Darkest Longings (30 page)

girlfriend back and I hope she will have a marvellous time

here with you. You must take her to the waterfall table, and

bring her over to Lorvoire for tea one afternoon; you know

how Maman loves to have visitors, and I should very much

like to meet her myself.’ She smiled as she saw the

uncertainty in his eyes. ‘Don’t worry, chert’ she said, ‘I

won’t cause a scene. What we had together was very special,

and for me it will always be a wonderful memory, I have no

wish to spoil it. You have your whole life ahead of you and I

hope that sometimes you will think of me …’

‘Oh I will!’ he cried, hugging her hands to his chest. ‘I

will!’

She stood up. ‘Please don’t feel badly over this, Freddy,

and please don’t think you have hurt me so much that I can’t

bear it. I am sad, of course, but you must remember that I

am used to these things …’ Her smile almost failed her

then, but she swallowed hard, and with a little toss of her

head she said, ‘She is a very lucky girl, your Teresa.’

‘Oh, Monique!’ Freddy cried, throwing his arms around

her. ‘Thank you. Thank you. You are a wonderful woman.’

‘Maybe,’ she whispered, and gently removing his arms,

she turned and started back across the lawn.

Freddy watched her go, dazed by how easy it had been

after all, and now not at all sure that he had done the right

thing. But it was too late for regrets, Teresa would be

arriving in an hour or two and he was rather looking forward

to seeing her. He waited for Monique to disappear around

the side of the chateau before wandering off towards the

river to pen a verse to his rediscovered love.

Claudine and Armand were standing in the circular cavern

at the back of one of the wine caves where potential

customers were taken to taste the Lorvoire wine. The only

light came from the flickering candles at the centre of a

round stone table where glasses and bottles were set out. In

the arched recesses around the walls were sample vintages

of every year, dating back to the end of the last century.

The air rang with the sound of their laughter as Armand

told her stories of the rich and famous who had come

pretending to know all there was to know about wine, only to

betray themselves with just one inane question, or with

obvious ignorance of the way one set about tasting. He was

now in the process of showing her how it should be done.

Her eyes were shining as she watched him lift the glass to his

lips; and when he had finished, he wiped his mouth with the

back of his hand and started to refill the glass. ‘Your turn,’

he said.

‘Oh no!’ she declared. ‘I’ll end up as one of your

anecdotes.’

Laughing, he handed her the glass, which was almost

half-full. ‘You will if you don’t,’ he warned her.

She took the glass and peered into it. ‘Why don’t you

swallow it?’ she said, not at all taken with the idea of having

to spit it out.

‘Because I wouldn’t be much use to anyone if I spent the

entire day three sheets to the wind.’

‘That’s an English expression,’ she said.

‘Stop changing the subject. Now, remember, savour the

aroma first.’

She lifted the glass to her nose and inhaled deeply.

He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘You haven’t swished it

around in the glass,’ he said. ‘Remember what I told you.’

Pulling a face at him, Claudine sloshed the wine about the

glass, and spilt it. ‘Before you say anything,’ she cried, ‘there

was too much in there!’

‘Well, there isn’t now, is there?’ he said, handing her a

towel. ‘Now, swish it gently and release the bouquet.’

This time she was a little more successful.

‘Mmm,’ she sighed. ‘Delicieux.’

‘That’s right. Remember, a large proportion of the sense

of taste is in the sense of smell. Carry on.’

Looking at him over the rim of the glass, Claudine took a

mouthful.

‘Roll it around your tongue. That’s it. Take in the flavour.

Think about it, listen to what your senses are telling you.

Now, spit it in there,’ he pointed to the bowl on the floor.

‘Pathetic!’ he cried, as she let the wine go in a dribble. ‘What

we want is a nice healthy spurt. Now, again.’

She went through the performance again, and this time,

at the end, the wine issued from her lips in a veritable

fountain.

‘Bravo!’ he cried, and she looked so thoroughly pleased

with herself that he burst out laughing.

‘Armand St Jacques, you’re trying to make a fool out of

me,’ she declared.

‘Ah, but at least I’m doing it in the privacy of the wine

cellar, which is more than I can say for what you have in

mind for me. Singing in public! Have you managed to talk

Francois into doing anything for this cabaret of yours?’

‘Not yet. But I will.’

‘You won’t, you know,’ he said. ‘Because he tells me he’s

not going to be here. So I’m throwing you a new challenge.

If I am to sing with Solange, then you are to invite all the

wine-growers in the area and judge their last year’s vintage.’

‘But I can’t do that! I don’t know anything about…’

‘You know what you like the taste of, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘That’s settled, then.’

‘All right, I accept the challenge.’ Her eyes were dancing

with laughter. ‘But I’ll need some more lessons.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll agree to that.’

She watched as he re-corked the bottle, trying to think of

a suitable rejoinder. In the end she gave up and a few

minutes later they were strolling in the semidarkness

through pyramids of wine bottles towards the distant

sunlight at the mouth of the cave. The constant eleven

degree temperature needed for the wine made Claudine

pull her cardigan tightly around her. She glanced absently at

the measuring gauges on the huge vats, wondering if she

should ask Armand whether Francois had said where he

would be during the harvest.

‘I hear you went to see Gertrude Reinberg this morning,’

Armand said, interrupting her thoughts.

‘News does travel fast.’

‘Henri Jallais told me. His wife was watching you from

her window.’

He grimaced as he remembered how he had been

compelled to reprimand Jallais for repeating what his wife

had said about Claudine. It was bad enough that Jallais had

repeated it at all, but to do so in front of other estate workers

was inexcusable, and made him no better than the acid

tongued harridan he called a wife. Still, being called an

interfering, Jew-loving, stuck-up foreigner by Florence

Jallais was probably the least of Claudine’s problems; he

hadn’t missed the fleeting look that had crossed her face

when he mentioned that Francois wasn’t going to be at the

harvest celebration. He wasn’t sure whether it had been

disappointment or anger, but whatever it was it was only one

of several indications that Claudine was having a hard time

trying to make sense of her marriage. Well, there was little

he could do to help her there - but he would do his utmost to

make the harvest celebration a success for her.

Claudine had stopped beside the sixteenth-century wine

press. Grinning at him, she started to recite all he had told

her earlier about sugar and acidity levels.

‘A formidable pupil,’ he said when she had finished.

‘Now, talk me through the wine year, starting with January.’

She narrowed her eyes in concentration. ‘January is the

month of pruning and blending. Also there is the sampling

of the full-bodied wine, when you invite friends and

colleagues to assess the young wines as they develop in the

vat. Wines from the previous year are ready for bottling…’

Her frown deepened as she tried to remember what else he

had told her.

He waited, seeing how the beams of sunlight filtering in

from the mouth of the cave turned her wild hair to a furnace

of blue and gold. He’d thought she looked a little pale

earlier, when she drove past him on the way to the village,

but now her generous lips were moist and red, and her

honey cheeks were flushed with colour. Her eyes were

lowered, and he could see the gently curving line of her

lashes, thick and glossy and black. She was so beautiful that

when he thought of how behind that vibrant, intoxicating

energy, she was trying so hard to hide her pain it was only

with a tremendous effort that he was able to stop himself

from reaching out to comfort her.

‘… and April,’ she was saying, ‘is a very tricky time

because of lingering frosts as the sap starts to rise in the vine.

This is the month when you might sleep out with the vines to

keep a check on them.’ She turned to look at him, and even

before she spoke he was grinning at the mischief in her eyes.

‘Do you hug them to keep them warm,’ she said, ‘or just

blow on them?’

Laughing, he moved away from the wine press and

started to walk on. ‘Remember the smudge pots?’ he said.

‘At the back of the other cave?’

‘The things that look like chestnut braziers?’

He nodded. ‘We light them and take them out on frosty

nights, to heat up the air around the vines.’

‘Amazing. Shall I go on?’

‘No, that’s enough for today. Some of us have work to do!’

They strolled on towards the front of the cave, ‘I was

talking to Father Pointeau early this morning,’ he said, ‘and

he suggested we hold the celebration on the Sunday

following the harvest - after the thanksgiving service.’

‘That’s a wonderful idea,’ Claudine replied. ‘Do you

know yet which Sunday that will be?’

Armand shrugged. ‘Francois and I took a walk round the

vineyards earlier, and we agreed that, providing the weather

keeps up, the harvest will take place roughly four weeks

from now. So it looks as though we’re aiming for the last

Sunday in October.’

‘Oh, I can hardly wait,’ she sighed, hugging herself.

‘We’re going to have so much fun, I know we are.’

He was about to respond when a sudden, piercing scream

resounded through the cave. ‘Chienne!’

Startled, they both looked up to see a silhouetted figure

standing at the mouth of the cave.

‘Monique,’ Claudine breathed.

‘I want to talk to you, you bitch!’ Monique shrieked, and

before either of them could reply she turned on her heel and

stormed off towards the house.

Armand saw that the colour had vanished from

Claudine’s face. ‘What on earth was that about?’ he said.

‘I don’t know,’ she answered softly, ‘but I think I can

guess.’ And hastily thanking him for his time, she started off

after Monique.

‘Mademoiselle is upstairs in your apartment, madame,’ Jean-Paul informed her as she ran through the front door.

Claudine took the stairs two at a time, and found Monique

pacing the sitting-room, her delicate face ravaged with fury.

‘Why?’ she screamed as soon as she saw Claudine, ‘Just

tell me why!’

‘You’ve been to Montvisse?’ Claudine said, closing the

door behind her and keeping her back against it.

‘It was your idea wasn’t it?’ Monique seethed. ‘It was you

who put Freddy up to this. But it wasn’t enough that he

should jilt me, was it? You had to tell him to invite the silly

little whore to Montvisse!’

‘That’s not true. Monique, please listen …’

‘You’re a liar! Everything was perfect between us before

you went to see him …”

‘I was going to try …’

‘… Before you persuaded me to postpone the

announcement. I trusted you! I confided in you, and this is

the way you repay me. You’re a snake, an evil little snake.

Just because your own marriage is a farce you can’t stand

seeing anyone else happy. Well, I’ll pay you back for this,

Claudine Rafferty, you see if I…’

‘Her name is Claudine de Lorvoire.’

They both spun round to see Francois standing in the

doorway of his bedroom.

‘I don’t care what her damned name is,’ Monique

screamed, ‘she’s going to pay for what she’s done.’ She

turned back to Claudine, her eyes blazing with hatred.

‘You’re going to know what it’s like to be humiliated, you

bitch! You’re going to find out just what it is to suffer the way

you’ve made me suffer. I despise you, we all despise you.

Even Francois …’

‘That’s enough!’ Francois’ voice cut through the tirade

and he turned to Claudine. ‘Go downstairs,’ he barked.

‘But…’

‘I said, go downstairs. I want to talk to my sister.’

‘No!’ Monique stalked across the room. When she

reached Claudine, she pushed her face towards her and

spat, ‘Let her tell you, Francois! Let her tell you what she’s

done to me. But I’ll tell you this, even if the bitch conies

crawling to me on bended knee I’ll never forgive her. Never!”

She pushed Claudine out of the way, then wrenched

open the door and slammed out of the room.

The silence that followed was oppressive. Claudine

stared down at her hand, still grasping the edge of the

mahogany sideboard, where she had tried to save herself