bouquet of orchids and fern.

  ‘You want to know all about it?’ he said, his voice bitter. ‘It was a more or less arranged match. I saw nothing wrong with it at the time. That was fourteen years ago. I left university with my engineering degree and began getting interested in aeroplanes. Françoise thinks I’m literally mad. She says the Lord will punish me for daring to make men fly in the air like birds. She actually sabotaged one plane ‒ that was how I got this broken nose.’

  ‘Charles!’

  ‘She’s a religious lunatic. I left her for good in 1904, although I saw her from time to time while I was still living in Brussels. Since I came to France two years ago I haven’t seen her and have only heard from her once, when her allowance was a bit late in arriving and she got her lawyer to send me a warning.’

  ‘Oh, Charles! Darling!’ She ran to him to throw her arms around him. ‘I’m sorry! I had no idea!’

  She clung to him for a time, until she’d got over the first distress. Then she murmured, ‘And children? Do you have children?’

  ‘We had a little boy, but he died of meningitis. Françoise said it was God punishing me for my presumption.’

  ‘Oh, my dear! She must be an awful woman.’

  ‘Well, she’s a great one for knowing what’s in God’s mind, though it’s a mystery to kings and cardinals. As you can imagine, we ceased to have anything in common almost at once. Yet I’m tied to her, legally and religiously and of course she won’t hear of a divorce.’

  ‘No, I see that.’ Gaby sighed and nodded. ‘But, as you say, it doesn’t make any difference. We weren’t talking about marriage anyway.’

  ‘No, that’s out of the question.’ He studied her with his alert blue eyes. ‘Does that hurt you?’

  ‘Not at all, Charles ‒ what a silly thing to ask! Why, dozens of couples we know aren’t married.’

  ‘But in general they aren’t so tied up with their ultra-respectable families as you are, my love. Tell me ‒ would you have brought all this up if your father hadn’t given you a lecture?’

  She was honest enough to colour and shake her head. ‘Let’s forget about it, Charles. We’ll go on as before. We were perfectly happy, weren’t we?’

  But things had changed, all the same. She’d had a secret hope before, that one day she’d be Mrs Charles Emeigart. She’d even thought about having his child. Now it was different. Although their relationship still seemed as permanent and strong as ever, something had shifted its foundations.

  Because she felt guilty, she put herself out to help him in his career. He had the idea of starting a small air service for passengers and light cargo, and when in 1909 Bleriot actually crossed the Channel in his monoplane, businessmen no longer sneered. Gaby gathered together the savings from her salary as a director of Champagne Tramont and a few investments, and gave it to Charles to help finance his project.

  He found some clients. But it meant he spent less time with her in Paris, and more at the coast where the cross-Channel airfield was situated.

  Netta greeted Gaby with a strange, secret smile on her lips on a springtime visit to Calmady. ‘I’ve news for you, little cousin.’

  ‘What sort of news?’

  ‘I think it’s good, but Pierre thinks it’s rotten. I’m expecting another baby, Gaby.’

  ‘What?’ Certainly it was a surprise. Everyone had come to regard Netta and Frederic as the parents of an only child ‒ a handsome, high-spirited, selfish yet loveable boy.

  ‘My dear, of course it’s good news! Frederic’s delighted, I take it?’

  ‘He hasn’t got used to it yet. To tell the truth, neither have I.’

  ‘But it’s lovely, Netta!’ She hugged the older woman. Now that she looked at her carefully, she could see a golden glow under the fine skin, an added lustre to the bronze hair. ‘It certainly agrees with you!’

  ‘Yes, but Dr Cranne says I must be careful. After all, I’m going on thirty-seven ‒ I’m not a girl any more.’

  ‘Nonsense, you’ll be fine, anyone can see that. Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?’

  ‘Oh, a girl, I think. It would be nice to have another girl in the Tramont family, don’t you agree? And Pierre would be less annoyed with a girl ‒ he wouldn’t feel he had a rival.’

  ‘Good heavens, a fifteen-year-old boy shouldn’t be too bothered about rivalry from a tiny baby!’

  Netta sighed. ‘Children are funny things, Gaby. You’ll find that out if ever you settle down and start a family.’

  Gaby shook her head. ‘I’m destined to be the odd old spinster of the family.’

  They had a long womanish chat over the five o’clock tea which the maid brought in. For once, they didn’t talk about any of the problems besetting the wine industry. And when Alys came in, to find them comparing pictures of baby clothes in the Ladies Compendium, she smiled to herself. Even that strange niece of hers might one day turn into a normal wife and mother, if only she could meet the right man.

  The baby was born in the autumn, ‘just at the most convenient time,’ as Frederic observed, for the grapes were gathered and the pressing, though scant, had been successfully accomplished. The little girl was christened Elinore, after Frederic’s dead mother. His father, an old and terrifying gentleman, actually made the journey to Rheims to see his granddaughter named in the great cathedral.

  But that was the end of celebrations in the Tramont family for some time. Because in the following year yet another blight struck the vines. A new pest, a kind of mildew, spread among the young leaves as spring advanced into summer.

  Almost every estate in France was affected. With two bad harvests
recently behind them and the price of wine slipping yet lower, Robert and Gavin called a conference of the Tramonts.

  ‘The question before this meeting,’ Gavin said when they were all assembled in the library, ‘is a simple one. We have to make a decision. Are we going to stay on here and struggle to keep the name of Tramont in being, or are we going to do the sensible thing and sell out?’

  Chapter 13

  The discussion went on the whole day. In the end the family parted without making a decision. They needed time to think about it, to take further advice.

  ‘It’s all very well for your Uncle Gavin to be in favour of selling up,’ Gaby’s father sighed. ‘He’s a good fellow, but he’s not a Champenois.’

  ‘Neither are you, Papa,’ Gaby said, shaking her head at him with a smile. ‘You were born a long way from Calmady.’

  ‘But blood and breeding tell, Gaby. I’ve got the blood of Champenois peasants in my veins. I can’t give up the vines.’

  Gaby couldn’t help sympathising. Yet, as Gavin had pointed out, the young members of the family had their lives before them ‒ were they to devote them to a failing industry?

  She returned to Paris. There was business awaiting her at the office there. Moreover, she could meet there a member of the Rheims law firm who habitually advised the House of Tramont.

  Marc Auduron was somewhat less than a friend and something more than an acquaintance. He had been at the dreadful coming-out party that ended in a fracas when the anti-Dreyfusards attacked the mansion and, if Gaby had but known it, he had played quite a part in the failed negotiations for her marriage to Lucas Vourville. He was now a senior partner in the law firm, spending a large part of his time in Paris working on behalf of the wine-firms over the legislation to define the champagne-making area.

  Gaby invited him to dinner at the restaurant attached to the quiet hotel where she had a small residential suite. Charles was present too, because she wanted the benefit of his opinion. It was only fair. They were practically man and wife, and she was about to make a big decision on their financial status.