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

The sun blazed ready for the next leg of her journey as Nicole rushed along the towpath back to her boat. Sweet freedom and cool revenge were a heady mix and, as she passed him, Moët was issuing threats to a frightened-looking gendarme about his great patron, Napoléon.

‘The third rule of business,’ she said to him as she headed back to her cargo. ‘It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.’

Châtelet kissed her on both cheeks and helped her onto the barge below the locks.

‘Where will you go?’ she called to him as the barge pilot buckled up the shires for the final leg of the journey.

‘Home,’ said Châtelet. ‘Back to my hometown, to face the past and maybe start a future, or at least to grieve and remember them as they were. Don’t give up, and make it all work for that little girl of yours, and in memory of mine.’

Chapter 11

The Most Audacious Vintner in France

March 1806

Amsterdam was the loveliest sight Nicole had ever seen. The barge sailed through the outskirts where the houses squashed together, tall, painted and slim like a box of artist’s pastels. Cloistered girls watched from the big windows with canal-dappled faces, waiting for a husband. She, however, had the sun on her face and a cargo of liquid gold in the hold. Natasha smiled and waved at the children who ran alongside the barges, sticking out their tongues. Merchants bustled onto the towpath straight out of the front doors. Flower stalls splashed colour, fish flashed as maids stuffed them into their baskets and old men saluted her barge as it cut the water.

The mariners’ church clock read 11.30 a.m. precisely as they took the feeder canal into the port. With no time to lose, the barge pilot went off to find men to help unload, while Nicole shook out Captain Johannes’ instructions.

Having memorised the route, she hurried along the harbour, feeling like the most audacious, canniest vintner in the whole of France. The boats looked glorious, their hulking prows rising up like castles out of the water. Women mended nets, silvery fish scales made the cobbles slippery underfoot and the choppy breeze promised adventure.

She scanned the boats for the name, De Dolfijn. Nowhere to be seen. They only had three hours before the ship sailed and she was anxious to find her captain so the men could load the cargo as soon as possible. The place was infested with thieves and if they didn’t hurry, a good knife through the ropes would mean the end of her champagne.

With so many big boats in the water, the place was surprisingly deserted. Nothing was as the captain had described when he’d sent her joining instructions for the ship. There wasn’t a soul to ask about the next stage of the cargo’s journey, and even if there was, she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. She fished in her pocket for another glance at the instructions, trying not to look like a stranger as she scanned it for the landmark of the customs house.

With the sun on her right, she was definitely heading east. Thank God, exactly as instructed, the Douane sign appeared in big gold letters on the side of the warehouse. Next, a right turn down the alleyway, eyes ahead, ignoring a cluster of dockers leaning on the corner eyeing her and there it was, an unassuming low black doorway, flanked by grimy windows. She squinted at the plaque, which read Kapitein Johannes de Vries, and gave a sharp, optimistic tap to match her mood. No reply. She tried again, and was rewarded with a slow shuffle towards the door. It opened a crack and an old lady’s face peered through.

‘Nicole Clicquot,’ announced the most daring wine merchant within a thousand miles. ‘Captain Johannes is expecting me.’

The door swung open. ‘Hello, my dear,’ said the old lady. ‘There you are. He was expecting you, but he sailed yesterday. I’m so sorry, he couldn’t wait. He heard about today’s port blockade and sailed straight away. The whole place has ground to a halt and there was no way of getting word to you.’

Nicole stood in shock. ‘But he must have left instructions – a replacement ship?’

‘I’m sorry, Madame, he was in a mad rush. It was leave yesterday or never and he took his chances.’

‘I can’t possibly take my shipment home again, and without proper storage, it will spoil. I’ve already paid him a large deposit. I’ll wait for him to come back.’

‘You’ll be waiting a long time. He’s back in three months.’

‘What?’

‘I’m so sorry, Madame. The brown cafés are full of men who lost their fortune today. The warehouses are piled with goods waiting to sail and no one knows when the blockades will be lifted. Nothing leaves by sea. That’s the instruction, or Napoléon will kill us all. Did you hear he crowned himself King of Italy today? I am French, but I speak convincing Dutch. If I were you, I’d keep your mouth shut and hurry back to France. It’s not safe here.’

The door slammed in her face. Nicole pulled her cloak tight and hurried back across the deserted docks, mind racing. Fifty thousand bottles languishing. Nothing in or out of the port. She was ruined and she was taking her investor, dear old Philippe Clicquot, with her.

By the time she arrived back at the boat, she was shaking in shock and she scrambled down the steps to board. Her heel caught and she slipped, grabbed for the handrail and missed. A body caught her and helped her gently onto the deck. Louis Bohne.

‘You’re in a rush,’ he said quietly.

‘What are you doing here?’ she gasped.

‘Natasha told me you’d agreed to my sale and were going to Russia. I was on the road and only just got her message in time, so I came as soon as I could, despite your last words to me in Paris. Go to hell,