Spilt Wine

18. Back at Domaine Ducroix

Friday 28 March 1986

After a wonderful dinner and a restful sleep at Lameloise, I read the news about the wine theft and rushed north to Domaine Ducroix.

As soon as the gendarmes had left, I sat on the couch to comfort Catherine, and she fell asleep lying against my chest as I rubbed the back of her head. Must be exhausted. Probably up most of the night waiting for Louis to return. Emotionally drained.

I sat listening to her quiet purring snores and watching random thoughts cross my mind. Incongruent things, non-sequiturs. So peaceful. So different. I looked down at her in my arms. She's so beautiful. But she belongs to Louis. I've never been this close to a beautiful woman before. It's not as scary as I thought it would be.

The ringing phone didn't register at first; it was a distance away, across the long salon and into the smaller one which Catherine and Louis use as an office. The ringing woke Catherine, though, and she was still trying to shake off her sleep as she rushed across the long room and disappeared through the doorway.

"David – David, it's for you. It's Jean-Luc Delong."

My mind spun as I strode across the salon. The barge, I hadn't thought about the barge since Chagny – only a few hours ago. God! That seems so long ago now. Then taking the offered receiver from Catherine, I said to her, "It's the barge broker."

"Hello, Jean-Luc, you are well?" I listened, then, "Yes, yes it was a very successful trip south. I left Les Baux unexpectedly – thank you for tracking me." I paused with my ear to the phone. "That's great! Wonderful! So did he add anything else this time?"

I felt myself relax as I listened. "I can come in and do that tomorrow ..." Then I paused and looked at Catherine. "But there's a serious, complicated situation I'm in, and maybe –"

"David, please go ahead," Catherine cut in, rolling her forearms as a paddle-wheel. "Things must go on. We can't stop our lives."

I continued into the receiver, "What time tomorrow is good for you?" After another short pause, "Yes, eleven thirty would be fine. Can I go look at the barge again after?" I listened again. "Great! See you tomorrow, then."

When I hung up, I turned to Catherine. "The offer has been accepted. I need to visit Jean-Luc tomorrow to initial and sign revised papers."

"I want to come with you. Is that alright? I'd love to see the barge – to see what you've selected."

"Are you sure? Shouldn't you stay here?"

"For what?"

"In case there's a phone call from the Gendarmes or from Louis or from Murielle. Besides, you need to relax."

"I can't relax here alone."

I slowly bobbed my head in realisation. "No, I guess you're right."

"We can put a message on the answering machine tape, leave a note on the table for Louis and Murielle, and notify the Gendarmerie to tell them Jean-Luc's number if they need to contact us immediately. We need to keep living, David, not wither and die."

Her not getting mired in the muck of the situation reminded me of my own nature. "Yes, let's do that. You must be hungry. Have you eaten anything?"

"Cheese and fruit from the pantry last night. I couldn't cook. A croissant and coffee this morning. A tea and some biscuits a while ago when you were with the gendarmes." She glanced at her watch. "Quite a while ago. Seems I slept for a long time. Yes, I'm hungry, and I'm sure he is too." She patted her tummy. "You're hungry also, I'm sure."

Then, taking my arm, she led me to the kitchen, where we looked in the fridge. Seeing nothing fresh, she said, "I suspected this. Murielle, in her efficiency, would have planned to leave nothing to spoil while she was away."

I pointed to two large covered casseroles on the lowest rack, both with yellow Post-it notes. We stooped to read: Bresse au Vin, chauffer au four moderée 45 minutes on one and Ragoût du Pintade et Cèpes, au four bas une heure on the other. On the next shelf up, was a large quiche wrapped in plastic film with a simple Lorraine on its note.

"Aah, Murielle, dear sweet Murielle." Catherine stood staring into the fridge and trembling. Her eyes welled, and she croaked a low, "David, come hold me."

After a long, gently swaying hug, she had regained much of her composure, but her voice was still trembling a bit when she said, "We should close the fridge door." In a slightly more controlled voice, she asked, "What would you like for dinner?" Then, back in form, she continued with, "This evening, Monsieur Michaels, we have les spécialités de la maison, le Poulard de Bresse au Vin or le Ragoût de Pintade et Cèpes ..." She trailed off, smiling.

"The pintade sounds wonderful; I've not had guinea fowl for some time." Giving her a gentle squeeze, I unwrapped my arms from around her and closed the fridge door. "You're a very strong woman, and I admire the way you're handling this. We both know it's an awful situation, but we're not going to let it ruin the rest of our lives. We need to continue to be strong. Events can challenge us, but it's our choice on how to respond. We can be controlled by circumstances, or we can choose to remain in control ... But you know this, Catherine, don't you? I needn't be lecturing."

Catherine, much more relaxed now, reopened the fridge, lifted the Pintade casserole from the shelf and turned on the oven. "Go down to the cellar and bring up some wine ... Oh, my God! I hope they didn't take that too." Trembling, she stared across at the door on the other side of the kitchen.

I already had the key off its hook from the pantry door and was turning toward the cellar door as she finished. Half a minute later I called up the stairs, "It's all here, it's safe. What would you like?"

"Thank God! Bring up something big – I need something big right now."

"A Grand Cru?"

"For sure – an old one."

I came back up, cradling a bottle in my arm and locked the cellar door behind me.

"And what has le sommelier chosen for us this evening?" she asked, straightening up from the oven and turning to watch me.

"I had this last night at Lameloise, the '78 Clos-de-la-Roche. It's a magnificent bottle. I'm sure it will be even more superb shared with you."

I placed the bottle in a cradle on the counter. "I'll go down the street to the boulangerie for a baguette to soak the sauce." After glancing at my watch, I continued, "They should still be open for a quarter-hour. I'll be right back."

"Told you I'd be right back," I laughed as I opened the door again half a minute later. "I just thought, you should phone Francine and Pierre again in Paris. They've not yet returned your calls."