The Winemaker's Wife(15)

“All right.” Inès bent to a barrel and knocked on the top. She then tapped her knuckles down the length of the wood in several places and nodded in approval.

“Here, I’ll get that one,” Céline said, taking the barrel from Inès and turning it onto its side to roll it. “I’m headed back anyhow.”

“Thank you.” Inès reached for another barrel. “So where did you learn so many steps of winemaking, anyhow? I’ve always wondered.”

“Oh, I’ve been working with wine since I was young. You remember that my father is a winemaker, yes?” Saying the words made Céline’s heart ache, for she still hadn’t heard from him. With every day that passed, she grew more and more worried.

Inès nodded. “So he taught you to make wine before you married Theo?”

“Long before.” Silence fell again, and Céline knew she should be trying harder to be pleasant. She forced herself to add, “That’s how Theo and I met, actually. Through my father.”

“I never knew that.”

“Theo apprenticed with my father for a short time to learn how to make sparkling wine. My father is fairly well known in Burgundy for the vin mousseux he produces each year.” Céline started down the hall with the barrel. “My father could see how talented he was, and he knew Theo aspired to come to Champagne,” she added over her shoulder. “I suppose you could say my father orchestrated things between us. He felt Theo had a bright future ahead of him and that he could give me a better life than I would have in Burgundy.”

“So you and Theo started to date?” Inès was following Céline down the hall, her eyes wide with curiosity. “And then you fell in love?”

Céline moved the barrel into a storage cave and righted it before answering. “We married quickly, actually, before we really knew each other at all, because Theo was already making plans to leave Burgundy. The union made sense, you see. I was the daughter of a winemaker, and I understood what it would be like to have a life that revolved around wine. And for Theo, I think being married felt like a bit of a relief. He didn’t have to worry about courting anyone; he could focus only on his work.”

“You didn’t marry for love?” Inès looked devastated. “That’s so sad.”

Céline felt a small surge of annoyance. Did the other woman really think that finding that sort of romance was commonplace? No, love was something you had to work for, and Céline had tried hard over the years. “We love each other now,” she answered simply, though she wasn’t entirely certain the words were true. The passage of time had only revealed how little they had in common.

“But . . .” Inès said before trailing off with a perplexed expression.

“Honestly, Inès, we’re not all as lucky as you and Michel,” Céline said. She regretted her tone as hurt flashed across Inès’s face, and she tried to soften her words by adding, “I’m only saying that you’re fortunate to have fallen in love with someone who fell in love with you, too, right from the start.” It had been hard to watch, actually. Céline had always respected Michel, and at times, especially when Theo withdrew into himself to brood about wine production, she had felt a connection with him that startled her. But then he had fallen head over heels for a skinny, gorgeous whirlwind, and Céline had been a bit disappointed. She had always imagined he would marry someone a bit more solid and serious, perhaps someone more like her, someone she could have imagined a true friendship with.

“Yes.” Inès went silent, and Céline thought the conversation was over until Inès added in a small voice, “But sometimes I wonder if Michel fell in love only with the idea of me. Like he looked at me and saw what he wanted me to be, but he has been disappointed by the reality.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case.”

“Isn’t it?” Inès let out a small, ragged sigh. “It seems I can’t do anything right anymore. I can see it in his eyes.”

“It’s just the war. There’s a lot weighing on him.” Though Céline felt sorry for Inès, she understood Michel’s frustration. He had too much on his shoulders to have to coddle her, though certainly he had seemed eager to do just that when he first brought her home and installed her in the house like a beautiful decoration.

“I know. But that’s why I wish he’d trust me to help more. The way he trusts you.”

The edge to Inès’s voice was unmistakable, but the fact was, Michel and Theo had given Inès several chances. Most recently, they had been desperate for assistance with the disgorgement—popping the sediment out of bottles that had already gone through the riddling process—and they had taught both Céline and Inès how to do it. It was tricky; they had to grab an upside-down bottle and tilt it upright while watching the bubble of gas rise inside. At the second the bubble reached the sediment collected in the neck, they had to snap the cap off with a metal tool called a pince à dégorger before quickly plugging the bottle with a thumb. Céline had gotten the hang of it after about three dozen attempts, but they’d had to stop Inès after a hundred or so bottles, because instead of waiting for the bubble of gas inside, it appeared she was simply popping caps at whim, which resulted in far too much wine spilled onto the cave floors.