Late Summer in the Vineyard

by Jo Thomas

  ‘Henri,’ she whispers.

  ‘He’ll be fine, I’ll look after him,’ I say again, a lot more confidently than I feel. I’ve never looked after a horse in my life. Never even had a riding lesson. I’m a city girl, not a country one. ‘Madame Beaumont, I am so sorry for all of this. I will make it up to you, I promise.’

  ‘I must see him.’

  ‘You’ll be back in no time, you’ll see.’

  ‘But in case I’m not . . .’ she struggles for breath, ‘I need to say goodbye.’ She looks at me with shiny, crystal-like tears in her eyes to match the raindrops on the vine leaves. For a moment I want to hug her and tell her it will all be fine. But I know if I do that, I will sob and she wouldn’t want that. What she wants is for me to be strong and to help her see Henri. I can only nod.

  ‘S’il vous plaît, Laurence?’ I ask, and Laurence nods. If they are on some kind of time schedule to meet target waiting times, no one is saying so. They stand away from the stretcher respectfully and hold their hands in front of themselves. Even Monsieur Lavigne does the same.

  ‘Do you want me to?’ Isaac points towards Henri. I shake my head. I need to do this. I made this mess, I have to try my very hardest to make up for it. I walk towards the field, hot tears blurring my vision. I stumble on the uneven ground, as if I’m wearing somebody else’s glasses. Henri is whickering and lifting his front legs. He’s agitated, a white lather over the front of his chest and the tops of his legs.

  He’s rearing and then dipping his head and I’m worried he’s going to hurt himself or run at us and hurt someone else if I open the gate.

  ‘There, boy,’ I try to soothe him, but he won’t be placated. I try to grab his head collar but he tosses his head, pulling me this way and that, and I can’t hold on to him.

  ‘Trust your instincts,’ I hear Madame Beaumont saying, and I know what I have to do, as mad as it sounds, but it just feels like the only thing to do. My hands are shaking as the horse becomes more and more frustrated, weaving his head back and forth. I know I have to act quickly or he’ll hurt himself. Pulling up my chest, deep breath, brushing away the hot, angry tears, I lift the rope from the post and push the gate back as hard as I can, stepping away and closing my eyes tightly as Henri lets out a whinny and my eyes ping open again. He pushes through the opening with his big solid shoulders, brushing past me, hot and sweating, making me stumble backwards on to the brambles there, which snag at my calves.

  I hold my breath and watch everyone take a step or two back as the horse dips its head and canters towards the waiting ambulance, and for a moment I wonder if it was madness to do this, as if he’s actually going to canter out of the main gates and down the road. Losing him right now would be unbearable. He canters towards the stretcher and I see the concern on Laurence’s face as he puts a hand out. Isaac also tries to catch the horse, but he swerves and arrives at a sudden halt just by the stretcher where he whinnies again, and drops his head over Madame Beaumont’s. She reaches up with her hand, paper-thin skin over dark veins, and touches his soft pink nose, soothing him, reassuring him. The little crystal tears that were in her eyes earlier are now rolling down the sides of her face as the horse’s hot breath rises as steam from his nostrils and his body glistens in sweat. No one moves, not the horse, not Madame Beaumont, and not the onlookers.

  After a while Isaac comes to stand by me. We don’t look at each other. A tear slides down my cheek and I brush it away with my sleeve, only for it to be quickly followed by another.

  ‘Au revoir, mon ami, mon cher ami. À la prochaine.’

  Henri puts his soft nose into her hand.

  ‘What am I going to do?’ I say quietly to Isaac.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I was going to go home. My family need me,’ I tell him.

  ‘Looks like Madame Beaumont needs you more right now. You’ll be fine, Goldy.’ He gives my hand a little squeeze.

  He’s right, of course. Dad and Jody will manage. They have each other. Madame Beaumont has no one. I have to stay.

  Laurence looks up at me and I step forward and slide my hand into Henri’s head collar. This time he doesn’t fight me.

  ‘Merci,’ Madame Beaumont says, her face wet with tears. I lean forward and brush some away.

  ‘Of course I’ll stay. I promise I’ll make sure no harm comes to anything or anyone here. I’ll do my best.’

  ‘I know you will,’ she says, and she slumps down. I watch as she is loaded into the back of the ambulance. Isaac touches my elbow and then gets in behind the stretcher. He looks up at me, his dark hair curlier than ever with the damp, and gives me a little wave.

  ‘Thank you,’ I mouth again.

  ‘No worries.’ He shrugs and smiles again as the door shuts and the lights start to flash on the ambulance, and they suddenly drive off at speed down the lane.

  Monsieur Lavigne watches the ambulance go and then turns to me. ‘Let me know when you need my help. Because you will need my help,’ he says with a tug at the corner of his mouth. Then he gets in his car and leaves.

  ‘Over my dead body,’ I say out loud, and I pat Henri on the neck before leading him back to his field.

  ‘Over my dead body,’ I say again, watching Monsieur Lavigne go and feeling my backbone stiffen.

  ‘Excellent, this is excellent,’ I can hear Charlie saying as I arrive back at the gîte and stand in the doorway to the kitchen.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ I frown deeply at Charlie’s back, suddenly outraged that he may be talking about Madame Beaumont and Clos Beaumont.

  Charlie spins round to face me and pulls back his face into a big beaming smile, making my traitorous stomach flip over.

  ‘Ah, you’re here. Great. I was just coming to look for you.’ He beams some more. ‘I hear you’re going to be staying on with us.’

  He’s holding a nearly empty glass of red wine. Candy and Nick are at the table, an open bottle of wine in the middle, and Gloria is standing at the cooker stirring a big pot. Her face is red and shiny and relaxed. Her little fan, nowhere to be seen. The smell in here is fantastic, something with wine, with herbs, but despite the welcoming aromas, I feel distinctly nauseous. I’m tired and scratchy. Having watched the blue lights disappear in the direction of Bordeaux, I fed Cecil and Henri, who turned his back on his feed bucket, then I cycled back here. My knees are shaking like jelly and I have a crushing headache.

  ‘How’s Madame Beaumont? Terrible about her fall.’ Charlie follows this up with quickly sliding an arm around my shoulders by way of comforting me, but it doesn’t.

  ‘The paramedics think she’s broken her hip. She looked really unwell. I thought she was going to . . . How do you know? About me staying on?’ I ask, confused. I barely know myself. My knees wobble some more and I grab the back of one the chairs as I feel myself dip.

  ‘Here, sit down,’ Gloria insists, pulling out a chair, but I don’t move. I’m not sure I can. ‘Isaac rang the offices, Candy spoke to him,’ she tells me, turning back to the cooker and stirring the pot with a wooden spoon, ‘to let us all know what had happened.’

  ‘I’ve got his number, just in case,’ Candy practically simpers, waggling her phone.

  Of course, Isaac and Candy, that would make sense. Candy gives a little wriggle in her chair and fans her face as if to ward off a kind of exaggerated blush.

  ‘Looks like you’re not the only one to have an admirer around here,’ she whispers to me, flashing a knowing look and a nod at Charlie, who’s finishing his wine and looking like he’s about to leave. My cheeks burn with embarrassment at the memory of that kiss.

  ‘Isaac told us what you did,’ Nick butts in, deflecting my attention from Candy.

  ‘What I did?’ My cheeks are still burning.

  ‘How you went back to the vineyard, broke in and found Madame Beaumont,’ he says.
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  ‘Oh . . .’ Realisation slips slowly across my face and through my shoulders and chest. God! What if I hadn’t gone back? I can’t bear to think about it.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Candy, suddenly straight faced, and I wonder if she’s going to make a sarcastic comment. ‘Respect,’ she nods. ‘Wouldn’t catch me smashing a window and breaking in somewhere on the word of a deaf dog and a blind horse.’ She looks at her nails and I guess that’s as big a compliment as I’m going to get from Candy.

  ‘Sit yourself down, love, go on,’ says Gloria, sliding a light throw from the living-room sofa around my shoulders. I’m cold and shivering. My chest tightens and I feel like crying, great big gulps. The gîte has a whole different feel to it: welcoming and warm. Up until now everyone has come and gone in the evenings, eating at the cheap and cheerful Le Papillon. But tonight it feels like a home.

  ‘Come on, there’s coq au vin here. Haven’t cooked for people in ages.’ Gloria has a wide smile and her rosy cheeks are like little red shiny apples. I don’t know if it’s from the cooking or the glass of red wine by the cooker, but she looks really happy. ‘Thought you might like something when you got in.’ She lays a place in front of me.

  ‘I can’t stay,’ Charlie looks at his phone. ‘But I do have some other good news. Selina from Morgan’s Supermarkets has persuaded her company to hold a medal competition, for local wine-makers. Whoever wins the gold is the one she’ll roll out into all the stores. It’s to be held up at the château after the harvest. Local wine-makers will be invited to submit a sample of this year’s vintage. Madame Beaumont’s has been nominated, of course. If it wins, it’ll be a great coup. It’ll really put Featherstone’s on the map. There’ll be bonuses all round,’ he beams. ‘This could turn out to be our flagship wine if we can keep it up.’

  ‘Yay,’ Nick and Candy both say and clap a little. Gloria beams too.

  Charlie puts his arm around me and says quietly, ‘I’m delighted you’re staying, Emmy. For lots of reasons.’ But my stomach doesn’t flip over any more, I realise. Where was he when I was trying to ring him? Why didn’t he pick up? I’m beginning to think Charlie is only interested in Charlie. I realise, the more I think about it, that Charlie doesn’t really talk about his dad, his illness. Charlie’s only interest seems to me to be proving to his father he can turn Featherstone’s into a bigger and better company.

  ‘We’ll catch up soon, yeah? Anything you need up there, just say, OK? Anything. And well done again, Emmy. We need team players like you. This is what I brought Isaac here for, to find me a blend that I could make our own and roll out. Looks like you’ve done that. So, Isaac and you will work closely on this.’

  ‘Look after her, Gloria.’ Charlie kisses me on both cheeks and leaves, saying, ‘Don’t forget, call if you need any help.’

  I want to scream that of course I need help! I haven’t a clue what I’m doing. But I’m too exhausted.

  His kisses feel wet and cold, and I feel a shift take place in my body and in my head. A shift in loyalties that is leaving me feeling light headed. I’m not doing this for Charlie or Featherstone’s, or to be team leader. If the wine wins, that bonus could save our house, my family. I’m doing it for them and for Madame Beaumont, too. I have to put right the damage I’ve caused. I have to try to win.

  I look at Gloria, who motions to the chair again, and Nick stands up to usher me to it, putting a glass in front of me and filling it up with red wine as Gloria puts down a steaming bowl of coq au vin in front of me.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say quietly. I’m so unused to letting others do things for me, but I’m too exhausted to argue.

  ‘Talking of Isaac—’

  ‘We weren’t,’ Nick cuts across Candy crossly. Candy tuts. That’s not like Nick and Candy, and I suddenly wonder if Isaac’s phone call has thrown a spanner in that friendship. If that’s what it is. From where I’m sitting I think the scales of friendship may be a little uneven.

  I pick up my fork and begin to eat.

  ‘Thank you for everything.’

  Before long, though, I go to stand up, picking up my plate, apologising for not eating it all.

  ‘Here, love, let me. Why not get an early night?’ Gloria says.

  ‘I’m going to wait up to hear from Isaac,’ I say, and Candy bristles. ‘I need to know how Madame Beaumont is.’

  Candy’s phone trills into life with a text message.

  ‘It’s him. He says Madame Beaumont is OK, feisty as ever. Paramedics were right. Looks like she broke her hip when she tripped,’ she reads, and a pang of guilt cuts through me. She only fell because she was slamming the door and pulling over the curtains because she was so cross with me. ‘But apparently, she’s not too well. They’re monitoring her,’ Candy reads.

  My whole body droops with worry and guilt. ‘It was all my fault.’ Suddenly my tears start to fall.

  After tissues are produced by Gloria, and another glass of wine is poured by Nick, followed by hugs from Nick and Gloria, I feel a little revived.

  ‘Now how about a hot bath and that early night?’ Gloria puts a hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Actually, I’m going to grab some things and head back to Clos Beaumont. I don’t want to be away for too long,’ I tell them.

  ‘Does that mean I get my room back?’

  ‘Candy!’ Gloria and Nick pipe up together.

  ‘What?’ She lifts her shoulders. ‘I was just saying.’ But actually, she’s not the only one who’s relieved we won’t be sharing any more.

  ‘At least we’ll know who the snorer is,’ Nick attempts to lighten the mood, and laughs. Candy looks horrified.

  However tempting it is not to be sharing with Candy any more, I have no idea what my sleeping arrangements will be at Clos Beaumont, but I do have to get back there, for Cecil, Henry, and to make sure no one comes near the vines. I get up stiffly from my chair in the warm, cosy kitchen and go up to pack some clothes, as many as I can carry on the bike, and then come down ready to say goodbye, leaving behind my suits and court shoes. I don’t think I’ll be needing them in the vineyard.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’ Gloria asks, concerned.

  ‘You could wait for Isaac to run you up there later,’ Nick suggests.

  I shake my head. ‘He’s done enough to help me already.’ And I’m sure he has things he’d much rather be doing. I look at Candy and take a deep breath.

  ‘Candy, just so you know, I am staying on with Featherstone’s for now, but just until Madame Beaumont is well enough to come home, to help her get her harvest in. I’m not after the team leader’s job. You’ll be great at it . . . honest.’

  For a moment Candy says nothing and then as I turn to go she says, ‘Sorry for being a bitch. I don’t know why I do it, I don’t. And as for the collection, forget it, eh? Dean and I aren’t even together any more. I’ll say I blew the money on a night in a hotel, if anyone asks. Male escorts, the lot! And the bet? Forget that too. It was a stupid idea. Yeah?’

  That makes me cry a little more. ‘Thank you, Candy,’ I sniff, shredding a tissue.

  ‘Shame,’ says Nick. ‘I was looking forward to seeing you running naked round the town throwing toffees to the kids!’

  ‘I wished I could’ve been more like you, Candy, but I guess I never will. You are a top-selling agent. I am, well, not. And never will be. I just want to try to hang on to my old job, that’s all. Win that wine award for Madame Beaumont.’

  Suddenly she throws her arms around me and hugs me very tight. ‘You’re a lovely person.’ I look in amazement at Nick and Gloria. Gloria is smiling. Nick seems to have a tiny tear in his eye and looks away quickly.

  ‘We’ll help you with your stuff,’ Nick says, picking up my bag.

  And they do, and wave me off up the lane as I wobble and weave, bags swinging on the handle bars and banging the wheel
, back to Clos Beaumont in the fading light, the big orange sun low in the sky.

  Once at Clos Beaumont I text Layla: Am now in charge of six sheep, a dog, a cat, a horse and a vineyard! Then I ring Dad to tell him I’m staying on. But Jody answers. He’s out, again.

  ‘We’ll be fine. Don’t worry,’ Jody says. ‘You just go for it. I know you can!’

  I tell her what’s happened and then switch off the phone. Holding it to my lips, I look out at the vines. Suddenly I feel overwhelmingly protective towards the vines, Clos Beaumont and Madame Beaumont. That shift in loyalties seems to have rearranged all my organs inside, which are now trying to settle again as if finally finding their right place. I have to do this. I have to get the wine made and try to win the award. ‘There’s no one else’ – her words keep coming back to me. There’s no going back.

  ‘I won’t let anything happen to them, I promise,’ I say, thinking of Madame Beaumont but talking to the sky, and I swear I hear her sigh with relief, like the wind in the trees.

  It’s late now, and dark, but I need to sweep up the glass from the step and find something to cover the broken window pane. I end up using a plastic bag that I nail across the frame with some kindling wood to keep it in place.

  I try the lights, which thankfully have returned after the power cut in the storm. They crackle and fizz before throwing a dim yellow glow over the kitchen-cum-living-cum-bedroom. It feels cold and dark, a long way from the warmth of the kitchen at the gîte, and part of me wants to run back there now and settle in for the night with another glass of wine and chat with the others. But I know I can’t. I have to stay here.

  I look around. One day, I will live somewhere where everything works. A new flat, small and perfectly formed, just for me, with no draughts and creaking floorboards. Hot water on tap and central heating.

  But, first things first, I open up the fire and scrunch up paper. Then I go back outside to the wood pile. The wood is as disorganised as the house, large logs abandoned all over the place.