He turned towards the delighted cry and saw his friend Alphonse rushing towards him.
As the currentvigneronof the vineyard, Alphonse was responsible for growing the grapes. He burst into a stream of excitable French. ‘Luc, it’s so good to see you.’ He clapped both hands on Luc’s shoulders. ‘You’re here at last.’
‘At last?’ replied Luc. ‘I only texted you this morning to tell you I was coming!’
‘Yes, another one of your flying visits to see Marthe. Have you been to visit her?’
‘Not yet. She’s demanding her brandy.’
‘That one will outlive us all, her organs will be well preserved. And how long are you here for?’ Alphonse tilted his head to one side.
Luc gave him a broad grin, excited to tell him the news. ‘A while.’
‘That’s good. How long this time?’
Luc paused before making his announcement. ‘Time enough to make wine. We’re going to make the best champagne St Martin has ever tasted.’ Since Marthe had retired, the grapes had been sold to a local co-operative each year, but all that was about to change.
Alphonse stared at him, blinking as if registering each word one by one.
‘You’re kidding! Seriously! No way!’ Alphonse’s face lit up and he enveloped Luc in a bear hug, almost squeezing the life out of him. With a broad barrel chest and Herculean brawny arms, Alphonse was almost double the size of Luc. ‘You finally persuaded the old man!’
‘We came to an agreement.’ Luc decided not to tell Alphonse that the future of champagne production rested on one vintage so instead he blurred over the conditions. ‘There are a few considerations but nothing that will bother us.’ And he’d tell Alphonse about the interruption of the wedding later. For now they could celebrate bringing the plans they’d talked about since they were in their early twenties to fruition, quite literally.
‘We need to celebrate. I have just the bottle. Come. DoesMamanknow you’re here?’
‘Not yet. I didn’t see her at the house. How is she?’
Alphonse’s mouth tightened and he lifted his shoulders in an indifferent shrug. ‘Much the same.’
Luc didn’t say any more. They both worried about Solange and the way she’d been since her husband, Alphonse’s father, had died. Luc didn’t want to pry. Alphonse had never got on with his father, even though they had worked side by side in the St Martin vineyards. Perhaps that was why he and Luc, so different in background, had bonded. Neither of them had much of a father figure. Not that men put voice to such things, but they both had that common link.
Alphonse clapped him on the back. ‘You’ll want to take a look around then.’ He ushered Luc towards the building. ‘Come on, nothing’s changed,’ he said leading the way. The big hall had an empty, deserted feel about it, although it stored a mass of grape picking, pruning and tending equipment. There were large green crates stacked high like Lego towers, rows of secateurs, scissors, leather gloves and tool belts neatly arranged on the walls. Wine might not have been made here for a while but Alphonse had kept the vineyard and the cellarsin tip-top condition.
‘Want to see the caves?’ he asked.
‘How did you guess?’ asked Luc.
‘I can see the eagerness, you’re like a hound on the scent. Wait until we have our first bottles, you’ll be sleeping down there like a nursing mother.’
‘You know me so well, but it’ll be a while before we bottle our first vintage.’
‘Yes, but how wonderful will that day be.’ Alphonse grinned and led the way to the broad stairs that wound their way down to the caves. ‘Will we do tours? This looks very romantic.’ He indicated the elegant spiral of the brick-edged steps and large chalk slabs and he sighed. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a budget for an elevator.’
Luc laughed. ‘When we’re as big as Taittinger, perhaps. Besides, I was thinking, this magnificent staircase is part of our brand identity. I might put it on the labels.’
‘On the label!’ Alphonse was horrified. ‘A picture on the label. No! But it is just not done. Think Taittinger, Moet, Bollinger, Veuve Clicquot.’
‘Exactly. They all look very similar. If St Martin is to be a success it needs to have some kind of differentiation. Think about New World wines and their labels.’
Alphonse snorted.
Luc held up his hand, not wanting to start what he knew would be a fruitless argument. He had a tough road ahead of him, trying to introduce new methods and processes. He needed to pick his battles and this was not one he wanted to fall out with Alphonse about on the very first day.
‘It’s just an idea. We’re a long way from labels and bottles at this stage. We need a good growing season and I know that you have that in hand.’
‘Ha! Yes. I can’t wait to tell that bastard Gilles Robard that he won’t be getting his hands on our crop this year.’ He rubbed his hands together with glee. ‘Does Marthe know?’
‘Not yet. I’m going to see her this afternoon and tell her the good news. I want to pick her brains for some of the history of the place. She has plenty of stories. We can write quite a tour guide with her knowledge of the place.’ Luc paused and looked back at the steps. ‘If there is enough money it would be good to improve the access, and knowing the history will be good for marketing.’
