The Villa

ordered thicker stoppers, but this caused the bottles themselves to break. Determined, he ordered stronger bottles. Both the stoppers and the bottles held, and the monk was able to sample the re-fermented wine. It was the first champagne toast."
    She paused to give the group an opportunity to shuffle around the racks. Voices echoed in the cellars, so she waited until they subsided.
    "Today…" A little flutter of anxiety rippled through her when David joined her group. "Today we create champagne quite purposely, though for the best we follow the traditional methods developed centuries ago in that French abbey. Using methode champenoise, the winemaker bottles the young, blended wines. A small quantity of yeast and sugar is added to each bottle, then the bottle is capped, as you see here."
    She took the sample bottle to pass among the tour. "The additive triggers the second fermentation, which we call, again in the French, prise de mousse. The bubbles result from the conversion of sugar into alcohol. Capped, the bubbles can't escape into the air. These bottles are then aged, from two to four years."
    "There's gunk in here," someone commented.
    "The sample bottle demonstrates sedimentation and particle separation. This is a natural process during this second aging and fermentation. The bottles are stored neck down on these inclined racks, and are lifted out and twisted every day for months."
    "By hand?"
    Pilar smiled at the woman who frowned at the wall of bottles. "Yes. As you've seen through the tour, Giambelli-MacMillan believes every bottle of wine offered to the consumer requires the art, the science and the labor necessary to earn the label. This turning process is called riddling, or in French, remuage, and accelerates the particle separation so that in a matter of months the wine is clear. When it is, the bottles are racked upside down to keep the particles in the neck."
    "If they drink that stuff, it's no wonder it kills them."
    It was said in a whisper, but it carried. Pilar tensed, felt her rhythm break, but kept going. "It's the winemaker's task to determine when the wine's reached its peak. At this point, the bottle is frozen at the neck in a solution of brine. In that way, the cap can be removed, no wine is lost and the frozen sediment slides out. Degorgement, or disgorging.
    The bottle is topped off with more wine or a bit of la dosage —brandy or sugar to sweeten it—"
    "Or a little digitalis."
    Her rhythm faltered again, and a number of people shifted uneasily. Still she shook her head as David took a step forward. "Throughout the process, as with any wine bearing our label, there are safety checks and security measures. When the sparkling wine is judged ready, it's corked and shipped to market so that you can bring it to your table for your own celebration.
    "There are cheaper and less cumbersome ways to create champagne, but Giambelli-MacMillan believes tradition, quality and attention to detail are essential to our wines."
    She smiled as she took back the sample bottle. "At the end of the tour, you'll be able to judge for yourself in our tasting room."
     
    Pilar let the guests mingle in the tasting room, enjoy their complimentary samples, and answered individual questions. It was, she'd discovered, very much like entertaining. That, she'd always had the knack for. Better, it made her feel not just part of the family, but part of the team.
    "Nice job." David stepped up beside her.
    "Thanks."
    "Despite the heckler."
    "He isn't my first. I think I've gotten the hang of it. At least my palms don't sweat anymore. I'm still studying. There are times I feel like I'm back in school cramming for exams, but it's satisfying. I still have to—"
    She broke off as a man at the end of the bar began to gag. He clutched his throat, staggered back. Even as Pilar rushed forward, he began to laugh uproariously.
    The same joker, David realized, who'd made the sarcastic cracks in the cellar. Before he could deal with the situation, Pilar was taking over.
    "I'm sorry." Her voice was a coo of polite concern. "Isn't the wine to your taste?"
    He gave another snort of laughter even as his wife jabbed her elbow viciously into his side. "Cut it out, Barry."
    "Aw, come on. It's funny."
    "Humor's often subjective, isn't it?" Pilar said pleasantly. "Of course, we at Giambelli-MacMillan have difficulty finding amusement in the tragic deaths of two of our own, but we appreciate your trying to lighten the mood. Perhaps you should