Epilogue
One year later
Bente went down into the wine cellar, selected one of the bottles that had just arrived, and returned to the bar.
So far she was the only one in. She’d wanted time to go over what stock they had, and to consider whether to update the wine list with some interesting new wines they would serve by the glass.
Her highest hopes concerned one certain special wine from Bordeaux, although she was afraid it might be too young to drink now.
She pulled out the cork and contemplated the numbers on it with a smile.
The wine was made from the vines that had belonged to Chateau de Chênes.
Sylvie had liked the idea of putting the longitude and latitude on the cork and had done the same for all her wines—the exact geographic coordinates of each vineyard, to show precisely where the grapes had been grown.
The show was due to premiere tomorrow—The Extraordinary Story of a Wine Bottle.
Once she and Didrik had gotten to the truth, recording had been straightforward.
They had filmed during the fall. Many of the people they’d met during the course of their research were happy to give more interviews, so they had traveled back to film with Sylvie.
They had also gone to Paris to see Camille, and while they were there, Bente had gone on a diving expedition with her, seeking out new shipwreck wines.
Interviewing Camille in full diving gear out at sea between France and the UK had been something very special.
Even Frederic had appeared in one segment, to talk about today’s wine producers in Bordeaux.
The material Bente and Didrik had filmed themselves over the course of their research added an exciting, slightly more authentic vibe to the show, and Bente had been very pleased when she saw the first episode.
She was looking forward to the premiere, to giving more people the opportunity to share in the wine bottle’s story.
Other than that, the wine bar was occupying virtually every waking hour.
Regular clients had returned after the reopening, but they also had plenty of new customers.
Sometimes she appeared on the morning show on TV24 to present different wines, and she also guested on Krissie occasionally.
She had been offered several TV shows of her own but had turned them all down.
She wanted to devote most of her time to the wine bar—this was where she was happy and where she belonged.
She poured the wine into a large glass and swirled it around before sniffing. She could tell immediately that the wine was too closed. It had been stored for only a year—not long enough.
She took a sip; it was harsh on her tongue, but she thought it would be good in a couple of years. Particularly good in five to ten years. Fantastic in fifteen. She would follow the progress of the wine as it developed in the cellar at Rendezvous.
The door opened and Didrik came in, his face beige from his TV makeup. He had just been filming his own new show—The History Lesson—in which he took viewers through major events in history in an educational but entertaining way. “Historical events you ought to know about” was the show’s tagline.
“Did it go well?” she asked.
“Yes, but I couldn’t wait to be here with you.”
He came around the bar and gave her a long, tender kiss. She laughed and wiped off the makeup that had transferred itself to her cheek.
“Mmm—you taste of wine.”
“I do—this one.” She held up the bottle.
“So it’s arrived!”
She handed him the glass. “It’s perfectly okay, but it needs a few more years.”
He tasted, smacked his lips. “I assume you’re right.” Then he kissed her again. “I’ve got something to show you. Elnaz sent me this.” He fished a USB stick out of his briefcase. “The last episode of our show—you haven’t seen the final edit, have you?”
Bente shook her head.
“Have you got time now?”
“Absolutely.”
She poured Didrik a glass of wine as he opened up his laptop and inserted the stick.
The episode began with interviews with the historian in Bordeaux they had gone back to visit, then the material they had filmed themselves: the visit to Chateau du Boda, and the discovery in the cellar at Chateau de Chênes.
This was followed by a longer interview with Sylvie, in which she talked about the history of Chateau du Boda, then Didrik’s visit to the art gallery.
Bente felt her pulse speed up when the woman took down the painting—it was as if she was hearing it all for the first time.
And finally: the interview with Jér?me.
His voice was clear and strong, his French wonderfully elegant and old-fashioned, as he explained how the man in the village, risking his own life, had rescued the two young men from Bordeaux and driven them to a vineyard farther south.
“After the Allies liberated France from the Nazis, Sven and Mathieu came back. However, the fact that Sven was there had to be kept secret. It proved quite easy to concoct a lie, a mystery around Sven’s fate.
My parents and I, but also Monsieur and Madame Bresson over at Lassac, were able to confirm that Sven had been taken away by the Germans that night toward the end of the occupation.
We’d managed to rescue the couple who were teachers, the woman with Jewish heritage who worked in the bakery, and the young woman whom the Nazis suspected of some minor offense: That was what we told the police once order had been restored and all the collaborators within the police had been rooted out and punished.
But we were unable to rescue Sven. We assured them that we never saw the Swede again.
“During the Germans’ rapid and chaotic departure, local administration suffered somewhat, and at that time witness statements often became accepted fact.
The Foreign Legion was informed that Sven had been taken away, so he was able to continue living in secret at Chateau de Chênes with the love of his life.
Our word became the truth. No authorities ever came looking for Sven.
The Foreign Legion never questioned the information they’d been given, but if anyone ever asked about him, we were all say that we didn’t know anything about him. ”
“How did his mother eventually find him?” Bente asked. The entire conversation with Jér?me was included in the episode, and there was something beautiful about the old man’s unedited story, and something intimate about seeing both Bente’s and Didrik’s reactions to it.
“You mean Sven’s mother, Ida. She spent her final years at the vineyard, did you know that?” Jér?me chuckled. “I think she reached about the same age I am now. But for a couple of years, she thought Sven was dead.”
Jér?me explained that the Foreign Legion had told Sven’s parents they’d been informed that he had been arrested and taken to a labor camp.
They hadn’t succeeded in tracking him down, and had therefore concluded that he was dead.
Sven’s father passed away shortly afterward, and his mother, Ida, always said he’d died of a broken heart.
Until the end of the war, it was too risky to communicate openly, so Sven had decided to send the bottle with the brass plaque as a greeting to his mother—a way of communicating without arousing suspicion.
He’d placed a note, telling her to open the bottle, in a secret compartment in the box: an innocent message in Swedish that wouldn’t give anything away if the box ended up in the wrong hands.
He figured that if his mother didn’t find the note, the brass plaque was a message in itself; plus one day she would open the bottle and see the coordinates.
And then she would understand. At least, that was what Sven hoped would happen.
But the ship struck a mine, and Sven’s greeting never arrived.
After the war ended, Sven made a fresh attempt, now that everyone believed he was dead. No one would be interested in confiscating letters or going through whatever he sent, so he was finally able to be completely transparent.
This time, Ida received her son’s letter.
Jér?me laughed again. “We often wondered about the bottle and how it was doing at the bottom of the sea.” He winked at the camera. “Have you tasted the wine?”
And there the interview ended.
Bente raised her glass and looked at Didrik as he closed his laptop.
“Here’s to a successful collaboration,” she said. “What a team we are! Let’s keep . . .”
But she didn’t manage to say another word, because Didrik leaned forward and gave her a kiss.