Free Flambé in Armagnac by Jean-Pierre Alaux, Noël Balen Page B

taken aback to see Alban de Castayrac refuse his father’s embrace. An awkward moment followed, causing a stir in the crowd. Likewise, the widow and her daughter refused to shake the baron’s hand.
    Seeing this scene play out, Benjamin wondered if Castayrac realized at that exact moment that his oppositional son was, indeed, dead serious about challenging him for the chairmanship of the committee. If so, the owner of Château Blanzac didn’t show it. “My thoughts are with you,” he told the widow before moving along.
    Just then, a gust of wind lifted Mrs. de Nadaillac’s veil. Benjamin wasn’t surprised to see that her eyes were clear, and no mascara was running down her cheeks.
    § § §
    The next day, when Benjamin slid the large manila envelope into the mailbox outside the post office, he knew his report would send shock waves through Protection Insurance. Benjamin’s reservations were numerous, explicitly formulated, and thoroughly substantiated. Once again the winemaker from Bordeaux had demonstrated his expertise. In his detailed account, he had gone to great lengths to prove that the baron’s claim differed significantly from the Cooker & Co. inventory. Even with a five to ten percent margin of error, the damage estimate was far less than what the injured party had claimed. Benjamin wrote in his conclusions:
    Jean-Charles de Castayrac has admitted that a portion of the reserves stored in his Château Blanzac wine cellar was secretly disposed of before the December 24 fire. Given that admission, I would recommend consulting the Directorate-General of Customs and Indirect Taxes. Of course, the decision to initiate such action remains with your company. It would certainly have serious consequences for your client, who now heads the Armagnac Promotion Committee.
    In reference to the appraisal performed at the site, it is highly likely that the maximum loss incurred by the claimant, Mr. Castayrac, is on the order of seventy-five hundred liters, of which barely ten percent could be considered centenarian. Based on the rate approved by the joint-trade association of Armagnac, the compensation should be approximately…
    Benjamin had to literally stuff the envelope into the already-full mailbox. This was just a formality, though, as he had sent it by e-mail the day before. The insurance agents were probably already reading it.
    Just as he was about to walk away, the baron’s DS made a swift U-turn on the Promenade des Embarrats. Jean-Charles de Castayrac waved to the winemaker as he emerged from the car. The Blanzac owner wasn’t a humble victor. He was swaggering. The board of directors of the Armagnac Promotion Committee had wasted no time electing him chairman that very morning—by a very large majority.
    Before returning to Château Prada, Benjamin decided to lose himself one more time in the walled town of proud half-timber houses and gleaming cobblestones. He was tempted to light up a Lusitania but decided against it. His mind was troubled. He didn’t acknowledge Beatrice and Philippe de Bouglon’s kids as they passed him, squabbling, on their way home from school.
    Lost in thought, the winemaker quickened his pace toward what looked, in the distance, like an ancient washhouse. When he got there, he saw that it was nothing more than a concrete basin holding stagnant water. Beautiful washerwomen and their hearty peals of laughter were just a memory of times long gone. Nostalgic and perturbed, Benjamin stared at the duckweed floating gently on a thick layer of sludge.
    The following day, he would leave behind the Bouglons’ hospitality and this fortified town as old as the Armagnac in its moldy wine cellars. In the end, he hadn’t been able to crack the secret of this land, where vineyards vied with oak trees for supremacy. Listless and without any appetite, he was heading toward the château by way of the Rue des Pas-Perdus and the Rue des Fossés when he spotted Virgile and Joachim hurrying toward