Spilt Wine

53. Of Wine and Approachability

Catherine returned and hopped back into bed, blushing. "I hope this soon improves. I've always enjoyed great endurance. Hopefully, it returns to that." She snuggled into me, then said, "So, continue. I'd love to see how you can link driving to Afghanistan to dining at the Capital."

I smiled. "Just my way of getting there in my mind. It was an amazing drive, both ways. Remind me to tell you about it sometime. We were in Afghanistan four and a half years before the Russians invaded. After some first ascents in the Hindu Kush, we drove back. One of the party, Joe stopped in Yugoslavia on the way back to visit family. He later joined me in the Alps, and we climbed there for a while. Got weathered off the Eiger a few times, so we went to Chamonix before he had to go back.

"We dropped the van off in Emden to be put on the Volkswagen Transporter to Halifax, then we took the ferry across from Hoek van Holland and the train into London. Joe flew back to Canada, and I took rooms in Earl's Court, probably just down the street from –"

"That doesn't sound like the normal route from Canada to London. I would think the travel agents would have trouble selling that itinerary." She laughed. "But why had you come to London? What were you doing in my restaurant?"

"Simpson's, the Ritz and other London standards were boring me, so I started looking for more adventurous dining. I also found le Gavroche in Sloan Street. I had come to London in September '75 for the wine auctions. The fallout from the Cruse scandal was winding its way through the auction rooms. Retailers, merchants and châteaux were dumping wine to try to save their skins as the French market collapsed. I figured prices would be weak, so I was prepared to buy and hold. I was wrong; prices were abysmal, so I bought heavily."

I looked to see if her eyes had glazed over. She really does appear interested. Relieved, I continued with the story. "I attended the pre-auction tastings at Christie's, Sotheby's and Bonhams. Even Phillips was getting into the wine sale game. I tasted so many wonderful old wines, some of them more than double my age at the time. I loved the tastings Broadbent led at Christie's." I paused and allowed the memory to fill my senses.

"There were many amazing wines being dumped. Most in very large quantities, divided into a few one-case lots, then some twos, a few fives before the ten and twenty-case lots. Prices for the small lots were weak, but a few lots along in the catalogue, as the five, ten and twenty-case lots came under the hammer, prices per case were down to less than half those of the small lots.

"I bought many large lots at thirty-five to fifty percent of the very low price others were willing to pay for small lots only a few minutes earlier. I figured my wine club would be delighted. Things such as 1961 Château Cos d'Estournel and –"

"So let me get this right," Catherine interrupted. "The European wine market is collapsing, everybody is panicking and dumping wine which nobody seems to want, and you start buying heavily." She stroked my cheek. "You certainly are a strange businessman. Were others also buying heavily?"

"No, not in the beginning, I was one of a very few commercial buyers. I soon realised the auction houses want to sell. They make no money, in fact, they lose money from their cataloguing and house expenses on unsold lots. After each sale, I negotiated with the auction houses for unsold lots, buying a magnificent selection at their reserves without the tension of the bidding floor.

"I bought mainly large lots that were in bond, non-duty-paid, and had them transferred to Saint Olaf's warehouse in bond. I immediately reconsigned about a third of my purchases to the next available sales, requesting they be catalogued as single-case lots. I doubled up on most of the lots, and after the auction house commissions and warehouse expenses, I was still ahead well over eighty per cent.

"There were some magnificent old ports at a Bonhams pre-sale tasting in Hyde Park, unrelated to the Cruse thing. A hotel chain had decided to thin its port cellars. Taylor's, Fonseca, Croft, Graham's Warre's, Quinta do Noval, most of the big houses – 1955s. '48s, '47s, '35s, '34s, '27s, '12s. '08s. I was in heaven. It was in the Officers' Mess of one of those horsey Army regiments, the Cavalry or Horse Artillery, I can't remember. All I remember of the place is that it was a bleak rainy late autumn day outside and absolutely sublime inside."

I ran my fingers lightly up and down Catherine's back and looked into her eyes. "But that's a very long way from your motorcycle racing and your waiting at the Capital. How long did you work there?"

"For a bit over two years, then I finally felt the confidence to head back to France. I hadn't been there in over ten years – since I was fourteen. I had no desire to go to Brittany. Instead, I came south to the Burgundy, to Seurre and stayed a while with my aunt and uncle, Papa's brother and his wife. They had a small house just out of town, on the banks of the Saône. They had moved there the previous year after they sold the péniche – remind me we need to visit them. I've ignored them, forgotten about them since shortly after Louis and I married. We were always too busy." She shrugged.

"I liked the Burgundy, so I decided to stay and find a job. I started at the two-star Côte d'Or in Nuits a few weeks later, and that's where I met Louis in the spring of 1981. He started dining there several days a week, we chatted increasingly, and finally, after three weeks, he asked me out."

"That's where I first saw you. I sat in the corner watching you, enjoying your beauty and your graceful movements. I dined at Côte d'Or on many of the nights I was in the Burgundy, every trip, 1978, '79, '80, certainly for Jean Crotet's wonderful cooking, but also to watch you. You wouldn't remember me, but –"

"Oh, I remember you very well. The mysterious, handsome man in the corner. You always appeared to be so content, satisfied and confident, but you were always alone. I began fantasising about you – sexual fantasies. Why didn't you ever say hello? Start a conversation?"

I shook my head and blew a deep breath. "My usual explanation is not wanting to lose my independence, but the reality is the fear of disappointing."

"Disappointing?"

"With my ISD."

"What's that?"

"What my doctor labelled it – Inhibited Sexual Desire – no interest in sex other than alone." I tilted my head and gave her a sheepish grin. "This may sound crazy, but I've never approached a woman – no interest in where it might lead – satisfied by simply watching them. You've been my favourite unapproachable fantasy for a long time."

Catherine must have felt my growing arousal as we lay cuddling, and she reached down to grab and stroke. "This doesn't seem at all inhibited."

"The past few days, it's often surprised me – but I didn't dare try, lest it disappoint."

"It's well beyond time we try – onto your back." She unwrapped from our cuddle, flipped the duvet aside, rose to straddle, guided me into place and settled onto me. Then, after some gentle movements and quiet moans, she grinned and purred, "Do I appear disappointed?"

I shook my head, trembling from the sensations and awed by her passion.

"We can go slow with this, David. Ease into it."

"Ummm. I would like that. So many new sensations – and not only down there. You stir something in me that no others have."

Moaning, she changed her slow bobbing to a gentle churning. "As you do with me."