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

said Natasha. ‘Let Nicole be. I am an outsider. I see situations differently to you and I can see it’s in her blood. It makes her alive. Your influence in the town could set her free, my kind friend. And, Mademoiselle Var, I have something for you, too.’

Natasha pushed a linen pouch in her direction.

‘Open it.’

Mademoiselle Var spilled the contents onto the table. ‘Pips?’

‘Lemon pips. You’ve visited the bakery nearly every day since the revolution and made me tell you again and again how I travelled here from Russia, what I saw on the way, how things are at home. You tell me how much you’d like to see the sparkle of the Mediterranean, visit your relatives in the south, but you can never go, as your father refuses to take you and a woman can’t travel alone. What’s stopping you?’

‘It’s impossible for a woman to travel alone, obviously,’ said Mademoiselle Var, surprised that she even needed to explain.

‘Not for Nicole. She’s brave enough to flout the rules, but we punish her for it. Search your hearts, ask yourselves why? Because she’s doing what you feel you can’t. I don’t judge. We all create our own cages, but don’t create them for others too.’

‘We’ve said our piece,’ said Madame Olivier. ‘I’ve already gone on too much. I always do. Perhaps we should just press on with the tasting. At least if my mouth is full, I can’t put my foot in it again,’ said Madame Olivier apologetically.

Nicole poured out some glasses. ‘You haven’t told me anything I didn’t already know, Madame Olivier, and I appreciate your honesty. Sometimes the truth is hard to say, and to hear. Shall we just leave it at that?’

Natasha carefully wrapped the icon and the key back into their velvet pouch.

‘We’ll start with the white,’ said Nicole. ‘Madame Olivier, I’m sure you know how it goes, but Natasha and Joelle, just breathe in the aroma deeply, take a big mouthful with some air, then spit. Don’t think about it too much. Just try to identify the taste – the first thing that comes into your head.’

‘Anything? I thought there were certain words you needed to use,’ said Joelle.

‘There are no rules, and everyone tastes differently, that’s part of the fun,’ said Nicole. ‘Just imagine you’re describing it to a child. Tell a story.’

Joelle took a sip, and spat. ‘The south, sunshine on water. Umm, lemon trees, almond blossom, the sea.’

‘The almond blossom is spot on!’ said Nicole. ‘A good wine transports us.’

‘Strawberries, hay, new riding gloves. The long summers before I married,’ said Madame Olivier, breathing deeply from the glass.

‘The perfect rosé, in that case. Xavier, this blend can be laid down.’

They moved on to the next wine.

‘Toasted flour, lemon custard, Black Sea salt – it has a very particular taste,’ mused Natasha.

‘You’re right, although I have no idea about the salt,’ said Nicole. ‘Nevertheless, a good set of notes for champagne.’

‘Of course it is. The fruits of my own labour, that one,’ said Xavier. ‘Louis’ll sell it for a fortune in Russia.’ He grinned, wiping out the glasses and pouring out her best red blend.

‘So your salesman is in Russia? You should get him out of there,’ said Madame Olivier.

‘He only made it as far as Saxony. There is a reasonable trade there, so that’s where he is. He’s German, so his contacts in the region are good…’ lied Nicole.

‘Not as good as Russia though. Especially for champagne. I’m probably saying too much again, and I know you take more risks than most, but if you value him, bring him back. Everyone has recalled their salespeople from London and St Petersburg. They’re arresting anyone French, I hear.’

Nicole sent a prayer to her precious cargo making its way overland to Louis.

‘Sadly, he wouldn’t listen to me even if I did,’ said Nicole.

‘I’ll say one thing, you certainly inspire loyalty,’ said Madame Olivier. ‘Xavier here won’t hear a word of criticism against you, so my husband tells me. He’s like a bull in a china shop on your behalf. I’m yabbering again, but here’s another offer of loyalty from me. You’re determined to continue, I see that now, and I’m sorry if my mouth speaks before my head has checked it for offence. What I really wanted to say is that I’d like to help you. I can bring you intelligence from the other vintners. The men can’t wait to impart their superior knowledge to each other and they’re always in my house, discussing all the latest details and happenings.’

‘Why would you do that for me?’ said Nicole.

‘You’re a free spirit. I wish I could be, but this will be my little bit of freedom, a secret.’ She pulled up her sleeve to reveal the extent of the bruise, right up to the elbow. It was vicious. ‘And my revenge.’ She held up a hand to bar Nicole’s embrace. ‘No sympathy! I don’t want that.’

Nicole stepped back. ‘Then I gladly accept, Madame Olivier. Thank you.’

When they left, Nicole went to her study. A new friendship. From such an unexpected place! She hadn’t realised until now how lonely she was, in grief and battle for the last year.

She put down her quill and stared across the vineyards. Emile was dashing through the press courtyard towards her, waving a letter. Her heart galloped.

‘Emile?’

‘It’s very important.’

‘Were you asked to say anything?’

‘It’s from Thérésa and you are to contact her the minute you’ve read it. Shall I wait?’

‘Yes. Go and ask Josette for some lunch. Tell her I said so.’

She tore open the letter. It was dated St Petersburg, 23 September 1806. Almost two months ago, thought Nicole. Slow, even by Russian standards.

My darling little vintner,

Your companion lights up every time he speaks of you. He substitutes his love for you with his love for your wines, my wild country merchant. I will leave this knowledge for you to do with what you will. I know you country girls remain loyal even to the dead.

That is my good news, but