Vintage (35 page)

She couldn’t help wondering where Axel was right then. She hadn’t seen him in Champagne since that morning after the harvest when she ignored him. She knew no one who could pass on any gossip.

Forget him, Madeleine told herself. There was no point being sentimental about their childhood friendship. He’d shown his true colors. She put the photo back in the box and retied the string around it.

Madeleine worked on into the night until the apartment was completely packed away. As she looked at her London life, reduced to so many boxes, she couldn’t help but feel a little sad. But she was Champagne Arsenault now. And even on this trip she was representing her champagne house. There was no time for tears. Wouldn’t do to have puffy eyes when she began her rounds of the wine importers the following morning.

When morning came, Madeleine dressed carefully in one of the few suits she had kept. It was a soft gray Armani skirt suit, bought off the rack but carefully taken in at the waist by Madeleine’s trusty seamstress so that it looked as though it had been made for her. She teamed the suit with a pair of vertiginously high heels. They weren’t the most sensible choice, given the amount of running around she would be doing that day, but Madeleine knew that most of the people she would be meeting with were men in their
fifties and sixties. They appreciated a nice pair of heels and, as she had always done in the banking world, Madeleine was determined to use every advantage she had to get what she needed. If pandering to a stereotypically male fantasy was what it would take, Madeleine would do it. She got out her red lipstick and painted herself a Monroe mouth.

The Arsenault name still opened doors. The wine crowd in London seemed happy to see her. They remembered her father, if not exactly fondly, then with amusement. They knew that Constant had let the house fall apart in recent years. But they were generally impressed by the results of his final vintage.

Madeleine had prepared a rousing sales pitch, full of talk of history and family pride. Combined with her killer shoes and a shirt unbuttoned ever so slightly too low, it seemed to work. At least, Madeleine found herself on the receiving end of several invitations to lunch at private clubs, if not orders … Unfortunately for the gentlemen of St. James’s, Madeleine already had a lunch appointment.

Of the calls she had made before leaving for London, Madeleine felt most optimistic about her conversation with Piers Mackesy, proprietor of Mackesy & Co., the wine merchant. For a start, he had taken her call personally. While most of the other big players had Madeleine arrange things with their assistants, Piers had come straight on the line himself.

“How wonderful to hear from you,” he said. “I was wondering how long it would take. I was so relieved when I heard you’d decided to stay on in France and run the house yourself. I had a terrible thought you might sell to that bugger Mathieu Randon.”

Madeleine liked Piers Mackesy at once. She told him she would be delighted to join him for lunch after their meeting.

As she sat in the waiting room at Mackesy & Co., Madeleine wondered what Piers would be like. She had met his father, Philip, founder of the company, several times in the early 1980s, when she was just a kid. Philip Mackesy must have been in his late forties then. Madeleine remembered him as a dapper sort of chap. Always beautifully dressed, he drove a fire-engine red Aston Martin DB4. He was the epitome of a young French girl’s image of an Englishman.

Philip Mackesy would often stay in the Arsenault family home on his visits to Champagne to see suppliers. Madeleine and Georges loved to see his car pull in through the gates of Champagne Arsenault. Georges, obsessed with James Bond, was absolutely in love with the DB4. Madeleine was quietly keen to get her hands on the gifts that Philip Mackesy always had for her: toys that weren’t available in France, English chocolate.

Madeleine’s father and Philip were good friends as well as business associates. Once business was concluded, Constant and Philip would sit up for hours, drinking and playing cards, which was how Constant Arsenault actually came to own the DB4 for approximately six months, until Philip Mackesy won it back in another game. Constant Arsenault’s beloved Facel Vega HK500 made its own cross-channel trip shortly afterward, but Philip refused to let Constant try to secure its return in another game. Constant was devastated. Madeleine assumed that was why the two men drifted apart. Which was a terrible pity for Madeleine, who had quite a crush on Philip Mackesy’s old-fashioned movie star looks … 

Philip Mackesy’s son didn’t disappoint.

Tall and slim with plenty of wavy dark hair, Piers Mackesy was dressed like a City gent in a navy blue pinstriped suit. He wore a crisp white shirt beneath and a silk tie that was printed with teddy bears.

“Oh, hello,” he said. “It’s
you.”

He extended a hand toward her.

Madeleine blushed crimson, remembering when she and Piers Mackesy had collided. Her nose in his chest as she exited ExCeL at high speed.

“Creed,” she nodded.

“What?” asked Mackesy.

“Your aftershave. Creed Royal Water.”

“Spot on,” he said, ushering Madeleine into his office. “I should have known that Constant Arsenault’s daughter would have a very fine nose.”

They lunched in the café at Ludbrooks, the auction house on Old Bond Street. As luck would have it, a wine sale was in progress that day. Mackesy quizzed a few of his friends on the prices that were being achieved. Madeleine goggled at the figures.

Mackesy listened attentively while Madeleine trotted out her speech about the future of Champagne Arsenault. He nodded approvingly when she told him about that year’s Clos Des Larmes. He promised that he would give very careful consideration indeed to taking some of her father’s last non-vintage Brut off her hands.

Business over, they moved on to more general matters. Madeleine recalled her fondness for Mackesy’s father.

“Pushing up daisies since 1997, I’m afraid,” he informed her. “But the DB4 is still in fine shape. I’m driving
it myself. Perhaps I should come to Champagne and take you for a spin.”

Madeleine looked into Mackesy’s dark blue eyes, set off so attractively by the crinkles of forty-five years’ worth of smiling and saw trouble. Then she glanced down at his wedding ring and saw even more.

“Perhaps,” she said, shaking her head at the same time.

The following morning, while Madeleine was lounging in her hotel room, flicking through the TV channels, Piers Mackesy called.

Madeleine swallowed nervously at the sound of the wine importer’s voice. “Hi, Piers,” she said. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again so quickly.”

It had to be bad news, Madeleine decided. If Mackesy wanted to take Champagne Arsenault he would not have got back to her so soon. He would have been working out figures, percentages, that sort of thing.

“Is this a good time to talk?” he asked.

Definitely bad news, thought Madeleine.

“Fire away,” she said.

“Since you’re in London until tomorrow, I was wondering whether you might be available to come out with me this evening? It’d be a busman’s holiday for you, I’m afraid.”

“Busman’s holiday?”

“I’d like to invite you to join me for a wine tasting at Berry Bros. We’d be going incognito. Checking out the competition. I’m thinking of setting up some tastings in my own cellars next year.”

“Oh.” Madeleine was surprised.

“So, what do you say? It’s wine and chocolate. Isn’t that what you girls like?”

“I think I could force myself,” Madeleine replied. “Though I thought it was the wine producer who had to give the importer bribes. Not the other way around.”

Mackesy laughed. “I’ll let you make it up to me.”

At half past six Madeleine arrived at the St. James’s Street premises of Berry Bros. & Rudd. She was familiar with the place, of course. On her very first visit to London, aged eight, her father had taken her to visit the Queen’s wine merchants.

Madeleine was ushered through the courtyard to the cellar where the tasting would be taking place. She was early. A waitress took her coat and pressed a glass of champagne into her hand. It was Berry’s own label. Not bad. She sipped it slowly as she studied the artworks around the room.

Mackesy arrived a little later. Madeleine slyly watched him as he handed his coat and briefcase to the girls by the door. He was wearing a dark gray suit; well cut, it skimmed his slim body perfectly. Beneath the suit, he wore a white shirt with blue stripes and a tie patterned with small bunny rabbits and Easter eggs, though Easter had long since passed.

Catching sight of her across the room, he smiled broadly and headed over. He went to kiss her on the cheek but at the same time a waitress tried to offer him a glass of champagne. Flustered, he accidentally kissed Madeleine on the lips instead. She stepped back, laughing.

“Good to see you too,” she said.

“I did that deliberately.” He winked.

“Just as I feared.”

He joined her on a tour of the room, reading the framed cartoons. For the most part, they weren’t that funny, but it gave them something to do. Though it was beginning to fill up, the room was horribly quiet, as
though it were the crypt of a church rather than a wine cellar. Some of the other guests looked terribly serious. It was a relief when the Berry Bros. representative clinked a couple of glasses together and asked everyone to take their seats.

“Let’s get this party started,” said Mackesy.

Mackesy and Madeleine were right at the front.

“No chance of misbehaving,” Mackesy observed.

“Have they put you here based on past behavior?” Madeleine asked.

The woman from Berry Bros. introduced that evening’s special guest, Monsieur Radanne from Château de Cacao. Madeleine was pleased to see that his company would be providing the chocolate for that evening’s tasting. A box of chocolates from the Château de Cacao was one of her favorite indulgences.

Monsieur Radanne spoke very little English, the woman from Berry Bros. explained, and thus she would be translating.

“You’ll have to tell me what she misses out,” Mackesy whispered.

A group of uniformed waitresses began to distribute the first of the chocolates.

“This is the first thing I’ve eaten all day,” said Mackesy, sticking his chocolate straight in his mouth and reaching for another one.

“You’re going to taste champagne on an empty stomach?” Madeleine raised her eyebrows. “I do hope you’re not going to embarrass yourself.”

Mackesy gave her his best schoolboy grin.

Madeleine pretended to ignore him and examined the list of wines.

“A Krug rosé,” she observed. “They’re spoiling us.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Mackesy as he poked at the chocolate on his plate with the knife and fork that had
been provided. “Is this all the bloody chocolate we’re allowed?”

“Ssssh.”

Monsieur Radanne was explaining, at great length, how the process of tasting should proceed.

“A sip of champagne,” said his translator. “Just enough to coat the mouth. Then a bite of the chocolate. Not more than a third.”

“I am going to faint from hunger,” Mackesy muttered.

“Pay attention.” Madeleine sniffed at her first glass of champagne and took a dainty sip.

“What do you think?” Mackesy asked as Madeleine took a little of the chocolate.

“Not bad. Though the texture is a little oily.”

Madeleine wrote her observation down on the forms that had been provided.

“Swot,” said Mackesy.

Before Madeleine had a chance to protest, Monsieur Radanne was rattling on again, elaborating, this time, on why the second of his chocolates was called “Takhrai.”

“Monsieur Radanne created this chocolate after a research trip to Southeast Asia,” began the translator.

“It’s the Thai word for ‘lady-boy,’ ” said Mackesy with authority.

“It’s Thai for ‘lemongrass,’ ” Madeleine corrected him.

“Not half so exciting. What do you think?”

“Seems a shame to mix anything at all with this Krug.”

“I agree.”

Mackesy and Madeleine both discarded Monsieur Radanne’s lemongrass-infused chocolate truffle. Madeleine made another note.

“You need to work harder,” said Mackesy.

“What?” Madeleine looked up from her clipboard.

Mackesy gestured at her tasting glasses. They were all
considerably fuller than his. Madeleine gamely took another swig of the Krug.

After the next combination, an Australian Shiraz and a ginger-infused chocolate ganache, Madeleine scribbled “fascinating.” Mackesy leaned across and added his own note next to hers. “Like you.”

Madeleine turned to look at him. He held her gaze with the cheeky blue eyes that belied his age. She couldn’t help blushing.

Monsieur Radanne held forth about the next combination.

“A twenty-year-old port,” said the translator.

“Twenty,” Madeleine wrote in her notes.

“Like you make me feel,” Mackesy added in his erratic handwriting.

Madeleine felt even younger. They were passing notes like a couple of schoolchildren.

“Are you flirting with me?” she wrote.

“I thought you’d never notice,” Mackesy replied. “Should I stop?” he added a moment later.

Perhaps it was something in the air. While a junior chef from Château de Cacao embarked on a live demonstration of the making of a chocolate ganache, Monsieur Radanne took the opportunity to slip his arm around his young translator’s slim waist. The guests who had looked so dull as they piled into the cellar straight from work were beginning to warm up too, shouting out questions and comments. Of course, the melted chocolate invited the usual English smattering of double entendres.

A waitress handed Mackesy and Madeleine two small cups of still warm ganache to try with a ginger liquer. Madeleine dipped a finger into the cup daintily.

“I can think of better ways to eat this,” said Mackesy.

“Don’t
tell me,” Madeleine said quickly.

“Of course not. I’d rather show you,” he replied. “You’ve got a smudge of chocolate on the end of your nose,” he continued. “Shall I lick it off?”