Backstabbing in Beaujolais (Winemaker Detective Book 9) Read Free Page B

it takes to get this one working.”
    Before Benjamin could respond, Virgile turned and left the wine cellar. Benjamin appreciated his assistant’s ability to read his mind. The winemaker wanted a few minutes alone with his client to better size him up. Benjamin figured Périthiard wanted to do the same thing. In some ways, they seemed to be similar. They were men of instinct who needed to experience the other’s presence, see how the other reacted, and perceive what the other held in his eyes. Only then would they know what to expect.
    “I would tend to agree with you,” Benjamin said. “Vol-au-Vent is in an excellent location, and you would have to look long and hard to find something better or even equivalent. But as I said, the state of the vineyards themselves is key, especially the ten hectares of Régnié planted around the manor house. The peripheral terroirs included in the sale can be handled later, but in general, I’m less worried about the Morgon, Beaujeu, and Brouilly appellations, which cover less area.”
    “Each is between two and three hectares,” Périthiard said.
    “Yes, indeed. They’re probably older vines, and those appellations are well known. With the elegance of a Brouilly, the power of a Morgon, and the consistency of a Beaujeu, we would certainly be able to produce some wines that would ensure Vol-au-Vent’s reputation.”
    “I expect nothing less of your science, Mr. Cooker.”
    “Of course,” the winemaker said. He turned toward the door and started heading outside to join Virgile and the lovely real estate agent.
    As he expected, he found Virgile flirting with Solène. They were in front of the manor house. Benjamin couldn’t help noticing that she was reserved, despite all of his handsome young assistant’s attentions. Yes, this woman had experience, but was that a hint of pink in her cheeks? Could Virgile actually be winning her over? Benjamin ruled out that possibility when he got close enough to see the icy look still present in her turquoise eyes. There was no weakness in Solène Chavannes.
    “Here, Virgile,” he said, tossing him the keys to his Mercedes. “Go get what we need from the trunk. We have some serious work to do.”
    Then he headed toward the vines, which he began to survey, walking up and down the rows in his gleaming Lobbs. Benjamin didn’t mind getting his English shoes dirty. Polishing them was one of his solitary pleasures.
    The first rows were a bit thin, but some effort had been put into maintaining the plants. The plot had probably been leased out and cared for, but without enough means or perhaps enough initiative. He noted that the pruning had been done properly, and the vines had flowered. They would need to work the soil around the rootstock, taking pains to keep the vines stable. They would have to correct any drainage problems, clean up, and treat the plants to prevent infestations. If nothing else worked, they’d pull out the poorest rootstock and replant. But Benjamin concluded that they would have a harvest in a hundred days, thanks to enough healthy plants, high temperatures, and a short flowering period.
    Virgile, aluminum case in hand, arrived at a sprint, ready to play lab assistant. It didn’t take him long to extract the soil samples, following his employer’s instructions to the letter. Meanwhile, Benjamin jotted notes in a spiral-bound notebook. It took them more than an hour to come up with a precise assessment of the ten hectares surrounding the manor house. They would send the samples back to Bordeaux that very day, and Cooker & Co.’s lab manager, Alexandrine de la Palussière, would examine them. They would have the results in two to three days. Until then, they had plenty to do.
    “You’ll have a chance to discover the region, Virgile. You’ll get used to it quickly.”
    “I’m sure you’re right, boss. What I’ve seen of it so far reminds me of Gascony.”
    “There’s truth to that. You’ll find warm-hearted