Bruno 02 - The Dark Vineyard

after a shower, a shampoo and a shave. It was a hangover from his army days. So he slipped gently from his bed, his eyes lingering on Isabelle’s sleeping form, and went to the porch to greet his dog. Together they made the usual rounds of his vegetable garden and his chicken coop to feed the ducks and the chickens before Bruno performed his military exercise routine, turned on his kettle and headed for the bathroom. Cleansed and refreshed, and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, he looked into the bedroom, where Isabelle still slept. He went back into the kitchen, sliced the previous day’s baguette in half and put one half in the toaster while he prepared his coffee and ate the apple he had just plucked from a tree. Then he broke his slice of toast in half, spread some of his own raspberry jam onto his portion and shared the other with Gigi.
    The basset hound’s official name was Gitan, or gypsy. But having awoken hungover the morning after his housewarming party to find this adoring puppy in his bed, Bruno immediately shortened the name to Gigi, much to the surprise of the mayor, whose gift Gigi had been from the litter of his own renowned hunting dog. On the hour, Bruno checked the news on Radio Périgord and heard nothing that mattered or needed his attention.
    He made a fresh pot of coffee and put the other half of the baguette in the toaster. He went to the garden for another fresh apple, and picked a late white rose from the bush by the door. He spread jam on the toast, put everything on a tray and returned with Gigi to the bedroom. Whether it was the smell of coffee or the heavy breathing of Gigi, his front paws perched on the side of the bed, Isabelle awoke and turned to look at him.
    “Hello again,” she said, smiling, and then disappeared under the dog’s happy welcome as Gigi clambered onto the bed and nuzzled her ear.
    “How is a woman supposed to look languorous and romantic with a dog like this in her bed,” she said, laughing and stroking Gigi’s long ears. She sat up, her lovely, delicate breasts appearing above the sheets, ran her fingers through her hair and grinned broadly.
    “Breakfast in bed. Bruno and dog. Fresh coffee. A rose.
Mon Dieu
, Paris is never like this.” She settled the tray across her lap, put the rose behind her ear and patted the bed beside her. “Come and join me. We have the whole day together.”
    “You forget the duties of a country policeman,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her. Gigi wriggled over to make room for him, and Bruno lay down on his side, enjoying the sight of Isabelle sipping her coffee. She broke the toasted baguette into three portions, one for her, one for Gigi and another for Bruno.
    “I have a rugby class for the
minimes
and then a quick meeting at the
mairie
before I’m free. I thought you might like to take a walk in the woods before I go to the rugby club. Then later we could go out to lunch and have the day to ourselves.” He kissed her again, and then asked the question that had been on his mind since her first e-mail. “How long can you stay?”
    “Until you find the arsonist,” she said. “I’m attached to the brigadier’s team. The minister wants one of his own staff on this investigation.”
    “So you’re here on business?”
    “Yes, but I was planning on coming down anyway, since the only time I’m ever likely to see you in Paris is when you come up to watch England play France at rugby.” She leaned forward to kiss him to take any sting from the remark. “How long do we have before your class?”
    “Long enough,” he said, moving the tray from her lap to the floor and shooing a reluctant Gigi from the room.
    “Oh good,” she said, and lifted the sheet to invite him in.
    Bruno understood his dog well enough to have accepted that a human never walks a basset hound. The dog and the human go for separate strolls, which coincide always at the beginning, sometimes at the end and rarely in the middle, unless Bruno gave the special hunter’s whistle. Gigi knew every inch of the woods that backed onto Bruno’s house, and was on nodding terms with every tree, most of which he gave a token watering as he followed the various beguiling scents that rose to his nostrils, scents stirred up by his long trailing ears. Bruno, happy to be showing Isabelle his land again, took her hand as they followed Gigi through the well-spaced assortment of beech and chestnut trees.
    “There’s something on your mind,” she said, squeezing