Having the Frenchman's Baby

It was a good thing she’d learned long ago to wear comfortable leather sandals while on business. Negotiating the cobblestones with some semblance of dignity was no small feat.

On her way inside she counted a dozen cars. That meant a busy Monday for the staff who’d opened their wine cellar to customers eager to sample everything from Riesling to Pinot Blanc.

Rachel imagined the tourist traffic was non-stop, even in the low season.

Once she stepped inside, the receptionist in the foyer looked up from the computer and smiled. “Bonjour, mademoiselle.”

“Bonjour, madame,” Rachel responded in kind.

But her accent must have given her away because the other woman said in excellent English, “The cave is through that door on your right.”

“Thank you. However I’ve come on business, and would like to meet with the owner.” She handed the other woman her business card.

“My name is Rachel Valentine. I’m the chief wine buyer for three restaurants in London, each called the Bella Lucia.”

The receptionist eyed her with renewed interest. “Valentine, you say? I can’t find your name on the computer. Was Monsieur Chartier expecting you?”

“No. In fact I didn’t know of the Domaine Chartier until I arrived in Thann early today.”

“I see.”

“When I asked the hotel concierge to direct me to the best vineyard in the region, he gave me directions to the convent.”

“Monsieur Chartier will be happy to hear it.”

“Naturally I realize he might be too busy to meet with me today, so I’d like to make an appointment for tomorrow if that’s possible.”

“We’re closed tomorrow, but let me check with his secretary and find out his schedule. He has other vineyards in different villages, so he could be anywhere. Excuse me for a moment, please.”

“Of course.”

Rachel had studied enough French to speak and understand basic phrases, but the receptionist’s volley of French spoken in a low rapid tone was much too fast for her to follow.

After the woman hung up she said, “If you’ll let me know where you can be reached, Monsieur Chartier’s secretary will give him the information.”

“That would be fine. I’m staying at the Hotel du Roi.”

“Très bien. Though I can’t give you an exact time, you’ll be contacted before the end of the day.”

“Thank you for your help.”

“Pas de quoi, mademoiselle.”

Rachel went out to the car and returned to the hotel where she caught up on some paperwork.

Around five-thirty her stomach made noises it was time to eat. She decided to try the hotel’s restaurant.

In case someone tried to reach her at the hotel rather than on her cell, she told the concierge she’d be in the dining room if a call from Domaine Chartier came through for her.

Whenever Rachel traveled, she always found it instructive to study the wine list and find out what local wines were served, especially in an area like this renowned for its white varietals—wine that came from one kind of grape only.

She wasn’t surprised Domaine Chartier wines dominated the choices. The serveuse recommended the Tokay Pinot Gris to accompany the asparagus entrée, the hotel’s plat du jour.

The moment the waitress returned with the wine, Rachel thanked her, examined the labeling and then opened the bottle herself. An aroma escaped from the golden liquid whose combination of flavors was pure revelation.

She poured some into the wineglass and took an experimental sip, letting it swirl on her tongue before swallowing.

More flavors came through: maple syrup, quince and…pine-apple if she wasn’t mistaken.

So soft to the palate, yet beautifully rich and elegant due to its fine ripe acid balance…

It had a long finish in which she could find no fault.

Ah…perfection itself.

“I take it the Pinot Gris pleases you.” A deep male voice spoke to her in English with a heavy French accent.

Her eyelids fluttered open in surprise. But when she saw who it was, she nearly fell off her chair.

“You!”

Across the small round table from her stood the man who’d come close to crashing into her earlier.

For a Frenchman he was tall and powerfully built. Probably in his mid-thirties. He wore his dark brown hair considerably longer than most men she knew.

With his heavily lashed brown eyes and olive complexion, she had to admit he was incredibly handsome.

That, plus the fact that he had the audacity to be holding her wine bottle in his hand, ignited her anger all over again.

“If you’ve followed me for any other reason than to offer sincere apologies for your reckless driving, I’ll call the police to have you arrested for harassment.”

The maddening smile she remembered flashed once more.

“There are two versions to every story. The police are more likely to believe that you were all over the road because you’re used to driving on the left and became confused.”

“Considering they’re French, they probably will,” she countered. “Now that you’ve had your fun, please leave that wine bottle on the table and go away.”

“I noticed you enjoying it.”

He wasn’t about to quit.

No doubt this man, who was too attractive by far and knew it, found it amusing to flirt with what he considered an available female. Particularly one drinking alone in public and enjoying it so much she’d been sitting there with her head tilted back, eyes closed, unaware of the people around her.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but it happens to be the best white wine I’ve ever tasted.” And that was saying a lot…

He seemed to ponder her comment before he said, “I’m glad to hear it, Ms Valentine. Nineteen ninety-eight produced an excellent vintage.”

She blinked. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”