Tainted Tokay (7 page)

17

“Y
ou sure picked a good time to go dancing on th
e Volga, boss.”

“The Volga is in Ru
ssia, Virgile.”

“That doesn't change the fact that the shit has hit the fan here, and I'm having a hard time c
leaning it up!”

“Calm down, son. Tell me wh
at's going on.”

“There's a bit of a bottlene
ck in the lab.”

“Our lab is always filled with bottlene
cks, isn't it?”

“This is no time for jokes. I'm the one who's back here trying to manage our clients. And they're not too ha
ppy right now.”

To respond to his assistant's cry for help, Benjamin had chosen to sit in a wood-trimmed armchair in the far corner of the marble-filled lobby. Virgile's panicky voice kept Benjamin from admiring the large vase in the nearby wall niche. His shoulder muscles w
ere tensing up.

Virgile continued. “Ladevèze is doing what he can, but he's not as familiar with the procedures as Alexandrine. And he's slower. Our clients are waiting too long for the results of their analyses. They're quite vexed with us at Saint Émilio
n and Pomerol!”

“Us
e Didier then.”

“Yeah, right! Didier's already kissing up to our vintners with mildew. I'm not going to let him near our othe
r clients too.”

“You're being a bit hars
h, aren't you?”

“He's not what you think, sir. He's always sweet-talking someone, always trying to cut corners and cheat people. And he's
got a temper.”

“You sound jealous. It's not
very becoming.”

“Boss, did you know that he was hanging around the lab last month? He was asking Alexandrine all kinds of questions. At first I thought he was hitting on her, but he
was being so…”

“So what?”

“Disrespectful. I heard him
say he'd never

consider…”

“
Consider what?”

“Well, okay, you asked. He didn't understand how she could be gay. Actually, he used the word dyke. He told her he'd never consider s
crewing a guy.”

“You're right, that's not very professional, is it? Her personal life is none of
his business.”

“Oh, Alex handled it perfectly, as usual. She just told him he hadn't met the
right man yet.”

Benjamin chuckled. “Okay, Virgile, he's a bit rough around the edges, but he's good at
what he does.”

“That's not the end of the story, boss. Afterward, I saw them arguing. In any case, I don't trust him. As long as I'm here and you're there, I'm going to keep him reined in.
Is that clear?”

Benjamin raised his eyebrows at Virgile's tone, but he didn't say anything. He studied an enormous bouquet of fresh flowers, all white, leaving Virgile tim
e to calm down.

“Boss? Yo
u still there?”

“What abou
t Alexandrine?”

“What about Alexandrine? I already told you she'll be out of work for a while. Her attacker really did a
number on her.”

“Will any of her injuries
be permanent?”

“According to the doctors, her sensory organs weren't affected. The optic nerve is fine, but she'll need some r
ehabilitation.”

“And her nose?”

“Broken. Don't worry. Plastic surgery does wonders these days. As far as her eyebrow ridge is concerned, the guy didn't go easy: th
ree fractures!”

“Poor thing,”
Benjamin said.

“She is a bit depressed, but she should be able to leave the
hospital soon.”

“She'll still need our
help, Virgile.”

“I'm doing what I can, boss. But I'm stretched thin, and, as I said, I don't trust Didier with our clients. There's so much to do at Cooker & Co., and the work
is piling up.”

“I understand, son. As soon as I get back your workload will ease up. By the way, has her companion been staying with her at
the hospital?”

“Let's talk about that so-called friend. She hasn't been seen or heard from. Alexandrine finally came clean. Her girlfriend left her a week ago without so much as a by-your-leave. Excellent
timing, right?”

“Hmm, interesting,” Benj
amin murmured.

“Boss, are you thinking what I'm thinking? I wouldn't be surprised if it was her girlfriend who
attacked her.”

“You're jumping to conclus
ions, Virgile.”

“Have you ever seen chicks fight? When they go at it, it's wo
rse than guys.”

“I don't know, Virgile. Alexandrine had such a good Bordeaux upbringing. It's hard to imagine her in a scuffl
e of any kind.”

“Well, in any case, I asked her out front, but she… Well, to be honest, she didn't really answer. I get the feeling there's a lot about Alexandrine that
we don't know.”

“Just see what you can find out. Keep going to the hospital. Keep talking to her. She trusts you. You might turn up a lead.” Benjamin decided to change the subject. “All right, what about the mildew situation? What's going on with that? Other than your suspicions about Did
ier, that is.”

“It's spreading, boss. It's been stormy here. The rains have hit Bergerac, Duras, the Haut Médoc, Blaye, and Entre-deux-Mers. Graves isn't quite as wet, but that's not saying much. It's gotten to the fruit in quite a few vineyards. I haven't seen anything like this i
n a long time.”

“Unfortunately, some winegrowers refuse to use copper sulfate,”
Benjamin said.

“Well, the number of ecologically minded winemakers has risen. Besides, spraying is expensive, and winegrowers save money when they cut down. But, when there's extensive damage, some go running back to th
e old methods.”

Like a physician sure of his diagnosis, the Bordeaux wine expert dictated his fungicidal treatment. He detailed each agent and exactly h
ow much to use.

“That's what I've bee
n doing, boss.”

“If you want my opinion, son, I don't think the storms will be the last of our bad weather. The forecasters are predicting anot
her heat wave.”

18

T
he next day, the Cookers ran into Claude in the hallway on their way down
to the lobby.

“Consuela's running behind schedule. Why don't we have a cup of coffee
while we wait?”

“Did she have a late night?” Benjamin asked. “We saw her at the bar when we came in around eleven. I take it you tu
rned in early.”

“Yes. The conversation wasn't all that scintillating. When I left, she was telling that guide about everyone from the cruise, in minute detail. To tell the truth, I expected her in much later, but she stumbled back to the room around midnight. I felt a bit sorry for the kid. Ship gossip wouldn't be the kind of thing a kid like him would be interested
in, I'd think.”

Elisabeth gave Benjamin a look. It wasn't the conversation that in
trigued Zoltán.

“I could use some breakfast. I'm starving,”
Elisabeth said.

Claude led Benjamin and Elisabeth into the restaurant, with its crystal chandeliers and mirrored walls, and a hostess seated them next to the American couple who had been on the same boat from Vienna. They smiled politely and focused on the menu. Just as they were about to order coffee and pastries, the ma
n leaned over.

“Did you h
ear?” he asked.

“Hear what?”
Benjamin said.

“The police were in earlier. They were showing a picture around. It was the artist from the boat. The guy w
ith the beard.”

“Why?”

“They found his body near Saint Stephen's Basilica. Shot dead. It happened last night. Sometime between ten and two i
n the morning.”

Benjamin glanced at his wife and gr
abbed her hand.

“We saw him drawing outside the basilica yesterday. We even went over and talked with him. He said his name was Connor Adamson. He was visiting his fiancée'
s cousin here.”

“I can't believe it,” Elisabeth said, l
ooking stunned.

Benjamin sighed. “His fiancée will be devastated. Do the police have a motive? A rob
bery gone bad?”

“I don't know,” the
American said.

At that moment, Consuela, pale, bleary-eyed, and looking annoyed, made her way to the table. She gulped a cup of café au lait and said she was
ready to leave.

They found Zoltán waiting for them in the lobby. He looked chipper in a brand-name black jogging suit. He was also wearing an expensive-looking pair of
athletic shoes.

Zoltán grinned and suggested that they take the tram ins
tead of taxis.

“It's fun
nier,” he said.

This made the winemaker smile. He didn't want to object, as Elisabeth still
seemed shaken.

“I feel better with somebody who knows the city, Benjamin,” Elisabeth whispered, taking her husband's arm. “He reminds me a bit of Virgile. Do you get the sa
me impression?”

“Now that you mention it,” Benjamin answered. “He's certainly a bri
ght young man.”

The tram was packed, and a number of passengers were forced to stand. In an unusually tender gesture, Consuela put her head on Claude's shoulder. Benjamin glanced at Zoltán, who was looking the other way, as if he and Consuela hadn't spent the previous evening flirting w
ith each other.

In less than ten minutes the four tourists were standing before the art nouveau façade of the Hotel Gellért. Benjamin and Claude took in every architectural detail. Elisabeth and Consuela went straight into the lobby, which was filled with mosaics and sc
ulpted columns.

They purchased the tickets to the thermal baths. The men and women went to their separate changing areas: large blue-tiled vestibules lined with cubicles that didn't lock. A prevailing atmosphere of body heat diminished any sense of modesty. Armed with their terrycloth towels, Benjamin, Claude, and their chatty guide joined Elisabeth and Consuela in the large pool. The water was hot and almost turquoise. No one was actually swimming. Instead, the bathers were luxuriating in an atmosphere of
muted elegance.

Elisabeth pointed to the glass ceiling. “So much light's coming through. It's superb. Zoltán, didn't you tell us that baths like these are actually part of the health-care system and that doctors think the spring wate
r's medicinal?”

Zoltán nodded. “Budapest has almost two dozen thermal baths. The Gellért's is the grandest. People come here not only to spend time in the water—it's always thirty-eight degrees Celsius—but also to get massages and go in the sauna. Look,” he said, gesturing toward a board game, “you can even play chess whil
e you're here.”

Benjamin asked Claude if he'd like to
start a game.

Elisabeth and Consuela talked quietly. Zoltán was showing off his muscled torso as he floated in the water. He smiled at the women from time to time without gett
ing too close.

After an hour in the pool, Elisabeth and Consuela got out to have some mint tea. Benjamin, who had lost his match against Claude, was keeping an eye on Zoltán. The tour guide seemed to be in familiar territory. Zoltán, too, had emerged from the water and had walked over to a group of older men, who seemed quite interested in him. So, was the boy selling his body regularly in order to buy his expensive shoes and pay for his
gym membership?

Benjamin had read about the infamous Ergo insurance sex party in the Gellért baths. The boy would be foolish to drum up any business here, considering all the surveillance the hotel probably had by now. But maybe he was risking it and giving these men his contact information. Zoltán's guided tours evidently had bac
k-room options.

When Benjamin told his wife what he was thinking, Elisabeth glanced at Zoltán and agreed. Consuela, however, did
n't believe it.

“He's one hundred percent hetero, I'm telling you. I know them well, the ones who s
wim both ways.”

Elisabeth corrected her with a giggle. “Y
ou mean swing.”

“Swing, if you prefer, although here swim is more appropriate,” Consuela said, throwing her damp black mane o
ver a shoulder.

“Shush,” Elisabeth said. “He's c
oming our way.”

Sure enough, Zoltán was approaching them, his stretchable polyester bathing suit hardly concealin
g his virility.

After telling him that they'd be happy to stay a little longer, Elisabeth invited Zoltán to join them for te
a. He accepted.

Benjamin was always impressed with his wife's ability to get information from people. She made it seem effortless. Benjamin listened as Elisabeth questioned Zoltán about his past and present. As he suspected, Zoltán was not a city boy. He had been in Budapest for a year and lived with his elderly and half-crazy aunt. He was from Szerencs, a godforsaken town in e
astern Hungary.

“Tokaj, you know?” he a
sked Elisabeth.

No, his parents were not winemakers. His mother did housecleaning, while his disabled father could only contribute his income from a pension and the meager amount he made on the garden vegetables he sold at market. But his Uncle Antal and cousins Pavel and Vilmos all worked in the vineyards and made a
very good wine.

“Gold wine!” he insisted, as if he were ready to divulge some magic formu
la for a price.

As Zoltán continued his story, Benjamin glanced at Consuela. She was staring at the boy while discreetly rimming her cup with the tip of her tongue. Zoltán didn't seem to notice. How pathetic, Ben
jamin thought.

From the corner of his eye, Benjamin noticed another young man. He had just winked at Zoltán. The tour guide's face tensed, and he suggested that they get dressed. They ha
d more to see.

The couples reunited in the hotel lobby a half hour later. Exiting the building, they hailed two cabs. Destination: Margaret Island. Zoltán climbed in with the Cookers and commented on all the buildings they passed. At the Margaret Bridge, he explained that this scrap of metal spanning the Danube was the work of a F
rench engineer.

“Eiffel?”
Benjamin asked.

“No, he only built towers,” Zoltán answered. Benjamin didn't bother
to correct him.

The cab came to a stop, and Benjamin and Elisabeth got out. But before the winemaker could pull out his money to pay, a frantic Claude came running up. A giant in dark glasses and leather was by his side, demanding immediate payment for
the cab ride.

When Claude had reached into his pocket, he discovered that his wallet, credit cards, and passport were missing. Benjamin tried to appease the cab driver, but he couldn't make himself heard above Consuela's shrieking. She was livid—not that her lover had been robbed, but that he was incon
veniencing her.

Benjamin paid both drivers and appealed to everyone to remain calm. Zoltán looked indignant and said he knew the address of the
French Embassy.

“No panic,” the boy kept telling Consuela, but she wasn't hearing it. She looked ready to slap him. Benjamin shook his head. When would his friend come to his senses and d
ump this woman?