Tainted Tokay by Jean-Pierre Alaux Page B

he were communing with an unseen force, and said nothing. How could such bliss be expressed in mere words?
    Finally, he spoke. “Silky and sw eet. Luscious.”
    As Zoltán and Vilmos looked on, Claude imitated the winemaker’s act of devotion. “Yes,” he said. “A fine balance of fruit, acidity, and r esidual sugar.”
    â€œIt’s l ike Sauternes.”
    At that moment the electricity came on again. An orangish light illuminated the men and the casks. With a bright smile that displayed his perfect teeth, Zoltán greeted the return of the lights. Benjamin took the opportunity to examine the dates chalked on the casks. Aszú wine was not made every year. Like French sweet wines, it depended on the quality of the harvest.
    Vilmos seemed eager to end the tour. Benjamin figured there was nothing more to be gained, as far as their guide was concerned, unless he was ready to hand over a fistful of cash for a cou ple of bottles.
    Just as they were turning around to leave, a whistle resonated in the cellar. A second whistle ricocheted off the walls ten seconds later. The electricity flickered again, and Vilmos encouraged his group to hurry toward the exit. As they picked up their pace, Zoltán told Benjamin and Claude that prolonged human presence could alter the Tokaji, the same way frescos on the walls of ancient grottos could be damaged if too many people breath ed around them.
    Benjamin harrumphed. He knew about Lascaux, the famous caves that had to be closed because the drawings had deteriorated, but he had never heard such twaddle about wine in a cellar. It didn’t matter. He was ready to leave anyway. Emerging from the labyrinth, he blinked in the harsh daylight and mopped his forehead. He looked for Elisabeth. She was nowh ere to be seen.

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    T hey both jumped at the knock at the door. Alexandrine threw off the sheets and hopped out of the bed. She grabb ed her clothes.
    â€œShit! Is it one of your girlfriends, Virgile?” she said, hustling to get into her lace undergarments. She hastened to button her tailored white blouse and headed down the hall looking for her p ants and boots.
    â€œAlex, relax. I don’t have a girlfriend right now. Why does everyone think I’ve got them coming and going all the time?” He slipped into his jeans and pulled o n a polo shirt.
    He joined Alexandrine in the living room. The knocking be came insistent.
    Virgile opened the door to find a rather harried-looking Didier standing on the threadbare red carpet in the narrow hallway that served as a landing. He had one hand on the flower-patterned wallpaper and was breathing hard, probably from running up the spiral stairs.
    â€œDidier! What are you doing here?” Virgile stood in the doorway and put both hands up to block him from coming in.
    â€œLook, it’s abou t Alexandrine.”
    â€œWhat about Alexandrine? Just who do you think you are, anyway? First you hang around the lab to find out who we’re working with. Then you sidle up to my boss and get him to ask you to fill in at Cooker & Co. As if going after my job weren’t enough, now you’re stalking my friend and colleague Alexandrine! Just stop. Stop it all. You’re way out of line. For all I know, you’re the one wh o beat her up!”
    Didier’s eyes looked like saucers. Virgile stared rig ht back at him.
    â€œVirgile.” The soft voice came from behind him. “It’s not w hat you think.”
    Alexandrine nudged Virgile out of the way. He stepped aside, not sure of what to say.
    â€œAlex, I need to talk to you, ” Didier asked.

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    B enjamin looked over at Claude, who had put on his Panama hat and was brushing the fungus off his beige shirt. Then the winemaker scanned the vines that extended well into the distance. The countryside seemed abandoned by its actors. Were all the vintners napping at this hour of the afternoon? And where were Elisa beth and Pavel?
    Vilmos turned