The Champagne Queen (The Century Trilogy Book 2) (43 page)

“I know how much your daughter means to you,” Raymond said appeasingly. “It was a suggestion on my part, no more. There are so many possibilities, and possibilities can always be discussed, can’t they?” Suddenly, his voice sounded like an out-of-tune instrument.

“Please give me some time.” With those words, Isabelle had broken off their discussion.

Frankfurt. Saarbrücken. Metz.

A silence had settled over them, a silence that grew more agonizing with every passing minute. With every small movement she made—shifting in her seat, fetching something from her handbag, opening the window a fraction—she sensed Raymond’s gaze on her. He was waiting for her answer. And he expected a yes.

But with every rattling mile in the train, Isabelle put more and more distance between her and her traveling companion. And with every mile that drew them closer to Champagne, her conviction grew that the night she had spent with Raymond had been a mistake. A serious mistake. The whole trip, the new customers, the prestigious orders that had secured her financial future—she would be grateful to him for all of that, forever. And though gratitude and affection might be siblings, they were not lovers.

In Reims, they went their separate ways. Isabelle promised that she would be in touch. Raymond replied with a small nod. He had enough experience in life to know that no answer was also an answer. Whether he could accept that was another matter entirely.

Isabelle had sent a message to Lucille from Berlin to advise her she would soon be home; she had not, however, been able to tell her the exact day on which Claude should drive into Reims to collect her. But in front of the Notre Dame cathedral, as usual, there were horse-drawn coaches willing to take paying passengers to Épernay, Hautvillers, or wherever else they were headed. Isabelle quickly negotiated a price with one of the drivers. Instead of sitting inside the coach, she asked the man if she might sit next to him on the driver’s seat. She needed desperately to breathe some fresh air.

With a cluck of the driver’s tongue, the horses got moving. The last stretch. Isabelle breathed in deeply, trying to calm her inner trembling. She would soon be home! Finally, after all these weeks, she would be able to take Marguerite in her arms and kiss her again. She would see Daniel, too. And her vineyards. And then there was Micheline, Ghislaine, Claude, and Lucille. Her friends . . . she had brought something with her for each of them, and for Marguerite, of course, she had several presents. She wanted to ask the driver to go faster, but she knew she would be asking in vain; the coachmen did everything they could to protect their horses and keep them fit for pulling heavy loads of champagne.

While Isabelle struggled with her impatience, the horses trotted sedately through the forests that lay between Reims and the vineyards of Hautvillers.

And then it came—the moment she had unconsciously been waiting for throughout the entire journey. The forests cleared, and in front of them lay the Montagne de Reims, the endless sea of grapevines. Gently rolling hills that fell away and rose again, lush green over the silvery, chalky earth, and in between the deep-red blooms of the roses.

A blissful smile spread across Isabelle’s face. The gentle breeze carried the scent of the roses to her, and once again, the magic of the Champagne region took her as a willing captive, just as it had the first time she had arrived there.

How little I knew back then
, thought Isabelle.
How self-important and presumptuous
. No wonder Daniel had looked down on her, the city girl, and mocked her. Many things had changed since then.
She
had changed, and the trip with Raymond had contributed to that. Now, at least, she knew what she did not want: a life in a gilded cage. She had escaped from that once before, and she would never again allow such shackles to be put on her. She did not need that kind of security; her vineyards, her vines, and her friends gave her all the protection she needed.

All around, winegrowers and their helpers were at work with hoes, shears, and other tools. They stamped on spades to loosen the earth, carefully tied young shoots in place, snipped off superfluous leaves.

What tasks would be keeping Daniel and Claude busy right then? And what about the phylloxera? Isabelle moved back and forth restlessly on the driver’s seat; she could hardly wait to finally be home again and to hear all the news. Home . . .

The idea was simultaneously so comforting and so affecting that Isabelle could not contain a small sob.

“Everything all right, madame?” the coachman asked.

To his astonishment, she laughed out loud. Yes, now everything was all right.

The four wheels of the coach had not stopped turning when Isabelle jumped down from the driver’s seat. She opened the door to her house while the driver unloaded her copious luggage. No one responded to her calls, but instead of being disappointed at the lack of fanfare on her return, Isabelle smiled. She knew exactly where everyone would be.

She was still wearing her good city shoes, and the ground underfoot felt as soft as a velvet carpet. The blue sky with its wispy, feathery clouds was as beautiful as a painting. She made her way calmly in the direction of the vineyards. Now that she was finally home, there was no longer any need to hurry.

Soon, she was approaching the first vines. The leaves were a lush green, the grapes the size of cherry pits, and she saw no signs of phylloxera.

“Thank God,” she murmured to herself. At least that particular disaster seemed to have passed them by, and the Ice Saints, too. If it looked this good everywhere . . .

When she heard the sound of hoofbeats behind her, she turned around. It was Claude with the horses and cart.

“Madame Isabelle, you’re back! How wonderful to see you again!” He brought the horses to an abrupt halt. “Lucille and little Marguerite are with Daniel and the others in the southwest vineyards, all the way back. Come, I’ll drive you!”

Isabelle jumped deftly up onto the seat. In the back of the cart, on the open tray, she saw a large basket with bread, carafes of water, sausages, and other food. She smiled. “Have
you
been feeding the workers while I was away?”

“Someone had to,” Claude grumbled. “Dear Lucille eats no sausage or ham herself, so she doesn’t serve it to anyone else, either. Daniel and the day laborers kicked up a fuss when all they saw on the table was cheese and bread.”

Isabelle laughed. “Looks to me like you’ve been keeping everything well under control in my absence.”
What day laborers?
she wondered at the same time. Well, she would find out everything that mattered soon enough. From Daniel.

“Oh, we’ve been working shoulder to shoulder. But we missed having you here terribly,” Claude replied. Somewhat abashed, he looked straight ahead and added gruffly, “I, for one, am very glad to see you back.”

“And I’m so happy to finally be home again,” said Isabelle. “And starting tomorrow, I’ll be preparing the meals again!”

“That I’m happy to hear, madame. But tell me, how was your trip? Did the people like our champagne?”

“They liked it very much indeed,” she replied proudly. “Thanks to Monsieur Dupont, we’ve sold all our 1899 stock. Now we just have to keep our fingers crossed that the new customers are satisfied and stay with us in the years ahead,” she said, though the last words were spoken more to herself than to Claude. Raymond Dupont wouldn’t work against her, would he? Out of spite at her rejection? No, she could not believe he’d be like that. The man was loyal through and through.

“Now you. What’s new in the village?” she asked, and not just to distract herself from her thoughts, but because she really wanted to know.

“Oh, this and that,” Claude said mysteriously. “I’ve just come from the church down below . . . We should have met on the way up here.” He looked at her with a mischievous grin. “Micheline and I want to get married, before the harvest. I went to talk to the minister about it.”

“You’re getting married? Congratulations!” Isabelle cried. “That’s fantastic. But . . . why now?”

Her elderly overseer shrugged. “Well, we wanted to tie the knot earlier, to be honest. But last year was all so topsy-turvy. But now that Daniel is here, and everything is looking so good . . .”

Isabelle nodded, deeply moved. She laid one hand on his arm. “Last year took it out of all of us. But with every catastrophe, you were there for me, and I’ll never forget that. Thank you,” she said. From the corner of her eye, she saw Claude redden.

“See the men over there?” he said, and pointed to a group of young men, many of whom were familiar to Isabelle. “Those are the day laborers I was telling you about. Hardworking lads, they’ve already helped us replant part of the vineyards. With the new vines Daniel brought in, we won’t have to worry about the phylloxera in the future. And you won’t see a weed in sight; the men are more than worth their wages. Everything is in very good shape.”

Isabelle could clearly hear the pride in his voice.

But at the same time, she was only half listening to him. Her gaze was fixed on the child’s crib with the white canopy that was set up in the shade, among the picturesque vines. A few steps away, Lucille was clearing weeds from between the rows of grapes.

“Marguerite . . .” Isabelle felt the tears come to her eyes. She jumped down from the coach.

“Madame! Welcome back!” Lucille’s face lit up when she saw Isabelle coming through the vines. Right away, she picked up Marguerite carefully from her crib and handed the child to her mother, then retreated a few steps.

“Marguerite, your mama is home,” Isabelle pulled her daughter close and closed her eyes as she held her tight. She had been waiting so long for this moment.

“Isabelle,” she heard the next moment. No more than a whisper. And the greatest declaration of love she could imagine.

Isabelle opened her eyes. “Daniel!”

He looked at her inquiringly, but Isabelle said nothing more. Instead, she smiled, and in her smile was all the love, sincerity, and devotion she was capable of.

Their lips found their way together, hungrily, while Marguerite reached out for the sun with her little hands.

Lucille, standing beside Claude and watching the small scene with him, asked in surprise, “Daniel and Madame Feininger? Did you know about that?”

“
Know
would be claiming too much, but I did suspect it,” said Claude happily. “And hoped for it!”

“Will I ever know what it means to be in love?” With a sigh, Lucille looked over toward the day laborers, who were taking the food Claude had brought out of the cart. One black-haired youth looked bashfully back.

Claude put his hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “Everything in life has its day. Love comes to those who believe in it.”

Notes

The research behind this book was unique, from my own trip to the Champagne region to my talks with the vintners and other experts to a number of exceptionally inspiring champagne tasting sessions—only rarely have I ever been able to experience so many sensory impressions. I also delved into a great deal of specialist literature. The book that helped me the most in all this was
Champagne: The Wine, the Land and the People
by Patrick Forbes. The first edition appeared in 1967, published by Victor Gollancz Ltd., although I worked with the sixth edition from 1983. It is a true classic, and I don’t believe there is anything comparable on the German market. I was so fascinated by Forbes’s masterful explanations of champagne production, its history, and the history of the vignerons of the region that I practically devoured his book, page after page, and not just once. It was so thrilling that as soon as I put his book down, all I wanted to do was take all my newfound knowledge and put it into this novel.

Making champagne is an astoundingly laborious business. Enumerating every individual step in the process would have been outside the scope of my story; instead, from all the individual processes, I selected those that fit well into the framework of the novel. This meant leaving out several steps and changing the chronology of some others in regard to the champagne and other aspects.

I’m happy to give a couple of examples of where I took such creative liberties—not only with the champagne-making process:

• In earlier days, bottles of champagne tended to explode primarily in July and August. In Isabelle’s cellars, this happens in December.
  
• The sausage delicacy known as
  andouillette
  is mainly served in the city of Troyes, in the southern part of the Champagne region. In my novel, this sausage is also eaten in Hautvillers. Poor Isabelle!
  
• Once or twice, I have played with the geography. Charleville, for example, is a long way from Hautvillers, but Isabelle has to get
  someone
  to harvest her grapes, after all!
  
• The first champagne to use the Dom Pérignon name was the 1921 vintage, which was first sold in 1936, but I could hardly leave such a famous name out of my champagne novel.
  

A word about the famous widows of Champagne.

The region has always been characterized by the vigor, courage, and ingenuity of the Champagne widows—the
veuves
. In an era in which only men normally had any say, the
veuves
were responsible not only for an army of employees and their families, but also contributed decisively to the international renown of the famous drink.

Who hasn’t heard of Madame Clicquot, the
veuve
Lily Bollinger, or the widow Louise Pommery? Other famous widows were Camille Olry-Roederer and Mathilde Laurent-Perrier. Behind many of the best known champagne names stands not only an exciting woman, but also an equally dramatic history.

After the death of Francois Clicquot in 1805, Barbe Nicole Clicquot took over the leadership of the family champagne business. The young woman, with a daughter of her own, had no idea at all about the business side of the operation, but she quickly acquainted herself with all the relevant issues and became a spirited businesswoman. In economically difficult times, she succeeded in making the Clicquot champagne house flourish. Thanks to her hard work and skill, Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin was soon served at every aristocratic table in Europe.

Louise Pommery was the mother of two children, Louis and Louise, when she became a widow in 1858 and assumed control of the Pommery cellars. She was one of the first who dared produce a dry champagne, and she did so at a time when sweet champagnes had been the fashion for decades. Under her leadership, Pommery became one of the leading champagne brands and remains so to this day.

Lily Bollinger also became world famous. In 1941, in the middle of the Second World War, she took over the operations of the Bollinger champagne house—at a time when people had far more on their minds than drinking champagne. And yet, over the years, she managed to double Bollinger’s champagne production. The house of Bollinger continues to be one of the great names in the industry today.

I have written Isabelle’s story as a homage to the great women of Champagne. Like them, Isabelle is unique, even if not as real.

For anyone who now has a taste for more champagne stories, I recommend taking a look at my website at
www.durst-benning.de
. You will find more gossip about champagne, some wonderful recipes, and my travel diary, which includes all the settings in which the novel takes place.