Free Cognac Conspiracies by Jean-Pierre Alaux, Noël Balen Page A

on the other hand, know nothing about you, Mr. Fauret de Solmilhac, other than the fact that you are a tireless friend of our hostess.”
    “Would you like to know my background? Actually, it’s not very interesting. Let’s say I do some brokering, which, thank heavens, has been rather profitable. I was a lawyer in Paris before that. The cases I witnessed in the courtrooms back then had the makings of great theater.”
    The man had raised his voice as if to demonstrate that he was a talented speaker, even something of an orator.
    “You might say my real profession today is lobbying. I have certain interpersonal skills, if you know what I mean.”
    “I can see that very well,” the winemaker said, dabbing his napkin on his lips.
    “I might add that you know the whole planet!” Marie-France said with affected enthusiasm.
    “The entire world? That’s going a bit too far, my dear Marie. Just a few influential people, which is enough to make me happy.”
    “You are a happy man, then,” Virgile said. Benjamin picked up the derisive tone in his assistant’s voice. But he didn’t think their dinner companions knew Virgile well enough to discern it.
    “In business, I believe I can reply in the affirmative, young man.”
    “And in love?” Virgile asked. Benjamin noted the presumptuous smile.
    “In that area, you have to be young, my boy, to believe in happiness.”
    Sensing the coming storm, Benjamin switched to a 1994 Beau-Séjour-Bécot much more to his liking and said, “Happiness engulfs our strength, just as misfortune extinguishes our virtues.”
    “François-René de Chateaubriand suits you well, Mr. Cooker,” the businessman said.
    “May I suggest that you give credit—without interest, mind you—to Balzac, rather than Chateaubriand? Words and keen insight into the human heart were these writers’ real treasures. Both were penniless when the trumpets of fame began to sound.”
    “I know, I know,” the man replied. Benjamin could see that he was not someone who allowed himself to be shown up. “So, Mr. Cooker, what do you think of this Saint-Émilion?”
    “Quite good, perhaps even better than good,” the winemaker responded laconically.
    “Say there, Marie-France, why are you being so quiet?” Solmilhac said, turning to their hostess. “And just when I have some news to share. You don’t need to add the fear of losing your cognacs to your troubles. I have found Claude-Henri. He’s in Canada. I think I can convince him to sell me his shares at a higher price than that scoundrel Cheng. Let me handle it. You know how important your company’s independence is to me.”
    The man wrapped his hand around Marie-France’s wrist and gave it a squeeze. Marie-France was playing along. Benjamin had already surmised that there was something between Marie-France and his assistant, and even though he made it a point to avoid prying into Virgile’s private affairs, he guessed that the young man had experience with mature women. He watched as Virgile smiled and checked his watch. Benjamin suppressed a yawn. The dinner had been frightfully dull, and this Fauret de Solmilhac was insufferably smug. It was time to end the ordeal. He had no intention of lighting his Havana and lingering even a few minutes more.
    “No cigar, Mr. Cooker? You must have one with a ’55 Lavoisier. Wouldn’t you agree?” Marie-France was insistent.
    “I don’t think I deserve it tonight.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “I think the one who truly deserves your fine cognac—and credit—is your friend here, who intends to free you from the clutches of your foreign shareholders.”
    “But I must tell you that your decision to end your alliance with the Asians allows me to look to the future with greater confidence.”
    “May I suggest, Ms. Lavoisier, that you exercise the greatest caution?”
    “But the government is against a Chinese acquisition,” said the lawyer-turned-businessman.
    “Certainly, certainly. Yet you know as