Page 41 of The Widows of Champagne

Gabrielle

G abrielle took the familiar route at record speed. Down the twenty-one stone steps, through the vineyard, past the champagne house and onward to the miles of limestone caves cut beneath the chalky earth.

Dusk had fallen over the vineyard. The sky overhead was caught in that otherworldly moment between day and night, where light battled the dark, but in the end, always lost the fight. Suddenly, she remembered that night long ago, when she’d hidden the champagne behind a collection of strategically placed stones. She remembered how Francois had seen her faulty construction. And again, when Detective Mueller had shown uncommon interest.

It always seemed to come back to the wall, the first of her many lies.

The panic tried to rise, to blunt her edge, to make her weak. Fear was also there, in her throat, on the back of her tongue. She was at the door now, plowing through. “Francois,” she called out, blinking rapidly to adjust her vision to the low light. “Francois, are you here?”

No answer.

She continued down the corridors, calling out until she reached the end. She stared at the fake wall. The lone bulb flickered, dimming the light, making it hard to see. Her eyes closed momentarily, while her mind raced. Von Schmidt had wanted LeBlanc champagne. And, it would seem, their valuables, stealing them little by little until he’d amassed a small fortune.

Then, there’d been his sudden and vigorous support of the Nazis’ policy to rid the world of Jews. No one hearing him would doubt his loyalty to the Third Reich. But one thing Gabrielle knew for certain. Von Schmidt’s loyalty was always to von Schmidt.

Her theory made sense.

She wanted to rush to the police station and present her evidence. She couldn’t go to Mueller without the facts. All of them.

Footsteps sounded behind her, penetrating her thoughts. Not Francois. She knew his gait. Instinct told her to keep silent. She circled around, backpedaling to her left, into the shadows, staying out of sight, pressing deeper into the dark.

Paulette’s lieutenant stepped into the circle of dim light. He had a gun in one hand, a torch in the other. He was looking for something—someone. Paulette? Not here. He would have to know not to look for her sister here. Or had this been where they’d met for their trysts?

Then why draw his weapon?

Gabrielle watched him shining the torch along the walls, down the hallway, up to the ceiling. No, he was not here for romance.

She kept silent, absolutely silent. And absolutely, perfectly still.

The beam of light slashed at her feet, caught hold, then traveled up her body and shone in her face, momentarily blinding her. “Ah, there you are.” His voice held a satisfied edge. “Your man, the cellar master, I think you call him, told me I would find you here.”

Francois would have told this man nothing. He was here because he knew they kept the special champagne in this section of the cave. He’d been among Mueller’s soldiers on several of the raids. That meant, like so many before him, the lieutenant was here to rob her family.

“Must you shine your torch at me?” She covered her face with her arm. “I can’t think properly with all that light in my eyes.”

He lowered the torch.

She lowered her arm.

They stared at one another for a full five seconds, both blinking rapidly. Gabrielle took control of the conversation. “Are you here for the champagne?”

He made a scoffing sound in his throat. “It’s not the champagne I want.”

“My sister isn’t at home right now.”

“No, she is not,” he said, his gaze furious, his face red. “She has turned out to be quite the disappointment.”

Gabrielle didn’t like what she heard in his voice. “What have you done to Paulette?”

“She is sitting in a jail cell, where she belongs for telling her lies. And now you will join her there.”

Gabrielle stared at the gun pointed at her head. One bullet. It would take only one. To her head, her heart. A quick death. She could scream.

No one would hear.

“I know the truth about your mother. I know she is a Jew.” He sounded disgusted, almost petulant, as if this discovery was a personal offense. “And now the Gestapo knows as well.”

Ice spread in her lungs. She looked at him through a haze. Her hope was gone, vanished like a mirage already faded from view. Gabrielle knew in her bones that her mother would disappear by morning. She couldn’t save her now. Maybe she never could.

She could save the other members of her family. Not if you are dead. Not if you are arrested. “I won’t leave with you, Lieutenant. I won’t let you arrest me.”

“You speak as if the decision is yours.” He advanced on her, his features distorting in the low, flickering light. “The females in your family are very free with their affections. What do you expect from filthy Jews?”

Gabrielle knocked the gun from his hand, the move swift and surprising. The weapon hit the stone at their feet, a shot fired off, hitting limestone. Only limestone. Praise God.

Eyes bulging with fury, the lieutenant lurched for the gun. She kicked it away, and watched it disappear under a rack of champagne.

“You will regret that.” He slapped her, hard. So hard her teeth rattled. Pain bloomed in her cheek and jaw. She thought of nothing but escape and leaped toward freedom.

He caught her quickly, a swift grab of her arm, and spun her to face him, pulling her close, closer. She beat at him with her fists, managed to get in a few good blows, including one to his face. He reared back, and she twisted hard.

His hands slipped. She sprinted to her left, careened into a rack of wine bottles. Several toppled from their nest, the glass shattering at her feet. She lost her balance and reached out for purchase. Nothing there.

Falling. She was falling. She waved her arms. Caught her balance.

He wheeled around and came for her again.

He was faster, stronger, his legs longer, his training superior. He caught her again, drove her to the ground and pinned her beneath him. “I made your sister pay for her lies. Now it’s your turn. When I am finished, the Gestapo can have what is left.”

He was going to hurt her. She could attempt to plead and reason and beg, but it wouldn’t stop him. Nothing would stop him. That was her truth now.

Gabrielle shifted beneath him, trying to get away. But he was so much bigger and stronger than she, and he had violence in his eyes. He slapped her again. Stars exploded behind her eyelids and she found herself begging, after all. “Please, don’t do this.”

“Shut up.” He wrapped his fingers around her throat and squeezed.

Gasping for breath, her lungs on fire, she threw her hand out, connected with cold glass. Not broken, fully intact. Rescue. Salvation. She closed her hand over the bottle. The champagne. Always the champagne. Her purpose. Her life’s work.

Her deliverance.

She twisted her wrist and, in a burst of unexpected strength, swung her arm in a wide arc. The crack of bottle to skull was deafening. He slumped forward, landing hard on top of her. His weight was unbearable, suffocating. She pushed and shoved. And then, finally, squirmed out from under him and clambered to her feet.

His body lay still, unmoving, a huge mass on the floor. Nobody could survive that blow.

Had she killed him?

Breathing raggedly, she knelt beside the motionless body, sent her fingers running across his throat. His skin was warm beneath her touch. Then, there, a pulse. Thready and slow. Alive. He was alive. She was not a murderer.

She stood, and then looked down at the lieutenant. No, she was not a murderer. But she was in trouble.