‘What’s your answer?’ He could barely get the words out.
‘What’s your question?’
He stared at her in astonishment. ‘Damn it, Gail, I’m asking you to marry me.’
‘Then damn it, Tariq, yes. Yes with all my heart.’
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
‘Good day at school, Emmie?’ Henri asked as she settled into the car next to Elf. They were off to pick up the new ginger kitten. ‘What is the drawing?’ He indicated the large sheet of paper she was clutching.
‘It’s a tree what’s got family on it.’
‘A family tree,’ Henri corrected gently. Emmie shrugged, to be honest the instructions had been a bit hazy so she’d just drawn a huge tree with pictures of her family and the animals. Madame Martinezhad seemed very happy with it and that was good enough for Emmie.
‘This is you, Henri.’ She pointed to a huge smiley face hanging off a branch. ‘And here’s Old Ginger and here’s a space what’s for New Ginger.’ She turned to Elf. ‘You is here next to Sausage.’
Elf was delighted. ‘You’ve put me on the family tree?’
‘Next to Sausage,’ she repeated.
‘I’m honoured.’ His smile spread from ear to ear.
‘What about your family, Elf?’ Henri asked. Elf never talked about his past and they were all curious. ‘Do you have a large family?’
‘Or are they small like me?’
Henri couldn’t help but laugh, the lad was incorrigible. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘No,’ he replied shortly. ‘No idea who my father is and my mother and I rarely see each other.’
‘Why is that?’ Henri asked gently.
‘She doesn’t much like me.’ He tried to sound flippant but Henri could hear the hurt and wondered what sort of woman could abandon her child like that.
Emmie slipped her small hand into Elf’s. ‘No does mine,’ she whispered confidentially, unwittingly answering Henri’s unspoken question.
‘He’s all yours, Henri.’ Jean placed a scrap of spitting, hissing, orange fluff into the basket Henri was holding out. ‘He’s small but he’s scared of nothing.’
‘Old Ginger will soon teach him some manners.’ Henri smiled at his old friend. ‘Thanks, Jean.’
‘You don’t want two, do you?’ Jean asked hopefully.
‘We don’t,’ Henri replied, firmly ignoring Emmie’s excited gasp.
‘Or a rabbit?’ Jean sensed an ally in Emmie. His wife had told him in no uncertain terms that it was time to get rid of these animals which he’d managed to accumulate. She’d had enough of opening the door to find someone holding out a stray cat or dog for Monsieur Jean to look after and the enormous rabbit deposited a few days ago had been the last straw.
Glaring at Jean, Henri marched Emmie back to the car but Elf hung back. ‘A rabbit?’ he asked.
‘Glorious creature.’ Jean smiled at Elf. ‘Docile as anything, clearly must have been someone’s pet. I’ve made enquiries but no-one’s come forward, must have been abandoned.’
‘I’ll be back, don’t let it go,’ Elf whispered before running to the car.
He had a certain fondness for rabbits. He’d collapsed in a field when sleeping rough about a year ago. For two days he’d lain there, sick with fever and weary to the bone. Luckily it had been summer otherwise he would almost certainly have died. He’d finally come to at dawn to find himself surrounded by rabbits nibbling away beside him, they had formed a circle around him and he’d felt protected and privileged. If this rabbit needed help then he felt duty bound to offer it.
Rosa was waiting impatiently when they got home.
‘He’s got a temper,’ Henri warned as she went to open the basket. ‘He’ll scratch you.’
‘I’d like to see him try,’ Rosa said grimly. But nonetheless she rolled her sleeves down. She lifted the tiny, hissing creature up by the scruff of his neck and, putting her face close to his, hissed back. The kitten gazed back astonished and then almost as if relieved to give up the fight began to purr. He had recognised the voice of authority. Henri would have his heart and Rosa his respect.
‘What are we going to call him?’ Rosa asked.
They all gazed at him for a moment.
‘Flame,’ Emmie said, tentatively reaching out to stroke him.
‘Flame is perfect.’ Henri smiled at the little girl.
‘Claude was here earlier looking for Emmie,’ Rosa said.
‘I’ll take her up to the house,’ said Henri.
Emmie’s face fell but she put her coat on without a word and followed Henri to the car.
‘She hates that house,’ Elf said.
‘We all do,’ Rosa replied.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Claude hadn’t actually wanted Emmie to come home, in fact he’d been going to ask if she could stay another night, but when Henri’s car drew up he didn’t feel that he could ask them to turn around. Maybe it was no bad thing, maybe Emmie would prove a distraction when Celine first came home.
He was dreading the forthcoming conversation. He was uneasy and nervous.
Dinner was a strained affair. Celine couldn’t gauge Claude’s mood at all. He was polite to her and apologetic about not picking her up but there was something different about him. He was distant, he hadn’t rushed to kiss her as he normally would, desperate to establish physical contact. Usually irritated by his attentions, she now found the lack of them disturbing.
She poured herself more wine, aware that she was drinking far more than usual. She was longing to drive to Arnaud and sort out the mess between them but she realised that would have to wait until tomorrow. How could everything have gone wrong so quickly? And once again her thoughts turned towards Beatrice. That woman was her nemesis, and she knocked back her wine in one gulp as the familiar feeling of loathing coursed through her veins. She realised that Claude was talking to her.
‘Have you had enough?’ He was reaching for her plate. She had barely touched her food but pushed it towards him. Emmie had barely touched hers either. She sensed the odd atmosphere and for some reason it scared her.
‘Can I get down, Papa?’
‘Yes, it’s nearly bedtime, Emmie.’
It wasn’t, but neither of them cared really. Emmie was pleased to escape to her room and Claude didn’t want to prolong the moment any longer. He needed to talk to Celine. He watched as she poured yet another glass of wine. That was normally his trick but tonight he’d hardly had a drop.
‘I think I might turn in too,’ Celine said, watching Emmie scarper to her room.
‘I would like to talk to you first, Celine.’
‘Well it will have to wait until morning. I am tired, it has been a very long few days.’ She got up to leave. ‘And not helped by that damn train journey,’ she added unwisely.
It was that last sentence that was the final nail in the coffin for Claude. He felt his blood turn ice cold. His nerves vanished and he felt suddenly very calm and detached. No longer facing the strain of pretending that all was OK, he was more than ready to face the truth.
‘It won’t wait until morning, Celine,’ he said in a cool voice. ‘Please take a seat.’
His demeanour unnerved her. Something indefinable had taken place, their world had shifted slightly and they were both aware of it.
‘I heard some disturbing news from Philippe last night,’ he stated. ‘I wondered if you could shed some light on it.’
Celine swallowed hard but said nothing.
‘It seems that we have been selling wine, our superior wine, to the Hotel de Paris.’ He paused. ‘Neither Philippe nor I were aware of that.’
She shrugged, attempting nonchalance. ‘Where did you hear that?’
‘It doesn’t matter where we heard it from, Celine,’ he replied. ‘Is it true?’
‘Oh, Claude, I give promotional bottles to many people. It’s called marketing. It’s my job.’
He looked at her with grudging admiration. She was good and under normal circum
stances he would have been happy to believe her. ‘It appears to be much more than a promotional bottle, Celine.’
She still managed to look unconcerned but inside her heart was racing. Bloody Arnaud, why had he not returned her calls? This could all have been avoided. ‘I’ll look into it in the morning,’ she smiled, sipping at her wine. ‘I’m sure there will be an explanation.’
‘I’ll come with you, we’ll talk to Arnaud together.’
She was taken aback, as he had intended, and her hand shook slightly as she lifted her glass once more to her lips. ‘I didn’t know you knew each other.’
‘I didn’t know you did either.’ He was suddenly sick of playing games. This was getting them nowhere. ‘How long has the affair been going on, Celine?’ he asked in a quiet voice.
‘Claude, I have no idea what you are talking about.’ She feigned huge indignation.
‘How long have you been supplying under-priced wine?’ he continued.
‘I’m not prepared to sit here listening to you hurl accusations at me.’ She stood up, swaying slightly. ‘You haven’t one thread of evidence. I’m surprised that you listen to malicious rumours.’
‘I have more than a thread of evidence, Celine.’ He looked at her sadly. ‘Show me the courtesy at least of being honest with me.’
‘You are talking rubbish, Claude,’ she snapped. ‘I have no idea what Beatrice has been saying to you.’ She’d made a mistake and knew it, but added, ‘Or anyone else for that matter.’
‘I’ve never mentioned Beatrice.’
‘Who else can it be?’ She was desperately trying to think on her feet. Why had she drunk so much? Her normally razor-sharp brain was muddled and fuzzy. ‘She’s always at the centre of things, always creating trouble.’ It was feeble and she knew it.
‘Well if you won’t talk to me about Arnaud then perhaps you will talk to me about this?’ He produced her bank statement and had the dubious pleasure of seeing the colour drain from her face.
‘How dare you go through my private things!’ She was suddenly very scared. Her hands felt cold and clammy and her voice was unsteady.
‘I didn’t deliberately go through your private things,’ Claude said calmly. ‘I was looking for Emmie’s consent form for her field trip next week. It wasn’t in the normal place.’ He looked at the statement and raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you saving for something special?’
‘You know perfectly well that Papa gives me the occasional cheque.’
‘Celine, I may not be as bright as some but please credit me with some sense.’ He reached in his pocket for his glasses. ‘This is much more than the occasional cheque.’ He pointed at the amount. ‘You know the really sad thing? I was so happy when you showed an interest in my work, I genuinely thought you were interested in the business. I enjoyed teaching you everything. I was delighted to give you more and more responsibility.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I imagined you wanted to help the family, but all you wanted was to help yourself.’ He turned around to look at her. ‘Why, Celine? What have we ever done to you?’
‘I took what you are owed, Claude.’
He stared at her in astonishment. ‘You stole, Celine.’
‘Do you want to be the poor relation all your life?’ She sneered.
‘I am the poor relation,’ he replied. ‘Don’t forget, Celine, that my father nearly ruined the Fontaine business, he drank most of it away and what he didn’t drink he gambled, yet despite all that they took me in when he died. I owe them, Celine, not the other way around.’ He shook his head. ‘This is a family business, if you steal from them you steal from us.’
‘A family business that Philippe runs,’ she said with scorn. ‘A lowly accountant comes way down the pecking order, Claude, it’s about time you realised that.’ She looked at him with utter contempt.
‘Why did you marry me, Celine?’ He ran his fingers through his thinning hair. ‘You, who are so ambitious, why did you marry a lowly accountant?’
‘My ambitions were thwarted,’ she snapped. ‘I made do.’
He stared back at her, comprehension slowly beginning to dawn.
She watched his mind working. Had he really never guessed? Did he really think she had married him for love? She had only loved one person in her life and only ever would. Celine couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t loved Philippe. She had never envisaged a future without him. The fact that he had done absolutely nothing to encourage her was immaterial, she had always got what she wanted. As far as she was concerned her future had been mapped out and her future was definitely Philippe Fontaine.
Then Philippe arrived back from Paris, and with him came Beatrice. A beautiful girl with a curtain of bright blonde hair, a ready laugh and sparkling eyes. The whole countryside buzzed with the news, they were captivated by the romance. She remembered meeting her, remembered Philippe calling her over.
‘Celine, come and meet my bride.’ The absolute adoration in his eyes was more than she could bear. She’d turned to Beatrice, seen the pity in her eyes and knew that she had seen, knew that she knew and hated her with every fibre of her being.
There was only one thing Celine could do. She married Claude; if not the wife then maybe she could be the mistress. She was reasonably content for a while, she bided her time, she could see the cracks begin to appear in their marriage and when she judged the time to be right she made her move.
The humiliation of that evening was as raw today as it had been at the time. She could hardly bear to think about it. He had at first laughed at her in disbelief, and then when he began to realise she was serious she saw the look of compassion mingled with disgust. Sickened to her soul, she’d tried to laugh then, pretend that it was all a joke, pretend that it was the wine talking.
He had been kind, he had been an absolute gentleman, he’d said he was flattered but she could tell he was horrified. They had both put it down to a moment of madness and the subject had never been referred to again. Celine knew him well enough to know that he would never tell anyone and she was certainly never going to reveal her degradation to a single soul.
Claude was watching her. Like a jigsaw puzzle, the pieces were slowly slotting into place and he began to see the whole picture. But strangely he felt no anger, just sadness and pity, the one emotion he knew she couldn’t bear.
‘You will have to pay this back, Celine,’ he said, looking at the bank statement. ‘You will need to pay this all back plus interest.’ His voice was devoid of all emotion.
She looked at him, she had to act fast, she could see everything she had worked so hard for slipping away.
‘Claude, it’s not too late,’ she said quickly. ‘We can make a new life, cheri, we can put all this behind us.’
He couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.
She carried on, barely pausing for breath. ‘We can go far away, far away where no one knows us.’ Her voice was rising. ‘We could go to Canada, Australia, New Zealand, the world is our oyster, Claude. We’re still young, we can start again.’
Emmie stood outside listening. She had come for a glass of water but had stopped in her tracks on hearing Celine’s words. She put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She felt her little world crumbling around her. She turned and ran back down the corridor. She had to get away, she had to run to safety before they took her with them to these faraway places.
She opened the back door with shaking fingers. She was trying to keep as quite as possible but she needn’t have worried, the voices coming from the salon were loud and angry. No one would be able to hear her. Her coat was on the back door but she couldn’t find her boots, she didn’t want to risk the light so she stumbled out in her slippers. It was pitch black outside, Emmie hated the dark but at no point did she hesitate, her fear of being taken away was far greater than the fear of the night.
She headed on down through the vines, she knew every inch in the daytime but the blackness was intense and she became confused. She could hear the river but couldn�
�t tell how far away it was.
She left the vines and plunged into woodland, disturbing a night owl which rose above her with a deafening screech. Screaming with fright she turned to run, caught her foot in a bramble and fell heavily to the ground, shattering her glasses.
At some point during the heated argument which followed, Claude became aware of a distant banging and a cold draught blew through the salon. Without really knowing why he was filled with anxiety. Cutting Celine off in mid-sentence he shouted at her to be silent. The banging was loud and continuous.
With his heart hammering he ran down the long corridor to Emmie’s room. The door was open and the room was empty. Yelling her name, he raced to the source of the banging and found the back door swinging wide open in the wind. He knew instinctively what had happened. He knew what she must have overheard, his heart went out to his little girl and for the first time ever he realised how very much he loved her.
CHAPTER FIFTY
‘So there you have them, four very different wine labels, four very different wines.’ I lined them up along the dining room table and everyone crowded around to see.
Inspired by Philippe’s description of the various wines, I’d tried to produce four different styles that reflected the differences. The first was a modern take on the traditional picture of the chateau with clear lines and a bold outline, the second depicted the letters C & F intertwined with vines, the third was a sketch of a wine glass, a sun lounger and a sparkling pool and the fourth, and in my opinion the most striking, was a box with three vertical lines in dark purple drawn on top of three horizontal lines in blue, yellow and brown. It was bright and eye-catching and it demanded your attention.
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