Free Deadly Tasting by Jean-Pierre Alaux, Noël Balen Page B

him?”
    Renaud hesitated and pushed his thick glasses back up his nose as he searched for just the right words to describe this German, whose reputation he obviously did not want to sully. Their host’s silence dragged on a bit, and Virgile poured himself another cup of tea. Benjamin finally decided to get them back on track.
    “I haven’t discussed this painful period with many people from Bordeaux, but some old landowners have spoken about him in mostly positive terms.”
    “I’m not surprised that you’ve heard about him,” Renaud said. “The Bömers, who were an upper-class family from Bremen, were very involved in wine brokering before the war. And when Heinz, who inherited the business, was forced to accept the job of agent for the Nazis—or put his family at risk—he managed to do so on his own terms. He refused to wear the Nazi uniform, to plunder châteaux, or to allow any abuses by the troops. Strangely enough, Hermann Goering, who hated the Bömers family, was the one who sent him to Bordeaux.”
    “Was it the Bömers who owned the Château Smith-Haut-Lafitte before World War One?” Benjamin asked.
    “Exactly! Because they were German expats, their property was expropriated during the First World War. But after the war, they were still able to maintain close ties in the region. That’s why this weinführer was welcomed by everyone in the business when he arrived after the Franco-German armistice was signed in 1940. Even though he was working for the Germans, Heinz Bömers was a decent guy and a Francophile at heart. He was accommodating and had kept up relations with certain companies in Bordeaux. All the wine producers adapted to the situation, and there was no other choice but to sell to Germany, because the American and British markets were closed. Otherwise, what would they have done with all their wine? Dump it into the Garonne River?”
    “How much wine are we talking about, more or less?”
    “It varied. He could easily buy almost a million bottles in one order. Suffice it to say that the Chartrons merchants were eager to please when the weinführer took an interest in their companies. For his part, he hated people who thought they needed to grovel at his feet. He behaved rather well. His prices were appropriate for the most part, and I think it’s fair to say he helped the Bordeaux region sell off the medium-quality wine that congested the warehouses after the bad vintages of the nineteen thirties. By the way, his attitude was not necessarily looked upon favorably by the higher-ups. Goering summoned him to Berlin three times to reprimand him.”
    The teapot was empty and Renaud called his housekeeper, who appeared so quickly, Benjamin thought she might have been listening at the door. She picked up the teapot and left without acknowledging Benjamin or Virgile. Her colorless complexion and white hair blended in with the room’s washed-out colors.
    “I imagine you’ve heard of Louis Eschenauer?” the host asked, slipping a piece of onionskin paper out of the dossier.
    “The one everyone in Chartrons called Uncle Louis?” Benjamin said. “He was a strange fellow, it seems.”
    “To say the least,” Renaud agreed, exposing his teeth in a foolish-looking grin. “He was seventy years old during the occupation, and you could say he had already seen a thing or two.”
    “Never heard of him!” Virgile interjected.
    “You might not have, but you’re certainly familiar with the Eschenauer family. They were from Alsace originally, but they have been important wine merchants and estate owners in Bordeaux since 1821. This particular Eschenauer was an amiable man—he was also called the king of Bordeaux—and very clever, as well. During Prohibition in the United States, for example, he pulled off a fabulous scheme to send Sauternes and other white wines to American clients in crystal vials labeled ‘Roman bath water.’ He did very well with that. More tea, gentlemen?”
    Benjamin and