Come The Vintage. Anne Mather

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      ‘May God smile on you, my children,’ he declared, taking first Ryan’s hand and then Alain’s. ‘Be thankful for your youth and good health, and may God bless you with many fine sons and daughters to share your good fortune.’

      ‘Thank you, Father.’ While Ryan hid her embarrassment, Alain swung open the outer door, allowing a blast of cold air to penetrate the warm kitchen. It was already dusk, and as he reached for his coat he said: ‘I’ll drive you back, Father. It’s too dark for you to see your way clearly, and besides, the track may be slippery.’

      The priest protested, but not too strongly, and Alain overruled his polite refusal. ‘Very well. Thank you, my boy.’ It was strange to hear Alain addressed as a boy. Abbé Maurice raised his arm to Ryan. ‘I will not keep him long, little one,’ he chuckled, and went out into the night.

      Alain didn’t look at Ryan as he closed the door, and after the station wagon had driven away down the track she was still standing motionless by the glowing fire.

      Then she gathered her wits. If life was to go on as usual, it was up to her not to alter things. It was almost six o’clock. At seven, Alain would expect his evening meal. On the stove was the vegetable stew she had made the previous day. She had planned to serve that with some of the crusty rolls which Marie had brought her from the bakery in the village, following it with fruit and cheese. It was a simple enough meal – most of the meals she prepared were simple meals – but would he expect something more extravagant tonight? After the Dom Perignon she could not be sure.

      But nothing had changed, she told herself severely. Just because, for appearances and nothing more, he had produced a bottle of champagne, it did not mean that tonight was some sort of a celebration. A reluctant sob caught in her throat. Her wedding day! Her wedding night! Had any girl had a stranger one?

      The table was set, and the stew was simmering on the stove when she heard the station wagon coming back. Immediately her nerves became taut, and a lump closed up her throat. He came in whistling, taking off the leather coat and hanging it behind the door. He went to the sink and washed his hands, drying them on the towel she kept for the purpose, and then sniffed the air appreciatively.

      ‘Mmm, something smells good,’ he commented, taking out his cheroots and lighting one from the fire. ‘And rolls? Did Marie bring them?’

      ‘Yes.’

      Ryan was short, but she couldn’t help it. He flicked a glance towards her, and then sighed. ‘What is it? What’s wrong? Why are you looking so upset? Have I done something wrong?’

      Ryan shook her head quickly. ‘Of course not.’

      ‘I’ve told you I had nothing to do with putting your clothes in my bedroom. Don’t you believe me?’