“Oh God.” Liv put her head in her hands. This changed everything. Or did it? What could come out of a flirtation with a man who lived some four thousand miles away from her, especially one who hadn’t dated at all after the loss of his wife?

Still, she owed him an apology. “Would you excuse me for a minute?” Liv asked weakly. “I think I have to call Julien.”

Grandma Edith checked her watch. “His business card is on your nightstand, in case you need his number.”

Liv nodded and hurried into her room, where she dialed the cell number listed. But the call went to voice mail after a single ring, and she felt like an idiot.

When the beep came at the end of his outgoing message, she plunged in. “Julien, it’s Liv. Liv Thierry Kent. My grandmother just told me about Delphine, and I’m so, so sorry. I don’t even know where to begin. I—I’m obviously a total idiot, but I thought from the way you’d talked about her that she was still alive, and well, you can imagine what I must have thought when you kissed me. But obviously I was wrong, and now I owe you a huge—”

The phone beeped again and disconnected before she could finish her sentence. “Apology,” she muttered to herself. She stared at her phone, willing it to ring, but it stayed stubbornly silent. After five minutes, when it was clear that Julien wasn’t going to call back, she got up and returned to the parlor.

“Did you reach him?” Grandma Edith asked.

“I left a message.” Liv sighed. “A stupid, convoluted message that—” She was interrupted by the ringing of their hotel room phone, and for an instant, as her grandmother reached for it, Liv let herself hope that it was Julien.

“Oui, nous allons descendre tout de suite,” Grandma Edith said, and as she hung up, Liv looked at her hopefully. She had said they’d be right down; was it possible Julien was here? But Grandma Edith merely shook her head and said, “Come now, there’s no time to mope. We must get going or we’ll miss the last tour of the day.”

“The last tour? What? Where?”

“The Maison Chauveau.”

“The Maison Chauveau?”

“Well, you asked me about it, did you not? So I’ve just booked us a tour. Don’t tell me now that you’re not interested.”

“No, of course I am.” Did this mean that Grandma Edith was finally about to reveal the reason she’d brought Liv to Reims?

“Well, then, let’s go. We don’t have all day.” And with that, her grandmother whisked out of the room, leaving Liv no choice but to follow, a thousand unanswered questions swirling in her wake.

twenty-one

JANUARY 1943

INèS

After the cold October night that Inès had come home to Michel, things had been different. Inès had recommitted herself to their marriage, and promised herself that she would make love to her husband at least once a week until she could feel him returning to her. One day, his responses might even be filled with passion rather than just dutiful obligation. In the meantime, she deserved his coldness.

But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to return to Reims to tell Antoine it was over, and she knew that was cowardice on her part. She suspected he wouldn’t take the news well, and that he’d be angry, which felt dangerous given his connections. Perhaps if she just avoided Reims altogether, Antoine would simply forget about her. Surely he had other women who held his attention, too, like the Marie whose name he sometimes called out. Maybe he wouldn’t give Inès a second thought.

But then, one afternoon in early January, just after the snow had started to fall, Edith showed up at the Maison Chauveau while Inès was preparing dinner. Michel was holed up in the cellars with Theo, tasting small sips of vins clairs and jotting down notes about the quality and flavors they found in the young wines from each of the different vineyards. Their notebooks were filled with words like tart berries, bread dough, gravel, smoke. It was beyond Inès how they managed to taste such nuance when she could only taste fermented grapes.

“Edith! What are you doing here?” Inès had cried, throwing her arms around her best friend. “I’ve missed you so much.” She regretted now that she’d made so many trips to Reims only to see Antoine, avoiding Edith on purpose because she knew Edith was judging her. Now it felt foolish, a waste of time. How had she allowed the pursuit of a man’s affection to get in the way of a dear friendship?

“I’ve missed you, too,” Edith said, disentangling herself from Inès’s embrace.

“Is everything all right?”

“Not exactly. I come bearing a message from a friend.” Edith sounded as if she might choke on the last word. “One of our best customers, a Monsieur Picard, has been wondering where you’ve been and would like to arrange a meeting.”

“Oh.” Inès could feel the heat on her face as she pulled Edith inside the house and drew her over to the hearth so that they could warm themselves. “Edith, I know what you must think of me, and—”

“It is not my business,” Edith interrupted. “But Monsieur Picard, he has allied himself with some very powerful men.” She hesitated. “They are not good people.”

Inès didn’t trust herself to speak, for what could she say? That she already knew of Antoine’s allegiance to the Nazis? That she had somehow managed to reconcile it in her mind? Edith would hate her.