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

of strategy, I’m merely an operative and if I don’t get this lot done, he’s already informed me of the consequences, so if you’ll excuse me…’ he said with a wry smile.

She studied him for a moment while he worked to satisfy herself. There was something about Monsieur Châtelet, the way he held himself straight and assured, his fair hair and uncalloused hands. The camarade sounded clipped, not at all like the Rémois accent. His clothes were different, too. They were patched, but the trousers were fine wool. Many fortunes had changed places since the revolution and this man had seen better times, but there was no question that he was a good worker.

Natasha had stopped packing and was in the corner, studying a parchment, spread out in front of her.

‘Only three hours until we leave,’ said Nicole, irritated that Natasha was not packing bottles. She needed everyone, even Natasha, to help or they’d never have it done.

Natasha didn’t look up. ‘You want me to pack with the rest? Not now, I’m checking the stars for our journey. We should wait a day,’ she said emphatically.

‘Impossible. There’s only one Dutch sea captain in the whole of Amsterdam prepared to take us, and the corsair sails in three weeks. Not accounting for the two days overland to Charleville-Meziéres, the barge trip alone would usually take three and a half weeks. We’ll have to sail day and night as it is.’

‘Always in a rush, Babouchette. You will ignore my advice, as always, but there will be trouble.’

Natasha took out a bag of red powder and made a circle around the chart in the mud.

‘That should help, but no promises,’ said Natasha.

‘If it makes you feel safer – but I have planned it to the last detail.’

‘We think we have control over our fates; it is easier like that,’ said Natasha.

The clock struck the half-hour. Time could seem interminable in the early hours of the morning, but not this night. The hours shrank, sucked all the time they needed. Nicole stepped outside again to check for Moët’s spies. This shipment could make her reputation, fly in the face of all the detractors in this town. If it failed, she would be a laughing stock, Philippe Clicquot would lose his investment and Moët would be forcing her to sell again – this time for the pittance he had threatened.

She dared herself down towards the vineyards, the darkness thickening as she left the comfort of the building. The stars were gone now, obscured by clouds. A figure loomed, or was it an animal? She picked up a shovel and carried on. She tightened her grip.

‘You weren’t really thinking of using that thing, were you?’ Soft lips brushed her cheek, a quick tongue entangled hers.

‘Thérésa!’ Everything about her was unexpected and Nicole was confused, delighted and angry all at once.

‘Put that thing down, you’re making me nervous.’

Nicole ushered her back to the press, watching out for prying eyes.

‘For goodness’ sake, we’re not in the Bastille. I made sure no one saw me.’

‘When I wrote to you, I never expected you to come all the way here,’ whispered Nicole.

Thérésa kissed her again. ‘You’re fizzing with your secret mission.’

‘It’s nerves,’ Nicole laughed. ‘I’m leaving tonight, I can’t delay, even though you’ve come all this way.’

‘Paris has been a bore without you around, but there may be a teensy bit of self-interest at play. You remember the general with the killer’s eyes?’

‘General Roussillon?’

‘What a good memory you have. There are so many, they meld into one for me. He’s a powerful man and I might have allowed him to assume too much. Love turned bitter is a dangerous thing.’

Nicole nodded, thinking of Moët.

‘Darling, I’ve come all this way from Paris to see you and I asked the carriage not to change horses so that I got here in time. I’m here to join your little adventure. Won’t that be fun? Just the two of us.’

A male voice protested, ‘Nicole, who is this? We agreed. No one else.’

‘Thérésa, meet Philippe Clicquot, François’ father, and my new business partner.’

Thank God a distraction had arrived. Thérésa would never endure life on the road with its hardships and privations. Nicole couldn’t allow anything or anyone to stand in her way and she needed time to think.

Thérésa scorched him with her brightest smile and held out her hand. ‘Enchantée. I see now where Nicole’s handsome husband inherited his looks.’

Philippe didn’t take the hand. He was already nervous about the scheme, and he found it hard to cope with unexpected developments in any circumstances, never mind these.

‘Could I have a word with you in private, my dear,’ said Philippe, glancing apologetically at Thérésa. He hated to cause offence.

Pulling Nicole to one side, he unfolded a letter, grim-faced. It was from Moët.

Monsieur Clicquot,

The necessity for this letter greatly saddens me. We have been business associates for many years and I have always respected your integrity. Our ancient tradition of winemaking has until now been an honourable business between gentlemen and I consider your recent collaboration with Nicole Clicquot a gross transgression of our ancient codes and, as her father-in-law, entirely contrary to her best interests.

Her business and lands were mine in all but the final signature on the contract. Should you refuse to support my claim, I fully intend to do everything in my power to put a stop to your venture and save Madame Clicquot – a new widow, not in her right mind – from further public embarrassment.

Cordially,

Jean-Rémy Moët

‘What is your position?’ said Nicole, furious at Moët for upsetting Philippe.

‘Let’s not waste any more time on it now, and don’t you dare worry about me in all this. You have my complete faith.’

The letter shook in Philippe’s hands. His nerves were not his greatest asset, but she had enough for them both.

‘Thank you for your confidence, Philippe. Once this shipment is delivered and paid for, we won’t need Moët. And we both know who we’re doing this for,’ she added softly.

‘Of course I trust