Come The Vintage

Downstairs, the old Abbé was rocking himself before the blazing fire, a glass of wine resting comfortably in his hand. He looked round as Ryan entered the room, and what he saw seemed to please him because he smiled rather contentedly, and said:

‘I won’t linger too long, madame. I am not without discretion, I can assure you.’

‘Oh, but—’ Ryan licked her lips. ‘You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?’

The priest shook his head. ‘Some wine,’ he said, raising his glass, ‘and a chance to wish you well, and then I shall be gone.’

Sheer terror stiffened Ryan’s legs so that she could scarcely walk across the room. In half an hour – an hour at most – she would be alone with the man who was now her husband. What a fool she had been to imagine she could go through with it!

‘Father—’ she was beginning desperately, when the door opened behind her and Alain came into the kitchen. He had shed the navy suede suit for green corded pants and a cream sweater, and to her eyes he looked bigger and more powerful than ever. She quaked at the idea of attempting to thwart him. She wouldn’t stand a chance, and the law was all on his side now.

As though her pale strained features mirrored her thoughts, Alain’s eyes narrowed as they rested upon her. ‘Get some glasses, Ryan,’ he said harshly. ‘I have some champagne on ice for this most special occasion.’

She doubted that the Abbé Maurice was aware of the irony in his tones, but she was aware of it and was glad. Surely, if he could speak so mockingly of the situation, he found no great advantages in it. If only she could believe …

The Dom Perignon was wasted on her. She had only tasted champagne once before, and it was not something she particularly cared for. She preferred the still, smooth wines to the sparkling ones.

But the Abbé obviously enjoyed toasting them both, and he was warmly expansive as he left.

‘May God smile on you, my children,’ he declared, taking first Ryan’s hand and then Alain’s. ‘Be thankful for your youth and good health, and may God bless you with many fine sons and daughters to share your good fortune.’

‘Thank you, Father.’ While Ryan hid her embarrassment, Alain swung open the outer door, allowing a blast of cold air to penetrate the warm kitchen. It was already dusk, and as he reached for his coat he said: ‘I’ll drive you back, Father. It’s too dark for you to see your way clearly, and besides, the track may be slippery.’

The priest protested, but not too strongly, and Alain overruled his polite refusal. ‘Very well. Thank you, my boy.’ It was strange to hear Alain addressed as a boy. Abbé Maurice raised his arm to Ryan. ‘I will not keep him long, little one,’ he chuckled, and went out into the night.

Alain didn’t look at Ryan as he closed the door, and after the station wagon had driven away down the track she was still standing motionless by the glowing fire.

Then she gathered her wits. If life was to go on as usual, it was up to her not to alter things. It was almost six o’clock. At seven, Alain would expect his evening meal. On the stove was the vegetable stew she had made the previous day. She had planned to serve that with some of the crusty rolls which Marie had brought her from the bakery in the village, following it with fruit and cheese. It was a simple enough meal – most of the meals she prepared were simple meals – but would he expect something more extravagant tonight? After the Dom Perignon she could not be sure.

But nothing had changed, she told herself severely. Just because, for appearances and nothing more, he had produced a bottle of champagne, it did not mean that tonight was some sort of a celebration. A reluctant sob caught in her throat. Her wedding day! Her wedding night! Had any girl had a stranger one?

The table was set, and the stew was simmering on the stove when she heard the station wagon coming back. Immediately her nerves became taut, and a lump closed up her throat. He came in whistling, taking off the leather coat and hanging it behind the door. He went to the sink and washed his hands, drying them on the towel she kept for the purpose, and then sniffed the air appreciatively.

‘Mmm, something smells good,’ he commented, taking out his cheroots and lighting one from the fire. ‘And rolls? Did Marie bring them?’

‘Yes.’

Ryan was short, but she couldn’t help it. He flicked a glance towards her, and then sighed. ‘What is it? What’s wrong? Why are you looking so upset? Have I done something wrong?’

Ryan shook her head quickly. ‘Of course not.’

‘I’ve told you I had nothing to do with putting your clothes in my bedroom. Don’t you believe me?’

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