Free Bruno 02 - The Dark Vineyard by Martin Walker Page A

Bruno said to Cresseil when the roar of the motorbike and the clouds of blue smoke had faded. He was wondering how tough it would be to break Cresseil’s alibi. Without that, Max would be the prime suspect.
    “If it weren’t for him, they’d have had me in the old folks’ home by now,” said Cresseil. He rummaged in his pockets for his matches, then lit his pipe again. “He helps with my shopping and gardening, and he fixed the roof. I couldn’t do without him, to be honest. And he won’t take anything—no money, nothing. Even that old bike he fixed, he says he’s only borrowing it, that he’ll leave it for when my leg’s better.”
    “How’s your leg these days?”
    “I can get around, just. But it won’t get any better. The circulation is so bad they might have to amputate. I don’t think I can take another winter here. They’ll get me into that home yet.”
    “It might be for the best.”
    “Bruno, I may be old, but I’m not a fool. I won’t go into that place until I have no other choice because we both know that the only way I’ll leave it will be feetfirst. They won’t even let me have my dog, the best hunting dog in the valley. Mind you, he’s on his last legs, just like me.”
    He reached down with his walking stick and poked the sleeping dog gently in the side. His eyes opened, and the old man and the old dog looked at each other for a long moment, exchanging some deep but unspoken communication. The dog squirmed across the grass to nestle against Cresseil’s legs, then closed his eyes again. Bruno smiled, watching them.
    “Max seems to have gotten himself a girlfriend,” Bruno said. “She’s a good-looking one.”
    “They work together at Hubert’s
cave;
she’s studying wine, like Max. He’s crazy about her, and I can’t say I blame him. He’s brought her here a few times to help with the vines.” His eyes twinkled, and he winked at Bruno. “Takes years off me, just looking at a woman like that. I don’t suppose I’ll see many more young beauties. I’ve got a feeling I haven’t much time left.”
    “What about this place?” Bruno asked. “Do you have family to leave it to?”
    “There’s always family somewhere, cousins or some such, but none that I can say I’m close to, none that I’d especially want to have the place. I was born in this house, Bruno, and lived here all my life, over eighty years on this farm, and I’m very particular about what I want to happen to it. I’ve been thinking about it, and I know what I want. I just don’t know how to go about it. I was going to ask your advice.”
    “Ask away. If I don’t have an answer I’ll find someone who does.”
    “Well, I was thinking about Max, whether I could leave it to him when the time comes.”
    Bruno whistled softly. That would be quite an inheritance for a young man. It could also mean a lot of legal complications. Under French law it was almost impossible to exclude a family member from right of inheritance. It also meant, Bruno thought, that he could neither refute nor rely on the old man’s alibi for Max on the night of the fire.
    “You know the inheritance laws,” Bruno said. “Family comes first, however distant.”
    “I know, and I’ve thought about that. But what if I were to adopt the boy? He’d be family then, wouldn’t he?”
    “I suppose he would. I don’t even know if you can adopt somebody over the age of eighteen. In any event, he’d have to agree, and he’s an independent young man. Ambitious, too. He might not want to get locked into the land.”
    “We’ve discussed it. Max likes this terrain, likes the house. He says this whole stretch down to the river can produce good wine. He wants to try planting some new vines, different varieties, when he comes back at Christmas. Just to see how they take in the soil. I haven’t had the heart to tell him I don’t think I’ll be here at Christmas.”
    “Well, keep it to yourself for a bit, until I can research the law about