by Caro Feely
'Of course,' said Monsieur Walker. 'Please excuse us for a minute, Madame.'
'Sorry to steal your tasters, Caro,' said Jean-Marie. 'Monsieur Walker is a famous author. His books are bestsellers in Germany.'
They disappeared while I digested the brief introduction. Not only was Monsieur Walker famous but he and his friend were totally charming. I hoped they would come back and not get caught up somewhere else, as sometimes happened at wine shows.
A few minutes later, I was delighted to see them back at my stand.
'Sorry, we should have introduced ourselves. I'm Martin,' said the famous author. 'This is my friend Raymond.'
'Caro. Enchanté,' I said, reaching out to shake Martin's hand then to Raymond to do the same.
He took my hand and kissed it in a gallant gesture. I blushed.
'Thanks for stopping to taste with me,' I said.
'It's our pleasure,' said Martin. 'Especially for lovely wines like this.'
I continued through the range, moving from whites to reds and explaining our story as I went.
'They're beautiful wines, but not only that – they're presented by a beautiful young girl as well,' said Raymond.
'I'm completely in accord with you, Raymond. Magnificent wines and a charming young hostess,' said Martin.
I giggled and blushed like a schoolgirl.
'And she lives not far from us. I think we'll have to visit the vineyard,' said Martin.
'Of course,' said Raymond. 'Next time we are in the Bergerac direction we will visit, if we are welcome.'
'Of course!' I said. 'With great pleasure. Where do you live?'
'Le Bugue,' said Martin.
'Where is that?' I said.
'Near Trémolat.'
'Oh, Trémolat. I've never been but there's a restaurant there that I would love our wines to be in – it's called Le Vieux Logis.'
'That's one of my favourites. It's a great restaurant and I agree it would be a good place for your wines,' said Martin.
I poured the last in the range, our Saussignac dessert wine.
'This is pure gold,' said Raymond.
'Absolutely,' said Martin.
'It won the gold medal in this show's blind-tasting competition,' I said, pointing to the medal sticker on the bottle.
We didn't usually enter competitions because we didn't have enough volume but this one did not require a minimum volume. Competitions cover some of their costs by selling the medals. It's not that they sell them to the highest bidder; they sell them only to those who legitimately win the blind-tasting competition, but they set minimum volumes because if the winning wine is only 1,000 bottles and not 100,000 then the income from the sale of those medal stickers is significantly lower.
'It won ahead of the other dessert wines, including grand cru classés from Sauternes,' I added proudly.
'Just what I said. Gold,' said Raymond. 'More proof that the Dordogne produces better wine than Gironde.'
'Best-kept secret in France,' said Martin.
We shared a conspiratorial laugh. I gave Martin a copy of Grape Expectations, feeling anxious about giving it to a world-famous author. We said farewell and they promised to visit us soon.
Their visit left me powered up like I had downed a caffeinepacked energy drink but without the heart palpitations. In the short encounter I felt like I had made two new friends. Perhaps they would visit in the summer as promised. I hoped they would. I didn't have their contact details but I did have Martin's name.
At the end of the show I said goodbye to Clément and Francine, feeling sad that we couldn't see each other more often. The two days had passed in a blur of exchanges.
'I'll send you the pool info. Call me if you need more advice,' said Francine. 'You need to find someone to help you. Why not take on an apprentice? That could be a good way to start. But, like with all hires, it depends on choosing the right person.'
With that thread thrown out, Francine raced off up the corridor after Clément. Alsace was far, far away. They had a ten-hour journey back to their home in Katzenthal.
That night I looked Martin up. He was famous for a detective series called Bruno, Chief of Police, set in the heart of the Dordogne. I downloaded one of his books and couldn't put it down. The story flowed like music; he played the joys of the Dordogne with a dose of the reality of rural life and a touch of thriller into a glorious, fulfilling symphony.
The following day, an email from Martin popped up in my inbox:
It was a pleasure to meet you yesterday. I was enchanted by Générosité, Sincérité and La Source. Congratulations to you and SF. But I was also moved and delighted by Grape Expectations. There were times I laughed aloud; other times I was almost in tears. It is a splendid book, which says a lot about wine, the passion of winemaking, family life and France. I shall be putting your wines on the recommended list on my website.
I was amazed that he had read my book in one night. His compliments filled me with joy. In addition, I realised that a recommendation from Martin would bring credibility and more visitors. The previous season I had skated along, pulling the strings together by good luck as much as good management. Or by good luck and a good husband, according to Seán, who had bailed me out for a double-booking. I hoped I would cope this season.
Spring gave way to summer and with it came streams of visitors. I felt myself drowning. I was looking forward to my parents' golden wedding anniversary; to seeing them but also to having help from my mum with the lunches, laundry and non-stop action. But that was a short-term plaster. I needed a longer-term solution.
Francine's recommendation echoed in my head and I looked up apprenticeship in France. It seemed a way to put a toe into the employment market without exposing ourselves to too much risk. I sent emails asking for advice on the subject from our accountant and from Isabelle, our friend Thierry's wife who was a teacher at a local agricultural college. We had to find a way to get to the next level with our growing business that didn't include me having a nervous breakdown and our family tearing apart.
CHAPTER 6
GOLDEN WEDDING
'To Lyn and Cliffie!' said Gyles, a tall elegant Zimbabwean with a ring of white hair circling his bald head. He lifted his glass to toast my mum and dad.
We leaned in and said cheers over the old pine table, ensuring we made eye contact as 'To Lyn and Cliff!' echoed round the room.
'That sparkling is delicious, Caro,' said Rosie, Gyles's wife. 'Can I have some more please?'
Laughter rippled among the people gathered. Rosie was a party girl with a naughty sense of humour. Soon happy chatter was ringing around the room. The house was filling up. Mum and Dad arrived from Canada, then Aunt Sally from South Africa, and Gyles and Rosie Dorward from Zimbabwe. Gyles was best man at my parents' wedding 50 years before and Sally matron of honour.
Gyles and Rosie had visited us before. Over the years they had painted shutters, tied down vines, painted our front door and left their positive mark on the physical place and on our morale. It was Sally's first visit to our farm; I hadn't seen her in two decades. At three years off 80 she still raced around like a forty-something and had shrugged off the long journey as if she had come from next door. Sally is my mum's aunt but almost the same age. For their first seven years she and Mum grew up like sisters, sharing the house that belonged to my great-grandmother because Grandmother Gigi had moved home while my grandfather was away for the Second World War. Sally had taken me under her wing when I moved to Cape Town for my first full-time job, filling me with figs from their garden and helping my transition to a new city. As I looked around the room I felt deep gratitude.
With toasts complete, Mum and Sally returned to aperitif preparations and I joined them on the other side of the table to cut slices of saucisson.
'Did you see Foo's photo of her night in Vancouver?' asked Mum.
'What a stunning pic,' I said.
Jacquie, my sister, nicknamed Foo, was visiting friends in Canada en route to the celebrations in Sa
ussignac.
'She looks so happy. I can't wait to see her and to meet Wade,' I said.
Six months earlier Foo had moved to Palm Springs in California to marry Wade. The Vegas wedding photos showed a gorgeous couple in love. But Wade wasn't in the photo in Vancouver; he was still in Palm Springs and due to join us two days after she arrived.
Mum's tablet rang in the bedroom. She washed her hands and disappeared down the corridor. A minute later I passed her door to fetch plates from our side of the house and saw her face was white as a sheet. I felt a stab of fear. Speechless, she held the tablet up and I read the message.
Had to miss my flight to London last night and fly back to LA. At 4 p.m. I got a call to say that Wade had been in a serious car accident. He went into surgery last night to set his right leg which is pretty smashed. He is going to be OK but will remain in the hospital for a while. Wade needs me right now. I am not in a state to talk to anyone… Haven't slept. Forgive me for not calling. Sending love, Foo.
'Oh my God,' I said.
Mum had tears in her eyes.
'Don't worry, Mum. Wade will be OK. He's young and fit,' I said.
'I know, darling. I'm sure he will be OK. But I was so looking forward to seeing him and Foo; to being together.'
I wrapped my arms around my mum and hugged her tight, tears welling up in my eyes too.
'I am so sorry, Mum,' I said.
She felt so fragile. Usually my mum was a powerhouse. She was tall, beautiful and strong. Normally she was the one comforting me. Now the roles had reversed. I wished that I could make the bad news go away.
'We will still have a good time. Look at your wonderful friends that are here to celebrate,' I said, trying to ease the blow.
'I know. But it's our kids that we most want to share this with,' said Mum.
'I will have to make up for it,' I said.
Mum gave me a sad smile, tears swimming in her eyes. I pulled her closer for another hug.
'Everything will be all right. Like Foo says, everything happens for a reason, even if we don't understand it right now. We have to be strong,' I said, sounding more convincing than I felt.
We sat on the bed for a few moments, my arm tight around my mum.
'I'd better get a grip on myself so I can tell everyone,' she said and gave me a determined smile.
We went through to the kitchen where the noise level had risen in cadence with the descent in the celebratory sparkling.
'What's wrong, Lyn?' said Sally, seeing Mum's face.
'Oh, Sal.' Mum paused for a moment, as if trying to formulate the best way to share the message or perhaps to keep her composure. 'Wade has had a bad car accident and Foo has had to go back to Palm Springs. He's OK but neither of them is going to make it here.'
'Hell,' said Dad, overhearing and taking the tablet Mum passed over so he could read the message.
'Oh, Lyn,' said Sally, giving Mum a hug.
'What a bugger-up,' said Dad.
Dad's reaction was anger and frustration while Mum's was sadness. Whenever an accident happened growing up, Dad would get mad. Instead of comforting us he got angry about how we had let the accident happen and wanted to work out how we could avoid the same thing happening in the future. He had worked hard to provide for us, to ensure we didn't have a precarious childhood like he had. Dad had integrity and grit but he was strict and didn't like uncertainty or problems that could have been avoided. In our family I reacted the same way; I knew it was something I had to try to control.
'I'm so sorry, Lyn,' said Gyles.
The room was quiet for a few moments then Rosie grabbed her champagne flute.
'Well, that means more champagne for us!' she said, lifting her glass. 'I have to say, it is rather lovely. One of the best I've ever had. May I have a little more please?'
'Bien sûr, Rosie!' I said. 'We never run out of wine here. We couldn't drink all the wine we have on the property.'
'We'll have a good try,' said Gyles, holding out his glass.
I did a refill tour of the room.
'I'm still amazed at how you hooked such a good-looking and smart girl, Cliffie,' said Gyles.
Mum gave a smile as everyone laughed. There was constant banter between Dad and Gyles. With Gyles, Rosie and Sally on-site, my parents wouldn't be down for long. More friends were due to arrive the following day. Even without my sister and brother we would be a good crowd. That didn't take away the deep sadness I felt that they would not be with us or the nagging worry about Wade.
The next day Foo messaged that Wade was recovering well. At least worries about his health would not hang over the celebration. Her message was upbeat and we had no idea of the trauma she was going through on the other side of the yawning Atlantic. The accident had taken an even more serious turn as one of the passengers in the other car had died. It was not only Wade's health she was worried about but the wider implications of the accident on their lives.
Oblivious to that, my thoughts were consumed with decisions about food. What, how much, when, who? More friends had arrived hence there were more people to feed. I sent Mum and Sally into the garden to forage for vegetables and set a pot of basmati rice to cook.
Sally and Mum rounded up a team of sous-chefs to prepare the fresh garden vegetables for a stir-fry. With Rosie and friends from South Africa, they washed great mounds of spinach, carrots, wild leeks, onions and garlic. Then, armed with chopping boards, knives and glasses of wine, they settled on the Lodge terrace in the sun. Soon chopping was interspersed with chatter and laughter and the vegetable mountains were effortlessly transformed into shreds.
'My beautiful granddaughters!' said Mum, seeing Sophia and Ellie come round the corner. She introduced them to the newcomers.
'It looks like the chopping is under control,' I said. 'Why don't we get the extra tables and set the table? Allez les filles.'
The sun was still bright on the vibrant lime-green vines of early summer. We brought extra tables and chairs from the tasting-room terrace and set an extended table on the Lodge deck. By the time we had finished, the shadows had grown and the green had begun to fade with the lowering sun. The vineyard scene below us was like a great work of nature's art, an everchanging vista through the hours and the seasons.
'This looks fantastic, Caro. Well done, girls,' said Sally as Sophia straightened up one of the settings.
It was simple but, with the weather and the scenery behind it, it was regal. Rosie placed a vase of wild flowers on the table.
'Perfect! Great teamwork!' I said, hearing footsteps on the terrace.
Seán had arrived in perfect time for aperitifs.
'Your garden is magnificent, SF,' said Sally.
'I do what I can,' he said modestly.
I refilled wine glasses for those already installed and gave Seán a glass. Rosie and Sally started stir-frying the vegetables.
More footsteps sounded on the tasting-room terrace; the last guests had arrived. We did a round of introductions and I poured more wine.
'Cheers to our hosts!' said Gyles.
The clink of glasses rippled through the hiss of the stir-fry.
I passed the rice around the table then the stir-fry as it arrived fresh off the stovetop.
'Caro, is this the starter? Have you forgotten the meat?' said Gyles.
We all laughed. He was winding me up. We ate a lot of vegetarian. Organic meat was expensive and we only ate organic so meat was a special dinner for us, not an everyday affair. With the organic rice, the mountain of stirfried vegetables from the garden and a few bottles of our homegrown wine, we were well fed. Being together brought a deep sense of happiness. I missed not being able to have large family get-togethers like this more regularly. Our families were far flung across the globe and international travel was a luxury, something we had not been able to afford for lack of money and time.
After cheese and chocolate and fruit for dessert, the evening wound down. Guests staying off-site wandered back to their respective lodgings and Se�
�n took Sophia and Ellie to bed.
Mum and I cleared the table while Sally and Rosie washed up. Being together made the task of cleaning up fun. We finished, said happy goodnights and I walked back across the courtyard with Mum.
'Thanks for sharing your lovely friends with us, Mum,' I said, giving her a hug.
'Thank you, Toots,' said Mum.
