'Is this it?' I thought. 'Must be. Followed the directions from Cessenon, turned right at the sign, Trellis wires glistened like spider's webs on the vines, getting warm. Then, stop. Road ends. On my left Viranel. It must be. But where are the imposing iron gates, the grandeur, the peacocks
A sign even.
Parked up beneath tall trees and walked across the driveway strewn with horse chestnut shells towards the barn. The gravel crunched beneath our feet. The only sound save for the birds.
Up on an escarpment that ran parallel to the river, a huge cross dominated the skyline.
'If God forbade drinking, would He have made wine so good?' Cardinal Richelieu.
'Hello!' I shouted at the large building with a chute jutting out of it.
Then, out of the black hole a young man appeared. He marched towards us, shielding his eyes from the sun.
Not the guy in the photos. Too young. The penny drops. The son.
'Hi, Steve, I am Nicolas 'ow are you?'
Laid back, easy going, young, handsome. Juliet wondered if he had a girlfriend, for Louisa, her daughter, of course!
He showed us around. Stained white T-shirt, black jeans, Wellington boots. Wellington boots? noted the Range Rover parked in the drive. The barn was dark, demonic, noisy. Men appeared from the shadows, polite, respectful. Monstrous tanks loomed above. The huge Vaslin machine churned away, pressing the grapes. A torrent of grape juice gurgled beneath. The place was alive, tumultuous.
'Here, taste it' he said handing me a glass.
Sweet, rough, unfermented. This was it, the real thing.
Had our picture taken, like old mates.
Felt like home. I don't know why.
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