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

‘Paris has done you the world of good, I see. Now, I’ve got a pot boiling on the stove, come and get warm. I’ve got your chair ready.’

‘Where’s Antoine?’

‘You won’t see him, he’s in the cellars. He’s got thousands of the things to shake and turn for riddling, and you know how fastidious he is.’

‘It’s why he’s my foreman.’ Nicole choked on her words. She thought of the cellars, full of magic, Antoine slowly turning, faithful and knowledgeable, as much a part of her life as eating or drinking. Then there was her riddling experiment, untouched since the day she’d hidden it in the basement, so full of hope, thinking she could save François. Was she really going to give it all up?

Natasha was waiting by the fire for her, dark eyes reading the flames, sitting in François’ chair. ‘This is where he used to sit, isn’t it?’

‘How did you know? He was sitting right there the day I met him.’

Natasha snorted. ‘It’s not magic. If that’s your chair, where else was he going to sit? Now. I have a proposal for you.’

‘I’m intrigued.’

‘I’m getting old.’

‘No…’

Natasha waved her hand. ‘I’m getting old. It’s a simple fact. Happens to everyone, even me. I want to go back to Russia and you will help me.’

‘You sound sure about that.’

Natasha threw something invisible into the fire and it leapt. ‘I am. What I have to say will be irresistible to you.’

‘François is in Russia?’

‘A joke at his expense?’

‘A relief to be able to.’

‘You are healing, slowly. He will never leave you, but one day you will walk with him at your side without grieving.’

Nicole took her friend’s hand and pressed it to her cheek. ‘Thank you for your wise words. I know you are right, but I can’t imagine it. I almost don’t want to imagine it, because then a little part of him will be gone.’

Natasha stroked her hair. ‘Patience. You will let him go when the time is right.’

Nicole gave her a watery smile and changed the subject to save her tears. ‘How can I help you get to Russia?’

‘I want to go and see my mother, one more time. She’s ill, possibly dying. We talk across the stars to each other. You can do that if your bond is close, but I want to touch her one more time before she leaves this world.’

‘I will help however I can.’ She knew better than to question Natasha on exactly how she intended to travel to Russia alone through pitched battles at every border along the way.

‘Good, then you are coming with me. And you’re bringing fifty thousand bottles of champagne and wine with you. Louis sent me this to show you – he said you were being your usual troublesome self and wouldn’t look at it if he sent it direct.’

Natasha placed a pink order slip, signed by Louis, on the table. Nicole picked it up – fifty thousand bottles, for the Great Palace in Tsarskoye Selo, St Petersburg. Louis had told her that there were possible markets in Russia, but not that he was actually in the process of securing an order of this magnitude.

‘What! That’s almost my entire stock. In fact, it might not be my stock any more if Jean-Rémy gets his way. It’s only two weeks until we meet to discuss a deal. I’ve been holding off all the time I was in Paris, and in truth, it was me who proposed selling in the first place. Even if I was still in the business, the rumours are that all the ports are closing and trade is closed to all French exports now that the British and Russians are talking of allying.’

‘Exactly. We have to move quickly.’

‘But Louis had to come home because it was too dangerous for the French. And now he’s secured a big order?’

‘He told you there is still a massive market for your wines, even though the official line is no French exports. But when he heard you were thinking of selling, he didn’t want you to act rashly and throw in a big order as a sweetener to Moët, or let slip that Russia was even a possibility. Moët would be all over it like a dog on heat and any advantage for you would be lost. He waited ’til you were safely back here amongst your friends. And he is a very good friend to you, my dear Nicole. The order’s right here in black and white in front of you. If you take me, I can get us safe passage. I still have my contacts there.’

‘Natasha, there are other ways you can get to Russia. It doesn’t have to involve me, or a massive shipment. Perhaps I could accompany you, but I’d have to leave Mentine and…’

‘And nothing. You’re wasting time.’

‘Everyone seems to think they can push me into returning when I just want to go.’

Natasha shook her head in frustration. ‘Do you want to go when you hear that Moët is intending to sack Marie for running what he calls a “house of tolerance”? She depends on you. Or that he intends to build a house over your finest vineyards in Bouzy, the one where yours and François’ shepherd’s hut is. The one with the vine that grows the sour crimson grapes? Or that any workers who transfer with the deal will work longer hours for less pay and that many will be without work? Even if you don’t care about yourself – and you obviously don’t – you are not free. Many of the town depend on you.’

‘My life is in Paris now.’

‘You’re tiring of it already. I know you. I can see.’

A journey to Russia with Natasha, accompanying fifty thousand bottles of her finest? Running the trade blockades? Nicole thought hard, back to her final week in Paris, the swirl and glitter. Really, it was all a veneer. Natasha was right – she knew her, more than anyone in Paris did. Deep down, they