Bruno 02 - The Dark Vineyard

sniff. Hereyes widened. She took a sip, swirling it around in her mouth and then spitting it out as if she was at a wine tasting. Then, noticing Joe’s horrified glance, she took a small sip, rolled it around in her mouth and swallowed. Bondino was staring at his own glass in disbelief, and Isabelle discreetly placed hers back on top of a barrel.
    “So what do you think of my wine, Mademoiselle Canada?” Joe asked.
    “Very authentic. Very true to its
terroir
, and to its maker.”
    “You’re too kind. Unlike your friend Bruno here, you are clearly a connoisseur, who knows what she’s drinking. I’ll save you some bottles.”
    Bruno tried to suppress his chuckle. Joe was no fool, and he knew what kind of rough old wine he turned out, but he was amusing himself by seeing if he could tease a polite young woman into praising his
pinard
, and talking herself into having to drink more of it.
    “Oh, but I couldn’t possibly. I’ve heard how much everyone in town depends on your wine for the
vin de noix
, and I’d hate to rob them of your specialty.” The girl had passed that test nicely.
    “Let’s get back to the party,” said Bruno. “It’s time for the dancing.”
    “Not too long,” said Isabelle, fastening the belt of her jeans.

19
    Bruno awoke slowly, only dimly aware of Isabelle’s arm across his chest and his deep sense of contentment at the ease of their reunion and the teasingly delayed pleasures of the night. He turned his head to study her. She was deeply asleep, her lips slightly parted, the calmness of her face all the more striking after the passion of the night. How long would she stay this time? It was a question they had carefully avoided the previous day.
    She wanted him to change his job, change his life and join her in Paris. But the work of a big city policeman held no attraction for Bruno. In his heart, he wanted to wake up with Isabelle for all the mornings that stretched ahead. In his mind, he suspected the decision had already been made when she transferred from the Police Nationale in Périgueux to the high-powered job on the minister’s staff. What lay ahead of them was snatched weekends interrupting their separate lives, into which other lovers would doubtless come. That was not a future that appealed to him, not when compared with that vague assumption that always lay at the back of his mind that someday there would be a wife in this house he had built, and children that he could teach to hunt and play tennis and watchgrow and explore his woods in this beautiful heartland of France. And he could never see Isabelle in that misty mental image.
    Bruno sighed gently. What would be, would be. He lay back with his hands clasped behind his neck and let his thoughts wander. No matter how long Isabelle stayed, eventually she would head back to Paris or dart away on some new mission.
    His thoughts drifted to Max. His feeling that Max was in some way involved in the fire had grown. The fact that Max had not joined in with the paint-throwing militants at the demonstration meant nothing. Max was a loner. He even played rugby that way. Max would never join a group. He’d do things his way, acting alone, and he’d see them through, which was why Bruno had a hunch that the security cameras at the research station could yet be useful.
    Damn it, the real problem was that he liked Max and didn’t want to see a promising young life wrecked by a prison term for a foolish act of political idealism. And how would Max react to losing Jacqueline, or having a rival for her, Bruno wondered, remembering the way Jacqueline and Bondino had left Joe’s party together at about the same time he left with Isabelle.
    That thought took him to his deeper worry, the Bondino proposal. He did not trust the slick Dupuy, and he did not much like Bondino. And something in Bruno rebelled against the idea of Saint-Denis doing a deal behind the back of its own people. Even if some fancy lease arrangement could guarantee a future share in theoretical profits, it simply was not right to press the locals to sell their land for less than it might be worth. The mayor had to be made to see that.
And now
, said Bruno to himself,
comes the real question: What if the mayor insists on proceeding with the scheme?
That was the issue that kept him fromkissing Isabelle awake and into renewed embraces, that kept him fretting in bed on this fine September morning.
    Bruno firmly believed that life always looked a little better