Vintage (54 page)

“You’ve got the money?”

“You seem surprised. I had a windfall. I sold some of my father’s cherished wine collection at auction earlier in the spring. Mouton ’45. I believe you have a penchant for that vintage.”

Randon’s face remained almost expressionless but Madeleine saw his pupils contract before he turned and began to talk to someone else as though she had never been there.

Madeleine shrugged. She turned to look for Mackesy. Axel caught her by the arm.

“I need to speak to you,” he said.

“I don’t need to speak to you. Don’t you see I deal directly with your boss these days? I talk to the organgrinder, not the monkey.”

“Do you really think he’s going to leave you alone if you give him that money, Madeleine? He means to have Clos Des Larmes whatever he has to do to get it. Trying to humiliate him like that? You just put your head in the noose.”

Madeleine snorted.

“Look, I know what he can do. We need to talk about this more, but not here. I’m going to slip out after the entrées have been served. You do likewise. We’ll meet in your room. I can’t risk going back to mine. What is your room number?”

“My room? Why would I tell you?”

“Because you need me now. You need to hear what I’ve got to say.”

“You work for Randon, Axel. Why should I trust you?”

“Because I love you.”

“I love you.”

Madeleine just stared at him as he repeated the words that she had longed to hear when they lay side by side in bed five years before. Now she could only assume that he was dropping those words out as some sort of trick. He had treated her with such disdain. For the past five years he had worked for a man whose only source of pleasure seemed to be to threaten Champagne Arsenault. And yet … 

“I mean it,” Axel said. He took both her hands in his and squeezed. And as he did so there was seriousness in his eyes. Something that couldn’t be faked. “Go back to Mackesy now,” he said. “But meet me in your room later. I need to get out of this, Madeleine. We need each other.”

“It’s 3709,” she told him.

“Thank you.”

The guests had been instructed to take their places. Mackesy looked at Madeleine quizzically as she took her seat beside him.

“Your friend Delaflote looked a bit agitated,” he said. “I expect he’s desperate because I have you and he doesn’t.”

“You don’t have me,” Madeleine reminded him. “You have a wife.”

“Sometimes you’re such a pedant.” Mackesy smiled.

As the waiting staff began to swirl around the room setting amuse-bouches on the plates of every guest, Madeleine glanced behind her to the Domaine Randon table. Axel was sitting two places from Mathieu Randon. He had a woman on each side. He didn’t look terribly desperate about anything right now. Madeleine decided that when Axel left the ballroom to meet her, she would remain exactly where she was.

K
elly found herself sitting next to Gerry Paine. Like Madeleine Arsenault and Ronald Ginsburg, he had been kind enough not to mention the circumstances of their first meeting at the London wine fair. Until now.

A waiter accidentally dropped a couple of peas in Gerry’s lap as he placed a serving dish on the table.

“It’s nothing,” Gerry insisted as he flicked the peas onto the floor. “No need to worry. On the other hand,” he turned to Kelly, “I think you still owe me some money for a dry-cleaning bill.”

Gerry let Kelly go pale before he made it clear it was just a joke.

Hilarian watched Kelly and Gerry Paine from a few tables away. He’d winced on her behalf when he saw her sit
down next to the silly man, but after a few minutes Kelly seemed to have recovered herself and she and Gerry were chatting amiably.

“Your little girl has really grown up these past few years,” said Ronald Ginsburg as he squeezed himself into the seat next to Hilarian. “I’m looking forward to seeing if you’ve made a winemaker of her.”

“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” said Hilarian.

“I hope not,” said Odile as she sat down on Hilarian’s other side. “I still intend to collect on this bet we made. Anyone want to raise the stakes while we still can? One hundred thousand sterling each?”

Hilarian and Ronald gawped at Odile.

“Have you gone insane?” Hilarian asked.

“No. I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t know who was going to win.”

“You think you’re going to win?” Ronald was aghast. “Oh, Odile. You are a very silly girl.”

“If you think I’m so silly, Ronald, you’ll be happy to raise your stake. Or are you just blustering to cover up the fact that you’re scared I know exactly what I’m doing?”

“Er, guys,” Hilarian interrupted them. “We’re not really going to raise the stakes, are we? I mean, as it stands, whoever wins tonight will walk away with one hundred and fifty grand, including Gerry’s prize.”

“Hilarian,” said Odile. “You look nervous. Do you want out?”

Odile pulled her checkbook out of her bag. She filled in a check for a hundred thousand pounds but left the payee blank.

“The money is in my account,” she said. “Come on, boys, double or quits.”

Their conversation was cut short when Gerry Paine popped his head between Hilarian and Odile.

“Looking forward to hearing the results, boys and girl?”

“I am ready to wet myself,” said Hilarian.

Christina’s guest for the evening was Marisa. Their table was full of people who had made big donations to ISACL for the chance to sit near Christina Morgan, but she wasn’t interested in making small talk with anybody. Instead, she huddled close to Marisa and argued with her about the best way to confront Odile that night.

“Just a second,” said Marisa. “What was the name of the guy who sent Greg the pictures again?”

“Fraser. It was Jeremy Fraser.”

Marisa pouted her bottom lip as she considered the name.

“Wasn’t it Fraser who handled that French girl who fucked Bill?” Marisa mused.

“Yes,” said Christina. “It was.”

“And who set that up?”

Christina’s eyes automatically flickered toward the Domaine Randon table.

“Have you considered that maybe Odile doesn’t know that the photographs were even taken?” Marisa asked.

“They’re friends,” said Christina. “They set me up together. Jesus, I thought that Randon might have given up on getting his revenge on me by now.”

“What do you want to do?” asked Marisa. “I can have someone look into it tomorrow and find out for sure whether Randon’s involved.”

“Oh, he’s involved,” said Christina. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Axel hardly touched his entrée. Instead, he moved the food around his plate while he waited for the perfect moment
to make his exit. From time to time he glanced over at Madeleine, hoping to catch her eye. But he didn’t. He hoped it was because she understood the importance of being subtle and was doing a very good job of watching Axel’s movements without alerting anyone to the fact.

“Excuse me.” While Randon was deep in conversation with a senior guy from Galaxy, the world’s largest wine and spirit company, Axel slipped away. He practically ran to the elevator and headed straight for the thirty-seventh floor. He found an alcove with a view of the door to Madeleine’s room and waited there.

But she didn’t come. Fifteen minutes later and Axel was still alone. He worried now that Randon would have noticed his absence from the table. How much longer would Madeleine make him wait? This was taking subtlety too far. Twenty minutes. Twenty-five…

Axel waited thirty minutes before he gave up on her. It didn’t matter anyway. He didn’t have to tell her what he knew before he did what was right. Axel knew exactly who had torched Champagne Arsenault. He’d transferred the money to Mick Tremblant’s offshore account. Axel knew Randon thought he had him over a barrel. Randon knew about the prostitutes. Hell, Randon had set some of the meetings up. But what did Axel care if the whole world found out what kind of guy he was? Only the opinion of one woman had ever mattered to him anyway. He’d loved Madeleine Arsenault since he was a child.

He knew that going to the police was a dangerous move. He was as guilty of arson as the sidekick of Mick’s who lit the match. There were other things too that would have to come out. Stefan Urban, he hoped, would vouch for Axel’s good character and explain the difficulties of working for a man with a talent for intimidation like Mathieu Randon. JeanChristophe, the winemaker, could attest to the threatening
atmosphere at the champagne house. And even if a court didn’t excuse Axel for his weakness in the face of Randon’s bullying, and chose to send him down, still it would be worth it to see Randon destroyed.

It started now.

Axel opened his Motorola and dialed France. He called the office of the serious fraud squad in Paris and began the tale.

“Where are you now, Monsieur Delaflote?” asked the woman who took his call.

He gave her his exact whereabouts.

“Thank you for your call. I’d advise you to stay where you are. We will be in touch with you very shortly.”

Axel closed his phone and exhaled in relief. He took the memory stick containing a backup of his computer files from Maison Arsenault and slipped it under the door to Madeleine’s room.

A
xel Delaflote rejoined the Domaine Randon table just as Gerry Paine announced that it was time to present
Vinifera’s
“Wine of the Year Awards.” A ripple of excitement spread through the diners, both those who had submitted wines for judging and those who had taken part in the judging panels.

Odile, Hilarian and Ronald alternately nodded their
approval or bitched as the winners in each category were read out. Ronald had been on the judging panel for Bordeaux-style reds.

“Are you going senile?” Odile hissed at him when the winner in that category was read out.

“Got your period again?” Ronald asked when he heard the winners in Odile’s speciality.

But both Odile and Ronald were quietly impressed by Hilarian’s choices in the “stickies,” as the ultra-sweet wines were called.

“At last,” said Gerry. “The moment we have all been waiting for. At least, the moment that I have been waiting for. As you know, almost five years ago, I came up with the idea of a contest for three of my favorite wine critics … ”

“Here we go,” said Ronald.

“I forgot it was all Gerry’s idea,” said Odile.

“…  I challenged them each to find and champion a sparkling wine from that year’s vintage. Odile Levert championed Champagne Arsenault of France.”

“Of course it’s of France,” said Odile testily. “It’s champagne.”

“Ronald Ginsburg chose the Villa Bacchante of California’s own Napa Valley.”

“Are you going to split your winnings with Gerry if you come out on top?” Hilarian asked Ronald as he remembered how Ronald’s sponsorship of Bacchante had really come about.

“Hilarian Jackson of England chose Froggy Bottom.”

Hilarian looked over to Guy and Kelly, who were now sitting side by side. He gave them the thumbs-up.

“And so, five years later, each of the vineyards has released its vintage and today, in
Vinifera’s
first ever Gloria Cup competition, they were compared side by side in a blind tasting by some of the wine world’s most distinguished
palates. The results are in.” Gerry waved three envelopes. One bronze. One silver. One gold. “And I’d like to invite
Vinifera
columnist Odile Levert onto the stage to make the presentation of this year’s bronze medal.”

Odile got to her feet. “The moment of truth draws ever closer.”

She strode across the stage to a very satisfying round of applause and took the bronze-colored envelope that Gerry held out to her.

“Here goes,” she said. “This year’s bronze medal in the Gloria Cup goes to … ”

She ripped the top of the envelope and pulled out the slip of paper inside.

“The Villa Bacchante for its Carneros Blanc de Noirs!”

Odile led the applause as Christina Morgan rose from her seat and walked up to the stage, weaving through the tables with all the elegance and assurance her years on the catwalk afforded her. The sequins on her platinum-colored dress caught the light and gave the appearance of a curious kind of aura. She looked like a goddess. Half a dozen men jumped up to help Christina climb the stairs.