Tainted Tokay (4 page)

8

T
he two couples had arranged to meet at eight that evening at the opera house, just across the street from the hotel, for a performance of Mussorgsky's
Night on Bald Mountain
. The casting promised t
o be brilliant.

The performance, however, failed to deliver. Elisabeth did a poor job of hiding her yawns, and even though Benjamin enjoyed the symphony, the orchestration wasn't as magical as it was in the movie
Fantasia
,
which he had s
een as a child.

Only Consuela had risen to her feet and burst into applause. Claude, joining her in the standing ovation, beamed at his darling, thrilled that he had given her an evening to remember. Benjamin and Elisabeth ex
changed a look.

Afterward, at Walter Bauer, a tiny restaurant on a narrow street in Old Vienna, the two couples sat next to a dark wood-paneled wall and admired the va
ulted ceilings.

“Claude, you surprise me. I would have thought the two-Michelin-star Steirereck was more to your taste,”
Benjamin said.

“I didn't want you to get too distracted by the thirty-five thousand bottles they have in their wine cellar. Besides, I consulted w
ith Elisabeth.”

Elisabeth smiled. “Benjamin, you'll like this one. It's unpretentious. It has a Michelin star, and the owner has mentored some of Austria's finest chefs. It
's a good fit.”

They ordered a mix of traditional dishes, served with flair, and enjoyed a lush aged Blaufränkisch, one of Austria's champ
ion red wines.

Claude swirled and sipped. “It's
quite subtle.”

“Note the blackberries and citr
us-like spice,”

Benjamin said.

Elisabeth studied the robe and aromas. After a few moments, she tasted the wine and swished it in her mouth, as Benjamin had taught her. She grinned when she put the glass down. “Now, that's what I call a burst of tann
ins midpalate.”

Consuela didn't contribute to the discussion. She was drinking water. An uncomfortable silence fel
l on the group.

Claude shifted in his seat. “Why is it, Benjamin, that I've never heard anything about Austrian
wines before?”

“Because of scandal, my friend. In the nineteen eighties, some Austrian winemakers were lacing their wines with diethylene glycol—or antifreeze, if you prefer. They did it to make late-harvest wines seem more full-bodie
d and sweeter.”

Elisabeth and Claude fr
owned and stop-

ped sipping.

“Don't worry. They were caught. But the Austrian wine industry collapsed and needed well over a decade to recover—with the help of
stricter laws.”

Elisabeth turned to Consuela. “Do
try the wine.”

Consuela pursed her lips
and batted her

eyelashes.

“Oh, why not?” the woman said. “It
is vacation.”

A glass of wine loosened her up a bit, and Consuela started talking about herself. She mentioned Caracas and Buenos Aires and hinted at a lifestyle strewn with travels and grueling tours—she was a dancer. Benjamin listened intently, but much of her past remained a mystery. He looked to Claude, hoping their host would fill them in, but the man remaine
d tight-lipped.

“Were you born in Buenos Aires?” E
lisabeth asked.

“No, in La Plata,” Consuela said. “It's not f
ar from there.”

“My husband often goes to Mendoza to make wine for the Bordeaux producers who have vineyards in Argentina, but he has always refused to
take me along.”

“Elisabeth, how can you say that?” Benjamin said, pretending
to be offended.

“Yes, of course, you've promised that we'll go someday. But even though you're still an English gentleman at heart, thanks to your father, you've picked up some less-than-desirable Gascon traits: when you throw out an invitation, my dear, you never specify the month or
even the year.”

Claude came to his friend's defense. “Why is it that significant others always want to tag along on work trips? No matter how exotic the destination, there's never enough time for leisure o
r sightseeing.”

Elisabeth laughed. “Don't take me for a fool, Claude. We all know that some men refuse their wives what they gladly give their mistresses—and I'm not talking about you, Benjamin. What do you th
ink, Consuela?”

“I have nothing to complain about. I am the wife of no man, just the mistress of many. And all my lovers have satisfied me in one w
ay or another…”

Benjamin saw the light go out in Claude's eyes. Now it was all out in the open. Claude was just the latest in the Latina's succession of lovers. Although Benjamin was repelled by the thought of going to bed with a woman who had taken dozens of lovers, he could understand that this might make her even more desirable to Claude, a man who needed to prove that h
e was the best.

“Claude is my latest faux pas,” she said with a laugh loud enough to m
ake heads turn.

Benjamin looked at his three companions. Consuela was wearing a form-fitting dress that revealed her deliciously tanned shoulders and arms. This woman with emerald-green eyes and sun-kissed skin knew how to draw men to her. But as gorgeous as she was, she was acting like no more than a gypsy fortune-teller—a card reader plotting out her destiny. Benjamin suddenly felt sorry for his friend Claude, who should hav
e known better.

“That calls for Champagne
,” Claude said.

“Dom Pérignon,” Consu
ela chimed in.

The server delivered the bottle, uncorked it, and poured four glasses. Benjamin raised his. “To Champagne. Like Coco Chanel, one should drink Champagne on only two occasions: when in love and whe
n not in love.”

Elisabeth bit her lip to su
ppress a smile.

Chuckling, Claude patted Consuela's knee, and she leaned over and whispered someth
ing in his ear.

Claude answered in Spanish, and the beautiful foreigner laughed even louder. He was staring at the small mol
e on her bosom.

9

B
efore heading to the port the next morning, Benjamin insisted that they get up early and have a Viennese breakfast of soft-boiled eggs, rolls, and coffee under the arched ceiling of the Café Central. Claude sent Benjamin a text message at the last minute saying they wouldn't be able to make it, so the two couples met
up at the pier.

“Turbulent, wise and great.” Hungarian writer Attila József's line in a poem about the Danube came to Benjamin as he waited there with Elisabeth, Claude, and Consuela. The Danube wasn't quite as grand in Vienna as it w
as in Budapest.

Benjamin lit his robusto while Elisabeth and Consuela fussed with their luggage. Claude was on his phone, settling urgent matters at the publishing house. The race was on for literary prizes, and Claude needed to advance his pawns in order to persuade the jury. It would take some lobbying, as well as a fair amount of circuitous maneuvering. But he ex
celled in both.

Claude pretended to be modest. In fact, he was envied by his colleagues, feared by his associates, hated by some members of the press, and praised by others. He was an integral member of all the inner circles that counted, and every year he pulled off one publishing coup
after another.

Claude was also a voracious reader and an indefatigable worker. He was erudite, refined, and curious about everything. In these respects, he and Benjamin were very similar. Their long-standing friendship was based largely on their shared affinities, which were just as important as the success of the
Cooker Guide
.
The two men celebrated their bonds with glasses of vintage Chasse-Spleen and amber Armagnac, along with Montecristos and Épicure No. 2 cigars. And with unbridled imagination, they philosophized. The cruise on the Danube promised moments of charm a
nd tranquility.

Claude ended his call just as they were boarding the ship. Looking preoccupied, he started to put his arm around Consuela. But she stepped in front of him and sashayed past a group of young crewmembers in white shirts. They all stopped and stared, which made Elisabeth give Benjamin another one of her “did you see that” looks. Embarrassed for his friend, Benjamin ignored it and handed a five-euro note to the man taking charge
of their bags.

The Danube was silty, and the sky was ashen. This wasn't the way Benjamin had envisioned leaving Vienna. He watched the women head off to their cabins and turned
to his friend.

A siren blared at the rear of the boat, and suddenly the dock was far away. Minutes later, the Ferris wheel in the amusement park was no more than a pinwheel lost in the distance, and the spire of the Gothic Maria am Gestade church was trying in vain to pierce the black clouds hovering over the Austrian capital. Vienna was dissolving in the morning light. Beyond the hills, a thunderstorm was brewing. Beneath them, the wind was rippling the waters of the Danube and spraying gray foam onto i
ts miry banks.

At the prow, Claude borrowed Benjamin's lighter to rekindle his Havana. The two men puffed and silently took in the landscape. Flashes of lightning, followed by heavy drops of rain, soon dissuaded them from playing lookout any longer. The thunderstorm was quickly rolling toward the Danube. A second later, lightning struck a clump of poplars nex
t to the river.

Claude and Benjamin retreated
to the sitting

room.

“Benjamin, this cruise line may not have sleek longships, but it does have charm and authenticity. I told Consuela it was ju
st your style.”

And because the publishing house was picking up the tab, the lower cost had most likely suited him, Benjamin thought. The sitting room, with its leatherette armchairs, faded posters, and Art Deco–inspired bar wasn't exactly charming, but he still liked the unpretentious fe
el of the ship.

Most of the passengers seemed to have taken refuge inside. They weren't numerous: a mismatched couple probably from the United States; three Asian tourists; some corpulent men who looked Russian; two red-haired girls, freckled and as tall as poplars; a bearded man, English or Scottish, clutching a sketchbook; an old woman in a wheelchair accompanied by a dour attendant; two tanned men wearing similar expensive watches and designer shirts; and finally a willowy young woman with straight blond hair that fell to her shoulders. She was wearing a turtleneck and a long cape, reminding Benjamin of Michèle Morgan in
La Symphonie Pastorale
,
which he had seen several years earlier in a film
retrospective.

“Have I ever told you, Claude, that my one regret to date is never having experienced an ocean crossing from Southampto
n to New York?”

“Does that stem from some nostalgia for old
-style luxury?”

“Claude, it is so much more. ‘Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight
of the shore.'”

“André Gide,” Claude responded. “A man who fearlessly explored the shores of h
is own nature.”

Benjamin nodded. This man of letters was as facile with quotes as he was. “Let's explore this ship, my friend,” he said, taking Claude's elbow. “And I think we should sta
rt at the bar.”

In anticipation of the vineyards in the Eger region, which had been making wine since the thirteenth century, Benjamin proposed ordering two glasses of Egri Bikavér. This most famous of Hungarian wines was a deep crimson, true to its name
, bull's blood.

Benjamin was hoping it would lift their spirits. Claude seemed disturbed by his phone call. Benjamin, meanwhile, couldn't shake his worries about Alexandrine. The two friends remained mostly silent as they sipped their drinks and watched the landscape pass by, commenting only now and then on the fauna and flora, some onion-shaped domes, a pair of gray herons, a migratory bird rising from a reedy marsh, and the black poplars. Nothing terribly exotic. Just the last stretch before they re
ached the East.

The beautiful Consuela, in a clingy black dress slit to her satiny thigh, interrupted the men's somber musings. Claude slipped his arm around her waist. Without a word, the woman picked up Claude's glass and sipped his bull's blood. No sooner had she tasted it than she made a face and spit it bac
k in the glass.

“How do you drink this stuff, Claude? Some Champagne! Nothing but Champagne!” she ordered the bartender, who was already undressing her
with his eyes.

10

V
irgile said a few words to the duty nurse. Her cheeks turned red, and he flashed one of his grins before heading to Alexandrine's room. He was bearing
praslines
from Blaye. Benjamin had told him all about this caramel-coated almond delicacy during a walk through the fortified town. It was named after a certain Count of Plessis-Praslin, a seventeenth-century military man with a delicate stomach. Virgile, however, was more interested in the crunchy texture and mildly toasted flavor of the
prasline
th
an its history.

Alexandrine actually smiled at the sight of him, which was an improvement. One wall in the room had been painted a solid green, and she had a view out the window—not of the fountain in the main co
urtyard though.

He sat down in the single chair next to the bed. He told her about the tests they were running in the lab and the calls they were getting. Then he filled her in on Benjamin's lat
est adventures.

“He wants me to call in Didier More
l to help out.”

Alexandrine turned and looked out the window. They sat in
silence a bit.

“I don't mean to pry, Alexandrine, but I've been curious about something. I thought you had a girlfriend, but I haven't seen her at
the hospital.”

“Chloé? We had a fight, the week
before I was…”

“You were living together
, weren't you?”

“Not really. It depended on our moods. She was an insanely
jealous woman.”

“Are you saying that you we
re unfaithful?”

“You're a fine one to talk! You, the unrepentant womanizer, calling me promiscuous? I'd be careful
if I were you.”

“That's not what I mean, Alex. Believe me. It's just that I don't understand your Chloé. If she really loved you, she'd be at your side at the hospital. I don't care how mad she was. She would have put her anger aside and been with you. Unless she was the one who
attacked you.”

“Just forget about Chloé. Get it? It's over! Finished. And she had nothing to do with
what happened.”

“So she's not the one who beat your face in? Maybe you just don't want to report her to the police. People in love do
stupid things.”

“Do you really believe what
you're saying?”

“Yup, and I'm not the only one. The cops don't believe you're telling the whole story either. Alex, you need to put your cards
on the table.”

“So, according to you, I'
m nothing but a

filthy liar.”

“Alex, you are a desirable, sweet, intelligent, and capable woman. As far as Cooker & Co. is concerned, you're indispensable. Your personal life concerns only you. What I'm saying is that you need to be honest about thi
s. That's all.”

Alexandrine turned away. Virgile stayed for a while, but she closed her eyes and so
on fell asleep.

Virgile wandered down the hall to find the coffee machine. Before leaving the floor, he turned back to wave good-bye to the duty nurse, and he could have sworn that he saw Didier Morel, with the curly dark hair and muscular shoulders, mak
ing her giggle.