Vintage Pride (10 page)

“Don’t go just yet.” Jean-Luc pulled Thérèse back to him. “I need you to keep what’s happened strictly between us. Don’t tell Marcus about this, please. It will only complicate things.”

A thought seemed to occur to Thérèse and she narrowed her eyes. “Does Ethan know you’re a shifter?”

“How could I tell him? Think what the man does for a living. He tries to prove things exist that are outside normal human experience. If he learns what I am—what you and Marcus are—he’s bound to inform the whole world.”

“And that’s another good reason why you should end this now.”

He heaved a sigh. “I wish I could. But I can’t.”

“Oh, little brother, what kind of mess have you got yourself into?” She gave him a rueful look and walked out of the kitchen.

Jean-Luc stood for a while after his sister had left, reflecting on her words.

She was right. He and Ethan were far too different to make any kind of relationship work. He should treat what had happened between them tonight as a one-off event. Yet every moment they’d spent together had told him they were bonded and nothing could change that.

Chapter Ten

The jangle of an alarm woke Ethan from deep sleep. He thrashed around in the bed, trying to discover where the sound came from so he could put a stop to it. It seemed like only minutes had passed since he’d crept down from Jean-Luc’s room and crawled under the covers beside a gently snoring Leon.

“Rise and shine, sleepy head,” Leon called, shutting off the alarm.

“Hey, man, what the fuck…?” Ethan gazed at his roommate through one half-opened eye.

“Breakfast in ten minutes.” Leon went over to the window then pulled open the drapes, letting in bright daylight. “I let you sleep as long as I could but we’ve got a busy day today. Marcus is giving us a tour of the vineyard then we’ve got all the equipment to set up.”

His only response was a groan. Last night he’d enjoyed some of the best sex of his life. He wanted to sink back into the sheets and relive the luxurious memories of everything he and Jean-Luc had done, not worry about where to place the remote cameras to get the best chance of recording whatever supposedly stalked the scullery after dark.

Realizing Leon wasn’t going to go down to the dining room without him, Ethan dragged himself out of bed. As at least part of the day’s activities would be filmed, he pulled his regulation
Spirit Seekers
wardrobe of a black polo shirt with the show’s logo embroidered on the breast and camo-patterned combat pants out of a drawer. He went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, doing his best to wake up. He pictured Jean-Luc, sprawled naked on that big, wooden-framed bed. His cock stirred at the memory. At this rate he’d need a full-on cold shower to damp down his desire but he didn’t have time for that. Hastily, he dressed then went back to join Leon.

When they arrived in the dining room, it was to find Kim sitting at the table drinking a glass of orange juice.

“Dex and Pete not up yet?” Ethan shot a reproachful glance at Leon, trying to convey that he could have had longer in bed.

“Pete’s already eaten, and now he’s outside having a cigarette,” Kim replied. “He said Dex went for his usual three-mile run about twenty minutes ago, so he should be back any time now.”

No matter where they went, Dex stuck to the same rigid fitness regime. According to him, since he’d quit football he’d been in danger of piling on the pounds and running was the only thing that allowed him to keep on eating what he wanted.

“
Bonjour
, Ethan.” Agathe appeared, carrying a plate of croissants. “
Bonjour
, Leon. Would you like coffee or chocolate to drink?”

“Coffee for me,” Leon said at once.

Ethan considered the question for a few seconds then replied, “Chocolate, please.”

“Very good. I will be back in a few moments. Please, help yourself to juice.” Agathe gestured to the jug in the middle of the table.

Ethan poured himself a glass. “Did you sleep well?” he asked Kim.

“Mm-hm. This place would make the most fabulous hotel. D’you think Marcus and Jean-Luc could be persuaded to install spa facilities?”

Agathe interrupted Kim’s speculation by choosing that moment to return with their drinks. What she set in front of Ethan was not a cup but a bowl, decorated with a fleur de lys pattern and full almost to the brim with creamy hot chocolate.

“This is the traditional way to serve coffee or chocolate for breakfast,” she informed him as she gave Kim and Leon similar bowls containing coffee. “Some of us even like to take a piece of croissant and dip it in our drink.”

Ethan did as Agathe suggested, breaking off the tip of his pastry. He dunked it in his cup then popped it between his lips. “This is good,” he said, having eaten the warm, buttery mouthful, “but I don’t see it catching on in the coffee shops back home.”

Dex came into the dining room, the gray marl T-shirt he wore damp with sweat from his run. He said a brief good morning to everyone then poured himself a glass of juice which he downed in a couple of big gulps. “Going for a shower,” he announced. “Save me one of those croissants, someone.”

Leon had made himself a sandwich by slicing a chunk of baguette in half and stuffing the buttered halves with ham. “You know, I could get used to breakfasts like this.”

“Well, make the most of it,” Kim replied. “We’re only here for another few days, don’t forget. I checked my emails before I came down here. Dan’s PA sent the confirmation that we’re booked on a flight out of Charles de Gaulle to Prague at eight o’clock on Wednesday night.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ethan said. “Isn’t that where we’re supposed to be hunting for the mad monk who stalks the old city hospital?” A week ago, he’d have welcomed confirmation they were taking their investigations to what was reputedly one of the most haunted cities in Europe but now he could only think of the inevitable moment when he’d have to say farewell to Jean-Luc.

“Okay, so the food may not be as good in the Czech Republic but the girls are gorgeous. Man, I love my job.” Leon took another bite of his baguette, a look of contentment spreading across his face.

Marcus White popped his head round the door. “How is everyone this morning? Sleep well?” He didn’t wait for an answer, adding, “I’ll see you all outside in the back courtyard in twenty minutes. It’s a beautiful day for showing you the vines and I don’t want to miss a minute of it.”

* * * *

A little over half an hour later, Ethan found himself striding after Marcus as they walked away from the château toward the vineyard.

“Now, I’m sure you’ve all tasted your share of Champagne,” Marcus said, “but how much do you know about it?”

“I know you can’t have a party without it,” Kim commented.

“Yes, and that’s all down to some very clever marketing over a century ago,” Marcus told her. “What makes Champagne special is the fact that it’s effervescent. Even in mediaeval times, the French knew that if you fermented wine twice, it would sparkle. But it was a difficult process and an expensive product to make, and it took hundreds of years to refine the procedure until you were guaranteed the result you wanted every time.

“Champagne didn’t really become popular here until the era that’s come to be known as
la Belle Epoque
, from around the 1890s to the start of the First World War. Think of all those Toulouse-Lautrec paintings of the Moulin Rouge. If you look at them closely, you’ll see glasses and bottles of Champagne feature as prominently as the can-can dancers with their frothy petticoats. That’s because he was hired to paint those images by the major Champagne houses. They wanted people to associate their drink with celebrating and having a good time—and that’s how it’s been viewed ever since. You could call it one of the earliest examples of product placement.”

“Is it true that only wine from this area is allowed to call itself Champagne?” Kim asked. “I’m sure I read that in a magazine somewhere.”

Marcus nodded. “Yes, thanks to a European Union ruling, it’s one of those products that have what’s called a protected designation of origin. The rule was brought in to guard the reputation of regional foods and prevent people passing off an inferior item as something that’s meant to be of higher quality. You’ll find it applies to cheeses like Stilton and Gorgonzola, too. Winemakers across the world can produce sparkling wines, but they can’t be labeled as Champagne. Of course, Spain has its own equivalent with Cava, and Italy with Prosecco, but what’s made here in France can’t be equaled in terms of taste, in my opinion.”

He led them out to the edge of the vineyard. Rows of vines stretched away down the hillside, each plant heavy with bushes of pale green grapes.

“And here begins our course in winemaking,” Marcus announced, clearly reveling in being able to display his specialized knowledge. “I’m sure you’ve all drunk enough of the stuff to know there are many different types of wine. Not just red and white, but dry, sweet and everything in between. And the reason for most of these variations can be summed up by the French word
terroir
.”

“Man, that’s a new one on me,” Dex muttered.

“There isn’t really an English equivalent,” Marcus went on. “It encompasses how the climate, soil and terrain of a region affect a wine’s taste. Champagne is singular in that it’s an area which has a cool climate and harsh weather conditions. The vines can be subjected to warm sunshine in the summer and severe frosts in the winter, though they don’t get as much sun as places that produce richer, more rounded wines like Bordeaux and Burgundy. And they actually can’t survive if planted much farther north. It’s why the British and Scandinavians are traditionally beer drinkers, because they never really had a climate that’s conducive to making wine.”

“That I get, and presumably there’s something special about the soil, too. But what does the terrain have to do with it?” Pete asked. “I mean, yeah, we’re standing on a hill, but other places are hilly…”

“Well, the rocks here are sedimentary, laid down over centuries, rather than being formed abruptly by volcanic activity…”

Wow, when did this turn into Geography 101?
Ethan had known winemaking was a complex process but he hadn’t realized just how much went into it.

“The subsoil is limestone, which keeps the vines well watered.” Marcus bent and rubbed a little of the soil between his fingers. “As for the part the hillsides play, Pete, the slopes here are only moderately steep. It means any excess rainwater drains away well, and the plants get optimum exposure to the sun. Combine all these factors and you get a slightly acidic quality to the grapes. When their juice ferments, that’s what provides Champagne with its distinctive taste. Any other questions?”

“I’ve always wondered what it means when you see
Brut
on the label,” Kim said.

“It indicates the style of the drink is dry—in other words, not sweet. Champagne is fermented twice, once in the vat and again in the bottle. If you want to produce a sweeter taste, you need to add a
dosage
—a mixture of sugar and wine—after the second fermentation. Some houses produce Champagne Doux, which is the sweetest you can get, or a Demi-Sec, which is somewhere in the middle, but LeBlanc concentrates on Brut. And quite successfully, too, if you’ll allow me to blow my own trumpet for a moment.” Marcus grinned. “But you won’t get a proper idea of what I’m talking about until you try it, will you?”

He led them all back to the château. “We’re very fortunate in this region to have some of the finest Champagne houses in the whole of France—what are known as
les grandes marques
. If you go to Épernay, you’ll find the cellars of Moët et Chandon and Perrier-Jouët, along with a number of other producers I’m sure you’ve heard of. And Château LeBlanc stands proudly alongside them—in terms of quality if not worldwide branding.”

To Ethan’s ears, Marcus sounded slightly resigned when he compared himself to his more illustrious rivals—as though he sensed the recognition he craved would always elude him.

Behind the château stood a low outhouse built of the same pinkish stone. Marcus opened the door, then gestured to his audience with a flourish. “Now, let’s go down into the
caves
.”

They descended a narrow staircase. Ethan expected the stale, musty smell he always associated with subterranean rooms to be present but the cellar was clean and well kept.

“Off to your right, you’ll see the vats where the Champagne is fermented, along with the bottling plant,” Marcus informed them.

“Out of interest, how many bottles do you produce a year?” Dex asked.

“Around ninety thousand, though that depends on the grape yield, naturally. Like I said, we’re small fry compared to Moët and their ilk.”

Dex chuckled. “That still sounds like a helluva lot of booze to me.”

“And this”—Marcus came to a halt before a sturdy grille at the far end of the passageway—“is where we store the finished article.”

Ethan gazed through the iron bars to see row upon row of bottles neatly placed in a honeycomb-shaped rack.

“So does this cellar run all the way under the château?” said Pete as Marcus unlocked the grille.

“No. The LeBlanc family first started producing wine in the 1830s, and that’s when this part of the cellar was blocked off to create the storage and bottling facility. The other side of that wall is where you’ll be conducting your investigations. It’s much smaller in terms of square feet but it’s the place all the bad stuff happens.” Marcus stepped in to take one of the bottles from the rack. Once he’d locked up again, he said, “Now if you’d like to come with me, I’m sure this is what you’ve been waiting for.”

He took them back to the area that contained the huge wooden vats used for fermenting the wine. “Those are empty at the moment but in a couple of weeks, all being well, we’ll be starting to fill them up. Once the grapes have been picked, everything moves very quickly.”

Six glasses stood waiting on an upturned barrel. Marcus placed the bottle beside them then unscrewed the wire cage that guarded the cork. As he began to twist, he said, “When you open Champagne, the cork should never come out with a pop but with a sigh…” The faintest of sounds accompanied his actions.