it would explain why they’re interested,” said Bruno. “But that still leaves the question of whether we all want to go in with Bondino. They’ve got the money to pay top price, if you want to sell. That’s for sure.”
“It’s my own wine I want to make here, organic wine, quality wine. Not the mass-market stuff they’ll produce.”
“This will take some thinking about,” said Cresseil, putting away his glasses. “The boy and I will talk.”
“There’s something else you might want to think about,” Bruno said, leaning back in his chair and preparing to lay the bait in the little trap he had prepared. “Max, if you really want a career in wine, you could do worse than start off with Bondino, get them to train you, send you off to their operations in California and Australia.”
Max said nothing, but his eyes never left Bruno’s face. This was what Bruno was counting on. He’d seen Max playing rugby dozens of times, observed how the young man applied his intelligence to the game, thinking even in the heat of the match. Bruno was sure that Max would be thinking now, turning over the options in his head.
“Think of Jacqueline,” Bruno went on. “She’s studied wine all over the world. You’d certainly have the leverage to make Bondino back you. When you really know the trade, that’s the time to come back and make your own wine, as organic as you like. A couple more years at the university, get your diploma, and then you’d be pretty useful to the Bondino group. Think about it.”
“That Jacqueline! She’s the only thing he thinks about,” saidCresseil, chuckling. He turned to Bruno and winked. “The boy thinks he’s in love. Can’t say I blame him.”
“The problem is, it might not go like that,” Bruno went on, closing the trap. “I was surprised to see Bondino here because the last I heard, he was threatening to pull out. It’s the fire that worries him. He told the mayor that if we can’t manage our affairs properly, if we can’t find out quickly who set the fire and arrest him, then the deal is off. He’ll go somewhere else with his ten million, and some other bright young students will get to make their start in the wine business. You might even find Jacqueline signing up with Bondino.”
Max looked thoughtful, but Bruno wasn’t done yet.
“Just one more thing, Max.” He pulled a small tape recorder from his pocket and pressed Record. “Just read those words aloud into the recorder, if you would.”
He handed over the paper on which he’d copied down the notes that Ahmed had taken on the night of the fire. “And then you too, Cresseil. We have to get every man in Saint-Denis and its environs to do this, to see if one of them was the caller.”
Max’s face was unnaturally blank as he read the paper, but in a halting voice he spoke the short list of words. Then Cresseil followed suit.
“There’s no point in having us do this,” Cresseil said when he had finished. “I told you Max was here with me.”
14
The plat du jour at Ivan’s was kidneys in red wine with
petit pois
, which Bruno felt was a small compensation for Ahmed’s being unable to confirm that Max’s voice on the new recording had been that of the anonymous caller. Bruno was just wiping up the last of the sauce with a slice of bread and was about to finish off the small carafe of Bergerac red with the baron when his phone rang. It was Dominique, sounding excited.
“Bruno, I’ve just had a text message from
Aquitaine Vert
, the kind they send out to all their members. They’ve organized a demonstration at the agricultural station here this afternoon at five. A couple of busloads of people are coming from central Bordeaux, leaving at two-thirty, and more buses are coming from Périgueux and Sarlat.”
That would be well over a hundred people, Bruno calculated quickly, plus whoever came in their own cars and however many came from Saint-Denis. It could be a couple of hundred, and there was
“It’s my own wine I want to make here, organic wine, quality wine. Not the mass-market stuff they’ll produce.”
“This will take some thinking about,” said Cresseil, putting away his glasses. “The boy and I will talk.”
“There’s something else you might want to think about,” Bruno said, leaning back in his chair and preparing to lay the bait in the little trap he had prepared. “Max, if you really want a career in wine, you could do worse than start off with Bondino, get them to train you, send you off to their operations in California and Australia.”
Max said nothing, but his eyes never left Bruno’s face. This was what Bruno was counting on. He’d seen Max playing rugby dozens of times, observed how the young man applied his intelligence to the game, thinking even in the heat of the match. Bruno was sure that Max would be thinking now, turning over the options in his head.
“Think of Jacqueline,” Bruno went on. “She’s studied wine all over the world. You’d certainly have the leverage to make Bondino back you. When you really know the trade, that’s the time to come back and make your own wine, as organic as you like. A couple more years at the university, get your diploma, and then you’d be pretty useful to the Bondino group. Think about it.”
“That Jacqueline! She’s the only thing he thinks about,” saidCresseil, chuckling. He turned to Bruno and winked. “The boy thinks he’s in love. Can’t say I blame him.”
“The problem is, it might not go like that,” Bruno went on, closing the trap. “I was surprised to see Bondino here because the last I heard, he was threatening to pull out. It’s the fire that worries him. He told the mayor that if we can’t manage our affairs properly, if we can’t find out quickly who set the fire and arrest him, then the deal is off. He’ll go somewhere else with his ten million, and some other bright young students will get to make their start in the wine business. You might even find Jacqueline signing up with Bondino.”
Max looked thoughtful, but Bruno wasn’t done yet.
“Just one more thing, Max.” He pulled a small tape recorder from his pocket and pressed Record. “Just read those words aloud into the recorder, if you would.”
He handed over the paper on which he’d copied down the notes that Ahmed had taken on the night of the fire. “And then you too, Cresseil. We have to get every man in Saint-Denis and its environs to do this, to see if one of them was the caller.”
Max’s face was unnaturally blank as he read the paper, but in a halting voice he spoke the short list of words. Then Cresseil followed suit.
“There’s no point in having us do this,” Cresseil said when he had finished. “I told you Max was here with me.”
14
The plat du jour at Ivan’s was kidneys in red wine with
petit pois
, which Bruno felt was a small compensation for Ahmed’s being unable to confirm that Max’s voice on the new recording had been that of the anonymous caller. Bruno was just wiping up the last of the sauce with a slice of bread and was about to finish off the small carafe of Bergerac red with the baron when his phone rang. It was Dominique, sounding excited.
“Bruno, I’ve just had a text message from
Aquitaine Vert
, the kind they send out to all their members. They’ve organized a demonstration at the agricultural station here this afternoon at five. A couple of busloads of people are coming from central Bordeaux, leaving at two-thirty, and more buses are coming from Périgueux and Sarlat.”
That would be well over a hundred people, Bruno calculated quickly, plus whoever came in their own cars and however many came from Saint-Denis. It could be a couple of hundred, and there was
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