"So, is your list done?" Kate Aachen looked at her daughter then back to Mimi.
"Yep." Sophie handed a piece of paper to Mimi and shrugged. "There's only three of us. You're sure it's okay?"
Mimi nodded. "Of course it is, there's nothing worse than being at weddings and having no one of your own age to talk to. Anyway, it's only the reception."
"I wish you two had done something a little fancier." Kate sighed. "We could have helped."
"No." Mimi's voice was level, unwavering in her decision. "We wanted something simple with people we care about. That's all that matters to us; so long as there's us and our families and whoever else can make it over here then that's all we care about. Anyway, Sven suggested we throw a party for everyone else back in Blighty."
"Well," Kate's hands flew upward, conceding defeat. "It's your choice."
"It is." Mimi said. "My dad is disappointed. He told me as much on the phone this morning. Still, whatever; he's always been flashy."
"No, everyone has to do their own thing." Kate agreed. "You know, I saw your little interview in The Times magazine."
"You did?" Mimi could feel her cheeks colouring up, the thought that she'd been featured in the national press was bizarre. "It's still so surprising to me."
"Well," Kate said. "I couldn't miss it, could I? When Sven told us I was so proud I went straight out to get a copy. You see," she said, "there's more paths to take."
"Art meant the world to me. Still does."
"Of course. I remember when I had to stop dancing; I was utterly heartbroken. I lay in bed for six months and then Michael said I should come and help on the farm. I used to hate it and then, it just became my life. I left London, came here, got married and had the kids. All of that stuff."
"And that was that." Mimi said, her heart sinking. "Still." She smiled. "It's good. I'm helping others and I get to work at something I like."
"And that's all that matters. I'd put on a bit of Ravel or Profkiev sometimes and try to do some of the simpler steps. The kids would look at me like I'd gone mad."
Sophie nodded. "I remember you teaching me the positions; first, second, third in the kitchen."
"Yes." Kate nodded. "And you'd wear your little ballet shoes. We'd hold the counter top and practise, wouldn't we?"
Mimi shrugged. "I was too fat for ballet. My mum tried to make me go when I was small but even then, I could see that I wasn't like the other girls that did it. I was much happier with my sketchbook. Olivia and I used to sit in the front room and draw each other then we'd show each other our papers and we would have given each other warts and terrible hair or too many teeth." She grinned.
"I should expect we had better get back." Kate gestured towards a waitress, requested the bill. "Inventory is the dullest job in the world but it has to be done."
"Would you like a hand?" Mimi asked, pulling her wallet from her bag. "I'm not too bad with spreadsheets."
"No, don't worry." Kate shook her head. "Alec has completely changed the cataloguing system and he's very precious about it. Frankly, it's an absolute nightmare. For twenty five years I had every single ledger and inventory sheet balanced and in perfect order then Alec says we have to move everything to the computer and now I don't even know." She waved her hand, smiled at the approaching waiter. "Anyway, I'm sure Sven could do with some help. He's counting bottles in the warehouse."
Now that it was summer and the vines were springing to life, the lake glittering beneath her, Mimi could see just why Kate was happy to leave London behind. In front of her, the white warehouse loomed upward from behind a wall of carefully planted trees oriented to hide it from view. At the front of the building was a high, wide door that slid all the way open on heavy steel runners. There was a smaller door cut into the front of it and it was this door that was propped open with what turned out to be a misshapen chunk of concrete. Mimi knocked a couple of times, stepped through into the cool space. It was vast; crates and boxes were piled up in metal frames that were neatly named and numbered by crop, yield and year.
"Over here." Sven's voice came back at her, disembodied and surreal in the low lighting.
Mimi trotted past a few aisles before finding herself quite unable to find him. "That's not helping." she laughed. "You're going to have to be more specific."
"2011 Chasselas." He called. "Half way down, left hand side." He grinned to himself, listening for her footsteps until she finally appeared around the end of the aisle.
"Hey you." He dropped the sheaf of papers he was holding on a small step ladder, nodded towards the bottles. "Have you come to give me a hand?"
"Something like that." Mimi said. "Lunch is in twenty minutes."
"Good." Sven said. "Have a productive morning in Lausanne?"
"I did." Mimi nodded. "It's pretty. I can see why your mother was happy to leave London."
"It's fucking boring." He said. "Honestly, most of the time when I lived here I was bored off my tits."
Mimi laughed, gave his arm a playful squeeze. "Well, city boy, let's get to work. What do we have to do?"
"It's easy." Sven turned, grabbed the papers again watched as Mimi tilted her head to the side scrutinising the data carefully. He watched the muscles in her neck move in a single, fluid movement, the thin chain she wore glinting in the light. "All you do is check that the number of crates in this column matches the actual number of crates on the shelf." He gestured to the space on the page and looked back at her. She was dressed simply in a thin summer dress and sandals, her hair pulled up off her neck. He was then completely aware of how bored he'd been and how badly he wanted to push her against the shelves, bottles be damned. "Ninety-nine per cent of the time there's no problem but occasionally there's the odd box here or there that a company took as a sample or that Alec forgot to adjust when some supermarket buyer got a few bottles for Christmas, you know, that kind of thing. If they've been opened then write down the number that's printed along the bottom of the crate, here." He gestured to another space. "Then Alec can deal with it. All we have to do is to make sure that the crates make sense."
"Okay." Mimi grabbed the sheets off him. "Where do I start? I see you've done a fair amount already."
"After lunch."
"Jesus." Mimi found herself smiling despite her vague annoyance, flattered by his attention. "Stop grabbing me." She planted her hands on his chest, kissed him on the mouth. "Mind on the job."
"We're meant to be on holiday." He protested.
"We said we'd help your parents." Mimi raised an eyebrow at him. "How about we take a walk later. I'll pack a blanket, a bottle of wine. Your mother was telling me that this year has been particularly successful."
"You smell so good." He kissed her neck, pulled her close to him.
"Oh, no." Mimi freed herself from his grip, grabbed the half finished inventory. "Not today you don't. Not now." She watched him pout, shook her head. "Honestly, I don't know what's got into you recently. The sun comes out and you're like a dog in heat." Mimi swatted him playfully on the bottom with the clipboard. "I'll start here, then. You take the top shelf, I'll do the bottom." She nodded to the end of the aisle and settled to counting bottles, wrote the corresponding number in the correct column and added a tick next to the estimate. Mimi repeated the process from one end while Sven did the same at the other, a single piece of paper in his hand, a pen tucked behind his ear.
"First person to finish their row gets to pick." Mimi said. She didn't look up, simply kept counting the large, wooden crates. "See it as an incentive."
