He nodded, as if admitting the truth of this.
‘No. Louis feels entitled.’
‘Has this become a serious problem?’
‘He is making his intentions clear to me. He believes with Jerome missing, certainly dead in his opinion, not only that he should but that it is right he step into Jerome’s shoes. He utterly believes it is the correct action to take and this is all apparently linked up with the promise he gave his brother to take care of me.’
‘Not marry you, though, surely!’
She lifted a shoulder in confusion. ‘In his view, it is the next step. He’s doing me a good deed and remaining true to his brother. While all it does is horrify me, it all makes neat and loyal sense in his mind.’
Charlie’s expression darkened. ‘And keeping assets tight, no doubt.’
She nodded, looking at him with certainty. ‘No doubt,’ she repeated. ‘Louis is no farmer. He will not tend to vines – nor, I imagine, will he shoulder any workload of mine. No, Louis will reap the benefits of House Delancré and, under the guise of reasserting the family name of Méa, bring balance to our lives.’ She shuddered and Charlie shook his head, not quite understanding what she meant. ‘He wants to have children. He has insisted that it is part of the deal. He has thought it all through, it seems, and I am permitted to lead a wholly separate life – living apart in Épernay while he lives in Paris.’
‘But you must bear him a child?’ His voice was tight with disgust.
‘Children,’ she countered and cut him an anguished gaze. ‘He’s the antithesis of Jerome. I find it loathsome that he would press this upon me.’
‘Bloody hell, Sophie. You don’t have to succumb to that pressure. He doesn’t wield any power. I look around me. You’re a wealthy woman in your own right and bearer of the family name . . . is that not correct?’
She nodded, touching the dust on some aged bottles in the nearest pupitre.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said, opening up his palm. ‘Why does Louis have any say over your life?’
‘Because he’s helping me with the Red Cross. He’s connected to all the right people that I can’t reach.’
‘Wait,’ Charlie said, shaking his head. ‘That’s counterproductive. Why would he help you to find his brother if by what you’re saying he wants his brother to remain missing, presumed dead?’
‘I agree,’ she said, making a face as if to say, It’s complicated. ‘We have an understanding. If he leaves no stone unturned and there’s still no word of Jerome, then I must agree to wear his ring. Except it’s not going to happen, Charlie. You see, he – like everyone else – believes Jerome is dead and so he’s more than confident in reaching this bargain with me. Meanwhile, I will use all his contacts to prove him wrong.’
‘And if you’re wrong?’
‘I will never marry Louis. I will never consent to what he wants.’
‘But you will lead him on?’
She swallowed, horrified. ‘I need his help. And it’s not just to help me find more information about Jerome. He has contacts that might supply me with sugar.’
‘Sugar?’ He made the leap. ‘I saw a few sacks in the sheds.’
‘And that’s all we have. It’s not enough for this year’s winemaking. And of all years I must make a champagne from the wedding vineyard’s first harvest. Staying on good terms with Louis means I can get sugar.’
Charlie shook his head with exasperation. ‘On good terms? It’s bloody outrageous how he’s cornering you into this!’ he hurled helplessly at the walls. It echoed back at them. ‘You deserve better than that.’
She smiled sadly, apparently unshocked by his curse. ‘The cellars hear everything, store it all in their ancient memory. Thank you for summarising exactly how I feel.’
‘Sophie, come on. You do not have to agree to this lunacy. What a creep he is.’
‘I don’t want Louis anywhere around me, but I need the assistance only he can provide, and he has this way of making everything he’s proposing seem so reasonable.’
‘An oily, creepy blackmailer, then.’ Charlie paced and she let him do so in silence, her expression half amused, half sad. ‘Tell me this – Louis aside, let’s imagine you had never met Jerome. Could you love me?’
Charlie watched her weigh up whether to tell a fib just to make him feel better, but sensed it was only the truth she chose. ‘If my situation were different, then I would be lying to you if I didn’t admit that I already feel something dangerously close to love. When I married, I couldn’t imagine myself ever having even the spark of interest for another man. Until a short time ago I believed myself wholly and utterly devoted to Jerome, or no man.’
‘And now?’
‘And now I’m appalled by how easily you moved beneath my defences; I wasn’t ready for you, Charlie. I really didn’t see this happening for me, and I’m unnerved. Yes, of course I could love you . . . and maybe what terrifies me most is that I might perhaps already be falling in love with you, so I have to be strong now. I have to stop this before it creates despair for you, for me and for Jerome if he is found.’
‘Then tell the brother about me,’ he replied. ‘Throw him off the scent.’
‘I can’t risk that he will stop helping me to find Jerome,’ she said evenly.
‘Sophie, you lost him in 1915 and haven’t heard anything in connection with him since, am I right?’
She nodded.
‘This is brutal to say but knowing those battlefields of sucking mud, it’s unlikely he will ever be found. I’ve fought there. Jerome is likely already buried there.’
‘I know.’
‘Do you, though? It’s just a massive graveyard.’
‘And still I hold out hope.’
‘And still you kissed me,’ he countered.
‘I told you, it was a moment of —’
‘No, Sophie, it wasn’t. I was there. I don’t believe you do anything you don’t want to, including being blackmailed by Louis.’ Surprise at his accusation flared in her gaze. ‘You’re allowing him to do this because it suits you for now to use him, but you should be careful with this man – he doesn’t sound like someone who can be easily manipulated.’ She nodded, more gravely this time, letting him know she agreed. ‘And your kiss was not the kiss of a friend . . . or idle error. It was the kiss of a lover; it was deliberate, it had intensity, and you said more to me in that one kiss than dozens of women have said to me in a much longer time together.’
‘Dozens?’ she repeated.
He blinked with frustration, stepped closer and pulled her to him. ‘Sophie, I’ve never wanted any woman like I want you. They’ve come and gone through my life like lovely fireworks that burn brightly and briefly. But you’re like a scorch. You’re the first to leave her mark. Now I’ll fight for you, but you have to want it.’
He let go of her arm, could see she thought he was going to kiss her again after all that passion blazing in his voice, but he needed her to feel it again too. The news of the brother, yet another obstacle, felt like a dark blow.
Sophie looked back at him, clearly torn. At least her uncertain expression told him she was being honest with him and not just controlled.
‘I do want it. I want you, Charlie, but I have to be sure about Jerome. I need proof. I’m pushing Louis to get me proof. If anyone can, he can.’
Charlie nodded unhappily. ‘And what if he proves me right? Beware, Sophie, you may find yourself trapped by Louis’s demands because you owe him.’
‘Let me be clear. I have no intention of being his wife.’
‘Leading him on is dangerous!’ he said, frustratedly running his hand through his hair, which had flopped forward.
‘I have no choice!’ she said, flinging her arms wide. ‘I’m trying to establish whether my husband is dead . . . so I can . . .’
‘So that you can what?’ he demanded. ‘Tell me, Sophie.’
‘Be with you, Charlie!’ She walked away, looking angry with herself, with him, with the world.
‘Until now I have searched for him because I had to know – I refused to take their vague label of “missing” as adequate – but now, suddenly, I have a new reason to know the truth.’ She appeared anguished to admit this.
Charlie’s fury dissipated as rapidly as a fire being doused with water.
Sophie sighed. ‘Telephone connections have been repaired . . . I spoke to one of the senior army people I know in Reims.’
‘Yes?’ He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she had learned.
‘The French can’t reach anyone from your Brigade at the moment, he said. He asked me if, for the time being, you could remain here another few weeks.’
That surprised him. She could have easily off-loaded him. ‘What did you say?’
‘I told you him you were a dreadful nuisance. Always needing to be kissed and hugged.’
He turned on his heel to look at her and sighed out his relief when she laughed; he was helplessly compelled to join in. The sound bounced around the limestone walls and filled his heart with its echo. Laughter was the only tonic for the way they were both feeling. He needed to be genuinely heroic now and let her off the hook that he could see she was wriggling on. ‘I know, needy soldiers are such a drudge.’ He grinned for her. ‘Sophie, I’m sorry.’
She met his gaze firmly. ‘Don’t be. You’re right. I was there. I encouraged, I participated . . . I enjoyed it too and it meant something. However, while I am coming to terms with the notion that Jerome is dead, I’m not ready to fully let go and that’s not fair to you, so I would rather not have us fall in love.’
‘Too late for me, I’m afraid.’ He could see how hard this was for her. ‘Louis is more dangerous than you think.’
‘I am not scared of Louis.’
‘So, you wish me to stay?’ He waited. ‘You have to say it, Sophie, or I walk away today.’
‘Yes, I’d like you to stay, because I’m weak and selfish.’ She gave him a sad smile. ‘You are welcome to remain here, especially as you are not yet healed enough to travel easily or return to any unit.’
‘The British army will want to repatriate me to England.’
‘Well, they have to find you first. Can we be friends without being lovers?’
‘We can be close friends,’ he said softly, as if making a promise, ‘but Sophie . . .’
‘I know, Charlie. Just give me some time.’ She touched his face with gentle intimacy. He sighed, frustrated. ‘Come on, walk the vineyards with me.’
He wanted to stay in the chalky cocoon of the tunnels forever: Sophie in his arms, the champagne praying for deliverance into a perfect vintage while the war raged above them. He was no longer desperate to die for his country, he was not prepared to kill another soul for his flag, and he never wanted to put on a laboratory coat again. He followed, helplessly feeling the loss of her touch as she bent to pick up the lantern and lead him back into the sunlight.
19
The vineyard she wanted to inspect was down past the back of the property. She and Charlie had to cross a stream that Sophie worried might bring back memories of his escape from the battlefield, although there was no sign that he’d been recalling trauma, and if he had, then he’d banished those thoughts quickly. She led him through villages so tiny that they were past them within minutes.
‘Can you make it up the hill?’ she asked, aware that he was breathing slightly harder than she was. She suspected there was pain in his body, given all of his injuries.
‘That’s what we call a hillock,’ he said in English. ‘That’s no hill. I’ll be fine.’
She went along with his bravado but took it slow, deliberately talking him through the ascent, which was causing him to huff and puff. She covered his heavy breathing with her words. ‘Most of our chardonnay is grown just outside Chouilly at Côte des Blancs, which is on the other side,’ she said, flinging her arm in the direction of the back of the house. She pointed as they crested the small hill. ‘And Hautvillers, down there, is for pinot noir.’
He looked in the direction of her hand and saw rows of bright green leaves. The vines were in full roar, looking healthy and basking in the summer heat, developing quickly the size of their fruit and the sugars it contained. She turned to him and felt a curious hitch in her breath at his almost boyish expression of wonder. All that she’d sensed he held so tightly coiled within now seemed to Sophie to be unfurling of its own accord. She could feel its effect on Charlie as years of war and despair were sidelined momentarily as he gazed upon something that she too considered one of the most beautiful sights: a healthy vineyard.
‘These grapes, Charlie, are vital to good champagne,’ she said.
‘You can’t make champagne without them, I’m presuming?’ he asked.
‘How can I put this? Pinot noir is like your spine, Charlie. Without it you’d be confined to the ground; you wouldn’t be able to stand up strongly.’ She gestured again. ‘It’s the same for champagne. Without the backbone that this grape gives the wine, it would be weak, lack strength in its . . .’ She rubbed her fingertips together, searching for the word.
‘Body,’ he said, understanding.
Her expression brightened, eyes widening. ‘Ah, that’s it. It would have no body. This is the most obvious of the three grapes in terms of what it brings to the wine. It doesn’t, how you say . . . er, beat about?’
He grinned.
‘It doesn’t wait to evolve, it is what it is on your tongue, in your nose, around your mouth. Lively but not round . . . nothing to mellow with this one.’
‘I see, but I’m guessing now that it’s a game of balance because you mentioned chardonnay.’
‘Yes . . . my favourite, in fact.’ She hesitated as if she wanted to say more but continued quickly on to her new thought. ‘Of course, then there’s meunier . . . resistant to cold weather, brings a sort of vivacious quality, attacks fast, with a delicious fruitiness and flexibility to the flavour, if I can say that. It is supple and can round off the champagne in one’s mouth in a way that pinot noir does not.’
‘I love hearing you speak of your wine. I could sit down and listen to you talk about it all day,’ he said, staring hard at her, his gaze not wavering. She felt it look inside her, searching for what she knew he needed. Could she give it to him? Was she going to capitulate to the enigmatic English captain? ‘Don’t stop,’ he urged, perhaps sensing her arrival at a crossroads. ‘Tell me about your chardonnay, your favourite.’
‘Ah,’ she said, sighing, happy to be distracted. ‘Shall we?’ She gestured for them to continue to the wedding vineyard. ‘Chardonnay is considered king around these parts. We bow to His Majesty, and yet,’ she said, waving a finger, ‘for all the power we invest in him, it is he who yields the delicacy in our wine. It is chardonnay that brings all the, how you say, charisma. This vineyard was Jerome’s wedding gift to me.’
He gave her the widest smile. ‘Go on.’
‘It is chardonnay who adds all the grace, the characteristic notes of flowers and citrus . . . even minerals.’ She was lost to it now. ‘Without chardonnay there is insufficient complexity, no difference from one champagne to another. Where it grows, this grape brings with it the flavours of that region. Slow in development – and because of this aspect it is the grape that can carry the wine through its years, because it is slow to age.’
They began to walk up a row.
‘Sounds like your hero.’ He smiled.
She nodded. ‘My heroine, if I’m honest,’ she admitted. ‘Everyone around here thinks of him as king . . . emperor. But privately, she’s my queen.’ She grinned. ‘I will tell you more about her sometime. You would make a good champenois, Charlie. You grasp that the grapes have personality, that it is a balancing act of making all those characteristics shine at their best and not aggravate each other. The strength of the pinot must be smoothed out by meuniere, while the mellow nature of meuniere is enhanced by the complexities that chardonnay layers in.’
He smiled. ‘So . . . when the cork is lifte
d and the champagne has the stage, they have to perform together – no matter their differences – and in harmony for the greater applause,’ he summarised with a flourish.
She stared at him and wondered if he could see how much delight his remark had provoked. ‘It’s a great pity the world cannot behave like a good champagne. Harmony, peace, pleasure – every grape giving its utmost, its very best to the champagne experience.’
‘I don’t know a great deal about wine. In England we drink a lot of beer . . . and, to a lesser extent, spirits. Only the wealthy drink wine.’
‘But this is not wine, Charlie. This is champagne . . . a holy trinity of grapes.’
‘Sounds blasphemous,’ he said, arching an eyebrow.
‘No, not at all. I think what they can do together is a gift from the Divine. I am a mere mortal doing —’
‘Heaven’s work,’ he finished as they arrived beneath a tall oak tree. ‘Blimey, he’s a giant.’
‘It’s always been here. It provides shade for the workers; I climbed to its reaches as a child and I think my father did the same, as his father did before him.’
‘And your children will too,’ Charlie assured her.
She gave a sad smile. ‘Perhaps.’
Sophie found it hard to look at Charlie and not want to lean forward and kiss those lips she found impossible not to enjoy watching. Making her decision felt right, felt responsible, but despite how correct it was, it made it no easier to resist this man. Their meeting felt predestined; there was absolutely no reason why a chemist from Liverpool should be falling in love with a champagne maker of Épernay and yet they had kissed and the inevitable tumble into something wonderful had begun. It had happened without any conscious or deliberate intention. There was no warning, which was why her mind was hurting. She’d thought herself a fortress against all romantic feeling, not just because she loved Jerome but because it hurt so much to lose him. That she could even touch and enjoy the kiss of another had come as such a shock that she was sure her decision was half as much shame as it was her love and loyalty to Jerome. She was relieved Charlie had accepted her position but she knew in her heart that she really should have sent him away because his patience would wane . . . and soon. She’d had the chance during that conversation with her army contact. He’d offered to get Charlie on his way to where a lot of the British were gathering; he didn’t sound eager to take Charlie but the offer was there. She should have taken it. Her responsible side admonished her. You cannot have it all ways, enjoying him at a respectable distance while still actually keeping him close. Her selfish side won. He needs to get stronger and then I’ll let him return to England.
The Champagne War Page 23