The Champagne Queen (The Century Trilogy Book 2) by Petra Durst-Benning Page B
Authors: Petra Durst-Benning
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fox patrolling his ancestral territory.” The old man laughed. “You should be happy, Madame Feininger. On your first day here, you’ve met the best cellar master in the entire Champagne region, maybe even the best of all time!”
Isabelle pulled her head down between her shoulders like a beaten dog.
“So he wasn’t . . . just a worker?” A butterfly had settled on the tulip-red sleeve of her dress. She pretended that she was admiring the creature closely.
“Far from it! Daniel is known throughout the region. He’s a very popular fellow indeed.”
A slightly strangled sound escaped Isabelle. No doubt the whole village would soon know about her impressive “debut.”
“He worked here once, too, actually. About six years ago. Jacques could have counted himself lucky when the youngster started here. Daniel inherited his father’s keen eye and sense of taste—Frederick Lambert was a gifted cellar master! Unfortunately, Jacques did not recognize young Daniel’s brilliance, and he kept putting his nose in where it wasn’t needed instead of just letting the lad get on with it. There was a lot of strife back then.” The regret in Claude’s voice was unmistakable. “These days, Daniel works for the Truberts.” The overseer waved his hand in the direction of the large estate across the valley, the same place that Isabelle had wrongly thought was to be her new home.
“He can’t be too brilliant,” she said primly. “Or he would have set me straight about les pleurs immediately.” She preferred not to remember that she hadn’t even given the man a chance to speak. And even less did she want to think about the first impression she must have given—scratching around in the dirt with her nose running. “And apart from that, he had no business wandering around our vineyards. I don’t go invading stranger’s gardens, after all,” she said indignantly.
Claude smiled mildly. “In this special garden, madame, he is not what I’d call a stranger. The Feininger estate originally belonged to his family. His father, Frederick, lost it in a game of cards when the boy was about eight and his sister ten. The winner was Jacques.”
“Leon’s uncle won the estate in a game of cards?” Isabelle, thunderstruck, leaned across the table. “I don’t believe it!”
“Oh, you can ask whoever you like—the story might be more than twenty years old now, but everyone around here remembers it. Frederick took his own life a little while later, probably when he realized what a great mistake he’d made. After that, young Daniel and his sister grew up with an aunt on this very street, just a few doors down. Madeleine was her name, but she’s dead now, too. If things had followed their normal course, Daniel Lambert would have been the rightful heir to all of this. All things considered, he’s probably to be forgiven for being attracted to the vineyards of his forefathers. He’s bound to this soil like no other.”
Isabelle set down her wine glass and sighed.
“You’re right to say that there are many things that I can’t yet know. But one thing is certainly clear to me: this place is suffering from neglect and sloppiness!” She tore a page out of her notebook and laid it on the table in front of Claude. Trying hard to sound objective, she said, “I put together a list of the most urgent repairs. I’m more than happy to lend a hand; the main thing is that these tasks need to be completed as quickly as possible.”
Claude looked from the list to Isabelle. “Madame, with all due respect for your efforts, it isn’t as simple as that.”
“ What isn’t as simple?” Isabelle shot back, bracing against the uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu, having heard essentially the same words from Leon less than twenty-four hours earlier.
“Madame, it’s best if I say this right out: there is no money for repairs, or I would have done them long ago. Do you think I enjoy seeing everything in this run-down state? There
Isabelle pulled her head down between her shoulders like a beaten dog.
“So he wasn’t . . . just a worker?” A butterfly had settled on the tulip-red sleeve of her dress. She pretended that she was admiring the creature closely.
“Far from it! Daniel is known throughout the region. He’s a very popular fellow indeed.”
A slightly strangled sound escaped Isabelle. No doubt the whole village would soon know about her impressive “debut.”
“He worked here once, too, actually. About six years ago. Jacques could have counted himself lucky when the youngster started here. Daniel inherited his father’s keen eye and sense of taste—Frederick Lambert was a gifted cellar master! Unfortunately, Jacques did not recognize young Daniel’s brilliance, and he kept putting his nose in where it wasn’t needed instead of just letting the lad get on with it. There was a lot of strife back then.” The regret in Claude’s voice was unmistakable. “These days, Daniel works for the Truberts.” The overseer waved his hand in the direction of the large estate across the valley, the same place that Isabelle had wrongly thought was to be her new home.
“He can’t be too brilliant,” she said primly. “Or he would have set me straight about les pleurs immediately.” She preferred not to remember that she hadn’t even given the man a chance to speak. And even less did she want to think about the first impression she must have given—scratching around in the dirt with her nose running. “And apart from that, he had no business wandering around our vineyards. I don’t go invading stranger’s gardens, after all,” she said indignantly.
Claude smiled mildly. “In this special garden, madame, he is not what I’d call a stranger. The Feininger estate originally belonged to his family. His father, Frederick, lost it in a game of cards when the boy was about eight and his sister ten. The winner was Jacques.”
“Leon’s uncle won the estate in a game of cards?” Isabelle, thunderstruck, leaned across the table. “I don’t believe it!”
“Oh, you can ask whoever you like—the story might be more than twenty years old now, but everyone around here remembers it. Frederick took his own life a little while later, probably when he realized what a great mistake he’d made. After that, young Daniel and his sister grew up with an aunt on this very street, just a few doors down. Madeleine was her name, but she’s dead now, too. If things had followed their normal course, Daniel Lambert would have been the rightful heir to all of this. All things considered, he’s probably to be forgiven for being attracted to the vineyards of his forefathers. He’s bound to this soil like no other.”
Isabelle set down her wine glass and sighed.
“You’re right to say that there are many things that I can’t yet know. But one thing is certainly clear to me: this place is suffering from neglect and sloppiness!” She tore a page out of her notebook and laid it on the table in front of Claude. Trying hard to sound objective, she said, “I put together a list of the most urgent repairs. I’m more than happy to lend a hand; the main thing is that these tasks need to be completed as quickly as possible.”
Claude looked from the list to Isabelle. “Madame, with all due respect for your efforts, it isn’t as simple as that.”
“ What isn’t as simple?” Isabelle shot back, bracing against the uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu, having heard essentially the same words from Leon less than twenty-four hours earlier.
“Madame, it’s best if I say this right out: there is no money for repairs, or I would have done them long ago. Do you think I enjoy seeing everything in this run-down state? There
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