Spilt Wine

34. Surveillance and Recovery

"It smells like a blend," I said. "Doesn't have the clear-cut nose of any individual one of Louis' wines. It could be just the harmony of all the wines breathing through the oak, but it seems stronger than simply that."

"I'm surprised how strong at this distance, but there's a breeze coming up the canal and carrying it," Catherine added as we stood in the wheelhouse watching two men in black coveralls leaning over the stern counter and talking with the diver in the water. "Some high-backed stools would be wonderful in here."

"Yes, I had thought of the stools ... There might be leaking staves in some of the pièces. Moving them in a rush, as they must have done, is not kind to them ... I'd also thought of a tall pub table for them."

"That would be great for sunset dining ... Why has the péniche remained there for so long?"

"Maybe the skipper is ill – or they quieted him after he moored here."

"Like they did with the lock keeper and ..." Catherine paused and winced. 

Damn! Why did I say that? Need to change the topic. "It's many years since wine was shipped by péniche here. I haven't seen any since my early visits in the 1960s. Maybe they are still, and I simply missed it. So many changes. I remember seeing a horse drawing a barge along the canal near Dijon when I was here in 1967. I learned later that it was one of the last of the horses."

"But why not get another skipper? Why not move the wine to more stable storage? Fluctuating temperatures are not good for –"

"That's it. That's why the aroma's so strong. The temperature in the hold is fluctuating. Fortunately, the grain silos block the afternoon sun, but the morning through early afternoon sun hits the dark hull and decks through the leafless trees. That quickly warms the barge hold. The wine expands from the cool of the night, the wine pushes out harder through the oak and likely through some popped bungs."

"The wine is spoiling, then?"

"As powerful and concentrated as your wine is, this is not good for it. You're insured, of course."

"Yes, but based on historical prices, and those have been low because of Grotkopf."

"It's worth a lot more than that. When you've recovered the wine, you can negotiate with the insurers. Settle for lost value. Whatever, it's such a crime to think of decreasing its superb quality."

"But why haven't they moved the péniche? You haven't answered that."

"They could have mechanical problems like we do." I nodded toward the mechanics at the stern rail and chuckled.

Over the next hour and a half, the mechanics had me occasionally run the engine. They went back to their peering over the stern and talking with the diver, who was in and out of the water. The scene looked normal. A man searching for mushrooms slowly made his way along the towpath; a couple went down along the canal walking a dog and came back; a cyclist pedalled by, then two more from the opposite direction.

I couldn't tell how many of these were plants, so Catherine and I began a game, analysing the passers-by and guessing which were real. We named very few as plants but couldn't articulate why. "I feel it, that's all. Maybe this one's a bit too normal."

The plan had been to close up the barge at fifteen hundred and head back to the Côtes. The diver left a while earlier, and the two mechanics were loading toolboxes into their van as I locked Vrouwe Catharina's wheelhouse and checked the mooring lines, tightening the fore spring.

As we drove across the bridge, I said, "Catherine, look! That van down there on the quai."

"What about it?"