Read Online The Champagne Queen (The Century Trilogy Book 2) by Petra Durst-Benning - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Petra Durst-Benning
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the eye as a result. Every window reflected the late-afternoon sun.
“Well? Did I promise too much?”
“The house is beautiful,” said Isabelle. She thought she should pinch herself to make sure she was not dreaming. For once, Leon had not exaggerated. This was just what she’d imagined an elegant country house would look like!
She pointed to the vines climbing the white walls. “When those flower, the house must look like a fairytale palace.”
Leon scowled. “That needs to be cut back urgently. See how it’s already gotten up onto the roof? I have no desire to wait for the vines to get in under the tiles and damage the roof.”
Isabelle glanced admiringly at her husband. Leon really seemed to know what he was talking about. But her thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of an elderly man coming around the corner of the house. Isabelle guessed he was sixty years old, and he wore work pants and a jacket that were not particularly clean. His face was marked by years of weather, and his eyes were friendly. He wore a cap, beneath which sprouted tufts of gray hair. A scruffy knee-high dog trotted beside him, carrying a stick in its mouth.
He smiled and shook hands first with Isabelle and then Leon. “Claude Bertrand’s my name. Bonjour, Monsieur Feininger. Bonjour, madame. How lovely that you’ve made it!”
Once the men had carried the luggage into the house, they immediately set off on an inspection tour. Isabelle stayed behind—what she wanted to do most of all was explore the house!
With her heart beating hard, she stood in the dark entryway, from which, left and right, two halls led off. Opposite the large double gate that formed the main entrance to the house was another, almost as wide as the main entrance itself. Isabelle went over to the door and had to use both hands to turn the handle to open it. The room on the other side was dark and cold, and a sour smell rose to meet her. With a frown, she looked at the strange machine that took up almost the entire space inside: a kind of wooden vat fitted with various metal bars. No doubt the entire apparatus had something to do with the production of the champagne, she decided, and closed the door again.
Behind the first door in the right-hand corridor was a pantry. Sacks of flour, salt, sugar, and other foodstuffs were stored on wooden shelves. Heads of cabbage shared a shelf with squash of different colors; there were jars of preserved fruit and marmalade and more jars containing bell peppers and other vegetables. From the ceiling, sides of ham and smoked sausages hung on various hooks. Isabelle raised her eyebrows and nodded—someone had certainly been looking ahead the previous autumn. On the floor, there were several baskets with onions and potatoes.
In the next room on the right, sturdy work boots were lined up next to light summer shoes, all of them more or less caked in dirt. Several heavy coats hung from iron hooks alongside a few old gray-brown cardigans. The room had no windows and smelled like sheep’s wool and dubbin, soil and sweat. Isabelle crinkled her nose. A bad habit, that the farm workers would store their work clothes in there! Well, that would change from now on, she decided on the spot.
Next came a laundry room with two huge washtubs and a stove for boiling water, and an adjoining room in which clotheslines stretched from one wall to the other. But there were no clothes, unwashed or fresh, to be seen. All that’s missing is the kitchen , thought Isabelle.
And, indeed, hardly had she opened the next door when the smell of freshly baked bread wafted over her. Two long loaves of white bread stood invitingly on a heavy wooden table. The crusts were lightly browned and looked so delicious that Isabelle was tempted to break off a piece. On a stoneware plate beside the loaves lay a piece of ham, a small round cheese, and a bunch of yellow beets. Isabelle smiled. It looked as if somebody had prepared a meal for her.
The kitchen
“Well? Did I promise too much?”
“The house is beautiful,” said Isabelle. She thought she should pinch herself to make sure she was not dreaming. For once, Leon had not exaggerated. This was just what she’d imagined an elegant country house would look like!
She pointed to the vines climbing the white walls. “When those flower, the house must look like a fairytale palace.”
Leon scowled. “That needs to be cut back urgently. See how it’s already gotten up onto the roof? I have no desire to wait for the vines to get in under the tiles and damage the roof.”
Isabelle glanced admiringly at her husband. Leon really seemed to know what he was talking about. But her thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of an elderly man coming around the corner of the house. Isabelle guessed he was sixty years old, and he wore work pants and a jacket that were not particularly clean. His face was marked by years of weather, and his eyes were friendly. He wore a cap, beneath which sprouted tufts of gray hair. A scruffy knee-high dog trotted beside him, carrying a stick in its mouth.
He smiled and shook hands first with Isabelle and then Leon. “Claude Bertrand’s my name. Bonjour, Monsieur Feininger. Bonjour, madame. How lovely that you’ve made it!”
Once the men had carried the luggage into the house, they immediately set off on an inspection tour. Isabelle stayed behind—what she wanted to do most of all was explore the house!
With her heart beating hard, she stood in the dark entryway, from which, left and right, two halls led off. Opposite the large double gate that formed the main entrance to the house was another, almost as wide as the main entrance itself. Isabelle went over to the door and had to use both hands to turn the handle to open it. The room on the other side was dark and cold, and a sour smell rose to meet her. With a frown, she looked at the strange machine that took up almost the entire space inside: a kind of wooden vat fitted with various metal bars. No doubt the entire apparatus had something to do with the production of the champagne, she decided, and closed the door again.
Behind the first door in the right-hand corridor was a pantry. Sacks of flour, salt, sugar, and other foodstuffs were stored on wooden shelves. Heads of cabbage shared a shelf with squash of different colors; there were jars of preserved fruit and marmalade and more jars containing bell peppers and other vegetables. From the ceiling, sides of ham and smoked sausages hung on various hooks. Isabelle raised her eyebrows and nodded—someone had certainly been looking ahead the previous autumn. On the floor, there were several baskets with onions and potatoes.
In the next room on the right, sturdy work boots were lined up next to light summer shoes, all of them more or less caked in dirt. Several heavy coats hung from iron hooks alongside a few old gray-brown cardigans. The room had no windows and smelled like sheep’s wool and dubbin, soil and sweat. Isabelle crinkled her nose. A bad habit, that the farm workers would store their work clothes in there! Well, that would change from now on, she decided on the spot.
Next came a laundry room with two huge washtubs and a stove for boiling water, and an adjoining room in which clotheslines stretched from one wall to the other. But there were no clothes, unwashed or fresh, to be seen. All that’s missing is the kitchen , thought Isabelle.
And, indeed, hardly had she opened the next door when the smell of freshly baked bread wafted over her. Two long loaves of white bread stood invitingly on a heavy wooden table. The crusts were lightly browned and looked so delicious that Isabelle was tempted to break off a piece. On a stoneware plate beside the loaves lay a piece of ham, a small round cheese, and a bunch of yellow beets. Isabelle smiled. It looked as if somebody had prepared a meal for her.
The kitchen
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