The disappearance of a friend and millions of Francs worth of wine interrupts David's buying trip in France when he pauses to assist and comfort his friend's wife, Catherine. Their lives are threatened, the intensifying circumstances draw them close...
Louis and I continued to swirl and sip, alternating between the wines as we nibbled away at the remains of the persillé and baguette. After a long interlude, I asked, "How much of your other wine do they take each year?"
"All the Grands Crus except for two pièces of each, and any small ones and bidons that I keep. For the Premiers Crus, they take eighty per cent of the pièces, and for the Village wines, they take half. It is like this since the time of my father. I do not know, but maybe it is a marriage agreement by words for my sister, but there is no paper that I know."
"Louis, I'm practically family here, too. I've been a friend with and have done business with your father and now you since 1966. I've supported him and your family for twenty years, buying wine in every vintage, the better, the lesser, Grands Crus, Village wines, it didn't matter, I always took a good quantity of everything. These last five years, with Grotkopf skimming away most of the top-end wines, my own market has been hurting. My clients wonder why my supplies of your finest wines are now limited. I've had to put them all on quotas and search for other Burgundy producers. It's difficult."
"I will talk with my sister and brother. I am go to Paris this weekend for the conference next week. I see them then."
"Tell them they can get much more money, fifty per cent more for the wine by selling it at market value. Point out that you are all throwing money away by selling so cheaply to Grotkopf. Maybe they will like the idea of more money ..."
I paused when a deep-toned gong sounded, and Murielle popped her head through the doorway to say, "C'est prêt."
Standing at the entrance to the dining room as we approached was Catherine, a tall, slender redhead who was as stunningly beautiful as I had remembered her. She smiled broadly and began to fait le bise, then continued it into a big warm hug. "It's a long time, almost six months since you were here. I'm sorry I didn't greet you when you arrived; I was in Dijon at the clinic all morning and just got back. You're looking as handsome as ever. Still single?"
"Of course, I am; no one will have me. Besides, I'm away travelling so much, that I never have a chance to get to know anyone. And you, I need to congratulate you. Louis told me you are – how did he say it? With child. I'm so happy for you. For you both."
We sat around the end of the long dining table, Louis at the head behind three cradles of wine. The table was set with three glasses each, and it looked like a long, slow afternoon.
"So boys, how are the English lessons coming?" Catherine asked, looking at each of us in turn.
"His vocabulary has improved appreciably since I was last here. You've been teaching more, it seems."
"The last two months we've been alternating days, one French, the next one English."
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"I now think much more in English," Louis added as Murielle came in with three plates of escargots and set them in front of us in turn, me as the guest first. Then, she placed a basket of thinly sliced baguette on the table.
