Free Treachery in Bordeaux (The Winemaker Detective Series) by Jean-Pierre Alaux, Noël Balen

with fear but always with respect, and everyone knows how to recognize his colleagues’ value. Estate owners even help each other to a certain extent. You have to admit that the professional groups set up for each appellation bring the harvesters together and make them stronger. Or at least that is what we all pretend to believe! When there are hostile feelings, they play out in the trading halls. Nobody gives any gifts when it comes to selling one’s stock. But everyone is always courteous. May the best man win!”
    “I want to believe you, but I am convinced that there is someone around the Moniales who visited the cellar and who knows perfectly well how to taint a barrel of wine. I don’t know how he managed, but he knows the premises and how to get in. There must not be that many people who have the keys and know the alarm code. Denis Massepain is the only one who can tell us for sure.”
    The two worried mothers had wound up finding their children. A crowd had formed around a bush where the little Jean-Baptiste and Eugénie were hiding, trying to strangle a mallard.
    “Your reasoning is sound. Have you read Montesquieu?”
    “No, I haven’t read any Montesquieu, nor have I touched Montaigne, and I never finished a single book by Mauriac. I’ve done none of the local writers. I guess I should be a little ashamed, living in Bordeaux and all.
    “Mostly, it’s too bad,” said Cooker.
    “And what does he have to say, your Montesquieu?”
    “If my memory serves me, he says, ‘I prefer the company of peasants, because they have not been educated sufficiently to reason incorrectly.’”

8
    V IRGILE STEERED THE CAR with his left hand and scratched his head with his right. He looked preoccupied. His lips were scrunched, and his eyebrows were knotted.
    “That Montesquieu wrote some bullshit.”
    “Who hasn’t?” Cooker sighed.
    “I remember one of my French teachers telling a not-so-glorious story about him.”
    “Is that so?”
    “In one of his books he wrote that King François I had refused gifts offered by Christopher Columbus, but François I wasn’t even born when Columbus discovered America!”
    “Just goes to show you, my dear Virgile, that you should always check your sources. That said, I’ve always been suspicious of that philosopher. In fact, Montesquieu seriously gets on my nerves. I shouldn’t tell you that, because in this town it is not looked well upon to criticize local heroes, particularly when that glory reaches beyond the nearby Libourne hills.”
    “Mum’s the word, I promise!” Virgile smiled.
    “Lesson givers have always exasperated me. Montesquieu spread all kinds of holier-than-thou theories about slavery, none of which kept him from stuffing himself when Bordeaux’s slave traders invited him over. The world is filled with moralizers who forget to sweep in front of their own doors. Are you interested in history? You know, in those things that often bore young people your age?”
    “When you’re born in Bergerac, you can’t escape the past. Take my word for it,” Virgile responded. “I’ve always found it fascinating, but sometimes I feel crushed by all those old stones and a little overshadowed by the illustrious dead and memories of grand battles.”
    “Battles that had no reason for being,” added Benjamin, “But we have to know about them to keep history from repeating itself. Yesterday, I met an amazing fellow. One day I’ll take you to see him. If you like the little stories that make up the big picture of history, you’ll spend an enriching, albeit slightly frightening, time with him.”
    Benjamin told Virgile about Ferdinand Ténotier, sparing no detail, including the overpowering cat smell, the cheap wine, the sorry state of the apartment, the singular atmosphere that reigned in the small Cité Frugès streets, the postcards and the terribly destiny of Pessac’s châteaux. Virgile listened carefully, and the drive seemed short, despite the traffic on the