26
HENRIETTE
My mind was abuzz as I led Tristan down the hallway to a set of stairs in the back of the chateau. Running on nothing but pure adrenaline and faith, I hurried us both down the constricted passageway that fed into what was once the kitchen. Pulling him into an even narrower shaft, we followed the tight stairwell that led to the larder—or what used to be the refrigerator at Chateau Lebleu two hundred years ago.
Tristan whispered in my ear. “Where the hell are we?”
“No man’s land.”
He scoffed. “No man’s land looks like a dead end.”
I pulled at the edge of a hutch filled with old pots and pans. Gripping it with my fingers, the heavy wooden shelves moved together as one full door and I turned to find Tristan’s eyes wide. “Not bad, huh?”
He twisted his head in amazement. “Not bad at all.”
There had always been a kerosene lamp left on the shelf. It was meant to light the way through the tunnels to the caves. The problem was, I didn’t have a match, or a lighter.
“We’ll need to feel our way.”
Tristan pulled the cell phone from his back pocket, turning on the flashlight.
“Or you could use that,” I said.
Gripping his hand again, I led him through the narrow tunnel that smelled of earth and rain. Roots from trees above had grown into the pathway, and we’d had to crawl our way through at certain points. When I could see light, I knew we’d made it away from the house and to the southern-most tip of the cellars. Tristan put away his cell phone and I dropped his hand to feel my way along the ancient wall to the small opening. It would be covered by the edge of a full riddling rack and I didn’t want to knock it or any bottles from their place.
Squeezing through the space in the wall, my knee brushed against the edge of the rack, causing it to lurch. I held my breath, then steadily slid the rest of my body through. Staring back at Tristan through the crack, I didn’t know if his muscular frame was going to fit.
“I’m too big,” he said.
“We can’t stop now.” I tried to push the rack away from the wall.
“You’re going to knock the bottles out,” he whispered loudly.
“Better I should ruin a few bottles of Champagne Lebleu, than ruin the life of Tristan Lebleu.”
“I see your point.”
“Help me,” I said as I inched the rack closer to me, knocking one bottle to the floor where it broke at the neck; champagne fizzing across the room.
“Dammit,” Tristan hissed as he slid through the space. “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged, kicking the bottle behind the rack and into the darkened path we’d just walked.
The low wattage bulbs lit our way until we made it to the end where a ladder would take us up and into the vines. “This is it,” I said.
Tristan shook his head. “You’re right. I would’ve never made it this far.”
My eyes widened. “Believe me. I know.”
Climbing the ladder, I pushed the lid up and over. Dust and chalky soil flew everywhere, covering our heads. I spat away the dirt sticking to my lips, but I didn’t stop. Once on solid ground, I looked around and waited for Tristan to join me.
You’ll know it when you see it. I rolled René’s words over in my head as I looked up and down the dirt road that was the most remote section of the vines.
“Now what?” Tristan asked.
“I’m not sure.”
The words had barely left my lips when I saw an older Peugeot four-door compact car roaring down the road, kicking up dust. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Is this for us?” Tristan asked.
“It better be.”
Coming to an abrupt halt, Marcel Deschamps leaned into the passenger seat to crank down the window.
“Bonjour!”
“Bonjour, Marcel,” I replied. “Tristan,” I said, opening the door. This is Marcel. He’s the—”
“Chef de Cave. Yes, know. I’ve already had the privilege of making his acquaintance. Merci beaucoup, Marcel. Merci.”
I rode in the front, Tristan took up the back seat entirely as he laid down, not wanting to draw attention to himself. I kept looking to the old Cartier on my wrist. A gift from Tristan’s grandfather Pierre to my father for his loyal service, it was the one thing I brought with me. I didn’t even have a change of clothes. We needed to get in the air. The trip was only about thirty kilometers, but it wasn’t good road. That meant we were still a good forty-five minutes away from Reims-Champagne airport.
No one spoke a word as the decade old car sputtered down the road. It was best. I didn’t have any words. If I thought about what I’d just done—left my entire life behind at Champagne Lebleu for a man I barely knew—a man I still couldn’t be sure wasn’t a murderer—I’d break into tears all over again.
I glanced over the seat at him. Clearly not as amped up as I was, his eyes were closed. He was asleep. I leaned my head into the dirty car window. Tristan was leaving France a far cry from the way he arrived.
I swallowed hard and looked to Marcel. I didn’t know what he knew. I didn’t know what he was expecting when he picked us up. All I knew was if Pierre sold Champagne Lebleu while I was gone, Marcel, like the rest of the team, would be finished. At this point I didn’t even know if it mattered. If René was found guilty of aiding in the escape of Tristan from France, the blowback would be immense. It could possibly taint the deal I knew Pierre was working up with the conglomerate.
The only thing that was certain, was that nothing was certain.
“Tristan.” I called out his name without turning to look in the backseat. The entrance to the Reims-Champagne private tarmac was full of police cars and fire engines. If this was our welcoming party, we were done.
“What is it?” he asked, staying low in the backseat.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but the police are here.”
“Le coffre,” Marcel said. “Get in the trunk.”
“How?” Tristan asked.
I pointed to the red pulley in between the seats. “Grab that. One of the seats will lower, opening the backseat to the trunk area. Do it, Tristan. Do it now.”
Tristan yanked on the red lever, the seat beside him moving forward with a pop. Grabbing the back of the seat by the headrest, he wriggled his body through the small opening, pulling it to as best he could. Marcel continued to drive. I knew he was afraid to stop, raising suspicions.
Pulling up to the checkpoint, I put on my sunglasses and stared out at the jet on the tarmac. It wasn’t a Lebleu jet with the logo on the side, but a Jet Link service plane—one used by many wealthy people. It was like Uber for the skies.
Marcel rolled down the window and smiled. “I’m delivering my daughter to her plane. Is there a problem?” He asked in French.
“A small plane caught fire in a hanger today. We’re just keeping the area clear of anyone who doesn’t belong.”
“Can he take me to my plane?” I asked, pointing to the jet on the tarmac. “I don’t want to carry my luggage too far.”
“Oui mademoiselle,” he said waving us on.
As we passed the checkpoint, Marcel and I both breathed a collective sigh of relief. Now if we could get on the plane without being noticed and in the air, I would feel as if I could relax—but not until.
Marcel pulled as close to the red carpet on the asphalt as he could. Leaning over the back, I called out to Tristan. “This is it. Come out. Stay low. I’ll get your bag. Get straight on the plane.”
Kicking down the seat, Tristan climbed through, giving me a surly glare. “Who’s running this show, anyway?”
“While we’re in France?” I asked. “Me.”
Leaning into Marcel, I kissed him on the cheek. “Au revoir, Marcel. Merci.”
“Voyages sûrs, Henry,” Marcel replied, wishing us a safe journey.
Opening the back door, Tristan got out, casually climbing the steps of the clamshell door. I didn’t watch, but focused my attention on the bag in the back seat. Pulling it to my chest, I climbed the steps behind him.
On board, I tossed his bag into a chair and stuck my head into the cockpit. “We need to leave as soon as possible.”
The flight attendant upon hearing my request, closed the door to the jet. “Take a seat, Miss…”
I nodded, but didn’t answer, noticing Tristan was already locked and loaded—and from the bulge under his shirt, in more ways than one.
I took a breath and looked over at him. For the first time I noticed the look on his face. Distress furrowed his brow.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has been cleared for takeoff.”
Tristan reached across the aisle, taking my hand in his and as the plane took to the skies, I began to cry.