Bruno 02 - The Dark Vineyard

commune, and Fabiola pulled her Twingo in neatly beside him. He opened the door for the women, took the pannier with wine and food from Pamela and led them across the field. Fabiola clapped her hands with glee at the sight of the dome. Pamela pointed out the turf-covered house, the log cabin and the windmill to Jacqueline, who stared as if mystified. Bruno wondered if Max had ever brought her here.
    “I should warn you,” Bruno said. “This is not a funeral, and if I know Alphonse, it’ll be more like a celebration of Max than a traditional wake.”
    There must have been fifty people assembled already, mostly Max’s schoolmates or friends from the rugby club. Jeanne, Madame Vignier, Fabrice, Raoul and Stéphane were there from the market. A small cheer went up from the rugby players when Bruno arrived with the three women, who were soon overwhelmed with greetings and introductions. Fabiola was waltzed away by young Edouard from the garage to join the dancers in front of the cheese barn. A sound system was playing the Rolling Stones, and rows of tables offered paperplates and the commune’s breads and cheeses, dozens of bottles and pâtés and hams and
tartes
brought by the guests. On a table by themselves stood four magnificent cakes, being eyed with longing by three of Alphonse’s goats and two of his toddlers, who kept pushing the goats away, so Fauquet had to be here somewhere.
    Behind the tables, two of the year’s spring lambs were roasting over a deep pit above the heaped and glowing ashes of a fire that must have been lit before midday. Their limbs wired to a long spit, the carcasses dropped fat into the ashes, which flared briefly at each new drop. The skins were brown and glistening with the marinade that one of Max’s schoolmates was applying from a bucket with a long brush made of bay tree branches fixed to a broom handle. Bruno asked him about the marinade. He was told it consisted of olive oil, honey and
vin de noix
. He nodded approvingly. The bellies of the lambs had been stuffed with rosemary and bay leaves and then sewn closed with baling wire. The scent of roasting meat drifted enticingly into the beginnings of twilight.
    Standing by the table with the bottles, and pouring wine from a large jug into rows of small glasses, Alphonse looked up at Bruno’s approach, put down the jug and embraced him. He looked both odd and magnificent, wearing an embroidered jacket from India in reds and golds, bright blue trousers and a tall red fez. A strong scent of patchouli hung almost visibly around him, and Céline appeared beside him in a great green tent of a robe, her hair glowing with fresh henna, a large joint in her hand. Bruno pretended not to notice.
    “I’m making sure everyone gets at least one glass of Max’s wine for when I start the bonfire,” said Alphonse. “So we’ll have that to remember him by. I just hope we have enough, so many of his friends have come. And I’m delighted to see youagain,” he said to Jacqueline. “He was in love with you, and very happy in those last days.”
    Jacqueline managed a small smile, the first sign of animation on her face since Bruno had arrived at Pamela’s place to lead the three women to the commune. She embraced Alphonse, and then almost disappeared into Céline’s billowing dress as she was embraced again. Then Pamela was embraced and hailed as an honorary godmother for having been a witness at Max’s adoption. Dominique, wearing an apron and brandishing a large knife, came from the table where she had been helping Marie prepare great bowls of salad. She kissed Bruno and exchanged a cool, appraising handshake with Jacqueline.
    “It’s a reunion,” said Alphonse, handing out glasses of Max’s wine. “All the original members of the commune have come for this, and one even flew in from London. Max was like a son to all of us. And the children have come back, from Bordeaux and Marseilles and everywhere.”
    “We wanted to have his ashes scattered here tonight, when everyone was with us, but they won’t release the body,” said Céline. “I don’t understand why not. You must know, Bruno. What is it?”
    “I think there’s some concern about whether Max or Cresseil died first because that will affect the inheritance,” said Bruno. He changed the subject. “What time do you light the fire?”
    “Any time now, when it’s really dusk,” said Alphonse. “But first I think I should dance with Jacqueline, the last woman who held