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Thierry was on the committee and a key decision maker. I showed him the newly com-
pleted tasting room. There was still a way to go, but the transformation was impressive.
Our renovation skills had come a long way since our arrival.
I gave him a brief summary of our quest for a vineyard of our own and our plans for the
property.
' C'est bon . I don't think you will have a problem with getting onto the Route des Vins but
they will want to taste your wines. They will ask for a sample from this harvest.'
Isabelle, Thierry's wife, and his sons, were away in Normandy so I invited him for dinner
and he readily agreed. Over a simple supper we discussed the finer points of vineyard man-
agement. Sean and he talked of tractors, mechanical hoes, mowers and vine trimmers - and
tricks about combining the machinery to get the work done faster. Barry and Aideen put in
the odd word as the conversation flashed back and forth, sometimes in English, sometimes
in French. Thierry, who had started his conversion to organic in 2005, warned of adminis-
trative pitfalls and promised to send us relevant contacts. In the flickering candlelight we
exchanged views about wine, people, marketing and life.
'You've arrived!' said Aideen as Thierry left. 'I can't believe it. This time last year you
didn't have a clue, now you're chatting with other winemakers like you were born to it.'
It was a good finale to Aideen and Barry's stay, an evening with a local vigneron to feel
the flavour of 'la France profonde' that we had grown to love - and an opportunity for
Aideen to buoy us up.
'You must make sure that you get time alone together,' said Aideen as we cleaned up. 'Do
you ever go out for a night together?'
'No,' I said guiltily. 'Maybe we should go for lunch sometime.'
'That's not enough. You need a night out together every week or two. It's essential.'
Aideen had divined our marital rift. I said we would, then did nothing. We had two days
between the O'Briens' departure and the arrival of five young Americans, some of whom
were children of friends, visiting us to experience life in France in exchange for helping
paint the outbuildings and remaining shutters. Managing and feeding a gang of five young-
sters ranging from eighteen to twenty was demanding. Between looking after our own
small children and our newly acquired teenage crew, Sean and I barely exchanged a word
for three weeks. Sean, meanwhile, spent the nights partying with the college kids, subtract-
ing points from his already low stack. We had more wine on the property than they had
seenintheirlives. Hestumbled intothekitchen late oneSaturday morningafter yetanother
party night.
'Feck me,' he said. 'You won't believe what's happening. Diana is gay and she's hitting on
Erin who is going steady with Tommy. I couldn't believe my eyes last night.'
Hewasmoreinterestedingossipingabouttheirexoticrelationshipsthaninthinkingabout
our future or our own relationship. As the love triangle between Tommy, Erin and Diana
progressed, he moved from ignoring me to being rude. The rift between us widened and
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