The carriage eventually pulled off the road and Amy peeped through the window with interest. She had never visited a vineyard before and was looking forward to it. They stopped outside a rambling villa, which looked far grander than she had expected it to be. It was a long low building with ivy climbing profusely up the walls and bright spring blooms in the flowerbeds beneath its many windows.
François helped her down from the carriage, saying, ‘Would you care to come in and meet my aunt and uncle?’
‘Not this evening, if you don’t mind,’ Amy said gently. ‘Let’s just walk. It’s such a beautiful evening.’
‘Very well, I shall just tell the coachman to inform them that we are here, and he can go to the kitchen to take some refreshments until we return. Anaïs might like to go with him.’
She smiled gratefully, and as he hurried away to the front of the coach she turned around and gazed about her. Here it felt as if she were a million miles away from the streets of Paris, for there was nothing to be heard but the sound of the night creatures and tall, dark vines stretching away into the darkness for as far as her eyes could see.
She saw the coachman climb down from his seat and, after a hurried word with François, he led the horses away to the stables at the rear of the villa, with Anaïs following close behind. François hurried back to her side.
‘Come.’ He pulled her arm gently through his. ‘I think you will enjoy it here. It is very peaceful. When I was a child I loved it here and would come whenever my
maman
would allow it.’ He laughed at his childhood memories. ‘I think sometimes I have been a great problem to my poor uncle, for I found the whole business of wine-making fascinating from start to finish, and I always insisted on helping, though in truth I was probably far more of a hindrance. I have tried everything – picking the grapes, treading them, and once I almost fell into one of the great vats where the crude wine ferments. I should not have been near it and my papa, as you English say, “tanned my behind”.’
As they strolled on, the towering grape vines closed around them.
‘The grapes, when they grow a little more, are of many different sizes and colours.’ He pointed them out, and when Amy nodded he went on, ‘This is how we are able to make the very dry to the very sweet wines. The stage of ripeness they are picked at decides the quality of the wine.’
Amy was impressed at his knowledge.
‘Once I thought I would own my own vineyards,’ he confided. ‘But then as I grew up I became interested in fashion and so, after all, I joined my papa in his business. Now I am very glad that I did, for had I not, I would never have met you.’
Amy felt her cheeks grow hot as they came to a little clearing in the vines. A wide stream ran through it and a small wooden bridge led to the vines on the other side.
‘You will always find vineyards built near running water,’ François explained to her as he led her on to the bridge. ‘As you will now be aware after your stay, we can often go for weeks here without rain, and when this happens the peasants who pick and tread the grapes water the vines with buckets from this stream. It is very back-breaking work but
très nécessaire
.’
When he drew her to a halt in the middle of the bridge they stared down into the water. The moonlight was dancing on its surface and they were enveloped in the warm balmy air. From somewhere far away they heard a nightingale serenading the moon and as François stared at her, Amy’s hair, which tonight was cascading loosely about her shoulders, was caught in the moonlight, which changed it from deepest auburn to molten gold.
‘I cannot believe that in less than a week you will be gone,’ he said sadly, and something in his voice made her turn and look directly into his eyes.
‘It is probably for the best,’ she replied. ‘I fear you have wasted far too much of your time on me and I am very grateful for it. I shall always remember your kindness.’
‘Kindness!’ His voice was heavy with annoyance. ‘Kindness – is that why you think I have escorted you? Because I am
kind
?’
‘Why, y … yes. Of course – why else?’
‘
Why else?
But surely you must know I am in love with you, Aimée. I have never been able to tell you before because Anaïs has always been present. I think I have been since the very first second I saw you. I was beginning to hope that you felt something for me too, but perhaps I was wrong?’ There was such anguish in his voice that her heart twisted in her chest.
‘You were not wrong, François,’ she admitted on a sob. ‘I do care about you a great deal. More than you could ever know. But it is better if we do not speak of our feelings, for nothing could come of this … ever.’
Her voice was flat and so full of finality that he took her by the shoulders and swung her about to face him. As she stared up at him he saw the tears glistening on her cheeks and a frown distorted his handsome face.
‘What is this you are saying? You tell me in one breath that you care for me and in the next that nothing can ever come of it. Why is this?’
‘Because we are worlds apart in class, that’s why,’ she said shakily. ‘Don’t you see? You have been brought up totally differently to me. You have had servants to wait on you hand and foot and the best education that money could buy. I have been brought up in a tiny cottage with two rooms up and two rooms down. The whole of my home would fit into the drawing room at your château and give you room to spare. Whilst you were with your private tutors and attending your fine private schools, I went one day a week to Sunday school and a few hours at the village school. The rest of my education came from Toby, our neighbour’s son, who works by day deep in the earth as a miner. He is very clever and wants to be a teacher one day. He used to come round to our cottage in the evenings to teach me my letters and my numbers. So there, do I really need to go on? That is why there can never be anything more than friendship between us. We are from different social classes, François. You are from what we call “the gentry” in England, the heir to a great fortune, whilst I am merely a servant.’
He stared at her dumbfounded.
‘B … but
ma petite
, love knows no class,’ he said. ‘We are all equal in this world. I love you for
who
you are, for
what
you are. Do you not see?’
As she stared into the depths of his eyes she felt herself weakening and quickly looked away.
‘François, if it were not for my gran, I would probably have spent the early part of my life in an orphanage or the workhouse. I could
never
leave her. Don’t you understand?’
‘Yes, yes, of course I understand, but there are ways around this. If you would not leave her then I would come to you. No problem is insurmountable.’
He suddenly pulled her to him and his lips pressed down hard on hers, and despite all her misgivings, Amy gave herself up to the joy of the moment. They clung together as if this was the only moment they would ever share, and when they finally drew apart, Amy was breathless and her heart was racing.
‘
There
,’ he said with a satisfied smile. ‘Now we shall have no more of this foolish talk. We shall take things slowly. But do not think that when you return to England, you will have seen the last of me. For I warn you,
ma petite
, when I want something I do not give up easily.’ His eyes were alive with mischief and Amy laughed aloud.
‘Well, we shall see. As my gran would say, “what will be, will be”.’ And then with their arms linked, the two lovers made their way back through the vines to the villa, to pay their compliments to their hosts.
The remaining days of Amy’s stay passed all too quickly. She and François spent every single second they could in each other’s company and the day before she was due to leave he arrived at the hotel with a large box in his hands.
‘Open it,’ he urged her, as excited as a child.
Amy obediently did as she was told and gasped with delight. Inside, concealed in layers of fine paper, was an evening cloak in a rich emerald-green that would match her favourite gown.
‘Why, this is one of the new designs that I showed to your father,’ she said wonderingly.
‘That is correct,
ma petite
. I have had our
couturières
, how do you say, work around the clock to get it finished for you, and one day soon I shall come to England to see you wear it.’
As she clung to him fiercely, her heart was aching. Their last evening together was bittersweet and she locked every precious moment away in her memory to sustain her through the long lonely days until they could be together again.
The next morning, Amy said goodbye to Monsieur Laroque at the Hotel Meurice and then she and François slipped outside to wait by the carriage until the Forresters joined them. The two gentlemen had struck a business deal that suited them both very well, and now as the two young people stared bereft into each other’s eyes they sought for words to say. François held her hand gently as unshed tears trembled on Amy’s eyelashes.
‘This is only the beginning, you shall see,’ he told her wistfully, and then his lips brushed hers before Mr and Mrs Forrester and Monsieur Laroque exited the hotel and came to join them.
Amy waved at him from the carriage window until he was gone from sight and then shrank back deep into her seat to begin the long journey to Calais. The Gare du Nord was being rebuilt, which meant a long and tiring journey by road to the port of Calais. Amy was dreading sailing home, but thankfully the sea was slightly calmer on the way back and although she felt queasy she managed the return journey without being seasick.
If the Forresters noticed that Amy was somewhat quiet, they put it down to tiredness. She did not seem overly upset at leaving François and Samuel could only hope that she had taken his advice and had not become attached to the young man.
Amy was experiencing a mixture of emotions. Her designs had gone down far better in Paris than she had ever dared to hope, and she could see from the broad smile on Samuel’s face that he was more than pleased with the business deal that he and Monsieur Laroque had arrived at. The trip to Paris had been a wonderful tonic after the death of his mother. Amy was missing François and yet she was also longing to see her gran and Toby. She had so very much to tell them.
Already the romantic city she had just left behind seemed a million miles away and she wondered if she would wake up the next morning and find that she had dreamed the whole trip. But then a picture of François’ handsome face flashed in front of her eyes and she knew that every second of it had been real. She realised now that he had reminded her of Toby in many ways, for although they were nothing alike in looks, they had surprisingly similar natures. They were both kind and generous to a fault, and as she thought of Toby now, she suddenly began to realise just how much she had missed him.
A huge tide of homesickness suddenly washed over her as she stared from the window, eager for a glimpse of her hometown.
By the time their luggage had been carefully loaded into a carriage at Trent Valley station, Amy was beside herself with impatience to be home, and Mr Forrester regarded her with high amusement. The young woman never ceased to amaze him. She had come a very long way in a comparatively short time, and yet he was aware that no position he could offer her would ever change her love for her grandmother or make her forget her humble beginnings. These were some of the qualities that he most admired about her.
He was eager to see his own home so when the carriage pulled up outside Molly’s cottage, he hastily lifted down Amy’s trunk, and after assurances from her that she could manage, he climbed back into the carriage and it rattled away.
Leaving the luggage exactly where it was for now, Amy lifted her skirts and flew into the cottage like a whirling dervish.
Molly was standing at the sink when the door was flung open and when she turned and saw Amy, her mouth gaped open. She had not expected her until the following day at the earliest, and now she had to blink to convince herself that she wasn’t seeing things as tears started to her eyes and slid down her wrinkled old cheeks.
‘Eeh – pet!’
Amy hugged her so fiercely that she almost knocked the wind from her gran’s frail old body. When the first joy of their reunion was satisfied she then held her gran at arm’s length and studied her critically.
Molly seemed smaller somehow, as if she had shrunk in her absence. Her clothes were hanging loosely on her and Amy was concerned to see that she looked frail and unwell. Even as Amy continued to stare at her, Molly began to cough and the girl’s face creased with concern.
Seeing her expression, Molly flapped her hand at her, banging her chest with the other until the coughing bout had subsided.
‘Now don’t get frettin’ over this,’ she told her sternly. ‘It’s nothin’. I come down wi’ a bit of a cold shortly after yer went an’ it’s left me wi’ this chesty cough. But I’m on the mend again now. So come on, I’ll put the kettle on an’ then yer can tell me all about your trip, eh?’
Amy silently nodded and while Molly made the tea she went back out into the lane and began to drag her trunk into the kitchen. Whilst she was in the process of doing this, Toby appeared further down the lane with Annie Hayden close on his heels. Cathy Hickman had long since given up on him and had married a lad from the village. Annie was the latest girl to set her cap at Toby and Amy felt a stab of disappointment. She had hoped he would come straight round to welcome her, but he obviously had better things to do.
After ushering Annie through the doorway of his own cottage he smiled and raised his hand in greeting. His pulses were racing at the sight of Amy and he was finding it hard to conceal his joy, but he raised his hand and told her casually, ‘I’ll be round later this evenin’ after I’ve walked Annie home.’
Amy nodded, far more unsettled than she would have cared to admit.
He kept his promise and that evening as they were clustered around the kitchen table she told him all about her trip and the places she had seen. Molly had already heard it, but she smiled indulgently as she listened all over again.