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

course,” Cooker mumbled. “It jumps out at you!”
    He approached the water tower that stood in the middle of the Haut-Brion estate, an enormous concrete wart planted right in the vineyards, like a constant reminder that here nature was on shaky ground, barely accepted and on borrowed time. Benjamin looked up. It was not so much the structure’s ugliness that caused him to despair, but all those cubic meters of water standing over one of the most prestigious wines in the world, like a vulgar form of provocation.
    “This is the water the old man was talking about!” Cooker said, touching the tower’s roughcast.
    He took out the picture of his overmantel and looked toward Mission Haut-Brion dozing at the foot of the hillock. It was all there: the dormer windows in the slate roof, the chapel with its stone cross, the two columns at the front gate, the barn transformed into a cellar flanking the building. Of course the trees had changed. Some were gone, others had grown. The lines of the vineyard had also evolved somewhat, and now the surrounding area bristled with buildings and electric poles. Modern housing encumbered the horizon, but the perspectives fit perfectly, only slightly transposed and compacted by the artist. More than a century earlier, a local painter had set himself up with his easel in this very spot, prepared his paints, drawn his sketches and placed his spots of color amid a group of grape harvesters.
    All he had to do was turn his head a little to the right, toward the south, and Dr. Baldès’ overmantel appeared in turn, with the emblematic facade of the Château Haut-Brion, its two conical turrets transported to the wing as if to lighten the main central square of the building. The earth was combed as straight as a die, and not a single rebellious plant intruded. Benjamin paused for a moment. He already knew what he would discover but waited a few seconds to better enjoy the instant when he would find the landscape of the third painting.
    A quarter turn to the right toward the west, and he saw it by just looking toward the base of the hill. The Moniales Haut-Brion was there, yes, hiding behind the plants, but very much there. It was so obvious. He would have realized it earlier, had he taken the time to think about it. Benjamin kicked himself for not being more perceptive, and he felt gratitude toward Ferdinand Ténotier. The third painting was right there under his nose, and, unlike the other two, it had to be the only one that didn’t correspond exactly with reality. The Moniales château was now hidden by greenery the landscaper Michel Bonfin had planted at the beginning of the 19 th century. The painter must have had a clear view, as the trees were less filled in and shorter, and he must have been able to make out the flow of the Peugue, the moss-covered stone fountain, the small pink marble chapel and the grapevines. With a little imagination, it was easy to picture the scene.
    Virgile was standing off to the side, but he quickly picked up on his employer’s speculation. He walked up and squinted, examining the landscape and forming a frame between the right angles of his thumbs and index fingers.
    “In my opinion, sir, if you pretend the strip housing, apartment buildings and suburban homes around the estate are not there, you can almost believe that …”
    Cooker imitated him, closing one eye to focus.
    “Indeed, all that’s missing are the grape harvesters,” he said, as he was sure that the third painting had workers in the vineyards, like the others.
    “So there you have it, your third overmantel. It’s the Moniales.”
    “Unfortunately, that is not so. Reality is just an illusion, my dear Virgile. Only the artist’s eye captures the truth, even if it seems distorted or interpreted. Do you see what I mean? I would really like to know where that piece of truth is hiding.”
    “We’re not really going to hit up all the antique dealers in the region, are we?” the assistant asked