The Winemaker's Wife Read online

  They were aboveground by the time an unfamiliar black coupe stopped in front of the main house. A broad-shouldered man in a spotless German officer’s uniform, his jackboots gleaming in the sunshine, unfolded himself from the car. Shading his face with his right hand, he peered around until he spotted them. He smiled thinly, his mouth twisting beneath his narrow mustache, and Céline felt ill when she recognized him as Hauptmann Richter, the German who had threatened her—and pawed her through her blouse—the previous September.

  “Ah,” he said, his smile broadening but not quite reaching his small, dark eyes. He slammed the door of his car shut and strode over to the women. “Just who I was looking for.”

  Céline tried to arrange her features into a pleasant expression. “Hello, Hauptmann Richter.”

  “So you remember me. Very good.” He stopped in front of her, glancing once at Inès and then turning his full attention back to Céline. “Where are your husbands?”

  Céline hesitated, but there was no point in lying. It was clear the men weren’t there. “Out,” she said. “Inspecting a vineyard.”

  “They’ll be back at any moment,” Inès added quickly, and Céline felt a small surge of relief as Inès moved closer to her, until their arms were touching.

  “Then it appears we are alone for now.” Richter was only looking at Céline.

  “What can we do for you?” Inès asked loudly.

  He kept his eyes focused on Céline. “I just wanted to make sure you’d heard the news.”

  Just then, there was a noise in the distance, followed a few seconds later by the appearance of Michel’s trusty old Citroën chugging down the drive toward the house, enveloped as usual in a cloud of exhaust. Céline’s sigh of relief must have been audible, for Richter’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, how fortunate,” he said. “Your men have returned. I’ll be able to speak with all of you.”

  Céline’s heart lurched as the Citroën screeched to a halt just feet from them. Michel jumped out of the driver’s seat, while Theo alighted from the passenger side. “What can we do for you, Hauptmann Richter?” Michel said, his tone even. But his eyes were wild and worried.

  “Ah, Monsieur Chauveau, we meet again.” He turned his gaze to Theo. “And you? You are the husband of this Jewess?”

  Theo frowned and nodded. Céline wrapped her arms around herself, feeling suddenly cold, even in the thick summer heat.

  “And you are a Jew, too?” Richter continued.

  “No, of course not.” Theo’s reply was too fast, too adamant, and though it was true, it felt like a slap across Céline’s face. “Besides, she’s only half Jewish,” Theo added quickly, and Richter chuckled.

  “Is that how you justified marrying a mischling?” He licked his lips and turned his gaze back to Céline. “Well. I have come to make sure you had heard about the Jews we took away from Champagne this week.”

  Céline couldn’t trust herself to speak. She glanced at Michel, whose eyes were trained on Richter. She couldn’t read his expression, but his stillness scared her.

  “Of course, but it was only foreign-born Jews,” Theo said into the uncomfortable silence.

  Richter’s gaze didn’t move from Céline. “For now.”

  “I was born in France,” Céline said, her voice shaking, and Richter chuckled again.

  “And that is why your name was not on our list. This time.” Finally, he turned his attention to the men and nodded slightly. “I just wanted to make sure you were aware. I’ll leave you to it.”

  He turned without another word, climbed back into his little car, and roared away.

  It was Theo who spoke first. “What in the hell was the meaning of that?” Theo glared at her as if Richter’s unsettling behavior had been her fault.

  “Enough,” Michel said quietly. He glanced at Céline. “The best thing we can do now is to not show the Germans our fear or our anger.”

  “But—” Theo began.

  Michel held up his hand. “It is clear that this Richter fellow is aware of Céline. We must keep our ears to the ground about any movement against French-born Jews, all right?”

  Céline and Inès nodded. Theo was still angry. “Come, Céline,” he said. “Let’s go home.” He took her arm and steered her toward their house before she could respond. Céline looked over her shoulder as they went and saw Michel watching them with a frown.

  Theo started in on her as soon as they were out of Michel’s and Inès’s earshot. “Why did the German seem so interested in you?” he demanded.

  “What are you implying?” Céline stared at him in disbelief.

  Theo didn’t answer. His face was red, his eyes wide and angry. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I think you should go south. Michel has contacts in the zone libre.”

  “What? No.” Céline was startled; where had Theo come up with this idea? He had never mentioned it before. “I’m not leaving.”

  “That’s foolish. You’d be safer there.”

  “There’s danger everywhere,” Céline shot back as they reached their front door.

  “Just because Michel thinks you’re safe here doesn’t mean you are. It’s not his place to be making decisions about my wife, you know.”

  “Nor is it yours!” Céline cried. “It’s my life we’re talking about.”

  “But it’s not just your life, is it? It’s all our lives! You being here, it puts us all in danger! You could ruin everything!”

  “Ah, so is that what this is about? Not protecting me, but protecting the business?”

  “I didn’t say that. But you would so easily ruin the Maison Chauveau, just to prove a point?”

  “She stays.” Michel’s voice came from behind them, firm and low, and Céline whirled around. How long had he been there? What had he heard?

  “But—” Theo began, his palms outstretched.

  “She stays if she wants to,” Michel said, cutting him off. “She will always have a place here, where we can look after her. Do you understand?”

  “I understand perfectly.” Theo’s jaw flexed. “Excuse me.” He went into the house, slamming the door behind him and leaving Céline and Michel alone.

  “Michel, I—” Céline began, but he shook his head, and she stopped.

  “You will be safe here, Céline,” he said, holding her gaze. “I swear, I’ll protect you with my life.”

  seventeen

  JUNE 2019

  LIV

  For three days after Liv’s conversation with Julien, she thought about his words—and the way she’d blurted out that he was attractive and then barreled on to ask him personal questions about his life—and felt more foolish with each passing day.

  “I didn’t bring you here to mope,” Grandma Edith said over breakfast one morning. “And if you tell me you’re thinking about Eric, I will have to disown you.”

  Liv forced a smile as she systematically dismantled the croissant that she’d plucked from their room service tray. She was still in her pajamas, while Grandma Edith was already in chic black pants, a white blouse, and red flats that matched her lipstick. “No, I wasn’t thinking about Eric.”

  “Then who? I know that look. It’s the look of a woman mooning over a man.”

  “What? No. I’m thinking about your attorney, actually. But not in the way you’re implying.”

  “Julien?” Grandma Edith seemed amused. “And why not? He’s very handsome, yes? And would you stop picking at your croissant? Honestly, Olivia, did your mother raise you in a barn?”

  Liv rolled her eyes, but she obediently set the croissant down and brushed the crumbs from her fingers, feeling like a chastised child. She picked up her cup of coffee and lifted it to her lips.

  “So why is Julien Cohn on your mind, then, if not for those perfect buttocks of his?” her grandmother asked innocently.

  Liv choked on the sip she had just taken. “Grandma Edith!”

  “What? I’m not dead yet. Now, are you going to answer my question?”

  Liv sighed. “Julien just
made some good points, that’s all.”

  “Do be more specific, dear. I don’t have all day.”

  “He just—he asked me some questions about my life. About what I want for myself. And it made me think about how maybe . . .” She paused. “Maybe I need to pull myself together and figure out what kind of life I actually want before it’s too late. You know?”

  “Ah.” Grandma Edith took a small, satisfied sip of her coffee. “It seems Julien is as wise as his buttocks are perfect.”

  Liv gave her grandmother a look. “I think maybe I said too much, though. He was just being polite, and I started babbling about Eric and babies and leaving my job. I probably sounded like a lunatic. I think I scared him away.”

  Grandma Edith raised an eyebrow. “Olivia, dear, a true lady should never air her dirty laundry to the first gentleman who happens by. But you’re in luck. You didn’t frighten Julien, at least not that I’m aware of. He just had to go to Paris for a few days on business.”

  “And you know this because . . . ?”

  “Because the business was on my behalf.” Grandma Edith checked her watch. “In fact, he’ll be here any minute. I’m not sure how you do things in America, but here in France, we prefer to be dressed with at least some makeup on when guests drop by.”

  Liv stood abruptly and headed for her bedroom. “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming?”

  “I wasn’t aware you cared so much. Oh, and you have croissant crumbs in your hair!” Grandma Edith added helpfully as Liv slammed the bedroom door.

  Fifteen minutes later, with a black cotton dress thrown on and her hair purged of pastry, Liv emerged into an empty parlor. It took her a few seconds to realize that her grandmother and Julien were on the balcony, deep in conversation. She took a few steps toward the French doors and was just about to join them outside when she heard her name. Surprised, she stopped to listen.

  “I do not want to overstep,” Julien was saying in French. “But I think you need to tell Liv the truth. It would change her life for the better.”

  “What do you know?” Grandma Edith’s tone was much softer than her words were as she added, “What are you, twelve?”

  “I’m forty-four, actually,” Julien said with a small smile, not missing a beat. “And maybe having a better understanding of who she is will help Liv right now.”

  “I know you’re right. But I must do this in my own time,” Grandma Edith said at last, turning abruptly and heading back into the hotel room. She stopped short when she saw Liv in the parlor. “How long have you been standing there, Olivia?”

  “Um, I just came out of my room,” Liv lied. “Why?”

  Grandma Edith narrowed her eyes. “No reason. Would you please see Julien out?” She disappeared into her own room without another word, slamming the door behind her. Liv turned back to the balcony and locked eyes with Julien, who was studying her intently. She hesitated before heading out through the doors to join him.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Bonjour, Liv,” Julien said with a smile.

  “Are you okay? It looked like my grandmother was laying into you.”

  He shrugged. “It’s exactly how my grandfather talks to me. The trick, I’ve discovered, is to just not take their bait.”

  “Well, you must be better at that than I am.” Liv smiled at him and then averted her eyes. “Listen, about the other day, I’m really sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The conversation we had—I unloaded on you like you were my therapist or something. I’m sorry. You’re just—well, you’re easy to talk to.”

  “You are easy to talk with, as well,” Julien said. He took a step closer. “And there is no reason to apologize. I enjoyed getting to know you a bit better.”

  The silence that hung between them felt laden with something it shouldn’t have, so Liv hurried to fill it. “Um, my grandmother asked me to walk you out.”

  He checked his watch. “Liv, perhaps this is a bit too forward of me, but I don’t have to pick Mathilde up from my mother’s house for another hour and a half, and your grandmother happened to mention you still haven’t seen much of Reims. Would you fancy a quick walk around the city center before I have to leave?”

  “I—” Liv didn’t know what to say. “I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

  He looked surprised. “Obligated? But this is something I’d like to do. Unless you do not.”

  The problem was that all Liv wanted to do in that moment was to walk out the door with Julien and never come back. But Grandma Edith probably wouldn’t appreciate that, nor would Julien’s wife. Still, there was nothing wrong with accepting a quick tour from him, was there?

  “Well?” Julien asked.

  Liv smiled. “Sure, I’m in.”

  • • •

  Ten minutes later, Liv was strolling east with Julien, toward the cathedral Grandma Edith had pointed out earlier in the week. As they walked, Julien gestured to buildings here and there, explaining that the town had been almost completely rebuilt after the First World War. He led them past the Subé Fountain in the Place d’Erlon, the town’s central square, and explained that the woman on the top, representing victory, was taken by the Germans in 1941 for her bronze wings. She wasn’t replaced, he said, until 1989. Closer to the cathedral, they walked by the Carnegie Library, a beautiful art deco building built after World War I with money donated by American steel magnate Andrew Carnegie. It replaced the town’s city hall, which had previously housed the library and had been destroyed in 1917.

  “So what were you talking about with my grandmother?” Liv asked after he had pointed out a few more notable buildings and they had lapsed into a companionable silence. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you say my name when you were out on the balcony.”

  Julien blinked a few times. “How much did you hear?”

  “Enough.” It was vague enough to be the truth.

  “Well, then, you know it is a conversation you must have with her. For what it’s worth, I think your grandmother is trying to do what’s right. I’m afraid I might have offended her, though, by giving her my opinion. I have a habit of me mettre le doigt dans l’oeil—um, putting my foot in my mouth sometimes.”

  “I doubt that,” Liv said as they turned onto the rue Cardinal de Lorraine and the cathedral soared into view just ahead. “I think you’re probably pretty good at saying exactly what you intend.”

  “Why does it feel as if you know me so well, Liv?” His fingers brushed against hers.

  “It feels like you know me, too.” The air between them felt electrified, so Liv quickly changed the subject, taking a giant step away from Julien and almost falling off a curb as they finally stopped in front of the enormous church. “The cathedral looks just like Notre-Dame did before the fire,” she said. A shiver ran through her as she regained her balance.

  “Notre-Dame de Paris?” Julien smiled sadly. “Yes, what a tragedy that was. But you know this is Notre-Dame, too, yes?”

  Liv looked at him blankly.

  “Notre-Dame de Reims, that is,” he clarified. “Of course the world is far more familiar with the cathedral in Paris—I blame Victor Hugo—but ours has always rivaled it in importance.”

  Liv raised an eyebrow.

  “I see you doubt me, but let me lay out my case.”

  “You do sound like a lawyer.”

  Julien tilted his head back and laughed. “Okay, yes, true. But I am only a part-time lawyer, so maybe this story will only be partly dull. You tell me.” He gestured to the church’s grand facade. “Ground was broken on this church on the sixth of May in the year 1211, which admittedly was forty-eight years after the Parisians began building their Notre-Dame. A point to the Parisians! But ours sits on the site of a church that dates back to the fifth century, which I think is a point to us, yes? And it is where Clovis, king of the Franks, was baptized by Saint Remi.” He looked at Liv expectantly.

  “Um, who?”
r />   Julien feigned horror. “Well, of course, Clovis was the first king of what would become France. His baptism here in the year 496 by Saint Remi, the bishop of Reims at the time, was the beginning of converting all the Franks to Christianity, which was a huge turning point in our history. That act began to unify France for the first time, and it happened right here. The original church was burned to the ground, but as you can see, the church built in its place in the thirteenth century was quite adequate.”

  “Exactly the adjective I was thinking of,” Liv said with a smile, looking up at the Gothic towers, the beautiful rosette windows, the thousands of intricate statues. “Adequate.”

  Julien laughed. “Yes, well, I was being modest on behalf of the church. But in fact, it was also the place in which for many, many years, French kings were crowned. Thirty-three of them, to be exact, including the ill-fated Louis XVI.” Julien checked his watch. “Well, we have a lot to get to in your mini tour of Reims, so I’ll finish with this: the cathedral holds more than twenty-three hundred statues, it is a UNESCO World Heritage site, and it features a famous stained-glass window set by Marc Chagall. But perhaps most important, it was nearly destroyed during the First World War—first by an enormous fire, not unlike the one that happened this spring at Notre-Dame de Paris—and then by years of shelling. But it was rebuilt.”

  “My grandmother mentioned something about that,” Liv said softly, surprised to feel tears in her eyes.

  “Notre-Dame de Paris will be rebuilt, too, Liv,” Julien said, his tone gentle as he looked at her closely. “It will survive.”

  Liv nodded and cleared her throat. “How do you know so much about the history of this place, anyhow?”

  “The summer before I went away to university, I was a guide for a company that does walking tours of Reims in English. It’s funny what sticks. I could probably tell you a thousand random dates and facts about this city, but I routinely forget where I’ve left my keys.”

  Liv fell into step beside him as they turned away from the cathedral and began walking in the opposite direction. “Okay, so what’s your favorite Reims fact, then?”