Alphonse inclined his head but didn’t say anything as he poured Luc a glass and waited for him to taste it.
‘Lovely.’ Luc swilled the wine around his mouth, seeking out the aroma notes. Cherries, he thought. He’d always been fond of Beaujolais, which was made with gamay noir grapes, producing a light and fruity wine which made a pleasant change sometimes from the heavier reds of the other parts of Burgundy.
This time there was a lot less tension as everyone tucked in, without paying attention to Alphonse’s careful contemplation of the chicken in its rich wine sauce. Again it was cooked beautifully, the lardons salty and slightly crisp, the mushrooms firm and the chicken tender.
‘Fliss, this isdelicieux,’ said Solange. ‘Better than my mother’s.’
Yvette gasped. ‘High praise. The best.’
Alphonse grunted. ‘C’est bon.’
‘Thank you, Solange.’ She turned to Alphonse, as if the thought had suddenly struck her. ‘Can you cook?’
‘Moi?’ Alphonse shrugged but didn’t reply.
‘He is what some would call a back-seat chef,’ said Yvette, with a malicious smile at her brother. ‘He knows all the theory and is an expert on flavours but he doesn’t cook. He doesn’t need to because hismamanstill feeds him.’
Fliss shot Alphonse a look of pure scorn at which Alphonse shrugged again. Luc wanted to leap to his defence but couldn’t because he knew he’d be breaking a confidence. Alphonse was perfectly capable of cooking, in fact, he was quite the chef once he got into the kitchen, but he kept up the pretence that he wasn’t interested so that his mother would continue to cook for him. If she hadn’t she wouldn’t have bothered cooking for herself. As it was she was very thin and Luc knew that Alphonse worried about her not eating properly.
‘We must all do what we are good at. I am good at growing grapes,’ said Alphonse stoutly. ‘What are you good at, Yvette, apart from stirring up trouble?’
She gave him a wide smile. ‘Nothing. Just stirring up trouble and dragging you into it whenever I can.’
The two of them laughed and Luc was pleased to see that Hattie was as baffled by their behaviour as he was. One minute brother and sister hated each other, the next they loved each other. It made no sense, although he noticed Fliss joined in the laughter while Solange’s face held a look of amused exasperation. He looked over at Hattie and she shrugged.
When they’d finished the course, he joined Hattie in clearing the table as Fliss set up dessert plates for her final pièce de résistance.
‘Luc, there’s a dessert wine in the fridge, would you mind opening it for me?’
‘I can do that,’ said Alphonse jumping up from the table. Luc suspected that he felt his job as chief sommelier was being usurped.
‘As you wish,’ said Fliss, stirring a pan on the stove. ‘It’s the Sauternes.’
‘Has anyone thought about a present for Marthe?’ Luc asked, deliberately steering the conversation away to calmer waters. What do you buy for someone turning ninety-six?
‘I was going to give her a bottle of brandy,’ called Alphonse from the other side of the kitchen.
‘You can’t do that,’ Fliss and Yvette spoke simultaneously, one in English, one in French, but with equal disdain.
‘Why not? She likes brandy.’
‘It doesn’t show any thought,’ said Fliss reprovingly from her position at the cooker.
‘But…’ Alphonse held out his hands in a ‘what else?’ gesture. Luc sympathised with him, although Marthe would probably end up with enough brandy to open her own liquor store.
‘Perhaps we could get something from all of us,’ he suggested.
‘You’re as bad as he is,’ said Yvette. ‘You just want us to come up with a good idea for you. Well, it’s tough becauseMamanand I have already bought Marthe something.’
‘And you didn’t think to include me,’ Alphonse said with a frown.
‘Darling, I hardly think a silk dressing gown is something you’d have chosen,’ observed Solange.
‘What about the picture of the château that Colin took?’ Hattie suddenly piped up. ‘You could get it framed and it would a nice reminder and it could be from both of you.
‘What a brilliant idea,’ said Luc, staring at her with delighted admiration. ‘The prints are in the library. All I need to do is buy a frame. I want to have another look at them, as well.’ He took out his phone. ‘I took pictures of them but I’ll need to get a proper print done.’
‘Here we go,’ said Fliss, carrying over a tray of pretty glass dishes. In each one was an immaculate strawberry tart served with a whirl of cream and a drizzle of deep red coulis. A couple of basil leaves tucked in the top gave a hit of contrasting colour to finish off the pretty plate.
