Grape Expectations (7 page)

  'Are they good enough to market to our future customer base?' I asked.

  'You have to. If you wait, people will forget you. Get the offer out there.'

  'But how will we do it in time for Christmas? It's nearly November.'

  'It can't be that hard,' said Barry. 'Do the sales over the Internet.'

  We had worked on large-scale transactional Internet projects, Sean for the bank and myself for diverse clients, but that seemed far away in the past, although it was a mere three months since we'd moved. The bottles we bought were 'nude' so we needed labels and capsules, the covers that go over the corks, then we'd need a shipping partner and approval from the customs authorities to ship the wine.

  Undaunted by the logistical problems, we spent the evening coming up with labels and tasting notes for the sales campaign which in a few hours had become a reality. 'Ho Ho Haut Garrigue' became our Christmas tag line, but 'Sassy Saussignac' in bold gold with lurid pink lips underneath didn't look quite as appealing the following morning when we all got up to participate in our first ever hand-harvest of 'sassy' dessert wine.

  We arrived at the Barses', the family that had hosted us at their B&B. Their ancient uncle was in the winery and didn't recognise us. When we'd stayed in the B&B we visited his half of the Barse house, which was like stepping back in time. Medieval cobbles on the floor were cracked and worn from centuries of use and, opposite the door, a huge fireplace with hooks and pots hanging over it was still in use as the primary cooking facility. He greeted us warily and escorted us to where the extended family was picking grapes. To him, after a lifetime of working this vineyard, anyone offering to help hand-harvest for fun was regarded with suspicion.

  Sun filtered through the vines highlighting pickers in a honeyed haze. Mist, part of the secret of the unique Saussignac botrytis which creates these sweet wines from heaven, was painted in golden airbrush strokes over the scene. All was quiet save for a few bird calls and chatter between pickers. Bernard greeted us warmly and gave us a succinct lesson which I endeavoured to translate as succinctly for our friends. He handed round harvest secateurs and baskets with a brief warning about taking care. A few minutes later he passed by my basket and removed a bunch whose botrytis was less developed than the rest. Without saying a word he had set the level for me.

  Cillian quickly copped on, removing grapes that were a bit green or the ones that had gone too far. Juliette nicked her finger but after a plaster and a kiss was back picking more eagerly than before. The magic and excitement of harvest time spread a unique energy through us. Even Sophia gathered some bunches, while Ellie looked on from her all-terrain buggy. '
Les enfants
are often the best at picking Saussignac,' said Myriam. 'Their senses are much finer than ours.' Back in the
chai
, Bernard passed round cups of juice as it came out of the press. It was thick as honey and as sweet but with layers of flavour: apricot, almond and orange. Standing in the winery surrounded by the noises and smells of harvest I felt joy and excitement mingled with a little fear. Making wine, for all the hard work, created a deep resonance inside me. I was spellbound. We had witnessed our first harvest of the miraculous Saussignac wine.

When the O'Briens left, we tackled the Christmas sales campaign with vigour. It seemed impossible but within a few weeks Sean had provisional approval from the authorities, our labels ready to print and a shipper lined up.

  We sent personal emails to our friends and former colleagues, not expecting to sell more than twenty cases. We watched the orders come in through our new website with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. We passed the twenty-case mark overnight. By the deadline we had 115 orders and more promised including an order for corporate Christmas gifts from a close friend.

  Sean contacted the shipper to let them know we would be sending three pallets. He emailed back to say the customs official would not accept the shipment. We were horrified. The official had given Sean the go-ahead as long as we prepaid the taxes before the shipment left our property. What had gone wrong? Sean called our customs contact on the speaker phone.

  'We gave you the go-ahead for this delivery because it was a shipment to friends, not 1,800 bottles,' said the official.

  I felt a rush of nausea but Sean remained calm.

  'You are right. When I spoke to you I estimated three to six hundred bottles, which was what we were expecting, but we have been amazed at the response.'

  'Are you sure this was an email offer to friends? You didn't have any advertising in a newspaper or magazine?'

  'No, this was an email to friends and colleagues.'

  'We'll let you do it this time,' he said. 'For next time you will have to have completed your registration and have your tax representative approved.'

  I danced a jig around our rustic temporary office in the boiler room, while the customs official explained the concept of a tax representative: an administrative project for another day.

Overnight the weather changed to freezing. The 1,800 bottles had to be lovingly washed in icy water before being 'dressed'. With frozen fingers we revelled in the exhilaration of our first order and the rich aromas of wine and oak that surrounded us in our ancient barn.

  After washing, the wine moved to capsuling, fixing the metal cap over the top of the bottle to cover the cork. To seal the capsule, the bottle is fed into an exceptionally noisy, rocket-shaped apparatus, called a
capsuleuse
. The right amount of pressure must be applied: too little pressure and the capsule comes out like a skirt, frilly and ruffled at the base; too much pressure and the top of the capsule is pierced. After a few hours of practice Sean was an expert and the capsules were smooth. Ellie was remarkably good-natured despite the noise, wrapped in five layers of blankets in her buggy, calmly watching the progress.

  For days we listened to U2 and labelled cases with familiar addresses feeling cold, happy and homesick at the same time. The order represented a critical start for our wine business. When the transporter collected we felt inordinately proud; we hadn't made the wine but it came from our vineyard.

The vines changed colour. Their leaves fell. At night we froze despite still being huddled together in one room. I struggled on with the renovations, learning to wield a screwdriver and a paint roller like a pro. The local building supplies man greeted me with glee whenever I appeared. My hands were calloused. I wore the same paint-splattered working clothes for weeks on end. It was a shock change from our city lives of business suits, cappuccinos and heated offices.

  Early December we were wracked with coughing, vomiting and fevers. I could barely drag myself out of bed to attend to Sean and our sick daughters. There was a mountain of washing and we didn't have a tumble dryer. Phil Collins' lyrics about the roof leaking and the wind howling kept rolling around in my head. After doing another round of nursing I went to see our local doctor in desperation. I needed to be well to care for everyone.

  'There is a mild chest infection but you can fight it off yourself with a week of rest,' he said.

  'I want an antibiotic. Someone has to look after the sick children.'

  'Isn't there someone who can help you? Your
belle-mère
?'

  I explained that there was no mother-in-law and there would be no rest.

  Minutes later I walked into the pharmacy armed with my prescription. With two young children, I was already well known to them. A large promotion stand at the entrance announced the launch of a new deodorant with 48-hour effectiveness. I giggled despite my throbbing headache. Who would advertise not washing every day? To my 'cleanliness next to Godliness' upbringing it was incomprehensible. Little did I know that a week later, when the real cold of winter set in, I would be back for some of my own. Our erratic heating system couldn't match the deep freeze. Bathing every two days was as much as I could stand. I left the pharmacy armed with my medicine and returned to my sick household.

  Just when it seemed it would never end, we woke up feeling well, the sun was shining and a huge rainbow hung over the Dordogne valley. We ate our favourite lunch of baguette and Brie and stared at the view. Ellie smiled benevolently from her high chair and Sophia tucked in with relish. Food never tasted so good and we revelled in the magic of feeling well.

  I could not fault our new community. People were generous and warm. Bernard Barse did the electrical work for our new kitchen as a gift. Even the notorious French civil servants were friendly and helpful. Sophia started singing in French, proving our worries about her settling in unfounded. I agonised about our precarious financial future but the success of the Christmas offer filled me with hope. Ellie started crawling and putting her tiny hands into my paint and other undesirable substances. Meanwhile Sean's thoughts turned in earnest to the vineyard: a place bristling with unknown danger.

Sean commissioned a soil analysis so we could gauge the state of the vineyard. The soil consultant took us through the diagnostic, explaining that, in his opinion, the vineyard needed a serious fertility boost.

  'By my calculations you need six tons of fertiliser. It must be ordered and spread as soon as possible,' he declared.

  I asked how long it would take to spread that amount of fertiliser.

  'For Sean, since he's new to it, about three days but rain is forecast in three days so you must do it now.'

  Since the fertiliser was not ordered, this seemed optimistic.

  Sean shelved his other plans for the day and went out to investigate the machinery in the hangar. The 'hangar' was a rusted corrugated iron lean-to around the side of the
pressoir
where old agricultural equipment that we had acquired with the farm was stored. He found a fertiliser spreader and connected it to the tractor only to discover it was broken. In the intervening hour I got an express order of organic fertiliser delivered. Now we were the proud owners of 6 tons of compressed chicken manure with no way to spread it.