Foul Play in Vouvray Page 7

“You’re very well read, Benjamin. You must know what I’m referring to.”

  Benjamin sipped his Armagnac to soothe his nerves. Then he understood. “‘If you catch your wife in adultery, you can kill her with impunity.’”

  “Exactly.”

  13

  She was calm and reassuring. For more than half an hour, Benjamin listened to Elisabeth. He had begun their phone conversation with pleasantries. He didn’t want to worry her, after all. But a few minutes later he was pouring out his troubles. At crucial times such as this, Elisabeth was the one he needed most.

  Benjamin reviewed the situation. The newspapers and television and radio stations had followed up on the article in Voici! and were expanding on it. Where they were getting their information, he had no idea. The lion’s share was wrong.

  At dawn Inspector Blanchet had arrived at Château de Pray to arrest Virgile. They had handcuffed him and taken him away in an unmarked car. Two detectives stayed behind to search the room.

  “How did they know Virgile was at Château de Pray?” Elisabeth asked. “Blanchet saw us yesterday at David’s place. It wasn’t hard for him to make the connection.”

  “From what you’ve told me, all the police have is a photo of Virgile dancing with the woman. Dancing’s hardly a crime, much less evidence in an attempted homicide investigation, if that’s the charge they’re considering. There must be more believable suspects. I’m sure this mistake will be corrected quickly. They have no reason to hold Virgile.”

  Benjamin knew Elisabeth was fond of his assistant. She had to be fretting too, but he couldn’t detect any worry in her tone. How he loved her!

  “And what about David?” she asked.

  Lee’s innuendo flashed in Benjamin’s head. Had David seen Simone dancing seductively with Virgile, perhaps with other men, as well? Had he assumed the wrong thing? Was he that insecure, that jealous?

  “What do you mean, Elisabeth?”

  “I imagine he’s livid.”

  “I can’t get hold of him. He’s not answering my calls. I need to see him to explain that this is an unfortunate misunderstanding. Virgile would never…”

  “It must be very embarrassing to see your wife—I mean your mistress or lover… What is she to him, anyway?”

  “We’ll call her his companion,” Benjamin said.

  “Oh, yes, that’s better, more elegant. At any rate, put yourself in his place. It must be embarrassing to see a photo of your companion in a suggestive embrace with a handsome young man, especially your winemaker’s assistant. And the photo was taken in his own home!”

  “That idiot Virgile—he should have known better than to sully our reputation.” Benjamin was getting angry again. “And tell me this, Elisabeth: why would he allow himself to be seduced that way when he was supposedly pining for our daughter?”

  Benjamin didn’t hear anything. Finally, Elisabeth spoke. “Virgile and I talked on the phone last week. He calls from time to time.”

  “Really, Elisabeth? Why haven’t you told me about these phone calls?”

  “Benjamin, I don’t find it necessary to tell you about every little thing in my life, and, frankly, I don’t like your tone.”

  Benjamin took a sip of water to calm himself. “Forgive me, Elisabeth. You’re right. So, what did my assistant tell you?”

  “Margaux posted a photo of herself on Instagram. She was with a man, and, according to Virgile, they seemed quite taken with each other. He was upset.”

  Benjamin sipped again. “A man? Who was this guy?”

  “I have no idea, Benjamin. I don’t even know if they’re in a relationship. But after seeing the photo in Voici! I’m sure you understand that a picture can be deceiving. I plan to wait. If Margaux thinks I should know about him, she’ll tell me.”

  “And when you find out, would you show me the courtesy of sharing the information? Why am I always the last to know about these things? Meanwhile, my very livelihood’s at stake!”

  “Sweetheart, there’s no need to be overly dramatic. Cooker & Co. will weather this storm, just as it has weathered every other storm. And admit it. You’re more concerned about Virgile than your firm’s reputation. Virgile probably did nothing to attract the actress. She happened to find him at a very vulnerable moment. Besides, you know girls find him irresistible.”

  “Please, Elisabeth, stop excusing him. This time it’s really beyond the pale. Carrying on openly with a woman who’s a disaster waiting to happen! He may be irresistible, but mostly he can’t resist. As far as I’m concerned, it has nothing to do with Margaux. He’s an idiot, a big idiot!”

  “I’ll say it again: a photo can easily be taken out of context. And this could have been a trap.”

  “I agree, especially since he never denied talking and dancing with little Miss Margerolle.”

  “So, you see, he’s been transparent with you. He told you about it himself, without your even having to inquire.”

  “True enough. Besides, how can anyone get angry with him?” Benjamin cracked. “He’s so attractive!”

  “Stop, Benjamin. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were envious. I’m not the only one who says that about Virgile. Many of my friends have told me they think he’s handsome and charming.”

  “Your friends are adept at lending this lothario qualities he doesn’t deserve. Meanwhile, he’s behind bars. And, oh, there’s something else: the police happened to discover a skeleton in Navarre’s cellar, and he wants me to find out how it got there—as though I didn’t have enough to deal with already.”

  Elisabeth sighed. “You have your hands full, Benjamin, but I know you’ll take care of everything. Virgile will be out in no time. The right person will be arrested, and you’ll finish your work. I’ll be waiting for you at Grangebelle with blanquette de veau and, if you’re lucky, cannelés.

  “Cannelés?” Benjamin’s mouth was already watering, and the prospect brightened his mood. He and Elisabeth ended their conversation with sweet parting words and a promise to call each other as soon as possible.

  14

  Benjamin threw on his jacket and hurried down the staircase, almost tipping over the suit of armor in front of the stained-glass window. The Open Air team was waiting in the courtyard, near their van.

  “So, you know,” Benjamin said when he saw their faces.

  “Yes, we’ve seen the newspapers,” Liza answered. “But it won’t keep us from filming. We’ll take care of Virgile’s absence when we edit. No one will notice.”

  Benjamin nodded. “After all, it’s the wine that matters. We’re just oral historians, conveyors of influence. The true star of your documentary is the wine.”

  “But I must admit that Virgile’s presence brings a lot to our project. Besides, he’s quite photogenic.”

  Benjamin's mood turned dark again. “Shit, not you too!" he thundered, not caring how rude he sounded. He spun on his heel and marched over to his Mercedes. The gravel flew as he sped down the drive. Once on the highway, he let up on the gas pedal, but he continued to curse female gullibility and his assistant’s pheromones.

  The filming was scheduled to take place at the estate of la Fontainerie, where Catherine Dhoye Deruet was awaiting them. Catherine was one of the first women to take charge of a family estate in the Vouvray appellation. Benjamin wanted to underscore the strides made by female winemakers in the Loire Valley. According to some estimates, women accounted for upwards of forty percent of the region’s vintners.

  Aware that Catherine might be uncomfortable around the film crew, Benjamin made it clear that he was there as a colleague and friend, not as a member of the production team. Eventually, everyone relaxed and became oblivious to the director and her assistants.

  Liza seemed pleased at Benjamin’s ability to make an interviewee shine without becoming invisible himself. With a nod of her head, she told Fabrice to move in for a closeup. The cameraman complied.

  While Catherine offered tastings of a 2008 moelleux from the cuvée Coteaux
les Brûlés, the winemaker outlined her career path, which resembled that of François Pinon. After pursuing an education as an agricultural engineer, she worked at a food-process engineering school near Paris. When her parents decided to retire and rent their vineyards to neighbors, she didn’t hesitate to return to the estate, which had been in the family since the seventeen hundreds, and take over operations.

  “But your parents weren’t living on the property, were they,” said Benjamin, who knew the family well but let Catherine tell her own story.

  “No, they weren’t on the property. The house adjoining the cellar hadn’t had any occupants for fifty years or so.”

  “What changes did you initiate when you took over?”

  “No major changes in the cellar, except for updating the grape press. It still worked well, but it was very old. We modernized gradually. There was nothing revolutionary about it.”

  While conversing, Benjamin tasted the moelleux. It had delicate spices on the nose, soon confirmed in the mouth, where they developed into aromas of roasted pineapple. The finish was long, smooth, and round, persistent and fresh.

  “Perhaps there was no revolution, but I note a superb evolution in this wine.”

  Liza gave him an amused wink. The transition was perfect.

  “At first, the neighbors watched me with some skepticism,” the Dhoye heiress continued. “But little by little, I think I’ve created a following by developing and improving the cultivation of vines in environmentally sustainable ways. We avoid spraying pesticide whenever we can, and we harvest by hand. My father was already working that way. The main thing is to have a healthy grape and steer clear of chaptalization. From there, everything happens naturally.”

  “Cut!” shouted Liza, clearly delighted. “You were perfect!”

  “That’s all you need?” Benjamin asked, a bit frustrated about ending a conversation he wanted to pursue.

  “Perfect, I tell you!”

  The technicians were already preparing to cross the courtyard and climb the heights of the Fontainerie estate, where they would take additional footage of Benjamin walking the rows of vines.

  “If that’s all you need, I’ll say good-bye,” Catherine said. “Please feel free to finish your filming. Enzo, one of my assistants, can help you with anything you need.” She turned and walked away.

  Still disgruntled, Benjamin looked up and saw that Fabrice and Hugo had arrived at the designated spot. He faithfully followed Liza’s instructions to: examine a leaf, scoop up a handful of soil, climb the slope without hunching forward, walk slowly down the hill, avoid squinting when facing the sun, and “fix that shirt collar.” He didn’t utter a complaint.

  But when Liza told him to readjust his collar yet again, Benjamin had had enough. He yanked the clip-on microphone from his jacket. “Okay, that’s it!”

  “What happened?” Liza asked. “You’re not going to leave us like that, are you?”

  “Yes, I’m leaving like that! Sorry, Ms. Stechelmann, I’ve got better things to do.

  15

  A stranger would have surmised that peace had been restored at Château de Tremblay. Farm workers paced the northward-running plots. In the distance, a tractor wobbled between rows of chenin vines. Above them, a buzzard circled lazily. The police were gone. By this time, most of the samples collected at the scene had been analyzed in a laboratory smelling of formaldehyde.

  Benjamin entered the house without calling out. He didn’t encounter anyone and took the flight of steps leading to David Navarre’s private rooms. He knocked on the cherry-wood door and turned the knob.

  “What the hell are you doing here? Did I invite you?”

  The winemaker had expected this. “Hello, David. I came over to find out how Simone’s doing.”

  “She’s the same—stable. Do you think you can barge into my home whenever you like?” “You know very well it’s not my habit, but you haven’t been answering my calls. I took the liberty to…”

  “To come bother me! I don’t need anyone making things worse.”

  “Listen, David. I can only imagine how angry that Voici! article must have made you.”

  “That ass-wipe magazine already has my lawyers on their back! As for your assistant…”

  “Let me tell you, my assistant is as furious as you. He’s in custody in Tours.”

  “But just who is that little shit?”

  “A very good young man in whom I have total confidence. You’ll see for yourself when he comes to help you revive your land and develop your vintage. I believe everything he’s told me. He did, indeed, dance with Simone, and they exchanged a few words, but it was nothing more than that.”

  “The picture tells a different story. Don’t waste your breath, Benjamin.”

  “I know Virgile, and I can assure you that he’s an honorable young man from Bergerac who has worked for me for years. Virgile would never drug a girl, and he did nothing untoward the night of your party. He danced with her, that’s it.”

  “I don’t know your assistant from Adam, but I have no illusions about Simone’s fidelity. I’m familiar with all of her compulsions—more than she realizes.”

  Benjamin decided to throw caution to the wind. He had to bring it up. “David, I must ask you,” he said, looking the actor in the eye. “Who, other than your personal assistant, can verify that you went to bed early that night and slept through everything?”

  “What are you suggesting, Benjamin? That I would do that to Simone?” David’s face was flushed. “You’ve got to be kidding. But if you really want to verify—and what an insult that word is—you’ll have to ask my assistant if anyone else checked on me. I couldn’t tell you. I was out of it.”

  “I’m sorry, David. I spoke with your assistant while we were waiting for the ambulance, and I have no reason to doubt her. I hope her word is good enough for the authorities.” Benjamin waited a moment. “As for Virgile, I vouch for him unconditionally. He’s a remarkable professional, and I’d trust him with the keys to my office, without question. In fact, I have. He’s incredibly honest and has values I find perfectly acceptable.”

  Benjamin had said all this firmly, looking straight at David, whose blue eyes were tinged with fine red veins, signs of his pain and loneliness. The actor looked down and said nothing. Then, sighing, he got up and staggered over to a liquor cabinet on the other side of the room.

  “What are you drinking, Benjamin?”

  “I’m not drinking anything, thank you.”

  David reached for a bottle of pure malt whiskey. He poured himself a full glass and gulped it down. “I’ve been getting hammered for more than forty-eight hours now,” he said, wiping his mouth. “That’s the only way I can cope.”

  “You shouldn’t be doing this to yourself, David. You must keep it together. Simone will need you when she comes out of her coma. And you’re not alone. You know you can count on my support.”

  “When she comes out of her coma? Who knows when that will be? That’s if she survives.” The actor was about to pour another drink when someone knocked on the door.

  “That must be Gayraud. An hour late, as usual.”

  The producer came in, wearing an unctuous smile. He threw his raincoat over a chair and gave the winemaker a weak handshake. “What a surprise to see you here, Benjamin.”

  “You’re late!” David bellowed before Benjamin could answer. He downed his whiskey.

  “Forgive me. I had a meeting with Max Armond and my investors, and I couldn’t break free. Then there was heavy traffic on the highway.”

  “Problems with your fellow schemers and connivers?”

  Gayraud ignored the swipe. “They don’t want to move ahead until they know what’s going on with Simone. As a matter of fact, they’re talking about replacing her.”

  “You’re kidding, I hope.”

  “I managed to pacify them, but we might have to acquiesce. I’ve got a binder with the photos and bios of possible replacements in case Simone can’t finish the job.�
��

  “Nobody gives a damn about anyone in this business. I don’t care how big you are or how much money you make for them at the box office.”

  “Listen, it seems wise not to argue. I agree with you: Simone’s ideal for the part, and if all goes well, she’ll get through this and finish the film. But we must cover our asses and have a replacement lined up. Here’s the binder. If you could give me your opinion right away, I’d be appreciative.”

  Jean-Paul Gayraud placed the large black binder on the coffee table and opened it.

  “I’d like your opinion, Benjamin,” David said as the producer began flipping through the pages.

  “Oh, you’re taking your chances with me,” the winemaker responded. “I’m very particular.”

  “How do you like your women?” Gayraud asked.

  Benjamin ignored the misogynistic tone. “I like a hint of mystery.”

  “Well then, you’re in luck,” said David. “None of these skirts are what they seem. You can count on that. Look at these glamor shots, taken at the best angles and touched up—all of them. And just when you think you’ve found one who isn’t fake, she shows up at the audition and can’t act.”

  They went through the binder methodically, quickly eliminating the actresses who didn’t fit the bill. From time to time Benjamin gave his terse opinion. Having known David and a few others in the business, he sensed what they were looking for.

  True to form, David didn’t beat around the bush. “Too slutty,” he’d say, turning the page, or “this one doesn’t seem too bright.” The next one was awkward-looking, and the one after that had “too much boob.” Then there were the actresses who looked anorexic and the ones with bad teeth.

  They culled the prospects to five possible replacements with sufficient theatre experience and successful supporting roles in the previous two years.

  “What about this one?” Gayraud said, pointing to a blonde in a tight off-the-shoulder sweater. “Her features are similar to Simone’s, although she has a mole near her lip.”

  “Yes, I see the resemblance,” Benjamin said. “Still, she’s unique. There’s something about her. She has class and an honest face. And yet she looks very… How can I say it?”