THE FOLLOWING MORNING, the courtyard in front of the wine caves was a hive of activity. Stacks of flattened boxes were being unloaded from one lorry while boxes filled with wine were heaved onto the back of another; Geneviève, the florist from Chinon, and her assistant were lifting the day’s supply of flowers for the château out of the back of their Renault van, and Edmond, the butcher’s boy, went skidding past on his bicycle en route to the kitchen door. Claudine was standing at the window of the small salon, where the family read the newspapers and listened to the wireless after breakfast, watching all that was going on and trying not to smart at how ridiculous she had made herself the night before.
She hadn’t slept well, which was hardly surprising, but she was calmer this morning, and now, thinking back to last night, she couldn’t help grinning a little at the ease with which François had seen through her, recognizing what she’d wanted even before she knew it herself. No one else could read her the way he did, which was one of the reasons why she detested him so much. It was also, she acknowledged despondently, one of the reasons why she loved him.
She pulled herself up sharply. Of course she didn’t love him! It was simply that all these feelings were new to her, and she didn’t know how to control them yet. But she would learn, starting today. From now on she would concentrate only on how passionately she hated him, and at the same time she would do everything in her power to show him that she was every bit as capable of resisting him as he was of resisting her.
Again she smiled, pleased to think how quickly she was managing to get her life – and her emotions – back in order. Then, out of the corner of her eye she noticed Armand and François strolling towards the cave furthest from her, and her heart plummeted.
They were engrossed in conversation, and as she watched them she was struck by the contrast between them. Armand, with his startlingly blond hair, was the shorter of the two by at least three inches, but his shoulders were broad and his body was lean and muscular. Armand’s eyes too, Claudine thought, remembering their time together the previous evening, were just as compelling as François’, though in their own very different way. It was no wonder everyone spoke of him so affectionately when he exuded such kindness and warmth.
The two of them came to a stop behind one of the lorries, and she was about to turn away from the window when she saw Armand raise his hands in the air, as if demonstrating the size of something. She found herself smiling as she watched the ease and humour of his manner, and when François burst out laughing, wished with a sudden pang that she could be there, sharing the joke. She did turn away then, and dropping a quick kiss on Louis’ balding head, went off to dress for the busy day ahead of her.
One of the people she planned to see today was Madame Reinberg, who lived in the village, next door to the café. Claudine knew Madame Reinberg by sight, and in her encounters with the village children had been especially attracted by the Reinberg children, little Janette and her younger brother Robert, who was mildly retarded. Liliane had told her yesterday afternoon that Madame Reinberg’s husband had deserted her. He had left no note and no money, but he had taken with him a woman from Chinon, and his wife was broken-hearted.
Claudine could do little about the broken heart, but she could ensure that Madame Reinberg’s children did not find themselves homeless, and if necessary, she had decided, she would pay the rent herself until a solution was found, out of the money from François’ promised allowance – an idea which appealed to her sense of the bizarre, since François was the Reinbergs’ landlord. She had, of course, told Solange and Louis what she intended to do, but they had been only too delighted that she was involving herself in the affairs of the village – and now, as she prepared to leave, dressed in a green corduroy skirt, checked wool blouse and thick cardigan, Louis walked with her to her car, telling her to let Gertrude Reinberg know that there was no need for rent this side of Christmas.
‘And the other side?’ Claudine asked mischievously.
‘Oh, I have a feeling you will have come up with a solution by then, ma chère.’
‘You have such faith in me, Louis!’
‘Bien sûr,’ he chuckled. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word failure.’
She wondered for a moment what he meant by that. She was well aware that Louis saw a great deal more than he let on, but he had never said a word to her about her marriage.
‘Now,’ he said, opening the car door for her, ‘don’t forget to ask Gustave at the café if he has come across any of those fine Cuban cigars again. I’m willing to pay over the odds, tell him, which is what the old rogue would charge me anyway. And whatever you do, Claudine, don’t tell Solange.’
Claudine grinned. Doctor Lebrun allowed Louis three cigars a week and one tot of brandy each night, which was three more cigars and seven more tots than Solange would allow him, which was why Louis had to rely on the rest of his family to smuggle in his luxuries.
As she drove past the wine caves she passed Armand and François. ‘See you at eleven,’ she called out to Armand.
Armand gave her a salute – and she saw the sardonic lift of François’ eyebrows. ‘God, he’s unbearable,’ she muttered through clenched teeth, and pressing her foot hard on the accelerator, she gave a jaunty toss of her head and sped off down the drive.
When she pulled up at the café in Lorvoire, several men were sitting outside playing cards. She knew them all, by now, and had a special greeting for Thomas, the farmer she and Lucien had encountered in his tractor all those months ago. He had taken great pride, she knew, in being the first of the villagers to be introduced to the future Comtesse, and continued to bore his cronies half to death with the story of how he had torn her off a strip for her bad driving.
‘Sit down, madame,’ he croaked in his tobacco-roughened voice. ‘Gustave! Bring wine for Madame de Lorvoire.’
Claudine shook her head, laughing. ‘It’s too early in the day for me, Thomas,’ she said. ‘And I’ll bet your wife is at market and doesn’t have the first idea you aren’t out in the fields.’
‘Oh là là,’ he chuckled, evidently delighted with his ticking off.
‘We hear there’s going to be a party up at the château when the grapes are in,’ Claude Derlot said, speaking through the cigarette in his teeth and peering up at her with his watery blue eyes.
‘I hope so,’ she said, ‘and I’m looking for volunteers for a cabaret, so you must all think what you could do.’ She was turning as she spoke as she’d heard the thunder of tiny feet coming up behind her. ‘Now where on earth did you all spring from?’ she said, looking down at the group of children who had come to a bashful halt beside her.
‘We were playing by the stream,’ Richard, one of Thomas’s grandchildren, told her, smearing even more mud on his face as he rubbed an eye.
‘And don’t tell me, you heard my car and thought, bonbons!’
The way she said it brought a grin to each of their faces, and she dug into her pockets and handed over the toffees, keeping some aside for Janette and Robert Reinberg.
Gustave, the proprietor of the café, came out then, holding a bottle of Lorvoire wine, and as usual when she saw him Claudine felt her lips begin to twitch. His face, with its florid complexion and bulbous eyes, was almost as fat and round as his belly, and his bushy eyebrows arched so steeply towards his monkish fringe, gave him a look of such extreme surprise, that one felt one’s own eyebrows lifting in response. His most arresting feature, though, was a splendid moustache, curled and waxed at the tips, which provided him with the most comical of permanent smiles. Claudine didn’t remember ever having seen anyone who looked quite so jolly.
‘Ah ha!’ he cried. ‘You see the sun shines, now that madame is back at Lorvoire.’
There were smiles all round. Then, feeling a tug at her pocket, Claudine looked down to discover young Richard trying to steal a toffee.
‘Un voleur!’ she cried, throwing up her hands in horror, and Richard shrieked and scampered off across the square with the other children.
It was a game they often played, but today, instead of going after them Claudine remembered that she had to ask Gustave about the cigars for Louis.
‘Si, I have been keeping them for him,’ he answered.
‘Can we have a toffee please, madame?’ a soft voice asked.
Claudine looked down to find a little girl with an angelic face and an abundance of white-blonde curls staring up at her. She was no more than six years old, and was holding the hand of her even smaller brother. They looked so adorable that Claudine found herself struggling with the urge to gather them up in her arms. ‘I’m afraid I’m keeping the toffees that are left for Janette and Robert Reinberg,’ she said sadly.
‘But I’m Janette Reinberg,’ the little girl told her, truly believing that Claudine hadn’t recognized her.
‘No!’ Claudine gasped. ‘But Janette Reinberg is only a baby and you’re such a big girl!’
Janette’s face beamed as the toffees were handed over. Robert, with his mouth full, said, ‘My Papa has gone away.’
Claudine nodded, and had to swallow a lump in her throat. ‘Is Maman at home?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ Robert answered, stuffing another toffee in his mouth but never taking his eyes from hers.
Claudine turned back to Gustave. ‘I’ll collect the cigars later,’ she said. Then tucking her purse under her arm and waving goodbye to everyone, she went to knock on Madame Reinberg’s door …
When she emerged an hour later, the village was deserted. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. There was a delicious aroma of freshly baked bread coming from the boulangerie, and she could hear the rush and gurgle of the river as it flowed behind the cottages on the opposite side of the square. She looked at her watch, wondering if she had time to call on Liliane to ask her where she could buy a secondhand sewing-machine –the possible solution to Madame Reinberg’s money problems. Madame Reinberg had been a seamstress in Tours before her marriage, and home sewing and tailoring might restore the poor woman’s income, and her pride.
By the time Claudine drove out of the village and headed back to the château, it was already five past eleven. On the seat beside her were six pots of blackberry jam and a recipe for dry-cured pickled pork, written in code, for Arlette from Liliane, and a box of cigars for Louis from Gustave. She did not think Armand would mind that she was late, and she was feeling in such a good mood that she very much hoped that François had taken himself elsewhere, because she didn’t want anything to spoil it.
Smiling, she turned on the wireless, and when she heard the song they were singing she burst out laughing. It was the first time she had heard it in French, but the tune was unmistakable, so she sang along to it in English: ‘Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?’ It was a pity, she thought, when the song ended, that she couldn’t share the joke with François – but of course, if she could there wouldn’t be a joke.
Freddy Prendergast was sitting on a wooden bench beside the Montvisse dovecote, watching Monique walk towards him across the lawn. He felt his anxiety deepening with every step she took, and when she came to a stop beside him, he looked up at her and smiled weakly. She looked particularly attractive today, he thought miserably; her dark hair suited her combed back from her face like that, especially when she was smiling so happily. Their eyes met, but he looked away quickly as his misgivings got the better of him, and shuffled awkwardly along the bench to make room for her.
Monique smiled at him fondly. ‘Oh, chéri,’ she said consolingly, ‘you are unhappy because we have not been able to spend time alone together for almost a week. It has hurt me too, but I am here now.’ She lifted his hand into her lap and gave it a reassuring squeeze. ‘I have thought about you all the time, mon chou. I read your poems again and again and I tingle all over when I think of how much you love me. I am truly the happiest woman alive.’ She took his chin and pulled him round to face her. ‘You are not angry, are you, that I wish to wait for Lucien to come home before we announce our engagement?’
Freddy shook his head. ‘No, not in the slightest.’ His voice sounded high-pitched and nervous. He tried again. ‘Not a bit,’ he boomed.
‘Lucien will be here tomorrow,’ she smiled, resting her head on his shoulder, ‘and then we shall be able to tell the whole world.’ If she was aware of the tension in him she didn’t show it, and after a while she looked up at him and whispered, ‘Kiss me, Freddy.’
He was suddenly seized with panic, but not knowing what else to do, he planted a quick kiss on her lips, then looked away.
She laughed softly. ‘You are afraid that someone is watching us from the window, oui?’
He gave a jerky nod and looked desperately towards the sky for Divine intervention.
‘I have a surprise for you, chéri,’ she said. ‘Do you want to know what it is?’
No, he most certainly did not, but he found himself saying that he did.
‘I have been thinking how we could spend a whole night together,’ she told him, ‘and now I have the solution. If you come to Lorvoire after dark and climb up into the forest – it is very steep behind the château so you must be sure to take great care – you will find the bridge which leads into the nursery corridor. It is next to Claudine’s bedroom, so we will have to be quiet, but if you come after midnight then she will be sure to be sleeping.’
He gaped at her. The woman had clearly taken leave of her senses if she thought for one moment that he would contemplate going into a forest in the dead of night.
‘It is perfect, don’t you agree?’ she said, apparently mistaking his horror for wonder.
A strange noise escaped his lips, and laughing, she leaned forward to kiss them. ‘So you will come tonight?’ she whispered, treating him to one of her most provocative smiles.
Tonight! She wanted him to go tonight! ‘Er, well, er,’ he stammered. He cleared his throat. ‘Well …’ he continued. ‘Er, one has a teensy bit of a problem.’
‘Un probléme?’ she repeated, still smiling.
‘Yes. Well, it’s like this, you see. One has a friend. Well, not a friend exactly; more of a girlfriend.’
He winced as the smile froze on her face, and suddenly the idea of thrashing about in a forest at midnight seemed infinitely preferable to this.
‘Go on,’ she breathed.
He shrugged, and attempted to smile. ‘Well, that’s it really. One has a girlfriend.’ There was more, but he didn’t quite have the courage to go through with it now that her face had gone so dreadfully pale.
‘But you said, you told me you had never …’
‘Oh, but we haven’t,’ he assured her, assuming that she was referring to his virginity and not wanting her to think him a liar. ‘Teresa’s not that sort of girl.’
Even before Monique’s hand rang across his cheek, he realized he had made a stupendous blunder.
‘I’m sorry,’ he gasped. ‘One didn’t mean to say that. What one meant to say was … What one meant, was … She’s too young. Much, much younger than you.’
He had never seen such a look in his life, and groaning, he dropped his head in his hands. He could feel her trembling, and was just beginning to wish he had never set foot in France, never mind Montvisse, when to his unmitigated horror she started to plead. ‘But couldn’t we have just one night together?’ she begged. ‘You could still come to the château … It doesn’t matter that you …’
‘I can’t!’ he wailed. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to, because I do, very much, but you see, Teresa … Well, Teresa is coming here, to Montvisse, today.’
She stared at him, her eyes wide and uncomprehending, until finally, to his utter dismay, she seemed to crumple before his very eyes. He had never felt such a heel.
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured. ‘You see, she was my girlfriend before, but she told me in July that she didn’t want to see me again. So when I told you I didn’t have a girlfriend, I wasn’t lying. But she called me yesterday from Paris and said she had changed her mind.’
‘And you invited her to Montvisse?’
‘Yes,’ he confessed miserably, and lowered his eyes as the horrible burden of shame grew heavier on his shoulders.
For the moment Monique didn’t know what to say. It was as though someone had delivered her a physical blow and she was still reeling from the shock. She took a deep breath in an effort to steady herself, but an icy torrent of rage swept through her as once again she saw her happiness slipping away. She wanted to scream; she wanted to fall on her knees and rage against God; she wanted to run, to escape from all the torment welling up inside her. She wanted to thrash out with her hands, kick out with her feet; she wanted to fall to the floor, to clutch at his legs, beg him to love her, make him understand that he couldn’t do this to her, he couldn’t leave her, not when she had already told Claudine …
Suddenly she went very still and her eyes glazed over. Freddy was so horrified that his nerves erupted in a loud guffaw. Then, to his amazement, she took his hand and held it between her own. He looked down, trembling with terror; he felt sure she was going to break every bone in his fingers. Several minutes ticked by and neither of them moved, then, tentatively, he lifted his eyes back to her face. To his overwhelming relief the terrible expression had gone, and in its place was such a heart-rending sadness that it almost moved him to tears.
‘It’s all right, Freddy,’ she said, ‘I understand. I am far too old for you really, and I’m sure we would have made one another unhappy in the end. You are wise to take your 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, chéri,’ 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 château 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. ‘Délicieux.’
‘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 François 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 semi-darkness 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 François 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 François 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. ‘François 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 François 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 François …’
‘That’s enough!’ François’ 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, François! Let her tell you what she’s done to me. But I’ll tell you this, even if the bitch comes 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 from falling when Monique pushed her. Her mind was in turmoil, and she felt faintly sick. At last she looked up – only to see that François was scowling at her. The day had started out so well, but now a sense of defeat was threatening to overwhelm her.
‘Sit down,’ François said.
She shook her head.
He took her by the arm, led her to a chair and pushed her into it. Then he turned away towards the window. ‘I take it all that was about young Prendergast,’ he said, keeping his back turned.
Claudine didn’t answer. She felt too miserable even to show any surprise that he knew about Monique and Freddy; she had always abhorred self-pity, but she knew she was coming dangerously close to it at that moment. But Monique’s accusations were unjust. She hadn’t put Freddy up to inviting Teresa, that had been his own idea. But she could have stopped him, and she would have done if she hadn’t been so caught up in her own life.
François turned to look at her. ‘Would you like to explain why my sister is so upset?’ he said coldly.
‘I thought you’d heard all she had to say.’
‘I did. Why didn’t you defend yourself?’
‘I didn’t get the chance.’
‘I am giving it to you now.’
Claudine looked away.
‘Am I to understand from your silence that there is some truth in Monique’s accusations?’
She sighed. ‘Does it matter? Monique obviously wants to believe I talked Freddy out of marrying her …’ She shrugged.
‘Did you?’
‘Why are you asking me these questions?’ she suddenly shouted. ‘The point is that neither I nor anyone else could have talked him out of it if he’d wanted to marry her, and I resent being treated like an adolescent when none of this is any of your damned business.’
‘Claudine,’ he said with deliberation, ‘if Monique is threatening you, then it is my business.’
‘Why? Because, doting husband that you are, you care?’
‘I told you last night that I want you to be happy here.’
‘Then why the hell don’t you do something about it!’
‘That is precisely what I am trying to do. If there’s a rift between you and Monique I want it healed.’
‘And what about the rift between you and me? Or doesn’t that count? Oh, don’t speak to my any more. I’ve had enough of arguing … I’ll sort things out with Monique and I don’t need any help from you.’
‘As you wish.’
He started to walk across the room and she expected him to leave, but he stopped at the sofa and sat down. ‘How are your plans for the wine feast progressing?’ he asked, after a moment or two.
She eyed him suspiciously, wondering if he was now going to tell her that it couldn’t happen. ‘Satisfactorily,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘Armand told me about Father Pointeau’s suggestion. There’ll be a hunt in the Chinon forest before the service of thanksgiving, and I’m sure Georges de Rivet would be willing to donate the catch to the feast if I ask him.’
Barely able to disguise her surprise, Claudine said, ‘That’s very kind of you.’
‘The least I can do, since I won’t be here myself.’
‘Where will you be?’ The question was out before she could stop it.
‘Berlin. If you have any letters for your father, than I shall be happy to deliver them.’
‘Thank you.’ There was a long, uncomfortable pause while she struggled to fight back the loathsome, self-pitying tears that had overcome her at the mention of her father. Then again she had spoken before giving herself time to think: ‘Would it be possible for me to come to Berlin with you?’
Sighing, he pulled himself to his feet. ‘You have duties here at Lorvoire that preclude that possibility, so I’m afraid the answer is no.’ When she continued to stare up at him, he said, ‘You can’t tell everyone you are going to organize a feast and then disappear on a whim to see your father.’
She knew he was right, but it didn’t stop her throwing her resentment at him. ‘Of course, it wouldn’t have anything to do with you not wanting me in Berlin, would it?’ she said nastily.
‘As a matter of fact, it would. I don’t want you with me. I want you here, where you belong. Now, see that you make amends to Monique before things get out of hand. If I were you, I’d start by getting that young puppy on the next train to England.’
‘He’s Céline’s guest, not mine.’
‘Don’t be obtuse, Claudine. You have offended my sister deeply; at least have the decency to get young Prendergast as far away from her as you can.’
When the door closed behind him, Claudine sat for some time staring into space and doing her best to stave off the swelling tide of unhappiness. In the end, knowing that she was losing the battle, she jerked herself out of the chair, ran down the stairs and got into the car. She might hate François for the way he had spoken to her, but he was right; having Freddy and his girlfriend at Montvisse would only exacerbate the pain for Monique, and angry as she was with Monique, she had no wish to see her suffer.