Spilt Wine

55. Continuing to Unfold

Monday 12 May 1986

"Unfortunately, I had a very quiet weekend," Grattien said as he sat with Catherine and me at the kitchen table. "But that is also good. I finally had a Sunday lunch with my mother."

He had brought a half-dozen croissants and invited himself to breakfast, arriving just as I stepped into the courtyard, intending to send a gendarme to the boulangerie.

"Not much yet on Eva Malpas, other than she lives, or she lived in a house in Fixin. Our men were there late Friday afternoon. It showed signs of having been quickly vacated. Mail in the box, rotting vegetables in the fridge, and many other indications. From the newspaper collection, it looks like she left on the Monday you were abducted, two weeks ago."

"Have you anything new on the Marseille connection?"

"From the cadastre in Fixin, records indicate the house is registered to a company in Martinique. After yesterday's lunch with my mother, I stopped in at my office and confirmed from our files that it is the same company which had bought the péniche." He took a sip of coffee.

"We are now hoping this information, added to their financial interest in the tank warehouse on the Hautes Côtes, and the records of the wine shipments there and to Grotkopf in Nuits, will convince the investigative magistrate. They had wanted more evidence and information before they give us authorisation to act. Maybe this will do it – our social system seems to protect the bad guys."

"Unfortunately, we're also moving that way in Canada. The civil liberties movement appears stuffed with the desire to protect criminal activity. In the States, the police simply shoot everybody and then ask questions. There must be a middle ground."

"We have been watching the buildings up in the Côtes, near Baubigny. None of the people in the area know anything about the operation, other than talking about the tank trucks regularly coming and going. None knew any of the people who worked there, and they say they rarely saw them. No local people seem to be involved."

"What about the wine in the tanks?" I asked. "We smelled wine when we were let out of the car trunk."

"We are still waiting for test results to come from the lab. They must be back by now – I haven't checked for a few days, I've been busy with so many other things, funerals, hospital visits ..." He faded off, then said, "You must need groceries again – put together another list, I'll have one of our gendarmes come by this afternoon for it – a woman this time," he added with a chuckle as he looked at Catherine.

After Grattien had left, Catherine and I went to the cellar to check on the progress with the racking. Gerrard and Sophie were nearing halfway and estimated another six days to complete the job. Catherine opened her mouth in apparent surprise, but no words came out. After a pause, she said, "When this is finished, the Village wines need bottling, then the '84 Premiers."

"What about the '84 Grands Crus?" Gerrard asked.

"Louis' notes show waiting until the beginning of summer."

"We should tap a few. Start with some Premiers to see how they are," I said. "Check how they were affected by the heat in the barge."

"Good idea, I'll go get the glasses, you get the drill and pry."

"Do you know where he keeps them?"

"There's a box over by the bidons."

A short while later, we walked along the row of '84 pièces trying to decide where to start. "Here! Finally!" I pointed. "Les Chabiots is the most delicate of the Premiers. If any had suffered, this would show the most."

I drilled a hole in the butt end, placed a glass beneath it and pushed the end of the small curved pry into the croze and levered it to squeeze a small stream of wine into the glass. "I've often watched this, but I've never done it." After handing the glass to Catherine, I used the pry to pound a small oak taper into the hole, then looked up and smiled.

Catherine decanted from the full glass into the three others, and then we all nosed, sipped, gurgled and chewed. After a long pause, Catherine said, "Wonderful wine. There's no reason to bottle early."

"I fully agree," I added. "A bit diminished, but still great."

"I keep hearing the '84 was a bad year." Sophie put her nose back into the glass, then looking up, she continued, "This is a superb wine."

"There's no need to broach another barrel; this is the lightest one. The others can be tasted in a few weeks when they're closer to bottling." I lifted my glass. "But since we have glasses in hand, let's go taste the lot you're working on now, the '85 les Chaffots."

As Catherine and I walked back across the courtyard, she said, "I almost asked down there, Why do you still have six days left? It's only a six-day job, but I caught myself."

"I noticed that, and I had to choke back a laugh. Our twelve, thirteen, fourteen-hour days are far different from the standard French pace."

We were just settling into the couch when the phone rang.

After all the usual introductory things, Michel's voice said, "Paris has come back with a decision on my report. Since it is a total loss, except scrap salvage, and the policy is only a few weeks old, they were reluctant to settle –"

"So, where does that leave us?" I interrupted.

"I was saying they were reluctant, but that was before one of the members of the review board pointed to the fact that you are a long-time client, with a policy on your wine shipments across the world for many years without claim. They are offering you 221,500 Francs and the salvage of Vrouwe Catharina."

"That sounds about right, thirteen five for the scrap. Seems to be a fair calculation."

"I can come by with the settlement offer for you to sign. Where are you? What time is convenient for you?"

"The Beaux-Arts château, the north edge of Morey-Saint-Denis. The one with the gendarmes at the gate. We're still a captive audience here, and we're not going anywhere."

"That's a beautiful place. It's always been one of my favourites. I can leave now, and see you in twenty, twenty-five minutes."

"I'll tell the gendarmes to expect you around ten fifteen or ten twenty. That'll make it easier for you at the gate."

After a brief meeting, and my acceptance signature, Michel told me that the cheque should arrive in a week or ten days.

Back inside from waving Michel off, Catherine leaned against the kitchen door and said slowly, "So, the 235,000 had cost you a bunch of coins – the coins cost you far less than the assessed scrap value of Vrouwe Catharina. Now they give you back most of the money – and you still have the barge. Let me check your ears, you must have four-leaf clovers growing in there."

As we walked through to the long room, she continued, "My cousins taught me an old Irish rhyme about their symbol for good luck:

One leaf is for fame,
And one leaf is for wealth,
And one is for a faithful lover,
And one to bring you glorious health,
Are all in the four-leaved clover

"They said four-leaf clovers are far luckier than shamrocks."

"That may be. Many people see someone else's success as luck, but what they don't see is the huge effort, the picking up and starting over repeatedly, the incessant push that finally leads to success." With a huge grin, I continued, "But I must admit, this outcome with Vrouwe Catharina is nothing but dumb luck – maybe you should check my ears."