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...
"We knew that, didn't we? We were prepared for it," Catherine said quietly and dry-eyed as we sat back on the couch; then she leaned onto my chest and started to sob.
I held her and stroked the back of her head as we gently rocked. Her sobs were subdued, without the intense heaving of recent outpourings. They slowly faded, and she lay quiet as I continued holding her.
A long while later, she started to speak, her voice incomprehensibly muffled by my chest. Then, lifting her head, she repeated, "You won't leave me now, will you?"
"I said I would stay until Louis came back. He's not back yet. No, I won't leave." I gently pulled her into my chest again, placed my hand on the back of her head and stroked.
Tuesday 22 April 1986
Lieutenant Grattien arrived promptly at eight thirty, the appointed hour, but Catherine and I knew his coming wasn't to drive us to the barge. We sat around the kitchen table sharing coffees and talking about arrangements to receive the remains. The autopsy had been completed, and there was no longer any need to hold the body. Grattien gave Catherine a page with names and phone numbers of funeral services she could use, and he gave his personal recommendation. It was a controlled, measured process. He had been through it often.
Then Catherine asked bluntly, with no visible emotion, "How did Grotkopf kill him?"
"One of the tall stainless steel wine vats. A blending vat. The lab found blood and ... and other non-wine substances in its analysis of the sample."
"He was dumped into a vat of wine?"
"No, there is no large access at the top, only the stainless filling pipe and breathing vent. The inspection and cleaning access hatch at the bottom was used. He was – I am sorry, please tell me to stop, if you wish, Madame."
"No, please continue, I need to know it all. I think I have the strength." She looked across and into my eyes.
"The conclusion is he had been beaten and was bleeding when he was stuffed into the vat, likely unconscious. The hatch was then closed, and wine was pumped into it, filling the bottom two metres on the sight gauge. His death was from drowning."
She closed her eyes and nodded, then blew out a deep breath. "Do we know when this happened?"
"From the autopsy report, there was little beard growth, and they concluded it happened within a day of his last shave. We are assuming it was shortly after he went over to encounter Laurent Grotkopf on 27 March."
Saturday 26 April 1986
Louis' memorial was a very large gathering, with people filling the courtyard of the château and overflowing onto the lawns. The regional federation had quickly sent out the announcement to all its members, the Burgundy wine producers and the wine merchants. RSVPs had flooded in, and two additional marquees had to be ordered from the catering company, plus six more three-metre draped tables and ten more flats of glasses. Catherine tripled the order for the buffet spread, and I ordered three additional portable toilets.
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Louis sat on a draped pedestal in the middle of a marquee, overlooking the vines. His ashes had been placed in a magnum which was dressed with a label Catherine had drawn. It read:
Louis Marc Ducroix Grand Cru 1954
The invitation asked Louis' friends and associates to bring a bottle of their own wine to share in a celebration of his life. It said there will be no church service; this will be a friendly gathering without structure. The invitation concluded with a caution to leave the mourning and expressions of grief behind. This will be a joyous event.
The positive response to the RSVP totalled two hundred and seventy-three, but my approximations as I tried several times to count the mingling people, always reached over three hundred. The tables under the marquees were crowded with open bottles. Many had brought two or more of their finest wines to share.
The growers, the producers and the merchants had all been following the events of the past month with intense interest. This whole affair was too close to them to ignore. The tone of the afternoon floated on the strong underpinnings of their relief, their release from the tensions of the past weeks. This fed the lively spirit, and the seemingly limitless bottles of Grands and Premiers Crus certainly added to it.
Catherine had invited others, such as the boulanger down the street where Louis walked most mornings for croissants or a baguette; the boucher a little farther along, who always saved the best pieces of tenderloin for him; the little cheese merchant in Nuits who always cut a sample for him of a newly arrived cheese. The list included the branch manager who always had time to deal personally with his banking; his two favourite school teachers, the ones who had inspired him; his professors from the University of Bordeaux; his mentor at the oenological station; and Father Lefroy, the pastor of the church, where Louis was baptised and where he and Catherine were married.
Of the nearly two dozen on this personal list, all had accepted the invitation except the priest. He admonished Catherine for not having a proper Catholic funeral and for organising a pagan ritual. He warned her that Louis' soul would not be released and he would suffer long in Purgatory.
The celebration ran into the evening before the gathering visibly thinned. When the security lights came on at dusk, large groups were still engaging in lively conversation. The lights caused a near-universal look at watches, almost as a choreographed move.
The last to leave was Father Lefroy, who had stopped in on his way by mid-afternoon, drawn by the size and the spirit of the gathering. He very obviously enjoyed the energy and joined in with the celebration of Louis' life. Catherine and I stood for a short while talking with him at the gate as he left. His parting comment was, "I must rethink my ideas on such things."
"I think Louis enjoyed his farewell," Catherine added as they wished the pastor adieu.
She and I stood for a long while in the middle of the courtyard. Then, picking up the magnum of Louis from the pedestal, she said as we headed inside, "Tomorrow, we can take Louis for a walk through the rows. We can scatter him among his vines so he can continue giving them his energy."
