05 Jun Michèle Callard The Sand Vines #HistoricalFiction #HistoricalRomance #FamilySaga #BelleEpoque #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub @cathiedunn

FEATURED AUTHOR: MICHÈLE CALLARD

I‘m delighted to introduce Michèle Callard as the featured author in The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour, held between June 3rd –  7th, 2024. Michèle Callard is the author of the Historical Fiction, The Sand Vines (The Vine Saga Series), released by Millefeuille Press on 01 May 2024 (400 pages).

Below are highlights of The Sand Vines, Michèle Callard’s author bio, and an excerpt from her book.

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2024/04/blog-tour-the-sand-vines-by-michele-callard.html

HIGHLIGHTS: THE SAND VINES

The Sand Vines
(The Vine Saga Series)
By Michèle Callard

Blurb:

Bordeaux 1870 – Life is hard on the moor.

If Flore, a shepherd’s daughter, is not married by autumn, she must go into service and lose everything she holds dear.

Back from the French army, the dashing Ricar has set her heart and body on fire. Will he propose to her before it is too late?

Martial, the viscount’s son, adores Flore from afar, aware that she can never be his. When a betrayal and a forest fire put Flore in danger, Martial seizes his chance, grabs her hand, and takes her to safety far away in the north of France, hoping they might start afresh. But war looms.

Will it bring them together or tear them apart?

Buy Links:

Universal Buy Link:  https://books2read.com/u/b6JzXZ

AUTHOR BIO: MICHÈLE CALLARD

Michèle Callard grew up in France. A country girl at heart, she swapped her Paris flat for a cottage in rural England where she lives with her Irish husband and the youngest of her three sons.

She writes fast-paced novels set in different regions of France, bursting with authentic characters, colours, flavours, and history.

Author Links:

Website: https://michelecallard.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/michelecallardauthor

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/michele.oconnell.44

Threads: https://www.threads.net/@michele.oconnell.44

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/oconnellofsalford

Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/michele-callard

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Michèle-CALLARD/author/B09WRT58ZT

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22320819.Mich_le_Callard

EXCERPT: THE SAND VINES

Balloons above, rats below

Martial, Jules and Mary were walking home from the soup kitchen. They had kept people alive for another day but how long could this siege go on? A freezing fog fuzzed the harsh edges of the Parisian winter. Inside the thick cottonwool cloud, sporadic noises intensified, ghostly figures stirred in the greyness, but what struck Martial was not so much what he could hear, but the sounds that had gone: the clatter of hoofs, the shouts of drivers, oaths, creaking wheels, the cries of hawkers and the hurdy-gurdies of street singers.

Paris was silent. All that remained were the shuffle of clogs, the pointless marching of national guards, and the clippety-clop of the last horses spared for pulling hearses.

A street urchin popped in front of him. ‘Father Martial?’

‘Jojo!’ Martial’s face broke into a grin. ‘Bon sang, you gave me a fright. Where did you spring from?’ He remembered the boy. A regular attendee of the soup kitchen he patronised, Jojo was famous for his quips and irreverent songs.

‘I’m doing fine, Father. Really well, in fact.’ Jojo threw Mary a side glance and winked. ‘She the doctor’s girlfriend?’

‘The lady is a doctor too. An American doctor.’

Jojo let out a slow whistle of admiration. After a few seconds, he said with a grin, ‘Want to see where I live?’

‘You’ve found a place to stay?’ Martial’s question remained unanswered. Jojo had disappeared.

Mary and Jules searched around the tall white façades, their wrought-iron balconies visible in the mist.

‘Psst!’ A hirsute head popped up, level with the pavement.

‘Saperlipopette!’ Jules pulled up his trousers and peered down.

‘Come, Father, Monsieur Jules. I’ll show you.’ The boy hesitated. ‘Not sure about having a lady down there.’ He grinned, uncovering a missing tooth. ‘Mind you, before the siege, ladies did pay a fair few sous to visit the sewers. Over the water they trundled, in a little train pulled by a horse. The King of Protudal even went down there.’

‘The King of Portugal indeed?’ Martial smiled at Jojo, King of the Sewers. ‘Doesn’t it get smelly down there?’

Jules peered down.

‘Come and have a sniff for yourself, monsieur.’

Jules’s grey hat disappeared below the pavement. Mary tucked up her skirt and followed him down the ladder.

Martial stepped down carefully and stood mouth open.

‘Bienvenue chez moi!’

A vast dome glimmered in the strange light that filtered from the grilles along the walls, reflecting a tidy canal. Fourteen feet high and very wide, the space radiated calm, only disturbed by the odd plop. The fetid air was warmer than outside, and in a corner, Jojo had decorated his living quarters with an artistic installation of scavenged objects. Milk churns mostly.

Scrabbles and squeaks rose from one of them. Mary took a step, peered into it and shot back. ‘Gee whillikers! Rats!’

‘Eh oui, madame.’ Jojo pulled the plank that leaned against the churn. 

‘Corne tonnerre, boy, do you catch them to sell?’ Jules cautiously glanced into the tall metal receptacle and called Martial over.

Rats were scrabbling on top of each other, covered in a shiny substance. Using the bodies of the weaker ones as launching pads, the stronger ones jumped but never reached the top.

‘I catch them with sugar.’ Jojo beamed. ‘We’ve a shortage of everything, but Paris has enough sugar and booze to last a whole year. Rats smell it, run up this plank and—’ A lid swivelled around a piece of doweling. ‘Woosh! The lid tilts and they fall in. All I have to do is skin ’em, thread ’em onto a stick and sell ’em as brochettes.’

‘Yes,’ Martial said weakly. ‘I saw them at the butcher’s.’

‘I can deliver a few to your house tomorrow if you want. I’m sold out at the moment.’

‘Thank you, Jojo,’ Martial replied diplomatically. ‘I’m sure you’ll find customers who will appreciate them more than we might.’

‘For sure. The gentlemen from the ’cademy did a blindfold test, you know, between rat, cat, dog and bird, and they all agreed that rat was the best meat. I preficted the method to catch ’em, and I’m taking orders. The other day, I even sold some to a cook from a big restaurant. Made them into a terrine with spitachio, he said, and champagne. I peeped inside that place when I was delivering. Very grand. Gold everywhere. He gave me some bread. White bread too, and us three months into the siege.’

‘Can’t say I even remember the taste of white bread,’ Jules muttered.

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