‘Probably because it’s published out of Switzerland. I have it sent to me.’
‘For what?’
‘Prisoners. Since 1916 Switzerland has been taking internees. Surely you know this?’
She shook her head, perplexed, flicking through more pages. ‘What do you mean, internees?’
Charlie gave her a look of surprise. ‘I know you read the German prison gazettes.’
‘Yes, of course, religiously.’
‘Right, right. Well, a few years back the Swiss negotiated a special humanitarian effort that permitted seriously injured or ailing soldiers who were being held in poor conditions in German prisons to travel to Switzerland.’
She looked up at him in astonishment. ‘I did not know that.’
‘Well, they’re still prisoners, bound by a strict code that was agreed upon, but they live in various camps, hostels and hotels in Switzerland in peace, with proper nourishment, medical care and every facility to recuperate as best they can. The conditions are unimaginable compared to where they’ve been. I mean, look at this.’ He picked up one of the newspapers. ‘This is from, er, let me see, last February. Now . . . where is it?’ He flicked through the pages. ‘Ah, yes, look, they always publish photographs in the middle pages. Here are the internees enjoying winter sports. Look – they’re learning to ski! And these ones are doing some sledding . . . or tobogganing, as they call it. And there’s loads of other stuff.’ He reached for another issue. ‘This is the most recent one, from a couple of weeks ago. Look, they’re swimming – that’s Lake Geneva in Lausanne. And they’ve had concerts and recitals, including a series of light operas put on by the soldiers.’
She blinked in consternation. ‘I had no idea. Charlie, may I take a couple of those?’
‘By all means. Take them all if you wish. Harry Blake is not there.’ Then added, his tone cautious, ‘I haven’t seen Jerome’s name either. I do check for it.’
‘No, no, I don’t expect to find it . . . but I’m thrilled you have looked for him, thank you. I’m curious about these; it’s remiss of me not to know – and I may find some names for other people. There are still so many women holding out for news of missing loved ones. Thank you, I will take a stack.’ She shook her head as if shaking herself free of that topic. ‘Now, Charlie, have you been invited to the feast in the vineyards? It’s our farewell to the vines before they sleep their well-earned rest.’
‘I have, and I shall see you there this evening, but I’m looking forward to later.’
She waggled a finger at him in warning and they both laughed.
28
Sophie was in the cellars with Étienne and Charlie, collecting all the ratafia they had available. They planned to measure the volume of the sweet liquor for the dégorgement, which involved removing the dead yeast cells. During this process some wine was inevitably lost, to be topped up with the ratafia, which would then be corked to finalise the 1918 vintage.
She noted that Charlie was happy to fetch and carry as best he could. He looked over at her regularly and smiled, and she imagined he was watching how the laughing girl could shift to become the serious business owner, and in a heartbeat transform into the articulate and emotional champagne maker. Perhaps he was realising that she was many people encased in one, and she hoped that made her intriguing to be with rather than confusing.
Her thoughts bubbled like the champagne she intended to make. She was happy. It was the first time in four harvests she had felt such positivity that it was an almost childlike joy. She reflected on the silence of all guns in France, a successful vintage, the people of Reims returning to their streets to rebuild, the people of Épernay losing that twisted tension that had lived in their bellies for far too long . . . and especially the making of this most special of all champagnes. It was her daydream becoming reality, but it was also her way to honour Jerome and their love, to mark his passing and the peace he’d fought for. She was filled with effervescence that life’s wheel had finally turned.
And so it was with some dismay that she found herself being called up from the cellar to be confronted by Louis leaning against a car, in front of which stood a full wagonload of sugar.
He beamed as she emerged, still wiping her hands on her apron. ‘I wasted no time, my dear.’
‘Louis, I —’
‘No, I know you don’t know what to say,’ he said with delight, unable to hear his own condescension. ‘But it’s my pleasure to take you by surprise and deliver on my promise. Sugar for my lady, as asked.’ Louis swept a triumphant hand towards the wagon, as if she were unable to see for herself what it carried. ‘And now, my darling girl,’ he said, taking her by the elbow and walking her away from anyone who might overhear, ‘it is time for you to deliver on your promise.’
All Sophie’s billowing optimism was deflating at the sight of him, but this was her mess and now she had to face clearing it up. She straightened herself and took a slow breath for the confrontation that was surely coming.
Louis was gesturing again at the sugar sacks. ‘Get that unloaded,’ he snapped to the two men from the wagon, who were awaiting instructions. Now he turned back to her. ‘Where do you want the sacks stored, Madame Delancré?’
She shifted her gaze from Louis to the men clambering down from the wagon and shielded her eyes from the sun. ‘Gentlemen, I’ll arrange some cool drinks and food for you.’ She pointed to the side of the house. ‘Head down there to the parlour but drive the wagon around to the back of the house first, please.’ She saw Charlie arrive, walking up to them with an expression that told her he was sizing up the situation.
‘Ah, Captain Nash, still here?’
Charlie’s face split into a smile. She knew him well enough to know he was enjoying the secret that only she shared. ‘Good day to you, Monsieur Méa. Did you have a pleasant journey?’
‘I did. I wonder, Captain, would you be kind enough – as I gather you now seem to work for Madame Delancré – to show these men where they can store the sugar I’ve brought? Someone needs to supervise the unloading. Sophie, I’m sure that’s —’
‘That’s not the captain’s role, Louis, thank you. I run things around here, in case you’d forgotten?’ She said it sweetly and accompanied it with a smile as though it were a lighthearted remark, but no one could mistake it for anything but the cautionary note that was intended.
‘Oh, my, my, not at all. I was just speeding things along, my dear.’
She nodded, still smiling, and returned her attention to the patient driver and his companion. ‘Drive around to the back of the house so you don’t block the street. Please do not unload the wagon. Go to the parlour and take some refreshment,’ she instructed them, glancing briefly at Charlie.
Charlie grinned. ‘Madame, I would be more than happy to show them where to unhitch the horse and feed and water it?’ He was clearly enjoying himself, knowing a surprise was coming the way of the brother-in-law he detested.
‘All right, thank you, Captain.’
He even leapt up onto the cart and began guiding the driver.
Sophie looked back at Louis, whose face expressed only confusion.
‘My dear, what is going on?’
‘I’ll explain. Join me for a coffee, Louis? Perhaps even a cognac?’ I think you may need it, she thought.
The makeshift hospital had been all but emptied of its patients. Her main reception room once again held elegant furniture and decorative items, and Louis sighed his pleasure to see its status restored.
‘Can’t quite rid it of its smell of disinfectant,’ he remarked as she returned from the parlour, no longer wearing her apron and her hair reconfined in its chignon. ‘But what a welcome relief it is, my dear, to see normality reappearing.’ She watched him take in the paintings now rehung, some of them priceless. All the Limoges porcelain was laid out in its cabinet, the bookshelves were crammed again, the gold leaf on the spines glinting as the sunlight struck it. Louis was in the love seat near the window; she knew he wanted
her to join him, but instead she walked around the walnut dining table that seated twelve with ease, and twenty-four if they opened up its leaves. It gladdened her to see it dusted and polished, carrying the familiar silver platter that she was going to enjoy filling again with fruit. Silver candelabras shone – the household team had been busy, she thought.
‘Yes,’ she agreed wholeheartedly. ‘Even the change to this one part of the house is affirmation of the world coming to its senses. We have only two remaining patients now, and they’ve been moved to a small space near the kitchen. I’d forgotten just how beautiful this room is in late summer.’ Was she babbling? Perhaps, yes, she was. It was time to confront him, to return his ring and his sugar and send him back to Paris. It sounded simple, but instead it felt like a mountain that was hers alone to climb.
‘Louis —’
Jeanette came in with coffee and some freshly made biscuits as a treat. Sophie smiled benignly as the coffee was served and thanked Jeanette as she left, feeling the coil of tension tighten in her belly.
‘Perhaps now, my dear, you will tell me why you did not wish for my wagon of sugar to be unloaded?’ Louis spoke evenly but there was such a keen edge riding beneath his words that she could have sworn he’d just sliced her open.
She poured his coffee and handed it to him, not bothering to offer a biscuit, given his mood. She watched Louis carelessly place the cup and saucer on a prettily carved demilune table nearby, its half-crescent sitting neatly against the papered wall. Sophie absently thought that her mother would have preferred Louis not to place the china directly onto the soft wood of that beloved table, but her thoughts refocused quickly as the man in question cleared his throat. ‘Well?’
‘Would you like a cognac, Louis?’ she offered.
‘No, I would like an answer.’
She sat opposite him and placed her hands in her lap. Just say it. ‘Louis, this is awkward, I realise, but I have to tell you that I no longer require the sugar you’ve brought.’
Small eyes blinked, dark and cunning, as he listened to her hesitant beginning. He said nothing so she had no choice but to continue.
‘I’ve solved my crisis, or at least Captain Nash has.’
‘And by that you mean . . .?’
She breathed out. ‘Captain Nash, as you know, is a chemist, and he has some novel ideas with regard to champagne making.’
‘Because he’s had so much experience?’ Louis enquired facetiously.
‘No, Louis,’ she said, tiring of this careful dance. ‘Captain Nash simply applied his knowledge of chemistry to the chemical process that is taking place within the champagne bottle. The yeast is —’
‘Please,’ he said, already tired, it seemed, of the conversation. ‘I don’t want a tutorial on champagne making.’
‘Well, then, you have to just accept my word that he has found a way to give me the sugar we need for the final stage, without having to resort to the unfair bargain that you were offering.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you?’
‘I see that you’ve ignored my best advice and you are now taking your instruction from a charlatan soldier who wants nothing more than to take advantage of a wealthy widow.’
She inhaled silently, deeply. ‘He is far from a charlatan, although I readily admit that Charlie has worked magic.’
‘Charlie, now, is it? My, my, you two are familiar. Didn’t I warn you about him, Sophie, my dear? Didn’t I caution you that spending too much time with the English soldier would put you on dangerous ground?’
Finally, her bristling emotions showed through in her sharper tone. ‘You see, Louis, I don’t set much store by your counsel. I trust my own instincts. And my instincts tell me that Charlie – who has become a good friend – has been rather selfless in his endeavours to return kindness, to help wherever he can and contribute to solving a problem that I felt had no solution but misery. You, by contrast, have been feeding that misery, even preying upon it. Louis, how proud do you feel to have blackmailed your brother’s widow? How tall do you walk knowing you have done your utmost to coerce me into your bed while still enjoying what I suspect – but you must correct me if I’m wrong – is a perverse secret lifestyle? I know this sugar you’ve brought is not available through regular means, so to me that suggests you’ve blackmailed someone else to get it. You’re not a good person, Louis. You are a selfish soul and I will not let you lay a finger on me, on my property, on Jerome’s property, or on my family’s wealth – and I fear that is what’s really behind all this supposed generosity.’ She watched him falter, knowing she’d hit the mark, and wondered why it had taken her so long to achieve clarity. ‘I cannot for a moment believe that your endeavours on my behalf are not rooted in self-advancement – or worse, Louis,’ she said, as a new idea occurred to her. ‘Are you in trouble? The whole business of wearing your ring without any serious commitment from either of us never sat comfortably in my mind. It felt contrived, but only now is it making some sense to me. I believe you are using me to make it appear that you are financially sound.’
‘How dare you!’ he sneered, hauling himself to his feet, but she waited, remaining seated, glad the worst of it was said and she could cool the burn in her cheeks. He advanced on her. ‘You wicked, spoilt temptress. You use your sex to get what you need.’ She opened her mouth in shock but no words came. ‘I suppose you’ve convinced the English wretch to do your bidding with promises of your affections, have you?’
Hating herself for allowing him to enrage her, she still couldn’t help but act on it. ‘Oh, you’re as beastly as I recall, Louis. It’s been nothing but pretence, hasn’t it? Just faking that you cared. But first impressions don’t always lie. The day I met you I felt only repulsion, and that was heightened by the arrival of your brother, who eclipsed you in every respect – and that’s part of your life’s problem, isn’t it? Jerome was better than you, Louis. He was kinder, smarter, stronger, more courageous, more talented, more generous . . . I could keep going but I don’t want to waste any more breath on you. And yes, the captain and I are fond of one another,’ she admitted, unable to resist one final barb to puncture her visitor’s swollen rage. ‘And perhaps one day we might marry.’ She watched the shock flash in his eyes. ‘As for you, Louis, I hope I never have to look upon you again. Take your sugar,’ she said, ‘leave my house, leave my life. I don’t know what is going on in yours, but I don’t wish for it to be entangled with mine. We share Jerome, that’s all. And with him no longer between us, we have nothing in common.’
He smiled and it was cruel. ‘You’re right to some degree, Sophie. I am in need of an injection of cash, but —’
She was not going dance around him any longer. ‘How much?’ she interrupted.
He hesitated, and she could picture the cogs of his well-oiled mind spinning and connecting. He was shameless, happy to blithely move past her accusations and onto the topic of money at the root of them. ‘I will sell the house in Avize; it is not your concern.’
‘Your childhood home!’ She sounded helplessly wounded. ‘Jerome’s too.’ She knew she was being baited but fell for it all the same.
‘Jerome hardly needs it.’
She refused to bargain with him. ‘What is it worth?’
He laughed. ‘Why? Are you going to purchase it?’
‘Give me a figure, Louis.’
He did and she knew it was vastly inflated but she was pleased not to blink or show any sign of shock.
‘I will instruct my accountant in Paris to have that money transferred to your account. I will expect the deed of the house in Avize to be delivered to my lawyers. The accountant will provide you with that address.’
Louis regarded her now with a mixture of what she took to be white fury combined with loathing. She no longer cared what he thought.
‘Why would you do this?’
‘To get you far from my life. I never had any intention of marrying you, Louis, although I suspect you had every intention of marrying me. I
feel somehow dirty for being engaged in such skulduggery. I lied. I pretended. I used you for what I needed. So consider this reparation for that poor behaviour. But I mean what I say: once you leave, I never wish to look upon you again.’ She was breathing heavily. He still looked shocked, as though searching for the trap. ‘How’s that for a devil’s bargain, Louis? And you can live your debauched life and end up homeless – penniless, for all I care after this – but you will never cross my threshold here or in Avize again. That house will belong to Delancré by law. Is that clear? Do we have a deal?’ She said the final word as though it were filthy in her mouth.
His small eyes grew darker still. ‘We do.’
‘Good.’ She pointed to the ring, which she had placed on a small table near her chair. ‘That is yours – take it. Do you want me to buy the sugar from you, too?’
He smiled lazily. ‘Well, it does save more inconvenience.’
She nodded, disgusted. ‘I know the price of sugar, Louis, so I won’t be allowing you to inflate it as you have the sale of the house. I will pay you the going rate plus twenty-five per cent for your trouble and that more than covers what you can no doubt get on the black market. Or you can take it back to Paris with you today. I really do not care.’
‘No, I’ll accept your terms,’ he said, sneering again and reaching for the ring box, his coffee untouched.
‘Then I shall put my accountant and my lawyers in touch. I believe there is nothing more to say.’
‘Oh, there is one more thing to say, my dear, and that is that I think your Captain Nash is a sad idiot to fall for your wiles, and maybe he has a terrible surprise coming his way.’
‘Get out!’ she said, angry that he could hurt her still, with no idea what he meant other than to inflict emotional damage. ‘I never want to see you again.’
‘You never shall. Who’d have thought that sweet girl who walked down the aisle with my brother was a slut? I think I got away lucky in not having to marry you, my dear.’
Louis turned on his heel and left her biting her lip so she wouldn’t say another word to him and to prevent the tears that so desperately wanted to spill.
The Champagne War Page 33
