The Winemaker's Wife(17)

The cellars had gone silent, and Céline told herself that perhaps the sound she’d heard had come from a mouse. Still, she moved forward cautiously, illuminating the first cave to the right. What would she do if she found a German lurking in the darkness? But there was nothing there, nothing but thousands of sleeping bottles.

The next cave held no movement either, and she was just about to shine her light into the third when a voice cut through the darkness.

“Céline?”

She let out a strangled scream before realizing that it was Michel standing several feet in front of her, his eyes wide. “My God, you scared me to death.” She put a hand over her heart. “What are you doing down here?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I come down here sometimes when I need to think.”

“So do I.” Céline looked up at him, alarmed. “I mean, I hope that’s all right. I realize these are your cellars . . .”

“Céline, this place is as much yours as it is mine. After all you and Theo have done, all the time you’ve invested here.” He shook his head. “You could have gone south, tried to find a safer place to wait out the war, and you stayed.”

“Of course we stayed.” Céline didn’t know quite how to put it, but she felt rooted here, like she had found the place she was meant to be. She and Theo had never even talked about leaving.

“Well, I am grateful.” He gestured into the cave he’d just emerged from. “Now that you’re here, would you like to sit for a while? I could use the company.”

Céline hesitated. She knew she should probably go back upstairs, leave Michel to his thoughts. That would be the polite thing to do, the appropriate thing. But there was something about Michel’s expression, the softness in his eyes, that made her want to stay. “I should—” she began.

“Please,” he interrupted. “I would like very much to ask you something.”

Céline hesitated before following him into the cave, goose bumps prickling her skin. He gestured to the stone bench along the back wall, and she sat at the far end, leaving plenty of room for him to settle on the other side. Still, when they faced each other in the darkness, the moment felt suddenly intimate. He must have sensed it, too, for he leaned away immediately.

“Is everything all right?” she asked when he still hadn’t spoken.

“What? Oh, yes, yes.” He raked a hand through his hair, and she noticed how tired he looked, how worn. Of course they all looked like that these days, but there was something about Michel that seemed different to her, a sadness to his eyes. She wondered if he could see her emotions as clearly as she could see his.

“You said there was something you wanted to ask?”

“Yes. And please forgive me if my inquiry is too personal, but . . .” He trailed off and raked his fingers through his hair again. “I wanted to ask about your family.”

Her heart sank. She had expected this, that at some point people would begin asking about her Jewish ancestry. She just hadn’t expected it to be Michel. Still, she lived on his property, and she owed him the truth. “Well, yes, my father is Jewish, and although my family wasn’t religious at all, of course I’m still considered—”

“No, no,” Michel interrupted. Even in the darkness, she could see the color creeping up his neck and rising to his cheeks. “I’m sorry. That isn’t what I meant. I know you are half Jewish, Céline. I meant only to ask if you’ve had any word from your family. Are they all right? I’ve been worried and didn’t know the right way to ask.”

To her surprise and embarrassment, she felt her eyes well with tears. She couldn’t speak over the lump in her throat, and when she looked up at him again, the deep sympathy and worry etched into his face released the floodgates. Suddenly, she was sobbing.

After a few seconds, Michel inched toward her, tentatively at first and then all the way across the bench. He hesitated before slipping his arm around her, and she leaned into him, her tears drenching his shoulder. Then, she pulled back, mortified. “I’m so sorry,” she said, wiping her tears. “I—I don’t know what came over me.”

“Don’t apologize. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“No. It’s not your fault. The truth is, I’m very concerned about them. I haven’t heard from them at all.”

Michel sighed. “Oh, Céline. I was afraid of that.”

“I know the communication is terrible right now, but—”

“I have a friend,” he interrupted, his voice suddenly low and urgent.

“What?”

“I have a friend who can arrange to have someone check on them. If you’d like.”

She blinked at him. He wasn’t meeting her eyes. “Well, yes, of course, but I don’t want to put anyone in danger.”

He smiled slightly. “My friend is in danger all the time. But I know he would be willing to help.”

She had a hundred questions, and perhaps a dozen reasons why she should say no, but instead, she whispered, “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” Michel held her gaze. “We must all look out for each other, non?”

Céline nodded and looked down. She could feel Michel’s eyes on her again, and she knew he was waiting for something, but what?