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

comet champagne. It will take your mind off things,’ she dared to say.

‘Is it that obvious? I won’t be much company. Really, it’s best if I send someone. Enjoy your outing with your lovely daughter.’

He returned to his drawing.

‘Comet champagne? You never open that for anyone,’ said Mentine as they walked on. ‘He’s old, maybe even as old as you, but handsome.’

‘He’s an important buyer,’ she replied, hiding her disappointment at his words.

Mentine giggled.

‘Don’t forget that the Russians and their allies are occupying our country. Don’t romanticise everything. Come on.’

Nicole ushered her into Claudine’s dress shop. She’d promised her growing daughter a new robe to replace her wardrobe of childish pinafores.

Mentine tried on her new dress, a simple green satin that fitted her perfectly. François made a void beside her. He would have adored this child-woman, shy of her own beauty, but suddenly aware. There was no papa to get angry at the boys, or tell her she was beautiful when she was unsure, or hug her when she felt like a child again. Her own father had always made her feel adored, no matter what. Irises crammed in a vase in the shop window brought back the sharp memory of François filling the house with them after a bout of depression. The despairing lows only served to heighten the fragile highs.

Mentine pirouetted in front of her. ‘I love it!’

‘You actually don’t look bad,’ she teased. ‘In fact, you’re getting rather beautiful. Papa would have been proud of you.’

‘Don’t! I ache when I think of him.’

‘Come on, let’s get it wrapped and we’ll go and show Mémé et Grand-père.’

Out in the sunlit square, the shops showed off the few wares the war allowed, horses clattered, children played and the world didn’t care. Nicole looked for Alexei but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. She felt wrung out as she hurried back to her parents’ house. A big delivery was waiting to leave the press at Bouzy, so she guiltily kissed Mentine goodbye and was glad to rush off. Work was the only thing that took her mind off François, and now Alexei.

When she got to the press yard, Xavier’s broad outline was missing from the press office. After his bruised and battered appearance in the vineyard last week, she had sent him home to recover, and Louis wasn’t due in until the afternoon. The whole place was dead. When Emile’s friendly face emerged from the cellar door, she could have hugged him.

His eyes flickered. ‘Madame Clicquot!’

He always knew it was her, just from her footsteps.

‘Good morning, my lovely boy. Where is everyone?’

He scuffed up a few stones with his boot.

‘What’s happened now?’

‘Monsieur Moët is offering double wages again. With the war, there’s such a shortage of able-bodied men and workers are needed for bottling. Everyone’s suffering and they need money…’

‘Even the orphanage lads?’

Emile nodded. Times were hard. She’d had to put them on half wages and they’d already brought the harvest in and rejected Moët’s offer once, so who could blame them?

‘They do know about the delivery to be loaded today for Paris?’

‘They said next week, when the Moët work is finished.’

No shipment meant no wages. The vicious circle spiralled downwards in front of her eyes.

‘He didn’t want me. But I wouldn’t have gone if he had,’ said Emile. ‘That’s better, you’re smiling.’

She was smiling. What an extraordinary lad; she was lucky to have him on her side.

‘I’m very glad you’re here,’ she said, patting his arm.

‘You have a visitor. He asked me all about the press, so I showed him round, I hope you don’t mind. He said he was a friend.’

‘Who is it? Did he give you a name?’

She held his hand to guide him to the office.

‘Yes, General Marin. He speaks good French, but he’s Russian… Is something wrong?’

‘Not at all.’

Alexei was standing in the cellar doorway, head bent forward, nearly touching the top, watching them.

‘I decided those Prussian thugs can’t be trusted with my precious Sauvignon, so I came myself after all. Emile here knows every inch of this place and has been a great host. Moët’s missing out on your best man, but who can blame him for loyalty to such a lovely boss?’

Her delighted smile felt foolish. He beamed back.

‘So, will you lead me to it?’

‘Is it the case from the Aÿ vineyard?’ said Emile.

‘Yes, but I don’t want you carrying it up the cellar steps. If you fall…’

‘Just tell me where it is, and I can fetch it,’ offered Alexei. ‘And I can also help with the loading of the shipment. You faced down ten armed Cossacks and even then you didn’t look as defeated as when Emile told you about your men deserting you,’ said Alexei. ‘They’d be court-martialled for it on my watch.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s worse than a few drunks with rusty muskets. It’s five thousand bottles, hundreds of cellar stairs. A day’s hard labour for five experienced cellarmen, almost impossible for one soldier, with the best will in the world. But thank you.’

‘In that case, I’ll get you ten men. It’s the least they can do after what happened at the Place des Droits de l’Homme. It’s partly because of them that your man Xavier isn’t here, so we owe you. Don’t protest! Let someone help you for once. Even you need it every now and then. Can I send Emile with a letter to the camp?’

Emile saluted. ‘Yes, sir!’

‘You’ll find your way?’ said Nicole.

‘Of course, I live near there and I walk here every day. Easy.’

‘Then I’ll gladly accept. But please, after that, any debt to me is entirely settled.’

She hated owing anyone, even Alexei. However, she silently thanked Moët for his malice. Her order fulfilled and a whole day with Alexei at the press yard was irresistible.

Emile set off and Alexei helped get the carts into the yard, then she showed him down into the cellar. She would have to select the wine and load the crates with him. His men could do the rest.

‘So, this