by Helen Fripp
‘Favour! He’s a madman. Jean-Rémy never does anyone a favour, without taking something for himself! I’m not afraid, even now. And why should I believe you? Thanks to you he knew all my plans. To think that I actually felt sorry for you!’
‘Moët found me on his land, almost dead, running with lice and sores,’ said Châtelet. ‘He fed me, listened to my stories and took pity. I would have done anything for him, even stop a determined woman like you. He asked me a to find a way to gain the confidence of your man, Xavier. When he asked me to drive for you, Moët couldn’t believe his luck. Intelligence right from the inner circle…’ He eyed her apologetically. ‘Moët convinced me it was for your own good – that is, until I met you. You have a fire in you that I don’t want to be responsible for extinguishing and your daughter is the same age as mine was. Thérésa helped me get stronger and I came to find you – at a distance, because I knew Moët would try something.’
‘If he thinks I’m stupid enough, or weak enough…’ stuttered Nicole.
‘He thinks everyone is, compared to him,’ said Valentin. ‘Which is his weakness when it comes to you. You are a businesswoman. Use me, I can help.’
What the hell else was Jean-Rémy capable of? Of course she was afraid, all alone with an old Russian woman and a turncoat for company, but what other choice did she have?
Natasha narrowed her eyes at Châtelet. ‘I’ll be watching you. When you’re in sight and when you’re not.’
‘I expect nothing less of you, Madame. Judge my actions and you’ll see. I will make you three promises to help Nicole beat him. This much I can do, but it’s going to take a lot of her courage, too.’
‘She’s got plenty of that,’ said Natasha proudly. ‘Tell us your plan.’
First, Châtelet brought Nicole a shorn-off winch as proof of his fidelity. The sun was still not quite risen, so she and Natasha were able to creep unseen along the queue of barges to confirm his next piece of information. Holding the lamp closer to the barge inscription, it was as he told her: Moët et Compagnie, no doubt a cargo of champagne headed for Russia, covered by a tarpaulin.
Natasha tutted, ‘Love turned to hate is an ugly thing.’
Back on the barge, Nicole hastily emptied her purse, made ten neat, equal piles of coins, and waited.
Châtelet kept his third promise and returned with ten strong men from the local village. Their eyes widened at the coin stacks.
‘Not now. Afterwards, when every single crate is loaded. Get to work and if you are finished in an hour, this is yours.’
Her pocket watch always kept good time and Nicole checked it now. Eight hours before the ship sailed. If this went well, they’d make it easily. The men started work.
‘You’ve secured a boat at the bottom of the lock flight?’
‘As promised. It’s there.’
The shorn-off winch caught her thumb and the jagged edge drew blood. She dropped it next to the coins.
‘You’ve seen his barge isn’t going anywhere. No one can pass this point without a winch for the lock gates. It will take them all day to fix it. Do you trust me now?’ asked Châtelet.
She ignored him. ‘Guard the money,’ she said to Natasha as she scooped it up and placed it in the safe. Tucking the key in her secret pocket, she set off for the port authority cabin, the next part of Châtelet’s plan. It was a risk, but she took satisfaction in seeing Châtelet’s men heaving her crates down the towpath past the locks. With a barge secured below the locks, hers would be the only cargo leaving this place for Amsterdam today. Thanks to the shorn-off lock-gate winch and the boat at the bottom of the lock flight that Châtelet had secured for her, Moët had absolutely no chance of doing the same.
She was glad she’d taken the precaution of packing so well that the bottles wouldn’t clang, and also writing ‘coffee’ on the crates. No matter how much money she offered, the men would know they’d be risking their liberty handling illicit champagne – better they knew nothing about it.
Straightening her back, she knocked on the port-authority door next to Moët’s barge.
The customs officer stubbed out his cigarette and straightened his cap.
‘It’s a bit early for a visit from a lady,’ he said, stepping out and closing the door behind him. ‘We open in an hour, come back then.’
‘I have information relating to that cargo,’ said Nicole, pointing to Moët’s barge.
‘Do you now?’ replied the man.
‘May I come in?’
‘Say what you’ve got to say,’ he said, staying where he was.
‘It’s a criminal matter.’
‘Is it really?’
He gestured for her to continue.
‘There’s forbidden cargo on that barge,’ she said. Through a window, she saw someone move inside the office.
‘And what would that be?’
‘Champagne,’ said Nicole. ‘Bound for Russia. You’d lose your job if it was found out, so I thought you should know.’
The man’s expression changed. ‘I see. Why don’t you step inside after all?’
Pleased, she followed him in, but he slammed the door behind her. Jean-Rémy Moët sat behind the customs desk.
‘It’s not at all safe here, my dear,’ he said, raising an eyebrow as her nostrils flared in fury. ‘I promised your father I’d bring you home safely. It seems Valentin has switched sides. And who can blame him rushing to aid such a charming damsel in distress? He’s a complicated man, but whatever heart he had was taken in the revolution, so do take care with your new friend. However, as you see, I have friends everywhere and I never rely on one single point of failure. It pays to always have a back-up plan.’
Moët and the customs man bowed to each other in satisfaction.
She turned to escape, but the customs man blocked the exit and turned the key in the lock.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ she demanded.
‘I’m sorry. My boat needs to be on its way before you are,’ said Moët. ‘It’s better just to calm down and let it happen. How bad can it be? You must see, this is no business for a woman. The first rule of business is that it’s for men – it’s money and power and dog-eat-dog and you’re in deep.’
‘You overbearing, deceptive, dishonest, thieving…’
‘And you expect to sell me down the river while exporting your own champagne to the promised land? The second rule of business is that you must see things from more than one viewpoint,’ said Moët, infuriatingly smug.
‘If you don’t care about me, there’s Natasha. Her mother is dying, she needs to get to her before it’s too late. Jean-Rémy, why can’t we both sell in Russia?’
‘It seems you have been doubly fooled. I helped Natasha file papers for her mother’s death years ago. She asked for my assistance in the matter when I was Mayor.’
He looked out of the window and drummed his fingers while the revelation sank in. Dear, clever Natasha had more than made up for abandoning her after François’ death now, by giving her a reason to carry on.
‘An hour or so will do it,’ Moët continued. ‘I’m sure you won’t want to come back to Reims with me, but you would be welcome. After an hour, you are free to go, but in the meantime, I must keep you safe here. One day I hope that you will see that I only act in your interests.’
‘I would rather drown here than die a death in drawing rooms.’
‘I’m afraid you have no choice. It’s the natural way of things,’ Jean-Rémy said, pressing a large gold coin into the customs officer’s palm as he left.
Nicole’s pocket watch chimed the half-hour, then the hour, as she paced the little room. There was no more money, no more chances.
Outside, harsh morning dawned – time was rushing by and each minute that passed made her burst with frustration and fury. She banged on the window, but the customs officer pulled her back and shoved her onto a chair.
‘You’re a little vixen, aren’t you? Just sit nicely, or I’ll need to tie you up.’
Men were busily hauling cargo, scrubbing boats, preparing for the day. A knot of sailors clustered round the Moët barge, unloading, no doubt, to use her barge beyond the locks. She watched in a rage of despair, but something wasn’t right. Instead of heading down the towpath past the locks, the men were running with armfuls of bottles into the fields. A man was raging at them and someone restraining him. She squinted to see more clearly and gasped. Jean-Rémy was handcuffed, held hostage by a man in a customs uniform.
‘Putain, bordel de merde. Thieving peasants! I’ll remember each and every one of your criminal faces!’
‘He’s got a worse temper than you,’ laughed the customs officer. He stood up, unlocked the door and opened it with a sweeping gesture. ‘You’re free to go,’ he said. ‘Monsieur Moët’s champagne is being distributed. We might as well – if it got to the port, it would be poured away as an illegal export.’ He handed her a white feather tied with a narrow red ribbon. ‘She said you’d understand. It seems you have friends in high places.’
How could she ever have doubted her beautiful, clever friend! Thérésa loved a riddle, but these clues were obvious. At least there was someone she could trust to get things done properly, apart from herself.
He bowed. ‘My apologies for the charade, but you were the honey for our trap. Madame Tallien arranged everything, and we’ve been waiting for you all week. Safe journey with your coffee, Madame.’
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, 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 hom
e 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.
