David's buying trip in France is interrupted by the disappearance of a friend and millions of francs worth of wine. When he stays behind to assist and comfort his friend's wife, Catherine, their lives are threatened. As the danger intensifies, they...
Before I left Mas de Daumas Gassac, I telexed Jean-Luc, instructing him to counter with an extra 10,000 Francs, raising the offer to 235,000. I also told him to inform Henc that this is my final offer, and to add that I am thinking of heading to the Netherlands, where the selection is dramatically larger.
My intention had been to spend three days in the south, with no fixed itinerary, mostly exploring and relaxing. But my anxiety about the barge, combined with my desire to know how Louis fared in Paris, led me to change plans. After tastings and business at Château Vignelaure and only one night in Les Baux, I phoned Hôtel Lameloise.
"Yes, we have a room for you, Monsieur Michaels, but for one night only, we are full the whole weekend. It is Easter, you know. Do you wish just the room and breakfast or demi-pension?"
"Is Jacques in the kitchen tonight?"
"Let me check." Half a minute later, she confirmed, "Yes, he is here tonight."
"Can I reserve a table for dinner?"
"No, Monsieur, I am sorry, we are full."
"Then, I'll take demi-pension, please."
"Oui, Monsieur Michaels, we look forward to seeing you again."
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In the late afternoon, I drove into Chagny and parked in front of Lameloise, breathing a sigh of pleasure. Oh, how I love this place. As I gathered my luggage from the trunk, I reminisced about my history with it. First dined here in 1975 on my way back through the Burgundy from climbing. Louis had brought me as a treat on a wine marketing visit, and the superb dinner and service hooked me. At the time, the restaurant had two Michelin stars, which Jacques had taken over from his father in 1971. He maintained the two stars, and then in 1979, he became the youngest chef in France with a third.
As I entered the lobby, I thought about being restricted to the simple demi-pension menu. But it secured me a table – and I should be able to stray from the pension menu to order from the carte. As I was given my room key, the receptionist asked, "We have tables available this evening only at eighteen thirty or twenty-one thirty. Which do you prefer?"
"Twenty-one thirty, please." I much prefer dining late. No need to rush from the table for later diners. And as the last sitting, it's open-ended, so I can relax.
Upstairs, I pulled back the drapes, drew aside the sheers and slid the stuffed chair to the window to sit there, gazing out northward over the square. The Swiss plates I could see were Basel, Vaud, Zurich, and Glarus. The Germans were Freiburg, Wiesbaden and K. Can't remember what K is. Most of the French licence plates in the parking lot were 21, Côte d'Or and 71, Saône-et-Loire. At this, my mind went to the Canal du Centre just up the street, the dividing line between these two Burgundy départements.
Thoughts of the canal reminded me of the barge. Should phone Jean-Luc to find out how things have evolved. But if the answer is no, it may spoil my evening. If the answer is yes, it will still be yes tomorrow, so I went back to my licence plate checking. Other French plates were 69 from the Rhône, two 75s from Paris – likely rentals like mine – and an 89 from the Yonne. That's it, Cologne, the K is for Cologne, Köln in German. I must find a way to remember that more easily.
