Liv swallowed hard. How had Grandma Edith never spoken of such tragedy? Was that why she kept everyone at arm’s length now? “Thank you, Monsieur Rousseau,” she said, standing.

“It was my pleasure to speak with you. Young people today are not often very interested in the past. I hope you find what you are looking for.” He beckoned to Liv’s waiter and added, “I will ask your waiter to bring you a glass of Chauveau, on the house, as you say in America. I don’t think our story would be complete without it.”

“Chauveau?” Liv asked.

“Why, yes.” Monsieur Rousseau turned to her waiter and ordered in French. Then he turned back to her. “You see, Edith Thierry’s best friend, the one who was shot by the Germans, was a woman named Inès Chauveau. She and her husband owned the Maison Chauveau, one of the finest houses in all of Champagne.”

? ? ?

After finishing the glass of Mo?t and then the glass of Chauveau, Liv’s head was spinning. Monsieur Rousseau’s story had only complicated things further. Liv still couldn’t understand why her grandmother had dragged her across an ocean to Champagne, only to sit in a hotel room and sulk in between darting out for mysterious errands, but if she had been involved in the Resistance—and had lost her best friend because of it—her caginess at least made a bit of sense. Perhaps Grandma Edith, who had never worn her heart on her sleeve, was still in mourning. Maybe that was why she was having so much trouble telling Liv whatever it was she had brought her here to say.

When Liv let herself back into the hotel room, Grandma Edith was reading a newspaper at the table, a glass of champagne beside her, a bottle chilling in a bucket. She glanced up as Liv entered. “Where have you been, dear?” she asked.

“Out.” Liv still wasn’t sure how to address what she’d just learned.

“I’ve just opened some champagne. Would you care for a glass? I’d like to talk with you.”

“I just had nearly half a bottle, actually,” Liv said, and Grandma Edith raised her eyebrows. “I’d better not.”

“Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud,” her grandmother said. When Liv hesitated, Grandma Edith rolled her eyes. “It’s rude to let someone drink alone, dear. There’s a glass right there for you. Come now, pour yourself some.”

Liv reached for the bottle and pulled it halfway out of the ice before stopping abruptly. “You’re drinking Chauveau?”

“Yes,” Grandma Edith said evenly, but she didn’t meet Liv’s gaze. Liv felt a surge of pity for her grandmother and the best friend she had apparently lost more than seven decades earlier.

“You knew the people who owned that champagne house, didn’t you?” Liv asked carefully.

Grandma Edith blinked a few times. “Yes.”

“Is that what you want to talk to me about?”

“No. Now, are you going to pour yourself some or not?”

Liv filled her glass halfway, took a small sip, and sat down opposite the older woman. Bringing up the Maison Chauveau hadn’t elicited much of a reaction, but she wasn’t sure that mentioning Grandma Edith’s old friend Inès Chauveau would work, either. So instead she took another sip and told herself to be patient. Grandma Edith seemed to be searching for the right words, and Liv had the feeling she was about to reveal something important.

“Olivia, dear, I was hoping to clear something up,” she said at last.

“Good,” Liv said. “Is it about the brasserie? And your involvement with the Resistance?”

“What? No.” Grandma Edith looked startled. “It’s about Julien.”

“Oh. That.”

“Olivia, wherever did you get the idea that he was married?”

Liv stared at her grandmother in disbelief. “Well, from him! He told me all about his wife, Delphine, and his daughter, Mathilde. He was honest about that, at least.” Liv could feel herself getting angry. “And you know what? After the first time I met him, I actually felt better about my future, because I thought it was clear how much he loved them. It made me feel hopeful, like maybe I could meet someone like that one day, too. And then he tried to cheat on his wife! With me! I mean, is that it? Are there even any good guys out there anymore? Or are they all dogs? Is that the lesson here?”

“Are you quite done?”

Liv glared at her grandmother, who was coolly sipping her champagne. “What could you possibly say to justify any of this?”

“Delphine is dead, Olivia. She died six years ago.”

Liv’s breath caught in her throat. “Wait, what?”

“In childbirth. There was a complication while she was delivering Mathilde, and the doctors couldn’t save her. It was devastating for poor Julien, but he has soldiered on, because he had to.”

“No, that can’t be right.” Liv spun through their conversations, all the mentions of Delphine, the wedding ring on Julien’s finger. “He told me so much about her, and . . .” But he had only spoken of her in the past tense, hadn’t he? “Oh my God, Delphine is dead,” she whispered.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you yesterday,” Grandma Edith said. “And according to his grandfather, he hasn’t gone on a single date in the past six years. You, it seems, are the first woman he has had an interest in. And clearly that has worked out quite well for him.”