Kathleen awoke to sunlight pouring through her half-open window. The curtains fluttered in a cool breeze, and birds twittered in the trees outside. Margaux had given her an east-facing room and for the first time since Mervyn’s death she had slept a whole night through, soundly, deeply, instead of tossing and turning the hours away. She stretched, got out of bed and walked over to the window and looked out. She could see activity among the vines and realised that everyone else must have been up for ages. She longed to crawl back into bed, enjoy more of that luxury sleep – but no, Elena and Sibyl were probably up as well, and she was a mother.

Washed and dressed, she made her way down to the kitchen. Margaux was clearing away the remains of breakfast, leaving one place setting.

‘Güete Morge! I won’t even ask if you slept well! The girls are up and out in the vines, helping out. I thought I’d take you out after breakfast, show you around?’

‘That would be lovely! Thank you for taking care of the girls. I overslept – that never happens usually! I’ve been sleeping so badly, since…’

‘It’s a very good sign. Sleep is what you need. Sleep heals. Take as much of it as you need, for as long as you want. The girls are safe and happy. They were both smiling and even laughing at breakfast.’

‘That’s a miracle! They have been walking around with such long faces. I can’t thank you enough, Margaux!’

‘They are on the road to recovery. It is hard to lose a beloved Papa – I know it myself. You never really get over it and they are so young! I was fifteen and that was bad enough. So it is good that they are settling in. Come, have some tea – it’s what you English like for breakfast, isn’t it? And the jam is home-made with my own strawberries. I will show you my little garden first and then we will go into the vines. I grow almost all my own vegetables. And we have some fruit as well and lots of flowers. Gardening is what I do best, what I love. What do you call it: my hobby, but it is a useful hobby, and very healthy. It keeps me fit in every way – it is good to work with the earth, with plants! I will show you. We have all day. I am not going to do any housework today because a girl from the village is coming in to help, Leah. And you can tell me more about your life in England since Montrouge, and I will tell you all about growing wine.’

‘Your story is much more interesting than mine,’ said Kathleen, spreading a slice of bread with butter. ‘I can tell you in one sentence: I met Mervyn, got married, had babies. But, you know, I was happy. I loved him. But it was a fool’s paradise. I had no idea he was up to his neck in a financial mess and there was no way out, except – except the way he chose, which left a worse mess for me.’

Tears gathered in her eyes. Margaux said, ‘Oh dear, I’m sorry. Maybe we should not speak of these things just yet if they make you cry. I am just going upstairs for a minute and I’ll be back and then we’ll go out and I will show you around and we will find the children.’

---

‘We in Alsace produce the best wine in all of France,’ said Margaux. She led the way along a long row of vines. ‘It is because the location is truly exceptional, perfect for making wine. It is a blessed land; everything is perfect for producing the best grapes. Perfect soils, noble, wonderful climate – one of the driest in France, which means so much sunshine. These here are our riesling grapes; the leaves have been removed so that they can bask in our delicious sunlight and absorb it. See how plump they are! Go ahead, pick one and taste!’

The grapes indeed were plump, hanging in succulent bunches on the vines on either side of her. She picked one, put it in her mouth, bit into it. The grape burst open. Its flavour exploded into her mouth. Her eyes lit up.

‘Oh! Oh Margaux, that was the most delicious grape I have ever tasted!’

Margaux giggled. ‘Go on, have some more! But don’t gorge too much because we have other grapes for you to try. Gewürztraminer, pinot gris, muscat, and also crémant d’Alsace which is a sparkling wine, and a basic blend. We only make white wine; most Alsace wine is white, but some wineries also make pinot noir, but we don’t. Come along, don’t devour all of our riesling otherwise there will be none left for the harvest! Come on, down the hill, this is where… oh!’

A man had suddenly popped up from behind a row of vines, and stood before them, grinning. Looking at Kathleen, he removed his beret with an exaggerated sweep and bow.

‘Bonjour, Mesdames! Bonjour, Margaux! You have not yet introduced me to your beautiful guest!’

‘Max! Max, you scared me, you could have been anyone hiding down there in the vines! What are you doing there?’

‘Who did you think I was, a murderer escaped from prison? And since you are not going to introduce me, I will introduce myself. Maxence Dolch. Call me Max.’

He replaced his beret and held out a gnarled, weather-beaten hand to Kathleen, his grip firm but fleeting.

‘Kathleen Lake,’ she said.

‘Ah! She is English. That girl you told me about, the one from that posh school?’

‘Indeed. She is visiting for a while and I am showing her around.’

‘I believe my son Jacques met your daughters yesterday? And they are all working in the vines this morning. Removing leaves from the pinot gris. And I – I am just inspecting. We expect to start the harvest on Wednesday. The weather is stable and everything is perfect. You will stay for the harvest, Madame Lake? Help with it, perhaps? We need all hands.’

‘Yes, I’ll be here and I’ll be helping. I really look forward to it.’

‘Then I will help show you around, and tell you something about our grapes, so you will know them when the time comes. You must talk to them when you are picking, you know. That is the secret of my excellent wines. My grapes are living beings and they understand every word, in any language. They want to be loved, and if you love them enough they will reward you with a wine that tastes like nectar of the gods. Is it not true, Margaux?’

‘I’d say that’s a good enough description.’

‘Indeed. With every bunch you cut from the vine you must tell the vine thank you, and apologise for hurting it, and explain that the wound will heal and that it is going to give great joy to many people. You must be grateful and humble to the vine, understand that it is listening, that it is alive and quite willing to give you its best. See, I have revealed the great secret of the Domaine Laroche-Gauthier!’

‘Max, you are drôle!’

‘No, it is not funny. It is the truth. I know you are too practical to engage in such conversations with grapes, Margaux; I know you don’t believe me and you refuse. But maybe your lovely guest will oblige. Will you, Madame?’

Kathleen couldn’t help laughing. ‘I certainly will, if you say so! I can’t wait to start!’

‘Then come along and let me introduce you to my grapes. They will be delighted to make your acquaintance. You have met my rieslings; now I shall take you to my gewürztraminers. This way, if you please.’