Bente exhaled.
“But with a slightly different angle. A little more personal.”
“Personal? In what way?”
Elnaz gazed steadily at Bente as she answered, with some hesitation in her voice. “More focus on the two of you. Didrik is incredibly popular, everyone wants to know more about him, and everyone is ... curious about you.” She spoke slowly, as if she were choosing her words with care.
What did that mean?
“I don’t really understand,” Didrik said.
“Well, think moreStars at the CastleandSo Much Better,” Elnaz said, citing two famous Swedish reality programs: one featuring celebrities who live together for five days, discussing their lives and careers; the other starringmusicians who stay together at a hotel, reinterpreting each other’s songs. “You chat to each other during your journey, get to know each other ...”
Bente couldn’t suppress a small smile. If Elnaz only knew. She didn’t dare look at Didrik.
“... through the wine, the history, the food. Maybe you invite some guests,” Elnaz continued. “Other well-known personalities who have some kind of food or wine profile. I haven’t quite thought it through, but it was an option I suggested to TV24 when they initially were hesitating, and they asked us to keep it in mind. A different angle. We’ve been discussing that option, and I’ve found some fabulous locations in Paris. It could be terrific—the two of you have amazing chemistry.”
Didrik laughed. Bente turned to him and saw that he was looking out of the window. She turned to Elnaz again.
“Soyousuggested this?”
“Not exactly, I was just giving them an alternative option.” She sighed and took a big gulp of her coffee. Put on her sunglasses to protect her eyes from the rays of the low sun. “Or would you prefer they cancel the whole show?” Her tone was neither harsh nor unpleasant, simply matter-of-fact. “I’ve put together everything we’ve got, and they still think it’s too thin.”
Bente gave a cautious nod but didn’t say anything.
“I assume we can think it over,” Didrik said, giving Bente a meaningful look.
She gazed out of the window. Forest. The forest had taken over from the built-up suburbs.
Yes, she could probably go along with Elnaz’s suggestion, but she still wanted to tell the story of the bottle; it had gotten hold of her. Itmeantsomething. But if there was nothing to tell, what would she do then? Was it worth making a TV show she didn’t believe in at all, and wouldn’t feel comfortable with? Could that show lead to other possibilities, the chance of making one in the future with a concept she really did care about?
This was her opportunity to get back into the world of TV.
So maybe she should just grab it with both hands.
23
1944
A month went by, it was now the middle of summer, and Sven was still at the vineyard. Ever since the Allies had landed at Normandy, the Germans had been on high alert.
It was too dangerous to leave now.
One morning he was out pruning the vines just as Hugo had shown him. The sun was rising slowly, appearing as a burning hemisphere on the horizon as Sven moved along the rows, working with a knife that was getting pretty blunt. The Germans had only visited a couple of times since they first asked why he was staying with the family. These days they didn’t bother with him at all, but because they were more nervous than before, and unfortunately also more aggressive, there was a risk that he would be caught if he left. Questions would be asked, papers checked, and he might be arrested if they had even the slightest suspicion about him. The more time went by, the more he felt torn between his desire to return to the Legion and his preference to stay here.
He had recently extended his contract by another five years. A legionnaire was not allowed to break his contract early, and in times of war, desertion was particularly serious. Maybe the Legion already regarded him as a deserter. The thought was terrifying. He had heardtales of penal servitude on Devil’s Island, even rumors of execution. Whatever the truth of those stories, desertion was unthinkable.
Once the war was over—he believed that France would be liberated—he would have to go back. He couldn’t live with Hugo and Juliette forever, and he felt like a traitor when he realized how grateful he was that he had been allowed to stay at the vineyard for so long.
Mathieu came out, crossed the lawn, and helped Sven for a while before taking a break and sitting down among the vines. “‘When a vine is standing firm with its feet in gravel and can see the Gironde estuary, it gives its best wine.’” Mathieu gazed out across the field.
Sven looked at him inquiringly.
“It’s a saying that describes where the Cabernet Sauvignon grape grows at its best. We canalmostsee the estuary from here, it’s just beyond the forest. That’s why our wine is so good.” Mathieu smiled.
Sven had tasted the wine that the Germans allowed the producers to keep. He had enjoyed it, but he doubted he would be able to tell the difference between that and a more sophisticated wine. That was why he loved the division of labor. He completed the practical tasks, tending the vines and the earth under Hugo’s supervision, and this gave Hugo more time to focus on the production itself, along with Juliette and Mathieu. Together they worked on the blends—deciding when the grapes were ready to harvest, how long they should be stored in oak barrels, how long the bottles should be stored—and made sure the vines were nurtured so the grapes were at their happiest.
“Thousands of years ago, sandy gravel was washed down here from the Pyrenees by the rivers Garonne and Dordogne, and it formed these fields.” Mathieu nodded toward the vines, then picked up a handful of the gravelly soil and let it trickle through his fingers. “The drainage is fantastic. The water drains away quickly, leaving the earth warm and dry.” When he talked like this, it was like beautiful music to Sven’s ears. He loved it when Mathieu told him about his precious Médoc region and about his wine.
