Page 96 of The Missing Sister

Eager to stretch her legs after the long drive, Ally took herself on a walk through the vines. Not quite ready to be harvested, the grapes hadn’t yet developed the dark blue hue that would produce the world-famous Châteauneuf-du-Pape red wine. Around her was the sound of cicadas and insect life that vibrated in the hot, still air. In the distance, a farm dog lay panting in the shade of a parasol-shaped pine tree, as the softening afternoon light slanted to glint golden on the vine leaves.

Ally sat down in the shade next to a wild lavender bush. She brushed her hands over the heavy purple flower heads to fill her nostrils with their calming scent. And finally felt glad that Maia and Ma had persuaded her to come.

Eventually, she returned to thegîtefor a quick shower in the tiny cubicle (the water was only lukewarm, but the weather was hot enough for it to be refreshing) then changed into a clean pair of jeans and a shirt, adding a touch of mascara and a dash of lipstick, and allowing her hair to flow freely around her shoulders.

‘Wow, it’s a long time since I’ve been out to dinner,’ she said to herself as she walked up through the vines towards the farmhouse. Glad of the glass and a half of rosé she’d had to bolster her confidence, she knocked on the front door.

‘Everyone is at the back!’ Ginette’s head appeared from a window. ‘Walk round, Ally.’

She did so, and saw a loggia hung with vines jutting out from the back of the house, which faced what she knew were the Dentelles Mountains. In the fast descending dusk, small lanterns were placed around the loggia, ready to be lit when night fell. At the table sat four men, as well as the teenage boy she’d met earlier, another boy aged around twelve, and a smaller boy of seven or eight. As Ally approached, there was raucous laughter, then all the men turned to look at her. One of them – small, but brawny – stood up.

‘Excuse me,mademoiselle, we were not laughing at you, just at our friend’s strange Kiwi expressions! Please, come and sit down. I am François, the co-owner of thecave. This is Vincent and Pierre-Jean who work here with me, and these are my sons: Tomás, Olivier, and Gerard. And this’ – François pointed to the man she was about to sit next to – ‘is Jack McDougal, all the way from New Zealand.’

Ally stood behind her chair and watched as the man she’d come here to speak to turned round and stood up. Jack McDougal towered over her. He was very fair, with piercing blue eyes and wavy blond hair cut short.

‘Enchanté, mademoiselle,’ he said in a very strange accent. ‘And I apologise now for my bad French. Please’ – he put out a hand – ‘sit down.’

‘Do you speak English,mademoiselle?’ François, the host, asked her.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Ah, Jack, then tonight you will finally have someone who understands what you are talking about!’

Everyone around the table laughed again.

‘And he is not lying when he says his French is bad,’ François added.

‘But then, our English is worse! Would you like some wine,mademoiselle?’ Vincent, who was opposite her at the table, tapped a bottle of red. ‘It is an early sample of our 2006 vintage, which we are all hoping may be one of our best yet.’

‘Thank you,’ Ally said as her glass was filled to the brim. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know much about wine, butsanté!’

‘Santé.’ Everyone raised their glasses, and she noticed that even the young boy Gérard had a small amount in his glass.

Ally tasted the wine, which was smooth and rich and slipped down her throat like velvet. ‘You are right, this wine is beautiful,’ she said to François.

‘We will hope and pray that in the future, when it is finally ready, we will be winning medals for it,’ he said.

Ally noticed Jack was looking in mild bewilderment around the table.

‘François was just saying that he hopes this wine will win him some awards,’ she translated into English.

‘Ah, thanks. I’ve been here for a few weeks, and even though I’m doing my best to build up my vocabulary, they speak too fast for me to understand more than the odd sentence.’

‘French is a hard language to learn. I was lucky because my father made sure my sisters and I were bilingual from the cradle. It’s the only way.’

‘I agree. My mum can speak decent French and read Latin and Greek, but it wasn’t a gift that was passed on to me, I’m afraid,’ said Jack. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’

‘I’m Ally, Ally D’Aplièse.’ Ally held her breath to see if he recognised her surname.

‘Jack McDougal. As you’ve just been told, I’m from New Zealand. And where are you from?’

‘Geneva, in Switzerland,’ Ally said, relief flooding through her that he obviously didn’t know who she was. Ginette brought out a tray of food and Jack immediately stood up to help her, loading platters of salad and bread onto the table.

‘Geneva, eh? I’ve never been there, or anywhere else in Europe for that matter, other than France. Is it a good place to live?’ he asked as people around the table began to help themselves to the food.

‘Yes, it’s beautiful. We live on the lake with a lovely view of the mountains. But actually, at the moment, I’m living in Norway. Geneva is my family home,’ she said as Jack offered her a platter of tuna salad. ‘Thanks,’ she said, taking the wooden spoon and doling a good portion onto her plate because she was starving.

‘A quick warning: don’t eat too much of this – it’s only the starter. We have steak coming up after, and then, of course, cheese,’ he grinned. ‘Wow, do the French eat well.’