The Bordeaux Betrayal (34 page)

I burst out laughing. “Are you really going to Egypt?”

His smile broadened. “But, of course.”

The day before he left for Paris, Pépé planned his own farewell party, inviting Dominique, Eli, Quinn, Thelma, and me to join him at the villa. He’d brought a bottle of 1945 Château d’Yquem from France, intending to drink it with his colleagues to commemorate the year the war ended in Europe. Instead, he decided to share it with us.

“One last memory bottle,” he said. “To lay old ghosts to rest.”

We drank it at sunset before going to dinner at the Goose Creek Inn. When Thelma arrived in another flaming red dress, Pépé kissed her hand. She blushed and glowed like a young girl. Quinn, to my surprise, showed up in a well-tailored blazer, a pair of wool trousers, and a black crewneck sweater. No jewelry. A first for him.

He caught my stare and held it.

Pépé proposed the first toast, to the future.

“What are you going to do about the auction, after everything that’s happened?” Dominique asked. “I heard Sunny Greenfield left town and she’s not coming back. Jeroboam’s is locked up with a sign that says CLOSED INDEFINITELY.”

“We’ll still hold it, of course,” I said. “I think we’ll manage to raise a lot of money—nothing like what we expected—but it will be something.”

“I can’t get over that Shane,” Thelma said. “He was always so nice to me but, you know, there was something kind of fishy about him. Usually I’m pretty good about figurin’ folks out, but I guess my extrasensory precipitation wasn’t working so hot this time. I just can’t believe he killed those poor women.” She looked over at my grandfather. “You’re a brave man, Luc Delaunay. You and Lucie could have been killed.”

Quinn moved so he was standing next to me and laid a hand on my shoulder. He leaned down. “Thelma’s got quite a crush on your grandfather.”

“Mmm.”

Pépé smiled at Thelma and raised his glass to her.
“‘He did not wear his scarlet coat, for blood and wine are red. And blood and wine were on his hands when they found him with the dead. The poor dead woman whom he loved, and murdered in her bed.’”

“Why, Luc!” Thelma’s face turned the color of her dress. “That’s real poetry. Aren’t you the clever one? Did you make that up?”

“Ah, no.” He smiled at her. “I am not so gifted. Oscar Wilde wrote it. ‘The Ballad of Reading Gaol.’”

“How funny—it describes Shane perfectly,” Dominique said. “The scarlet coat. Killing the woman he loved. Even the blood and wine on his hands.”

“Speaking of blood and wine, Ryan Worth is going to fly to Switzerland to get the Washington wine tested,” I said. “He called this afternoon. There was enough left in the bottle.”

“I still can’t believe you hit Shane with that bottle,” Eli said. “Thirty thousand to choose from in that wine cellar and you picked that one?”

“I had to get his attention,” I said. “And he was holding a gun.”

“You know, if Valerie hadn’t shown up and scared Jack by threatening to expose his father, Shane would probably still be getting away with that scam,” Dominique said.

“I suppose we’ll never know,” Quinn said. “Or if Nicole hadn’t come to town for that Margaux.” His hand was still on my shoulder. He said in my ear, “Jaime came to get her yesterday. We went out for a few drinks last night.”

“You okay?”

“I think so.” He gazed at me and his fingers brushed the back of my neck. “I’m glad nothing happened to you and your grandfather. I’d hate to think about losing you.”

My face warmed. “You would?”

“We’ve got the Cab to blend. I need you for that, don’t I?”

“Yes,” I said, “I guess you do.”

“We could, in the United States, make as great a variety of wines as are made in Europe, not exactly of the same kinds, but doubtless as good,” Thomas Jefferson wrote in 1808 in a letter to a French acquaintance. Though Jefferson’s fondest desire was that his own country would cultivate a wine industry, he developed a strong appreciation for French wines while serving as American ambassador to France from 1784–89 during George Washington’s administration. The most knowledgeable oenophile among the Founding Fathers, Jefferson was also the greatest wine expert in Colonial America. Besides acting as an informal wine consultant to many of his famous friends, he advised several presidents on the subject, including Washington and Monroe.

In 1789 when Jefferson returned from France for what he thought was a temporary leave of absence, Washington asked him to remain in America and become secretary of state. Though he’d hoped to return overseas, Jefferson reluctantly accepted the appointment. Once settled at home, he offered to introduce Washington to the world of French wine, helping stock the president’s cellar.

It was not the first time the two good friends had collaborated on the subject of wine. As far back as 1774 when the Continental Congress passed legislation banning imported spirits, Jefferson had enlisted Washington’s financial support as a backer of the Virginia Wine Company, which was formed for the purpose of growing grapes and making wine in Virginia.

Though that project failed, Washington gladly took advantage of his good friend’s expertise to become acquainted with the best French vintages. According to John Hailman’s excellent book
Thomas Jefferson on Wine
(University Press of Mississippi, 2006), in 1790, Jefferson wrote the American consul in Bordeaux requesting thirty dozen bottles of Château d’Yquem for Washington and ten dozen for himself, and twenty dozen Château à Latour for Washington. On another occasion, he ordered forty dozen bottles of champagne for President Washington. Throughout his tenure as secretary of state, Jefferson continued ordering wine for Washington, both for Mount Vernon and during his presidency in the then capital city of Philadelphia.

Like Jefferson, George and Martha Washington entertained most days of the year, opening Mount Vernon to both friends and strangers who passed through the region. Through their letters and diaries, it was evident the Washingtons welcomed hundreds of guests annually, providing food and lodging.

“My manner of living is plain,” Washington once said. “A glass of wine and a bit of mutton are always ready.”

Plain though he claimed to be, Washington always served wine at his afternoon dinners and evening suppers—both with the meal and afterward. Never a connoisseur like Jefferson, Washington enjoyed a daily glass or two of Madeira, a fortified Portuguese wine, or Claret, the generic term for red wine.

Over the years both men tried and failed to establish vineyards on their properties. Washington ordered vine cuttings from Madeira, which never bore fruit in the soil of Mount Vernon, just as the dozens of species of wine grapevines Jefferson tried to grow at Monticello did not produce a single bottle of wine.

Nevertheless both were successful in other ventures involving alcohol and spirits. For years Jefferson brewed his own beer at Monticello and Washington enjoyed considerable commercial success as the owner of a whiskey distillery, to such an extent that he may have been the number-one whiskey producer in Colonial America.

Over the years, the two close friends undoubtedly drank many bottles of wine together. However, a few years before Washington’s death, Jefferson committed the unpardonable political blunder of writing a private letter to a mutual friend in Italy sharply criticizing Washington. The letter made its way back to America, where it created a firestorm when it was published in a Philadelphia newspaper.

Though he had considered Jefferson one of his most trusted partners since before the American Revolution, Washington was so hurt he refused to write or speak to his old friend ever again. Unlike the prolific Jefferson, Washington left behind no documents mentioning what he thought of all the wines Jefferson had procured for him, or the occasions on which they drank them together. With their decades-long relationship irretrievably severed, the two Founding Fathers never again shared a bottle of wine.

I am grateful to many people for the time and assistance they gave me while writing this book, but I’m especially indebted to Juanita Swedenburg of Swedenburg Estate Vineyard in Middleburg, Virginia, who, as always, sat me down and schooled me in the business of making wine. Her death in June 2007 was a loss to her family, her many friends, and to the Virginia wine industry where she was known as the gutsy lady who sued the state of New York for the right to ship her wine across state lines. It took five years, but she finally won her battle before the Supreme Court. All of us miss her.

I would like to thank winemaker Rick Tagg for his assistance in answering my questions with patience and humor, and for reading this book as a manuscript. Mary South Hutchison spent many hours discussing foxhunting and steeplechasing with me, loaning me books from her personal library.

James McGrath Morris granted me permission to use his edited version of
Thomas Jefferson’s European Travel Diaries,
which was published by Isadore Stephanus Publishing on the bicentennial anniversary of Jefferson’s journey through the wine regions of Europe. At Monticello, Gabriele Rausse, winemaker and Associate Director of Gardens and Grounds, spoke to me in Jefferson’s vineyards on a cold March day. Cinder Stanton, Shannon Senior Historian at Monticello, talked to me about Jefferson’s wine purchases for George Washington, as did John Hailman, author of
Thomas Jefferson on Wine
(University Press of Mississippi, 2006).

Thanks, also, to the following people for their help and expertise: Elizabeth Arrot, Terry Jones, Cheryl Kosmann, André de Nesnera, Katherine Neville, Martina Norelli, Lois Tuohy, and Mike Willis. Special thanks to MPO J.J. Banachoski of the Fairfax County Police Department’s Crash Reconstruction Unit.

As always, I’m grateful to the RLI gang: Donna Andrews, Carla Coupe, Laura Durham, Peggy Hanson, Val Patterson, Noreen Wald Smith, and Sandi Wilson.

At Scribner, my thanks to Anna deVries, Susan Moldow, Whitney Frick, Katie Monaghan, Andrea Bussell, and Heidi Richter. Overdue thanks to Katie Rizzo and Rex Bonomelli. At Pocket I’m indebted to Maggie Crawford and Melissa Gramstad. Finally, I’m grateful for the counsel, wisdom, and friendship of Dominick Abel.

In addition to Jefferson’s original diaries and John Hailman’s book, several other books were particularly helpful in researching and writing this novel:
Wine & War
by Don and Petie Kladstrup (Broadway Books, 2002),
Passions: The Wines and Travels of Thomas Jefferson
by James M. Gabler (Bacchus Press, 1995), and
Wine: The 8,000-Year-Old Story of the Wine Trade
by Thomas Pellechia (Thunder’s Mouth Press, 2006).

For those interested in reading more about the now-famous “Jefferson wines”—bottles of Bordeaux supposedly belonging to Thomas Jefferson discovered behind a bricked-up cellar wall in Paris—I recommend “The Jefferson Bottles” by Patrick Radden Keefe from the September 3 and 10, 2007, issue of
The New Yorker
and
The Billionaire’s Vinegar: The Mystery of the World’s Most Expensive Bottle of Wine
by Benjamin Wallace (Crown, 2008).

Ellen Crosby is a former freelance reporter for
The Washington Post
and was the Moscow correspondent for ABC News Radio. She is the author of
Moscow Nights, The Merlot Murders,
and
The Chardonnay Charade.
Crosby lives in Virginia with her family.