Page 16 of The French Wife

‘Eliza, Mum? Yes, I know. I do need something to take my mind off everything.’

Then Olivia had come on the line. They chatted for a while, and Emma had asked about Olivia’s husband, Mark, and their twin boys, Jamie and Matt, who were now ten. Olivia was always very tactful when she spoke to Emma about her children, doing her best not to remind her sister of her loss or trigger unhappy thoughts. But Emma loved her nephews and always enjoyed hearing their news. It helped that they were boys and were several years older than Eliza would have been.

‘You’ll all have to come and stay,’ Emma had said before saying goodbye. ‘You and Mark could drive down, bring the boys, and perhaps Mum too. When I’ve got the place a bit straighter.’

‘That’s a lovely idea,’ Olivia had said. ‘Maybe next summer? But we’ll see you before that, surely. I hope you’ll come here for Christmas?’

‘Perhaps,’ Emma had said. ‘It’s kind of you to ask, though, Livy. I’ll let you know.’ Christmas seemed a long way away and she didn’t want to make any firm plans yet. Not until she’d got settled.

Now, she got out of bed and took her customary cold wash in the bathroom before pulling on some old jeans and a faded shirt she used to wear for supervising building work for clients. Down in the kitchen she brewed coffee on the Calor gas stove and chewed on a hunk of slightly stale baguette spread with butter and jam.

Gaston’s truck edged between the gateposts a minute after eight, and when he got out, she saw he wasn’t alone. An older, shorter man, stocky with dark hair, got out of the passenger seat. They both went round to the back of the truck and the short man unloaded toolboxes while Gaston came to the front door.

‘Good morning, Madame Hudson,’ he said when Emma opened it. ‘I have brought Pierre, my electrician, this morning. He will connect the supply to the sockets in the kitchen for you so at least you can cook and plug in a refrigerator. It must be difficult without those things, especially in this weather.’

‘That would be great,’ Emma said with a smile, pulling back the door to let him in. She hadn’t asked him to bring the electrician with him, but it made perfect sense and she was grateful for his thoughtfulness. It was difficult without a fridge, especially in this heat, or being able to cook properly.

The older man, Pierre, came inside with his toolbox, and with a gruff nod towards Emma, set to work checking the fuse box in the porch.

‘Would you like a coffee?’ she asked.

Gaston shook his head. ‘Merci, but no. I’ve just had breakfast and I need to get on. Maybe later?’

Emma took her coffee out into the courtyard, where she sat on what must once have been a mounting block and lifted her face to the sun. Soon the sound of hammering and sawing came from inside the kitchen. Gaston had made a start on repairing and refurbishing the old units as they’d agreed.

Emma’s mind drifted to the old cabin on the river. Perhaps at some point soon, when it was cooler, she would find the path that led through the vineyards on the other side of the river and try to reach the cabin across the stepping stones.

Within a few minutes, the hammering stopped and Gaston appeared in the front doorway.

‘Is it alright if Pierre goes down to the cellar? He needs to run a cable for the kitchen along the wall in there.’

‘Of course. I’ll get the key.’

She fetched the bunch of keys from her handbag and unlocked the cellar. She’d only been in there very briefly with the estate agent the first time she’d looked around the house and had barely registered what was down there. She was curious to see what it was like.

The cellar lights weren’t working, so Pierre fetched a flashlight and all three of them went down the winding stone steps. Emma shivered. Despite the warmth of the summer’s day, the walls of the house were so thick that the underground room was dank and chilly.

Pierre flashed the light around the vaulted ceiling and bare stone walls of the cellar. To Emma’ surprise, there was no window. It was quite a small room, compared to the size of the house, and there was virtually nothing in there, but for some heavy-looking shelves at one end which held a few dusty bottles of wine.

Gaston took one of the bottles from a shelf, dusted it off and peered at the faded label. He gave a low whistle. ‘It is from this vineyard, here at Le Châtaignier,’ he said. ‘From 1942.’

‘Nineteen forty-two?’ Emma repeated, amazed.

‘It will certainly have aged,’ Gaston said. ‘Maybe it won’t have lasted, though. Corbières wines really aren’t meant to be stored for that length of time.’

‘We could have a wine tasting to find out,’ Emma said on an impulse. ‘When the kitchen is ready. How about that?’

Gaston smiled and nodded. ‘Sounds a great idea, but it could be a while. I’ve only just started, after all.’

Pierre said something to Gaston in rapid French and the two men conferred for a while. They were speaking so quickly that Emma could barely understand what was being said.

Gaston turned to her and explained more slowly. ‘Pierre thinks there might be another room behind those shelves. Do you mind if we move them and take a look?’

‘Not at all,’ Emma said, her curiosity stirred. ‘Go ahead.’

They emptied the shelves of wine bottles, which Emma ferried upstairs to the kitchen. When she went back downstairs, the two men already had their shoulders to the shelves and were edging them away from the wall. From the way the men were puffing and straining, she could see the shelves were as heavy as they looked. Gradually, they managed to move the shelves half a metre or so away from the wall.

Gaston took the flashlight from Pierre and peered behind them. ‘There’s a door here,’ he said. ‘Shall I open it?’