Tainted Tokay (11 page)

29

V
irgile opened the window to get some a
ir in the room.

“Nice view,” Didier said, pointing at the patch of the Garonne and the
bits of statue.

“Buckle it, Didier,” Virgile said, pulling up a stool to sit on and leaving the two-seater Ikea sofa to Alexandr
ine and Didier.

“Sit down, the two of you. I want
some answers.”

There was a long moment of silence. Didier gazed from one bare wall to another. Alexandrine stared at her hands, folded in he
r lap. Finally,

she spoke. “Didier and I have known each other since we were
kids, Virgile.”

“A
re you lovers?”

“I won't answer that ques
tion, Virgile.”

“Whatever your relationship, how do I know he's not the one who hurt you? You were fighting last week at the
lab—I saw you.”

“We weren't fighting
,” Didier said.

“Then it was a he
ated argument.”

“Didier and I disagreed on what he should do about t
he Blanchards.”

“T
he Blanchards?”

Alexandrine and Didier looked
at each other.

“Come on
, out with it!”

“Jules and his wife, Marie-Claire, are trying to oust Florence from the château and the business. Jules has always blamed her for their parents' death. Don't ask me why. They were in a terrible car crash. Florence wasn't even there—thank God. Now he's found papers that prove she was adopted, and he's claiming that she's not a legal heir. An insult to anyone who's adopted,
if you ask me.”

Virgile had stood up and
was pacing now.

“Wait, wait… How do you know all
this, Didier?”

Alexandrine and Didier ex
changed glances

again.

“Virgile, he works for them,” Al
exandrine said.

“No, this is very personal. He wouldn't know that in his position. Come on, even Mr. Cooker doesn't know this. Didier, you're sleeping with Florenc
e, aren't you?”

Didier
didn't respond.

“It doesn't matter,” Al
exandrine said.

Virgile ran his hands through his hair and put them on his hips. “What were you
arguing about?”

“He wants to get their relationship out in the open and fight for the château. I say that it's a family affair, and he should s
tay out of it.”

“Okay, okay. Whatever. What I want to know, Didier, is why you were snooping around Alex's place yesterday. I saw you trying to get in. What we
re you doing?”

“I dropped by the hospital and she'd left. I thought she might be home. That's all. You know how they are at hospitals. They never tell
you anything.”

“So, why are
you here now?”

“Well, I figured if she wasn't at home, she'd be with you—after all the time you've spent with her since
she was hurt.”

“How… how do you… Oh, never mind. Why do you need to see Alex? Wha
t's so urgent?”

Didier turned
to Alexandrine.

“Alex, I saw your father outsi
de your house.”

The blood drained from Alex
andrine's face.

30

B
enjamin stared at his wife and let go. Zoltán saw his opportunity. He freed himself from Claude's hold and sprang into the vines. He was out of sight in a mat
ter of seconds.

Below them a flock of partridges rose into the air, most likely disturbed from their plunder of the grapes by Zoltán's headlong dash toward town. It was useless
to pursue him.

“At least I have the car keys,” Ben
jamin muttered.

“Let's just hope the car has enough steam to get us back to town,”
Elisabeth said.

“If it's steam we need, I think you can supply it, sweetheart. Even considering what you let off when you slapped our tour guide, I'm sure you have more where t
hat came from.”

“You know me, Benjamin. I can only be pushed so far. And I can't believe I let myself be deceived
by that boy.”

“It happens to the best of us,” Claude said, his face still red with anger
. “Look at me.”

And with that he kicked the door of the lime-green Trabant, adding one more dent
to the jalopy.

Behind the steering wheel, the usually in-control Benjamin Cooker felt like he had no control whatsoever. Even when he pushed the brake to the floor, the car kept going, although in no particular direction. The engine was rattling, and he heard another alarming noise each time he shifted gears. The speedometer looked ready to fall off the dashboard. The gas gauge, meanwhile, was quivering so much, Benjamin feared they would run out of fuel at the next bend in the road. The winemaker grumbled. If only he had his Mercedes 280
SL convertible.

“So, Benjamin, we're having quite the adventure, aren't we?” said Claude, who was sitti
ng next to him.

“If you're trying to humor me, it's not working,” Benjamin answered, his eyes on the lookout for potholes. “Let's just hope we make it back to town. I'm counting on your navigational skil
ls, my friend.”

Elisabeth was brooding in the backseat. Benjamin didn't blame her. She had allowed herself to be taken in by Zoltán and his band of petty thieves. A young man with an angelic face had managed to charm her in a church, and she had even championed him. Benjamin knew she'd have a hard time for
giving herself.

Claude took out his phone, but he was unable to
pull up a map.

“If only we had been smart enough to bring
one,” he said.

Like a magician, Benjamin reached into his jacket and pulled out a tourist brochure listing the best T
okaji wineries.

“Hurray!” Claude yelled. A second later he grabbed the seat. Benjamin was trying to negotiate a final turn into the vil
lage of Tarcal.

It took them fifteen minutes to get back to their inn. When they arrived, a black-and-white police car and an ambulance, its lights flashing, were parked in front. Two paramedics were coming out the door with an unmoving form on a gurney. Benjamin and Claude rushed out of the car. It was Consuela. Her eyes were closed, and drool was trickling from the corner of her mouth. One of the paramedics was holding an IV bag above her head. Claude tried to intervene, but the police officers
held him back.

“She's with me!” he yell
ed desperately.

Benjamin looked for Elisabeth. She was standing by the Trabant, pale and cl
early fatigued.

“This is all too m
uch,” she said.

“You nee
d to lie down.”

Benjamin put his arm around her and led her to the inn, passing the officers and the paramedics. By now the innkeeper had emerged, and she was suspiciously
eyeing Claude.

As soon as they were in the lobby, Elisabeth turned to Benjamin and told him she'd be okay. “I can get myself to our room. Don't worry. Go out and help Claude.
He needs you.”

Benjamin kissed his wife's cheek and went outside. The innkeeper was waving her arms and talking to the officers. Benjamin didn't understand what she was saying, but then one of the officers demanded Claude's papers. He produced the emergency passport issued by the F
rench embassy.

“This looks like a forged document to me,” the officer said, handing it to
his colleague.

“What are you talking about?” Claude was nearly hysterical. “My papers were stolen in Budapest. This has the seal of the Fr
ench embassy.”

“Sir, you're going to have to
come with us.”

Claude now looked bewildered. “Where have you t
aken Consuela?”

“The woman has been taken to the hospital. Now
come with us.”

Benjamin knew it wasn't the right time to mention how their tour guide, a native of this very area, had fleeced them. And for sure he wasn't going to mention the fact that they were driving the boy's car, which was most likely stolen. The situation was too thorny, and the officers were too obtuse to care about the truth. One thing at a time, the winemaker told himself. But what needed to be done first? Elisabeth was ill, Claude was on his way to the police station, and Consuela was being taken t
o the hospital.

The officers settled the matter. As they loaded Claude into the back of their car, which was only slightly newer than the clunker Benjamin had appropriated, the two lawmen ordered the winemaker to stay at the inn until
they returned.

Benjamin nodded and said nothing. Arguing would serv
e no purpose.

“Hungary boils down to one nuisance after another,” he muttered as he went inside to
join Elisabeth.

31

“H
e's
not my father.”

Alexandrine stood up, walked slowly into Vir
gile's bedroom.

Didier was on his feet and walki
ng to the door.

“Where are you going?” Virgile asked, looking down the hall and back to
the front door.

“Virgile, she's going to need you,” Didier said, letti
ng himself out.

Virgile rushed into the room. He took Alexandrine's swollen face in his hands and held it gently. Her eyes were filling with tears. He didn't say anything and just kept looking at her, waiting… Finally Alexandrine began to sob, her cheek aga
inst his chest.

“Who was the man outside y
our apartment?”

“My stepfather. Daddy died when I was three. I have no memory of him, only pictures. He was a general in the army. A handsome man with dark eyes—as elegant as Cary Grant in those movies from the nineteen forties and fifties. That's the image that sticks with me. Mother didn't stay single very long. She latched onto a rich aristocrat who had a mansion in the city, a villa on the Arcachon Bay, and other properties all over Bordeaux. As soon as they were married my mother took charge of emptyin
g his pockets.”

“‘A woman worries about the future until she gets a husband, while a man never worries about the future until he gets a wife.' It's a quote the boss likes.
Don't hit me.”

Virgile's clumsy attempt to lighten the mood elicited a half-smile from Alexandrine. “You're no stand-up comedian. That's for sure.” She continued her story as Virgile wiped away her tears with the corner o
f the bedsheet.

“I trusted him with all my heart. When I was a kid, my stepfather would give me anything I wanted. He called me his princess. It's true: he spoiled me, spoiled me rotten, until
the day when…”

What remained of the sun's rays was now splashing against the far wall of the bedroom and the
parquet floor.

“It was a summer day. Mother was off at some charity auction, at the Folmonts, I think. I was reading in my room. He came in and sat down beside me on the bed. He started stroking my hair. But then he touched my breast and began saying things. He loved me. I was so sweet. There was no shame in what we were feeling for each other. And h
e didn't stop…”

“How
awful for you.”

“I was in shock, Virgile. I didn't know what to think. I loved him, but what he did
wasn't right.”

“Did he come into you
r room again?”

“Yes, two or three more times. I threatened to tell my mother, so he stopped. And he became more generous with me. He was trying to buy my sile
nce, I'm sure.”

“Do
you hate him?”

“No, I can't say that. He's the man who raised me. He paid for my studies and supported me when I had my oenology internships in Australia and California. But I couldn't kiss him anymore. I could
n't trust him.”

“I understand
. What a jerk!”

“No, you don't understand. For a long time I blamed myself for what happened. I thought it was my fault. I had lured him away from my mother. And then I was angry with myself for not loving him the way I should have. He asked me many times to forgive him, to forget what he had done. B
ut I couldn't.”

“You never said anything t
o your mother?”

“I was too ashamed. And I'm sure she would have protected my stepfather. My mother never had anything but her own inter
ests at heart.”

“You never thought of r
eporting him to

the police?”

“When it happened, I was too young. When I got a few years older, though, I really wanted to say something. But it was too late. I figured the police wouldn't do anything. And who else would I tell? I was afraid of what my mother would do. I was sure she would disown me. Ironically, she wound up disowning me anyway. She won't have anything
to do with me.”

Alexandrine broke down again. She was curled against Virgile and murmuring snippets of words. He felt the tension drain from her body and sensed that she was relieved now, free of her burden. He became more tender, but it was the tenderness of a big brother, rather t
han of a lover.

“Under those circumstances, I understand why you like women be
tter than men.”

Alexandrine pulled away and loo
ked at Virgile.

“If only our sexuality could be explained so easily, Virgile. Sure, I have trust issues when it comes to men. I feel more comfortable with women, and I'm drawn to women sexually. But now you know that I also enjoy having sex with a guy, especially a good-looking one like you. In the end, do we need an explanation f
or everything?”

“No
, I guess not.”