The French House by Helen Fripp (ebook reader with highlight function TXT) 📕

my little country firefly. Louis, isn’t it wonderful to see a spark in those grey eyes?’

‘Quite the Parisienne,’ said Louis.

Nicole allowed herself to be ushered away by Thérésa, ignoring Louis’ glowering. No need for any more discussion. She was decided. Moët’s offer was good. She would sell to him and live here in Paris with Mentine, and put all the memories of her and François’ life well and truly behind her.

When evening came, she was too weary for another soirée, but Thérésa begged and they arrived fashionably late to find a roaring party in full swing.

Shouts and laughter drew Nicole through the house into the gardens, where a commotion was fizzing through the crowd like champagne bubbles. She joined them, looking, followed their eyes to the balcony.

‘Jump. We can catch you!’ shouted a young soldier.

A young man was holding court, two floors up, eyes wild with liquor and the party. He staggered. ‘Alright I’ll do it. Promise to catch?’

‘Stop being a mummy’s boy and trust to fate. Step into the void. Death or glory!’ the soldier shouted back.

‘Make the net! And tell my mother I love her if I don’t make it!’

The crowd sighed and giggled at the filial sentiment.

The soldier issued orders to his fellows, who lined up to face each other, linking hands.

The man leapt, arms spread like a bird. ‘I can fly!’

The crowd drew a collective breath as he fell. Nicole screwed her eyes tight shut, waiting for the nauseating thud. Applause erupted and she opened her eyes to see him caught in the human cradle and neatly deposited on his feet.

‘Bravo!’

Thérésa was next to her, shouting and clapping, perfume clinging to her transparent dress. ‘Encore! Encore!’

The man bowed.

Nicole was elated and angry at them all at the same time. How could they play so fast and loose with life?

Another man appeared on the balcony, auburn hair in a careless shock, silvered by the moonlight.

‘For the Clicquot vineyards!’ someone shouted. Nicole froze.

‘Darling, it’s your little business partner, Laurent… Léo… no, Louis, that’s it. For you. Blow him a kiss. Delightful!’ squealed Thérésa. ‘You’ve got them all in the palm of your hand.’

‘Yes, or no?’ Louis’ eyes fixed on her as he cried out. The crowd’s eyes followed his gaze. Gradually, they found her, with Thérésa’s help, pointing coquettishly at her friend.

Nicole shook her head, horrified.

‘Say you’ll keep them and I take the stairs to the ground and devote my services to you forever,’ Louis shouted.

A woman next to her sighed. Others fluttered their fans at the sheer romance.

‘Save him. Keep the vineyards,’ lisped a beautiful young thing in a white dress.

‘Let him jump. Take his chances,’ roared a soldier from the line-up. ‘I’ll make sure we miss. Give your vineyards to me and we’ll make beautiful wine together.’

This brought a barrage of laughter.

Her eyes locked with Louis’. His arms were stretched out, like Jesus on the cross, and he took a step nearer to the edge.

‘I’d give my own life for you and the vines. If I jump, you’re on your own forever,’ Louis declared. He was drunk as a lord.

‘Stop it, please, you’ll break your neck!’ shouted Nicole.

‘I’m in your hands,’ he said, staggering closer to the edge.

‘I can’t promise, Louis, Come down!’

He launched himself. The line-up wasn’t ready and they scrambled to catch him. Someone screamed in horror. She held her breath, rigid with fear.

Louis landed, safe. She didn’t wait for his look of triumph. How dare he make a fool of her?

She ran, through the gaudy crowd, swiping at angry tears. They were laughing at her. Someone put out a foot and tripped her and she bruised her knees on the floor. She tottered up again and stumbled on. A man caught her arm and drew her too close. She slapped his face to screams of laughter. ‘Take a joke, country girl!’

Outside, she stopped to catch her breath. The sky was full of stars and she longed for the silence of the Reims night, the smell of dew on the soil at first light.

‘I immediately saw my error on the way down, but it was too late. It certainly sobered me up.’ Louis fell into step with her, struggling to keep up.

‘Go to hell.’

‘Those are not your people, Nicole.’

‘You can’t hold me to ransom. Just leave me to live my life.’

‘I’ve decided. The moment they put me on my feet. I’m hitting the road again. You can reach me if you need me, but you won’t sell me along with your barrels and vines.’

‘You do what you need to and I’ll look after myself.’

‘They see you as a rich widow, ripe for the taking. Nothing else. Be careful.’

Louis turned on his heel and was gone. The loneliness was crushing.

Nicole kept walking, all the way back to Thérésa’s mansion on rue de Babylone, Thérésa’s choice of tight satin slippers slicing her feet.

A large glass of bourbon helped her sleep, a habit she’d got into here. Blissful unconsciousness descended. All night, she dreamt of falling. She woke with a pounding head to a knock on her door.

‘Messenger for you, Madame.’

‘Tell him to leave a note.’

‘He says it’s urgent. He has to tell you in person.’

Nicole threw on a robe.

A young boy was cowering in the hallway, eyes wide at the opulence of the gilded mansion.

‘I’ve memorised it, Madame Clicquot.’ He cleared his throat and looked at the ceiling to recall the words, which were delivered in an expressionless monotone. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing up there poncing around with a lot of aristos? You are needed here. The guild has voted you to lead the St Vincent day parade for the village of Bouzy on the twenty-second of January – the first woman ever to have the honour, not that you deserve it. You have abandoned us, but we want to honour your husband and he thought so highly of you, we hope you accept and return as fast as a Parisian nag can manage it. Give young Emile here a gold coin for