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

I think they were. You certainly got here earlier than I thought possible, even for you! I arrived last night and expected to be here for days waiting for you to arrive. You must have been travelling day and night.’

‘We have. I’m sorry I was angry, but it’s no use anyway. The whole venture is a massive failure. Have you heard? All ports closed to trade.’

‘I’ve known since I arrived yesterday.’

‘It’s a disaster, I should never have tried it. I’ve made enemies, dragged poor François’ father into the whole mess. Moët was right.’

‘What’s he got to do with this?’

‘It doesn’t matter any more. He wanted to destroy me, but I’ve done it myself, without any help from him. I’ve got to get my champagne out of here. The place is crawling with overenthusiastic gendarmes and customs officials, looking for French transgressors and I’d be no use to anyone in a Dutch prison.’

‘You’re right. My German accent will save me, but you’re a liability. I can arrange for someone to escort you home and I have a contact with a warehouse a few miles from here. I’ll get your bottles there safely and it will buy us time to make a plan.’

‘But the bottles need to be in a cool cellar, not a warehouse. Any big change in temperature will be a disaster.’

‘Do you have any other ideas?’

She gritted her teeth. ‘No. But I can’t leave you here; come back with me.’

Louis shook his head. ‘No, I need to get these bottles stored and then I’m taking my chances in on the road. You need the business and I’m not giving up.’

‘We need the business, Louis, and I’m past all that. I’m never giving up, not until the last bottle has left the warehouse and the last grape has dried on the vine and even then I’ll plant more and start again.’

‘That’s more like my Babouchette. The one who charmed the most handsome man in Reims into marrying her, then made his vineyards the best in Champagne.’

Their eyes met at the mention of François and she knew what she had to do.

‘What if you take some of my bottles overland with you? There’s still a chance if we’re quick. You know the routes like the back of your hand and, as you say, they’ll never know you’re French, or that you’re carrying French champagne – it’s all still packed and disguised as coffee. I just can’t leave it all to ruin in the warehouse.’

Louis saluted her and broke her a warm-hearted smile. ‘Genius, Veuve Clicquot. So, finally, you see what’s good for you and you’ll let me help you? Just as well I didn’t die in my balcony dive. Those Ruskies have an insatiable taste for champagne, war or not.’

She rolled up her sleeves. ‘Right, let’s get this lot unloaded.’

Louis stopped her gently. ‘I know you don’t like taking orders, but please, leave it with me. You’re better off getting out of here with Natasha and not drawing attention to yourself. Plus, the vineyards need you. If I get some of your orders fulfilled, they’ll be desperate for more,’ said Louis.

‘I wish I could come with you.’ It was almost hopeless, but they had to try.

‘Keep your head high. Your ambitions are too big for that little town and they’ll savour your defeat.’

‘I’ll watch her,’ said Natasha fiercely, emerging from below deck. ‘I have been a stranger there all my life. I can teach her to be immune.’

It was a treacherous trip, but if anyone could get at least some of her shipment to Russia, it was Louis. And she could see that look in his eye. Where she saw danger, he saw the open road, new fellows to hail, adventure, prospects to charm. Whoever married him would have a hard time pinning him down.

The journey back to Reims was a nightmare of torturous nights full of regret, staring at the starless sky. What was she thinking? Louis could die helping her. The captain’s housekeeper’s words came back to her. Anyone French was in danger, even in Amsterdam, never mind on the trade routes through Prussia and into Russia.

By the time she arrived back, she was exhausted. She avoided her town residence and went straight to her house in Bouzy, where her maid Josette was waiting with a bowl of onion soup and a sympathetic smile. She couldn’t face the town, not yet. They would see the failure in her eyes and there was no way she was giving them that. She fell into her bed, Josette fussing around her, stoking up the fire, begging her to rest. A few nights among the vines would restore her, give her enough time to gather courage to face down the gossips until she could make another plan.

Outside her window, the vines lit up against the night sky, stretching as far as she could see. Despite her absence, the vineyards were as they should be. Xavier and her loyal workers always made sure of that, but it was never quite as neat or ordered as when she was supervising everything. Still no buds – they wouldn’t appear until May – but the first full moon in March was the time to bottle new champagne, when they transferred the wine blends from barrels to their bottles and the warmer weather would help with the second fermentation to produce, they hoped, the liveliest bubbles. Her first priority must be to gather the committee to assess the next blend.

Three days later, the tasting committee gathered in her press. She was grateful that Monsieur Olivier had agreed to an urgent meeting. It was a busy time for them and her business wasn’t exactly a priority.

‘When are the others arriving?’ asked Nicole.

Monsieur Olivier was reluctant to meet her eye. ‘It will just be myself, Monsieur Var and Monsieur Faubert today. The others aren’t available.’

The committee always came as one. This was a rebuff, but she had to press on. She could make the blends alone if she had to,