Invitation to The Bright Cellars

The name Mauve is a girl's name of French origin meaning ‘violet-coloured’.

Mauve is an offbeat colour name whose soft and sentimental Victorian spirit is conveyed by the name. One of the newer colour names like Blue, Gray and Plum that are increasingly being used as novel middle names.

https://nameberry.com/babyname/Mauve

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‘Mauve? Are you back?’

‘Yeah, what’s up?’

‘Aunt Lotte rang. She’ll be here any moment...’

‘What’s this rush for?’

‘She wants to tell you by herself, sweetie…’

‘Probably she wants to take me shopping again... She’s so antiquated. I would say, a vintage soul... Why she can’t just do her furniture shopping by herself? I know nothing about it! But I can definitely advise her on the outfit... Her dresses are disastrous! All those boho jewellery, white sandals, and bags are no better either… That was in fashion in the 70’s. Now is a different era…’

My exhausted eyes rested on the round mosaic plate with a design of purple grapes surrounded by the jade green leaves. I swiftly picked up an apple and was juggling it in my hands not being able to start to consume it whilst talking.

‘Try to be nice, please... How was school?’

‘Normal... How it was supposed to be? Spectacular or something…?! Is that’s what you want me to say, mum? Why do you always expect fireworks in a mundane reality?’

I hated when mum was asking me the same question over and over again. England was such a drag. I was born in here, but my parents originally came from Australia. That was eighteen years ago… My mum was going there every year to see my granny… Wow! She was already ninety… So many years in front of me… I just don’t want to be bored all the time in this creepy house full of theatrical props.

We were eating dinner, just the usual: beef, potatoes, salad… Mum made her famous dessert pavlova, my favourite. And of course – red wine, Merlot. I remember that afternoon well because my parents allowed me to drink one glass of wine with meal for the first time as I was already a grownup. Aunt Lotte brought my favourite tangerines in a beige mesh bag. It was sweet. She was blabbing about her vineyard in France she has recently bought for the lottery money. She won so much cash, I don’t remember how much exactly because every time I wanted to ask mum or dad or auntie herself, everyone was going into so much detail that each time I was forgetting the amount! But it was a lot! Her story was SO interesting! She started with a description of the place decorating it with the embroidery, almost like her dresses (sic), made of aristocratic family history of the previous owners. It was amazing! A hundred percent better than any story I heard before.

‘Mauve, my dear… I’ve missed you so much, my sweet potato… So, I can tell you about my vineyard. It’s placed in one of many châteaux in St. Émilion in a Bordeaux region of France. I’ve always called it Bright Cellars since I’ve seen it for the first time. There’s so much light, especially in the summertime when every fruit is ripening… a pure magic! It is said that St. Émilion is the oldest winemaking society in Bordeaux. The first mention about it is dated during the times of ancient Romans in the II century. But the name St. Émilion is derived from a Benedictine Monk known as Emilian. He founded a church there in the XII century. The village is a heritage site protected by UNESCO…’

‘The same as Stonehenge in England…’

‘Yes, my dear… There’re many vineyards around… châteaux, so you can go sightseeing!’

‘Cool!’

I forgot to mention that aunt Lotte has already told me that I may spend the whole summer in her vineyard. That was her – as she strongly emphasised – adult present for me. I’ve turned eighteen not long ago.

Aunt Lotte continued with her charming tale with me in some kind of hypnosis, enchanted by her pendulum. I just couldn’t resist it, I couldn’t say no. This might be the best adventure in my life so far, so I just had to let it happen!

‘Is there a pool, auntie…?’ I asked anxiously, abruptly interrupting my aunt, yet I couldn’t force myself to stay quiet anymore, although I didn’t follow many details about winemaking process, mentioned in regards to her French neighbours and the other wine producers from the whole world.

‘Of course! There’s a hotel as well, tout… We have guests from all over the world… We are proud of our home and we’re always happy to have as many people as possible over the season. Not everything is going into this profitable wine business…’

My first French night was hard. I was dreaming about nine monks who trapped me in some kind of witchcraft. I remember that they have already assembled all herbs, ingredients, pots and pans. In the dim candlelight glow, I’ve perceived friars’ bodies casting shadows on the marble floor. The most significant container was brazenly bubbling in the middle of the room. I was lying tied up in the murky corner far from their eyes. I can even recall their names as they were throwing those ingredients and herbs into the boiling water and their master was saying each monk’s name out loud: Christophe des Bardes, Etienne de Lisse, Hippolyte, Laurent des Combes, Pey d’Armens, Sulpice de Faleyrens, Vignonet, and Libourne. The name of their master was Émilion as at the end of this magical gathering one monk asked him if they had everything they need. And then one of them pointed out at me… But luckily I woke up and nobody could eat me for dinner.

At the table during my first meal in the vineyard I’ve told aunt Lotte about my dream and she cried out so vehemently that I jumped up in my chair frightened almost as my dream was still happening.

‘Ah! That’s the names of our nine communes, parishes in here… But how did you know about them, my sweet potato…? You just arrived here yesterday straight to your bed…’

‘I really don’t know, auntie… Perhaps you mentioned them whilst telling your fascinating tale in our house in England?’

‘No! I didn’t have a chance! Your dad was so intrigued with my vineyard, he inquired about winemaking too much… Almost as he wanted to come! Incredible… Excuse me, my dear… I’m so thrilled that you’re here! How do you find it?’

‘It’s awesome! Thanks again for the invitation. It’s going to be a great summer!’

I quickly glanced at my plate – peaches in some kind of sweet sauce – but I wasn’t hungry anyway. All I wanted the most was to meet some of my French peers. I heard that the French are very romantic and I also read that in France spouses are forgiven murdering the other half after discovery of their adultery and avoiding punishment for this sudden act of crime passionnel. But I must admit that the experience of a first love was still before me.

‘Yes, it is… Are you done, my dear? I see that you’re not interested in food anyway… Come with me.’

She took me by the hand like her best schoolfriend. I need to add that aunt Lotte was kind of a free soul, she was never married, but she had loads of family around as when she purchased her vintage vineyard, she invited all her aunties, uncles, and cousins to help her to maintain it. Of course, there were also all sorts of seasonal workers and she said that I could try wine harvesting too if I wanted. ‘Just for pleasure… If you find it hard, you can quit anytime… You’re not one of my workers, on the contrary… I’ll do everything to make you happy, my sweet potato.’ That was said in England. Now was France.

She introduced me to a very young, very handsome, and a very timid boy. Not that timid, I’m afraid.

‘Are you a fruit?’ He hit it big.

‘Excuse me? A fruit…? What do you mean?’

‘You know… fou… crazy…’

‘Is that’s what they have told you about me…?’

‘Yes…’ Slimy smile said softly to my ear. ‘They’ve told me that you came here to recover… from…’

‘From…?’

‘From your first unrequited love…’

‘Really? That’s something… Although all portents in the heavens and on the earth are certain that’s not true!’

‘Actually, no… They have told me…’

‘What’s your name? My aunt forgot to say…’ I wanted to interrupt this nonsense right away.

‘Antoine… Yours?’

‘Mauve.’

‘That’s a French name…’

‘Hmm…’ I perfectly knew what will follow next.

‘That’s why you’re here! It’s called a destiny!’

Yeah, it’s really a destiny to have a French name and a French aunt, for sure. You have to finally land in France. There’s no doubt about it.

Antoine wasn’t that dumb as I first thought. Later he said that he wanted to break the ice, but didn’t know how, so he made up this l’histoire… He thought that it could be funny. It was. Just not at a glance. He showed me around. The place looked like a fairy tale. There were peacocks, turkeys, and pheasants gently sauntering in the milieu of the château. We were strolling through aunt Lotte’s vineyard every day watching workers on their knees picking up the fruits as if we were the owners keeping an eye on them. I felt like a princess with the knight by my side always ready to protect me. I became attached to him as to a brother I never had. We rode bicycles, swam, and talked a lot. He told me that he has three brothers and two sisters and that they’re always around here in the summer as his parents own one of the châteaux and are my aunt’s neighbours. But I couldn’t expect anything what happened on the last night of my sojourn in the Bright Cellars.

It was so beautiful, peaceful, and warm. Aunt Lotte prepared the most delicious dinner I have ever eaten in my entire life. Chicken casserole with herby dumplings displayed in the red pan; caramelised roast squash, red peppers and beets in the tiny red bowls; and cranberry sauce and salads with all kinds of red berry fruits scattered on the miniature red plates on the table. And of course, cheese and une bouteille de vin rouge from my aunt’s vineyard… a fruity Merlot. Just for us... Two glasses mysteriously dancing tango… It was gorgeous! Or maybe I felt that way because of this wonderful atmosphere created in the vintage vineyard's scenery? I don’t know. But I know for sure that my auntie took care of the body and Antoine took care of the soul. He confessed his love to me and we decided to be together. Forever. Or as long as we can fan this fire of love. Whatever comes first.

Written by Mauve Billericay during a creative writing class

Autumn 2010

– THE END –

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Thank you for reading!