Vintage

by Olivia Darling

At sunset, the picking gang retired but it was still a beautiful evening and no one wanted to go home.

  While Guy finished supervising the pressing of that day’s grapes, Hilarian organized some of the helpers to build a bonfire with a pile of debris Guy had been collecting all summer. Antony set up a couple of his decks in Kelly’s sitting room and opened the French doors so that the music could be heard in the little garden that backed onto the vineyard itself.

  It was a mellow sort of night. Antony chose music to reflect that mood, no thumping beats but the kind of ambient music they played in chill-out rooms. The perfect soundtrack for a setting sun.

  Meanwhile, Gina and a couple of other girls set up the barbecue. There was more than enough food, since they had been planning to cater for so many more. One of the guys also had a carload of beer to go with the burgers, but, interestingly, not one of the pickers wanted beer that night. Everyone wanted to drink Froggy Bottom.

  When Guy finally emerged from the winery, Hilarian led a cheer.

  “I have had one of the best days of my life,” said Gina, throwing her arms around Guy’s neck and giving him a kiss. It was a sentiment that was repeated all over Froggy Bottom. Except for Kelly…

  Hilarian caught up with Kelly while Guy led the rest of the crew in a South African drinking game. She was sitting a little way off from the others, nursing a plastic cup of white wine and a half-eaten burger.

  “We need to talk,” said Hilarian.

  Kelly blushed automatically in expectation of a telling off.

  “Shall we take a walk?”

  Kelly followed Hilarian out of the kitchen garden. They walked up through the vineyard to a rickety old bench that had a view across the vines to the farmhouse. They sat and looked down on the partygoers, silhouetted by the light of the bonfire as they danced like pagans involved in some ancient ritual. Kelly wrapped her arms around her body, partly because she was cold and partly, subconsciously, because she felt very small all of a sudden. Stupid too. Ashamed. Kelly and Hilarian sat in silence for a moment or two while Kelly lit a cigarette and took a few anxious puffs. Hilarian spoke first.

  “Today very nearly ended in disaster. I think you know how serious things could have got if you and your friends had insisted on having your rave.”

  Kelly nodded.

  “As it is, they avoided arrest and the grapes are all safely harvested. Disaster averted. But I don’t want to have to call in favors again like I did today. Have you got any idea how much I had to fork out to get the police to set up that roadblock to turn your punters away? It could have got nasty. Thank God you hadn’t already taken their money.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I can’t keep bailing you out.”

  “You didn’t have to—” Kelly began.

  Hilarian shook his head. “It’s not just today. I’ve been doing all I can to keep you on the right side of the trustees until now. Every time I turn up in Slough for a meeting, they’ve got some new reason to stop your allowance. There’s no way around it, Kelly. Together with me, those two old duffers are in charge of what happens here for the next four and a half years. Now, you can turn the next four and a half years into a struggle—a battle at every turn—or you can humor the trustees. The more you show that you can take responsibility for what goes on here, the less reason they will have to interfere.”

  Kelly squirmed.

  “I for one want you to be able to take over the reins here at Froggy Bottom as soon as you’re able. I think you’ve got the ability and I think you’re interested in what goes on here, but for some reason you’re resisting. It’s as if you don’t think it’s cool to want to take the vineyards seriously. Well, if you’re worried about what your mates might think, I hope today has shown you that they think making wine is great fun.”

  Kelly gazed down at the people dancing around the fire. She’d spent much of the day worrying that Gina, her brother and all their mates would be furious with her for the cancellation of the all-nighter, but they certainly seemed to be having a good time right then.

  “You could have something truly wonderful here,” Hilarian concluded. “But you have to make an effort. What’s keeping you from mucking in?”

  “What’s the point? It just doesn’t feel like it’s mine. What with the trustees always interfering and the Mollisons still going over the will and trying to get me kicked out. They’re going to get it back before my five years are up anyway.”

  “No, they’re not. Your father named you as his child before he died. I can’t see any way they can get their hands on this place. The Mollisons will just have to get used to it.”

  “It’s not just that. How do you think it feels that they want to get rid of me so badly? They’re supposed to be my brother and sister and they won’t even see me.”

  “You’re not missing much,” Hilarian assured her.

  “All I ever wanted was a proper family but it’s like someone up there decided I don’t deserve one. Mum wanted to get rid of me. The Mollisons want me gone. I don’t belong here. I feel like I don’t belong anywhere,” she added in a sudden burst of angst.

  “Oh, Kelly!” Hilarian wrapped his arm around her. “Of course you belong here. Your father wanted you to have this land.”

  “I didn’t even know him.”

  “Well, this is how you can know him. By being here. By giving your inheritance a chance to change your life for the better. We all want that for you. Me, Guy, even the crusty old trustees.”

  Kelly laid her head on Hilarian’s shoulder.

  “Just think,” said Hilarian, squeezing her tight. “In less than five years’ time, you could be drinking your own wine, made from the grapes we picked here today. It’ll be fantastic wine and it will win the Vinifera wager.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “I really do. But only if you start believing that this is where you belong and act accordingly. Take this place seriously. A hundred thousand pound’s worth of seriously.” He winked.

  “OK,” said Kelly: “I will.”

  The following Sunday, while Kelly accompanied Guy and Hilarian to the harvest festival at the local church of St. Jude’s, Madeleine Arsenault felt a sudden urge to go into the cathedral at Reims. She crossed herself automatically as she stepped into the cool austere darkness of the building, rebuilt by Rockefeller after the devastation of World War II exactly as it had been in Norman times.

  Without quite knowing why, Madeleine went to the chapel of St. Teresa and lit two candles. One for herself and one for her brother, Georges.

  “I wish you could be here, bro,” she murmured over his candle, then she muttered a little prayer of thanks for a harvest successfully completed.

  Outside, a group of tourists gathered in the doorway, taking souvenir snaps of the most famous of all the cathedral’s statues: the smiling angel of Reims. Madeleine looked up at the angel as she passed on her way out. It was as though the angel were smiling down upon Madeleine alone.

  In California, Christina walked to the top of her vineyards and remembered her own harvest weekend. The valley before her was balmy, warm and peaceful. If there is a God, Christina thought, then he probably lives out here.

  PART

  TWO

  CHAPTER 34

  March. All over Champagne, the producers eagerly awaited the moment when the first of the previous year’s still wine could be taken from barrel, blended and bottled, wherein the real magic would start.

  Mathieu Randon and Odile Levert drove from Domaine Randon’s head office in Paris to the winery near Épernay in Randon’s sleek black Mercedes Benz. Odile could tell Randon was tense. Nervous almost. She couldn’t help but admire that he took his wine so seriously considering that Maison Randon represented such a small part of his luxury goods empire these days.

  “Maison Randon will always be the most important part of my business. It’s about family pride,” he explained when she commented as such.

  Odile nodded. She knew the Randons had
been in Champagne for generations but it was hard to imagine that Mathieu Randon was ever part of anyone’s family. He was one of those men who seemed to have appeared like a toadstool, popping up in the boardroom overnight fully formed and already white-haired. She could not picture him as a tousle-haired toddler, chasing the family dog up and down the rows of vines while his father and mother set about pruning. Or as a seven-year-old helping with the picking. Or even as a surly teen tipping grapes into the press. She couldn’t even imagine Randon without a tie on.

  “Your opinion is very important to me, Odile,” he told her. “I want you to know that I trust your judgment on champagne above anyone else’s. Except my own,” he added with a half smile.

  “Of course,” said Odile. “But I don’t know why you are so concerned. I don’t anticipate any problems. Axel Delaflote is a very competent man and your cellar master, Jean-Christophe, is one of the finest I’ve ever encountered.”

  “He should be,” said Randon. Randon had paid a small fortune to tempt him away from one of the other big houses, at Axel’s recommendation.

  When they arrived at Maison Randon, Axel Delaflote was already waiting on the steps of the large house that had once been the Randon family home but which now housed the company’s offices and Axel’s own apartment.

  “Are they ready for us?” Randon asked.

  “Of course,” said Axel. He had been waiting for Randon and Odile’s arrival all morning.

  “I’m sorry we’re a little late,” said Odile. “I’m afraid it’s my fault. I had to finish my column for Vinifera.”

  Axel smiled tightly. Odile Levert was one of the few people for whom Randon would wait. Axel wasn’t sure he trusted her. He knew she didn’t like him. Whenever they were in the same room, they circled each other like a pair of cats. Axel knew that Odile had spent a lot of time with Madeleine Arsenault, as her champion for the Vinifera competition. He wondered if Madeleine ever talked about him.

  The trio walked to the winery. It was intoxicating to be in Randon’s presence. Who could not be impressed by the way his staff reacted whenever he was around? They stopped their chattering and practically genuflected as the master strode by. The winery was spotless. The stainless-steel vats were perfectly burnished. The concrete floor was remarkably dry.

  Jean-Christophe was waiting for them by the enormous barrels that held the still wine from Randon’s grand cru vineyards at Verzenay and Avize. A long table had been laid with a pure white tablecloth. The glasses—Riedel’s own special design for Maison Randon—were polished and ready. Sitting next to them was a plate of white bread for the purpose of cleansing the palate.

  It’s often said that the magic of champagne comes at the blending stage, when wine from previous vintages is mixed with the new wine to create the house style. However, the still wines they were to taste that day would not be blended before they were bottled. Each of the vats contained juice from the grapes of a single vineyard. The delight of the champagne they became would be in the unique expression of each of those vineyards. Ultimate terroir.

  As Randon watched, Jean-Christophe opened the tap at the bottom of the vat marked “Verzenay” and allowed a trickle to flow into his glass. He made a great show of holding the resulting liquid up to the pale spring sunshine. The great doors to the winery had been thrown open to allow in as much light as possible for the purpose of examining the color and clarity of the wine.

  Then Jean-Christophe took a sniff and a slurp. He held the wine in the cup of his tongue, aerating it. Then he paused, as though waiting for a chemical reaction to take place in his mouth. At last, he spat into the silver spittoon and nodded. He was pleased with what he’d tasted.

  With much theatricality, he filled three more glasses. One each for Randon, Axel and Odile.

  “I think you’ll find this acceptable,” said Jean- Christophe with the air of a man who knows that he’s making an understatement.

  They all nosed their glasses. Odile took the first sip. She tried hard not to react at once. She wanted a moment to get the words exactly right. But Randon was watching her closely, studying her for micro-expressions that might reveal her true first impression. And he caught one.

  “It’s not right,” said Randon. Without even bothering to taste his own, he threw his wineglass on to the floor. It shattered on the concrete, splattering wine and shards of glass all over Jean-Christophe. The cellar master jumped back against the barrel as though Randon had swung a punch at him. Odile felt something—possibly glass—hit her stockinged leg, but she tried to remain still. She didn’t even look down to see if she was bleeding.

  Axel stepped forward. He tried to calm the situation down. He held his own glass out to Randon.

  “I think this is pretty good.”

  “You’ve been in this business five minutes, Delaflote. Five minutes. I don’t want to know what you think. Odile, I’ll give you a ride back to town.”

  Randon turned and walked out of the winery.

  On the drive back to Paris, Randon made arrangements for the termination of Jean-Christophe’s employment. Odile heard every word of his conversation with Axel Delaflote. She looked out the window. There was no point trying to reason with him. The only way to stay within Randon’s charmed inner circle was to stay quiet. And it was very important to Odile that she didn’t lose her place in the sun. Not yet.

  CHAPTER 35

  A day later, having spent yet another hour unsuccessfully arguing with Randon for Jean-Christophe’s retention as the cellar master at Maison Randon, Axel sat alone in his office with his head in his hands. The red lights on the telephone in front of him flickered on and off with the regularity of brake lights in a traffic jam as his assistant, Sabine, tried to connect him to various callers, but Axel didn’t pick up. Eventually, Sabine poked her head around the door.

  “You OK?” she dared to ask.

  “Of course I’m OK,” Axel snapped.

  “It’s just that you’re not picking up. Is your phone working?”

  “Just hold my calls for an hour.”

  So far, Axel’s promotion to the head of Maison Randon had been the very definition of a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it was everything he had ever wanted. He was heading up one of the most famous champagne houses in the world. There were some fabulous perks. People took him seriously now. He could get reservations in any restaurant in Paris, London, New York. Anywhere. As he had promised that night in the car, Randon had installed Axel in a wonderful apartment near the Domaine Randon headquarters in Paris, complete with antique furniture and the kind of paintings that museums clamored to get on loan. There was also the apartment in the house in Champagne, of course, overlooking the vineyards, with a live-in housekeeper and chef, so that Axel could entertain company guests in style.

  The downside was that Axel knew he had become the definition of a company man. He was expected to be available to his boss at all times. Most people at Axel’s level expect to have to take their work home on occasion, but Randon really took advantage of the concept of 24/7 availability. There were frequent calls in the middle of the night. Axel sometimes wondered if Randon ever slept or if he was, as some of his less reverent employees suggested, a vampire.

  And now this. Randon’s explosive rage in the winery had unnerved Axel far more than he dared reveal. Axel had expected that Randon would calm down overnight and agree with Axel’s position that the still wine from the Verzenay vineyards was perfectly good and JeanChristophe should be kept on. But Randon was implacable. He refused to revise his opinion that Jean-Christophe had embarrassed Maison Randon by presenting mediocre wine to such an esteemed guest as Odile Levert. JeanChristophe had to go. Axel had to swing the hatchet.

  “But his contract—” Axel tried one last time.

  “Will be terminated,” said Randon simply before he put down the phone.

  Eventually, Axel could stand to be in his office no longer. Informing Sabine that she should tell callers he was down in the crayères and thus could not
be contacted on his mobile, he headed out.

  But Axel didn’t go down into the caves. He walked out of the Maison Randon compound and kept walking, hoping that some exercise might clear his head. An hour later, he found himself up on the hill, standing right by the Arsenault vineyards. There was no one up there. Neither in Madeleine’s vineyards nor as far as Axel could see in either direction. The rows of vines didn’t look like anything much at this time of year, just gray sticks, so harshly pruned one might fear they would never bud and blossom again. But Axel was remembering a time when the vines looked very different. He remembered Madeleine in her cut off shorts, a smudge of dirt on her face somehow adding to her sexiness. Axel felt a familiar twitch in his groin at the thought of Madeleine beneath the tree after their picnic.

  If only he could walk down into Le Vezy, knock on the door of Madeleine’s house and have her take him in. What he wanted most of all right then was the distraction of her arms around him. Her soft white skin naked against his. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen. Madeleine hadn’t spoken a word to Axel since the London wine fair. Axel shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed as he began the walk back to his office.

  But the desire that had been aroused by thoughts of Madeleine was still with him when he got to Maison Randon and discovered, thankfully, that everyone else had already gone home for the night and there was nothing he could do before morning. Axel still needed some kind of stress relief.

  There was certainly, as Randon had joked that first night they dined together, no time for love in Axel’s life anymore and that was frustrating. Axel was used to spending time in the company of women. Women drifted across his path far more frequently now, but there was never time to take them out and these weren’t the kind of girls who would be happy to read in bed while Axel tinkered with a spreadsheet on his laptop. Still, he craved the touch of a woman’s hands.