Bruno 02 - The Dark Vineyard

You’re an active man. You’d get bored stiff with nothing to do. Life goes on, Julien. And it’s probably time you walked along the vines and tasted a few grapes to see whether it’s timeto pick. Your crew is here and other vineyards are already picking. You can’t wait much longer.”
    “You’re right. Do me a favor and come with me; keep me company. Besides, I always like a second opinion on whether it’s time to pick. And then we can have lunch.”

25
    Pamela was the first to arrive for Bruno’s dinner, wearing a pale blue summer dress that left her tanned shoulders bare. Gigi raced barking to greet her clattering Citroën
deux chevaux
. Putting his head out the kitchen window, Bruno waved a welcome. After he checked that all his prepared dishes were covered with cloths, he went outside, twisting the foil from the cork of a bottle of champagne. Pamela had a white jacket over her arm and was holding a large jar, which she handed to him. Gigi stood at her heels, sniffing.
    “I know you have all the jam in the world from your black currants and strawberries and apricots,” she said, “but I don’t think you will have tried this. Rose hip jam, from my grandmother’s recipe.”
    “My thanks, and Gigi’s. We’ll try it at breakfast tomorrow. I never even heard of it. Come and have a glass of champagne. You didn’t bring Jacqueline?”
    “She’s coming with Hubert and Nathalie, and she’s already paid her first month’s rent in advance,” Pamela said. “She’s young and resilient, so I think she’ll be fine.”
    “She may be rather sad company, but perhaps we can cheerher up. Now, let me pour you some champagne. Would you like some cassis in the glass first?”
    “No, just the champagne on a lovely warm evening like this.” She turned, taking in a wide view of the ridge and the rolling hills and then the rows of truffle oaks and fruit trees. Bruno directed her to the garden table, which was arrayed with glasses and a bottle of cassis and an ice bucket for the champagne.
    “This place is a lot bigger than the cottage you told me to expect. Either you’ve got a secret family hidden away here or you’ll be going into competition with me.”
    “I don’t think many vacationers would like to rent a room in a policeman’s house,” Bruno said, handing her a glass. “It might stop them from relaxing. Besides, they only want a place with a swimming pool.”
    They turned at the sound of another car laboring up the steep entryway, and the baron’s old Citroën DS rolled into view. It set Gigi off barking a new welcome, which redoubled when the baron opened the rear door and out jumped his own dog, a giant Bordeaux hound named Général. Good friends and hunting partners, the two dogs sniffed each other politely and then raced off toward the woods while Bruno poured another glass of champagne.
    The baron handed over a bottle wrapped in the distinctive brown paper of Hubert de Montignac’s
cave
.
    “I saw Hubert, who told me he was bringing your Saint-Estèphe,” the baron announced in his deep, rolling tones. “I thought I’d bring a good Beaune. It will help take our minds off the sad events.”
    Hubert’s white Mercedes, its top down, rounded the corner, Nathalie in head scarf and sunglasses beside the driver and Jacqueline waving from the rear seat rather more cheerfullythan Bruno had expected, her hair spread out in a vast fan from the wind over the open car.
    “
Mon Dieu
, that’s a pretty one,” the baron said. “An evening to be graced by three beautiful women. This will cheer us all up.”
    Nathalie handed Bruno a cold bottle of Krug, while Jacqueline set a bottle of Monbazillac on the table and Hubert bowed solemnly as he placed the Saint-Estèphe in Bruno’s hands. Bruno glanced at Jacqueline, who seemed to be wearing more makeup than usual, perhaps to cover the effects of her crying. He left them all chatting as he went to his barbecue, thrust in an armful of dried vine branches on top of the crumpled pages of the previous day’s
Sud Ouest
and lit the fire. He waited until the twigs flared and then tossed on four handfuls of charcoal and headed for the kitchen to wash his hands and bring out the sliced baguette and the
bécasses
.
    “Your luck must have been magnificent this year,” said Hubert, admiring the six game birds. “I never managed more than two in a season, and I was pretty proud of that.”
    As Bruno went back into the kitchen to prepare his omelette,