The Winemaker's Wife Page 35

“Are you all right?” Michel asked once Louis’s vehicle had vanished around the bend. His hand hadn’t moved from her back.

“No.” She tried not to imagine her father and her elderly grandparents behind bars. “I must go home to Nuits-Saint-Georges, Michel. There must be some way I can help, and—”

“No.” Michel cut her off, his tone both gentle and firm at the same time. “You can’t. If your father is already known to the authorities, they would waste no time in ascribing meaning to your reappearance. The best way to keep safe is to stay here.”

“But—”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

“I have to tell Theo.”

Michel reached out and grasped her hands. “You mustn’t, Céline. Please, it would be too difficult to explain how you received word. Trust me, my contacts are doing all they can to secure your father’s release.”

“Your contacts? What have you become involved in, Michel?” The surge of fear she felt over his well-being surprised her.

He studied her for a long time. “You would never betray me.” It wasn’t a question as much as it was a statement of fact.

“Of course not.”

“Meet me in the cellars after sunset tonight.”

“What will I tell Theo?”

“Tell him nothing.” Michel’s eyes bore into her as he let go of her hands. She felt suddenly unmoored. “You are the only one I trust.”

? ? ?

For the rest of the day, Céline tried her best to act normal. When she’d returned to the caves after her encounter with Louis and Michel, she had assumed she would have to concoct a story to explain her absence, but Theo merely grunted to acknowledge her.

She tried to turn bottles with him for a while, but her hands were trembling now, and when Theo noticed, he told her to leave. “You’re shaking the wine, Céline,” he’d said, as if she couldn’t hear the glass clattering against the wood. “Get ahold of yourself, would you? Perhaps you can begin sorting through the corks that have come in.”

Céline hadn’t managed more than a nod, but she’d been grateful to leave the caves—and Theo—behind. Aboveground, Michel was nowhere to be seen, and as Céline headed to the barn, where they kept crates upon crates of corks, she thought about Michel and the risk he was clearly taking to help her. What favors had he called in with Louis to get news of her father? The thought made her feel sick to her stomach, but she couldn’t decline his help.

The sun slipped below the horizon just before seven, and after Céline trudged back to her cottage, shared a small dinner with Theo, and quickly washed the dishes, she told him she needed to see if Inès had some yarn she could borrow to mend a few pairs of socks.

“Is she back?” Theo asked without glancing up from the book he had just begun reading, something about vinification.

“If she’s not, perhaps Michel will know where she keeps her mending supplies.”

“Right.”

Céline watched him for a moment. His face was lit by lamplight, his expression serious. “Theo, I’m very worried about my father,” she said quickly. She couldn’t say more without betraying Michel’s confidence, but she needed to share at least this, to give him the chance to comfort her.

“I’m sure he is fine.”

“But the Germans are coming for Jews. It’s beginning.”

Theo scanned her face, then returned his attention to his book. “Céline, you mustn’t believe the rumors. Your father will be perfectly all right. Now go see Inès before it gets much later. Take a lamp. It’s growing dark.”

She stared at him, her eyes watering, before grabbing her overcoat and hat and slipping out the back door into the cold night. The remnants of the day still lingered at the horizon. When she reached Michel’s door, she glanced at her own cottage. All the curtains were drawn tight; Theo wasn’t watching her. He probably hadn’t given her a second thought since returning to his book.

She took a sharp right and headed for the entrance to the cellars. Once she was belowground, she lit her lamp, cleared her throat, and called out, “Michel?”

There was no reply at first, but then another light came to life from deep in the caves, and she heard footsteps. Soon after, she saw Michel round the corner ahead and gesture to her. “Come, Céline,” he called.

She hurried toward his light, conscious of the inelegant slap of her wooden soles against the stone floor. Michel was in a storage cave deep in the cellars to the right, and by the time she reached it, he had retreated back inside.

“What did you tell Theo?” he asked instead of greeting her as she entered the cave and saw him standing behind several wine barrels.

“That I needed to borrow something from Inès. I don’t think he listens much to me these days anyhow.”

Michel frowned, and Céline feared she had gone too far. He and Theo had once been quite close, and Céline knew they still considered each other friends, even if their perspectives about the war differed. Besides, it certainly wasn’t Céline’s place to be criticizing her husband in front of the man who was technically his boss. But then Michel beckoned her deeper into the cave. “I know just how you feel,” he said. “There’s something I would like to show you.”

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