‘That is customer service,’ murmured Hattie.
With the underground part of the tour completed, they came back to the flight of stairs. Then, when they stepped through the double doors back into daylight, she experienced a Narnia moment as she stood blinking in the sunshine. She felt like that first morning when she’d arrived at the château, escaping the cold and dark confinement of her relationship with Chris.
‘That was really interesting but I’m not built for cave dwelling.’
Luc laughed. ‘Good to know.’
‘I’m ready for a sit-down and some of this fizz I’ve been promised. Considering I’m living in Champagne I don’t think I’m drinking enough of the stuff.’
‘An oversight we must rectify,’ said Luc. ‘Maybe we should open a bottle to celebrate…’
Hattie waited.
‘Things,’ said Luc, evasively, and Hattie wondered what he’d really been about to say.
The tasting room was beautifully laid out but, best of all, they were finally served a glass of champagne.
‘This is the Pommery Brut Royale.’ The sommelier held a glass up to the light. ‘See the colour. It is pale yellow with faint highlights of green.’
‘If you say so,’ muttered the young man next to Hattie.
Next they were urged to take a sip.
‘Tastes like wine to me,’ Hattie’s neighbour muttered again. ‘Don’t know what all the fuss is about?’
‘Shh, Leigh,’ said his girlfriend, swatting his arm.
Hattie took a sip and swirled the wine around her mouth.
‘This wine,’ announced the sommelier, ‘is elegant and lively.’
Hattie focused on the taste. Nope, it just tasted fizzy to her. Nice, but wine.
The sommelier continued. ‘You can taste the assertive notes of red fruits. It’s a well-balanced wine.’
Hattie nodded, wondering what an unbalanced wine would taste like and why were they serving the wine in these tiddly glasses.
‘Why don’t they serve it in flutes?’ she asked Luc in a whisper, not wanting to look stupid in front of everyone.
‘These are tulips. Much better for tasting as they allow the aroma to fill the glass. They capture it in the bulb shape. Flutes are better for drinking rather than tasting, as the narrow neck stops too many bubbles escaping.’
‘So what, those pretty coupe-shaped glasses are no good?’
‘Sorry, they look very elegant but they allow the bubbles to escape and let the champagne go flat much quicker.’
‘And is it true the shape was modelled on Marie Antoinette’s breast? My dad always claimed that.’ Hattie remembered her dad declaring this fact with much relish. She realised with a sudden pang that she missed both of her parents and felt guilty she’d neglected them in recent years. Yet they’d never nagged her to come see them more, they’d let her be her own person.
‘Sorry, that’s one of those urban myths. It’s complete rubbish. Although,’ his face lit up, ‘it is true that about fifteen years ago, Karl Lagerfeld and Dom Perignon partnered to create a drinking bowl based on Claudia Schiffer’s breast.’
‘Funny you should remember that,’ said Hattie with amusement.
‘And then there was Kate Moss. A coupe glass was created on the shape and size of her left breast by London’s 34 Restaurant to celebrate her twenty-five years in the industry as a model.’
‘Nice work, if you can get it,’ said Hattie with a laugh, thinking that she wouldn’t want her boobs immortalised in that way.
‘For the model –’ he paused ‘– or the glass maker?’
She nudged him in the ribs. ‘You’re terrible. I’m beginning to think you have a one-track mind.’
