The caves at St Martin had had a chequered history over the years, playing a part in both the First and Second World Wars, providing shelter and a hiding place for the local population and members of theMaquis.
‘Rumour has it she was in the resistance and killed a man with her bare hands once,’ said Alphonse. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me but she’s never denied or admitted it and she certainly doesn’t want to talk about it.’
Luc could imagine his tough, wiry great-aunt doing what needed to be done without any fuss. She was nothing if not practical but then again she wasn’t one to seek glory or notoriety.
They descended into the dimly lit caves and Luc’s skin bubbled up into goosebumps, making him wish he’d had the forethought to bring a fleece with him. The unseasonably warm spring sunshine had tempted him this morning and all he was wearing was a long-sleeved T-shirt.
Ahead of them were row upon row of racks where the bottles were stored for their second fermentation. The dark wooden racks were lined up like soldiers on sentry duty, silent and still in the gloomy light. Despite the austere environment, the dark wood against the white chalk walls and the cool dry humidity, Luc loved it down here. This was where the magic happened, where grape juice became something entirely other. A magical transformation aided by natural science, but one could never predict the outcome precisely. There were so many factors that impacted the final product: the weather, the harvest, the pruning – and that was just the grapes. It was said that wine was born in the vineyard, the terroir – the local environment, the soil, the weather, the direction of the slopes, the position on the slope, well-drained, well-nourished… These were the principles of winemaking that Luc had grown up with, but recent trips to New Zealand and Australia had made him start to think differently. Visiting some of the makers of great wine on the other side of the world had been an eye-opener and taught him that the winemaker could also make a significant impact. Convincing Alphonse, born and bred in the Champagne region, might take some time and he could already guess what Marthe would think of what some might say were radical ideas.
Having inspected the caves and feeling chilled to the bone, the men returned to the surface. Luc tipped his face up to the sun, grateful to feel its warmth on his face and was immediately reminded of his new house guest and the way she’d revelled in the bright sunshine of the foyer of the château as if she’d not seen the sun for months. The way the light reflected the tawny shades in her hair and lit up the faint dusting of freckles on her face. Freckles that just begged to be kissed.
‘I have a good feeling about this year,’ said Alphonse.
‘Good,’ said Luc. ‘You know I want to make some changes.’
‘Excellent.’ The other man rubbed his hands together. ‘We’re going to make great wine together. We have to pray for good weather and an excellent harvest. Come toMaman’splace now for something to eat and I’ll bring the champagne.’
Luc glanced at his watch. It was half-past five. It would be better to go and see his great-aunt in the morning.
‘Yvette has some news too.’
‘Yvette?’ Alphonse’s sister had been the bane of his life when he was younger and she had been determined that he take notice of her. Luc hoped that she’d lost interest in him long ago.
‘Yes.’ Alphonse grinned mischievously. ‘She’s home again.’
ChapterThree
Feeling a little like Belle inBeauty and the Beast,Hattie pushed open the double doors and stepped into an enormous ballroom, with what felt like miles of marble floor tiles opening out in front of her. A row of tall windows shrouded in opaque blinds dimmed the brilliant sunshine outside, casting a shadowy half-light across the room. The quiet almost overwhelmed her and added to the uncomfortable sensation of being an intruder. She needed to shake it off and stop being so diffident but it didn’t seem quite right, prowling about someone else’s home on her own.
Encouraging herself to take charge and treat this like work, she crossed to the windows and tugged at the cord on the blind. As light flooded into the room, the bright beams lit up the fine mist of dust motes released from the fabric. Her nose tickled, a sneeze threatening to burst out at any second. Like a torch beam, the shaft of sunshine cut through the gloom, revealing grubby rugs, the matt surfaces of furniture in need of a good polish, and a general air of tired decay. Any moment Hattie expected a Miss Havisham figure to rise from the sun-damaged chaise longue in front of her, where colour had leached out of the deep green velvet in one broad stripe across the seat and back. Hattie frowned. The elegant chaise, with its curved wood legs and intricately carved edges, had once been a beautiful piece. When she brushed her hand over the fabric another puff of dust billowed into the air and this time she did sneeze. Taking a very quick inventory, she decided to move on and come back later. Obviously a room this size was rarely used these days, hence its neglect. With a bit – okay a lot – of TLC, it could be quite something. This would be perfect for the wedding reception and she could imagine it filled with dozens of round tables which could be cleared back for dancing later. As she left the room, leaving the blind as it was, she pressed the light switch on the wall by the door and looked up at the four magnificent chandeliers. A few desultory bulbs came on but the number of dead ones easily outnumbered the few that lit up – and even those, thick with yet more dust, cast a half-hearted wattage.
Next, she came to what had once been a magnificent dining room. At the sight of it, her heart dropped a little. Surely the whole house wasn’t going to be like this? What did the housekeeper do? Although perhaps, in a house this size, only a few rooms were used most of the time. She couldn’t imagine that Luc and his family ate formally in here very often, not when they had that fabulous kitchen. Through narrowed eyes Hattie studied the enormous mahogany table, its gloss diminished by yet another coat of dust, while half its length was hidden by piles of yellowing table linen, stacked haphazardly. On a set of equally shabby-looking sideboards were dozens of sets of china: stack after stack of dinner and tea plates, saucers, soup bowls, as well as columns of cups leaning like the Tower of Pisa, clusters of elaborate serving dishes and tureens, all in a variety of colours and intricate patterns. Deep petrol blues, lush greens, intricately painted flowers and elaborate gilt edging. Hattie picked up a delicate dinner plate from the stack nearest her and blew lightly on it, her finger tracing the dirty surface to reveal a lacy gold design around the edge and intertwining pale pink flowers around the centre. She turned it over. Limoges. Picking up another she looked at the stamp on the back – Meissen this time. She whistled. Anyone who’d watched enoughAntiques Roadshowwould know that this was quite a collection. There were at least a dozen matching sets here with place settings for twenty or more people. And it looked as if it had just been dumped on the side.
Hattie shook her head, her sense of anticipation and happiness dimming. If the whole house was like this, she was really going to have her work cut out. It would need an army of cleaners to get it ready. And then she gave herself a talking-to. It couldn’t all be like this. These were the unused rooms. The family must use the smaller rooms.
Walking to the other side of the house, she came to an elegant little salon where a pale blue, silk-upholstered sofa was positioned in front of an open fireplace and blue floral wallpaper lined the walls. It was very feminine and chic and she could imagine sipping afternoon tea in here. A mirror hung above the fireplace and on the white, carved mantelpiece was a selection of dust-free ornaments. Hanging on the wall in a corner of the room above a pretty little painted table was a very small pen and ink sketch of a young boy. Hattie breathed a sigh of relief. This was more like it. Perhaps Gabby could use this as an anteroom to gather with her bridesmaids and mother before the wedding ceremony and enjoy a glass of champagne.
That happy picture was quickly shattered. She surveyed several beautiful reception rooms, each of which required a thorough deep clean, as well as a stunning library with dark wooden floor-to-ceiling shelves harbouring centuries’ worth of books, the most wonderful ornate spiral staircases in dire need of a ton of beeswax polish, and a couple of enormous deep sofas that could have doubled as beds. The last room she came to was a pretty salon with teeny, feminine sofas and chairs, upholstered in watered silk, and fine-legged marquetry tables that looked as if they should be in a stately home or on a Jane Austen film set.
As Hattie took the first step on the staircase, she had to force herself to keep moving, almost too scared to find what awaited her on the next three floors. By the time she reached the attic rooms on the top floor, she was ready to weep. The place was awash with beautiful furniture, sumptuous but faded fabrics and the most elaborate cobwebs she’d ever seen in her life. However, she was inordinately grateful that she didn’t have to get these rooms ready for guests. That would have been a Herculean task.
Luc had said his room was up here and for a moment she wondered at his choice. These would have been servants’ quarters, and must have had far less money spent on them. Surely they’d be even more dilapidated. There were two more rooms to see at the far end of the eaves. Opening the door to one she was pleasantly surprised: it had plain white walls, with a couple of posters on them, and dormer windows opening onto a little balcony. The wide, wooden floorboards had been sanded and polished, and the room was comfortably furnished with a king-size bed tucked under the sloping roof and several shelves lining the wall with books, a few model cars and a Lego model of aStar Warsspacecraft – from memory she thought it might be theMillennium Falcon– along with a couple of familiar figures. This was obviously Luc’s room and from the look of the contents of the shelves it had always been his. She smiled at the childhood books, recognising St-Exupéry’sLittle Prince, a couple ofBabar the Elephanttitles and one that thanks to the Netflix seriesLupinshe knew –Arsène Lupin, Gentleman Cambrioleur. There were more recent titles too – thrillers, she presumed, as she picked out the wordsmortandnoirin some of the titles.
Luc was tidy. There were no clothes in sight apart from a pale blue sweatshirt draped over the chair in the bay of the dormer. On the desk, a simple affair with an Anglepoise lamp, were several large hardback books, a couple open showing pictures of grapes and vines. They looked like reference books. Hattie realised as she stared down at the glossy pages that she was invading Luc’s privacy and hastily retreated, going to the room next door.
As soon as she walked in, she knew this was where she would stay. It was a mirror image of Luc’s room and she was immediately drawn to the balcony and the view out over the valley. She stepped outside skirting the little patio table and chairs, leant on the white stone balustrade and looked down over the formal gardens. The flash of azure blue caught her eye and she turned. She could just see the end of a swimming pool and a couple of sun loungers on one of the terraces below the gardens built into the hill. She would be checking that out at some point. An early-morning swim would be a lovely start to the day. Which reminded her, she needed to bring her luggage up here.
Although the balcony was the main selling point, she was equally charmed by the simple white wrought-iron bed, the white-painted wooden bedside tables on spindly legs and the cosy armchair. The sloping ceilings were dappled with sunlight and from the bed she could see the lush green of the countryside on the horizon. The bonus was the en suite shower room with a walk-in shower tucked into the sharp angle of the ceiling. She liked the simplicity of the room and the easy access to the balcony and the fresh air. She let out a long breath, feeling something loosen inside her. For too long she’d felt cooped up, like a battery hen unable to stretch her wings. Here she’d be able to spread out and grow. For the first time in a long time, she was looking forward, outwards and not inwards. If nothing else, she’d be perfecting her cleaning skills.
After dragging her luggage upstairs, she unpacked quickly and decided to set up her laptop and notebook in the library. It seemed a fitting place to work and if it was okay with Luc, she’d make this her office. This was his home and she didn’t want to overstep the mark and make him feel as if she were taking over.
When Luc pushed open the door to the kitchen in the stable block annexe, he spotted Solange immediately, sitting at the table staring out of the window. She’d lost weight and looked paler than ever but the minute she saw him, her face lit up. ‘Luc! What a wonderful surprise. Does Alphonse know you’re here?’
Luc laughed. ‘He just asked me the same question. I have news.’
‘What?’ Solange was half the size of her son, but since he’d known her Luc would swear that she hadn’t aged. She must be in her early fifties now but her olive skin was line-free, her dark hair not touched by grey, although her bright brown eyes were shadowed where once they’d danced with merriment.
‘Alphonse has gone to get a special bottle to celebrate.’
