Murder at Maddingley Grange Read Free Page B

hardly see a thing before. I should have brought a torch.”
    â€œI’ll go and get one.”
    â€œDon’t you dare.” He caught his sister’s eye. “And there’s no need to sneer.” His voice wavered theatrically. “Who knows what horrors lurk at the bottom of the Black Lagoon?”
    Laurie reached up and pushed the light. It swung backward and forward. Huge shapes loomed out of the dimness, receded, loomed again. Old furniture piled high, some trunks, an upturned ancient rowing boat. Tennis nets, bats and balls, a set of mallets for croquet. And crates and crates and crates of wine.
    â€œMy God…” breathed Simon. “An oenophile’s paradise.”
    â€œI bet it’s all off.”
    â€œOne way to find out.” Simon moved toward the nearest stack. Each set of fifty crates was enclosed in a three-sided cage made of open wire mesh over a wooden frame. He pulled out a bottle.
    â€œDon’t swing it about like that. There’s bound to be sediment.”
    â€œSo I spoil one. There’s hundreds more. What sort do we want? You’re the chef de cuisine.”
    â€œSome red and some white.”
    â€œI’d have thought all that pricy training would have left you with a slightly wider grasp of château and vintage than ‘some red and some white’.”
    â€œThere’s no point in being precise when I don’t know what we’ve got.”
    â€œWell, this…” Simon peered at a bottle. “The label’s flaked off.”
    â€œShould tell you on the cork what it is.”
    â€œThere’s obviously some serious testing to be done here. We can’t give the punters stuff we haven’t had a go at ourselves. You take the next three down and I’ll bring these.”
    â€œSimon…” Laurie had moved a few steps away. “Here a minute.”
    Simon joined her. “Champers. Yum-yum.”
    â€œIt’s Krug, 1955.”
    â€œHigh time we polished it off then.”
    â€œWe can’t do that. It must be worth a fortune.”
    â€œYou’re not going to be tiresome, are you, Laurie?”
    â€œWhat do the others say?”
    â€œDrink me.” Simon turned Laurie firmly toward the cellar steps and gave her a little push. “Go and find a corkscrew.” He collected three more bottles and followed his sister, nudging when she hesitated.
    Back in the dining room he produced some long-stemmed tulip glasses, wiped the dirt and cobwebs from bottle number one—it still looked quite black—and eased out the cork. The wine glowed like rubies and a heavenly fragrance, massively opulent, arose from the glass. Black currants, cedarwood (or was it sandalwood?), plummy and rich. Laurie emptied her glass and gazed at Simon. She looked quite stunned.
    â€œDelicious.”
    Simon pulled a further cork. “This is a white one. I think you asked for one of each.”
    The white one in its own way was equally superb. In color a lovely buttery yellow with a greenish edge. Disbelieving the first glass, they had a second. It smelled of…
    â€œVanilla.”
    â€œNuts.”
    â€œToast.”
    â€œToast?”
    â€œAnd butter.”
    â€œI wouldn’t say that,” contradicted Laurie, wagging her head. “Seems to me”—investigating further—“to have a rare and subtle oakiness—”
    â€œSpare me the wine babble.”
    â€œOany…oh…only…ocky…”
    â€œOne more word about rare and subtle oakiness and it all goes down the sink.”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œBehave yourself then.”
    â€œYes, Simon.”
    â€œLet’s have no prating on about saucy little numbers with a quick good-bye.”
    â€œNo, Simon.” Laurie imbibed a little more. “Gorse bushes.”
    â€œGod, you’re affected.” Simon broached bottle number three.
    â€œThat’s the fish and meat then.”
    â€œWhat