The Vintage Caper

on the way back to Marseille.
    “That’s about it,” Sam said to Philippe. “All we need to do now is find somewhere for Sophie and me to stay tonight. Any ideas?”
    Philippe scratched his head, dislodging some more cobweb. “You might be spotted in Marseille, so that’s out, and you don’t want to stay anywhere around here. It’s too remote, and you’d be noticed. Why not try Aix? I’ve heard the Villa Gallici is a nice place.”
    And so it proved to be—small, charming, and a two-minute walk from the cafés and other delights of the Cours Mirabeau. But Sam was starting to flag. The adrenaline rush had been replaced by a pervasive, numbing fatigue. Apart from a short nap in the van, he’d been two nights without sleep. He made his excuses to Sophie, went up to his room, and toppled onto his bed fully dressed.
    Six hours and a shower later, he felt sufficiently restored to venture out onto the shady terrace of the hotel and wake himself up with a glass of champagne. He turned on his phone and checked it for messages: Elena, wanting a progress report, and Axel Schroeder, fishing again. He decided to save Elena for later, and called Schroeder.
    “Axel, it’s Sam.”
    “Dear boy, I was beginning to worry about you. I hope you haven’t been working too hard.” He sounded like a doctor practicing his bedside manner.
    “You know how it is, Axel. Scratching a living from the parched earth. But I’ve had a stroke of luck.”
    There was no reply from Schroeder. It wasn’t necessary. His curiosity was almost audible.
    “I found the wine. All of it.”
    “Where is it?”
    “Safe.”
    Schroeder took his time to reply. “Sam, we need to talk. I happen to know a couple of people who would be very, very interested.”
    “I’m sure you do.”
    “No risk, and we could split the proceeds.”
    “Axel, you set it up, didn’t you?”
    “Sixty-forty, in your favor. A nice piece of change.”
    “Maybe next time, you old scoundrel.”
    Schroeder chuckled. “Worth a try, dear boy. You know where to reach me if you change your mind. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
    Sam looked out across the terrace. Tables had been set for dinner, and he felt a powerful urge for a steak, rare and bloody, and a bottle of good red wine. He’d call Sophie and ask her to join him. But first, Elena.
    After congratulating him, she wanted to know all the details.
    “Elena, it’s not something I want to talk about on the phone. How soon can you get over here?”
    “Forget it, Sam. That’s why Knox has a French office full of French people. They do France. How soon can you be in Paris?”
    “I’m planning to be there sometime tomorrow evening.”
    “At the Montalembert?”
    “Yes. At the Montalembert. Elena …”
    But she was all brisk and businesslike. “I’ll arrange for someone from Knox to contact you there. Great job, Sam. Well done. Roth doesn’t deserve it, but my CEO will be a happy guy. I’m going to tell him right now.”
    The call had left Sam feeling flat, and another glass of champagne did little to lift his spirits. The terrace was beginning to fill up with hotel guests and one or two flirtatious couples from Aix. Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time, which made Sam feel flatter still. Sophie wasn’t answering her phone, and the prospect of eating alone, usually something he enjoyed, held no attraction for him tonight. But there was nothing else for it. And so he spent the evening with his steak, his wine, and his thoughts.
    When he met Sophie for breakfast the next morning, she explained why she’d been out of touch. Assuming that Sam would sleep through the night, she had gone to see one of those poignant, emotionally exhausting films so beloved by French directors. It had made her weep buckets, always a good sign. She had enjoyed it enormously.
    “And so today,” she said, “Philippe has suggested a farewell lunch before we go to the airport. He knows a little place on the port at Cassis where they do a correct bouillabaisse . It’s not too far—less than an hour’s drive. Does that sound good for you?”
    It did. After a long night’s sleep, Sam’s disposition was improving by the minute, and it was helped even more by his first sight of Cassis. A village on the sea is a magical sight on a sunny day; a village on the sea with twelve excellent vineyards in its back garden is enough to make a man want to throw away his passport and stay forever.
    Philippe was already installed on