The Critic

Chapter Fifteen
I

It was his first night in the bed. After the clic-clac it had been soft and warm, enveloping him in quilt and mattress, to relieve aching and weary bones and draw him down into a deep sleep. Now sunlight spilled in through the unshuttered window, lying hot across the bed, and he felt Michelle’s breath in his face. She kissed him. A soft, wet kiss, her tongue dragging across his lips and nose. He reached over and ran a hand over her smooth, hairy body. And an arrow of consciousness pierced his slumber, startling him awake.

Braucol gazed lovingly into his face and licked him again.

‘Jesus!’ Enzo sat up spitting and spluttering, then groaned as pain flooded his head. There had been way too much alcohol the night before. But where the hell was Michelle? And then he remembered. He wrapped a sheet around his nakedness and hurried through to the bathroom to slunge cold water on his face. She had been reluctant to spend the night as long as Sophie and Bertrand were there.

‘Sophie doesn’t like me,’ she had told him.

‘Nonsense. Why wouldn’t she like you?’

‘Because she likes Charlotte, and Charlotte doesn’t like me.’

Women, Enzo reflected, always seemed aware of things that passed him by. And so he had spent the night alone. Again. Waking up to the dog on the pillow next to him. He brushed his teeth with extra vigour, then found his towelling robe and went through to the sejour. Sophie and Bertrand were heating croissants in the oven. The room was filled with the smell of their savoury sweetness and the aroma of fresh coffee.

‘ Bonjour,’ Bertrand said brightly. Sophie scowled at her father, then turned away to pour herself a coffee. She was in a mood with him. Enzo raised his eyebrows towards Bertrand in silent question, but Bertrand just shrugged and made a facial apology in silent response.

‘I need your help collecting soil samples today,’ Enzo said.

For a moment, Sophie forgot her mood and turned around, coffee raised to her lips. ‘What for?’

He explained the principal of wine fingerprinting and told them they would need samples from every vineyard Petty had visited. ‘We know where he went from his tasting schedule. I’ll draw up a list after breakfast and we can divide them up among us. I doubt if any of the vignerons are going to welcome us with open arms, so we’ll not tell anyone what we’re doing. Nicole can collect a sample from La Croix Blanche.’

‘And Michelle? I suppose she’ll be helping too?’ Sophie cocked a disapproving eyebrow at her father.

‘Any objections?’

Bertrand said, ‘I think I’ll just go and take my shower.’ He hurried out of the room, leaving father and daughter in awkward silence.

‘Look, if this is because I had one little whisky last night…’

‘I saw you,’ Sophie said. ‘You and Michelle Petty out there by the pigeonnier. ’

‘You were spying on us?’

‘No, I was worried about you. I heard you going outside.’ She drew a deep, indignant breath. ‘It’s disgusting, Papa.’

‘What is?’

‘You and that…that girl. She’s less than half your age. Younger than Kirsty, for God’s sake!’

Enzo gasped in frustration. ‘I don’t believe I’m getting lectured on my love-life by my own daughter. It’s none of your business, Sophie.’

‘You’re my father!’

‘You’re my daughter. And you’ve made it abundantly clear that it’s none of my business who you go out with.’

‘That’s different.’

‘No, it’s not. We’re all adults here. We make our own choices in life. I’ve been twenty years on my own, Sophie.’ He choked back a sudden surge of self-pity. ‘Sometimes a man needs the company of a woman.’

‘What about Charlotte?’

‘Good question. One I’ve asked her often enough. I’m still waiting for an answer.’

They stood glaring at each other, but the flame of their anger was subsiding as quickly as it had flared. And with two steps, Sophie extinguished it completely, throwing her arms around her father’s waist and burying her head in his chest. ‘I’m sorry, Papa. I just worry about you. I don’t want to see you hurt.’

He drew her to him. She was all he really had in the world. The only one he could count on for unconditional love. And he hated it when they fought.

They broke apart at the sound of the door opening and turned to see Nicole hesitating on the threshold. Her eyes were red-rimmed and raw, her face the colour of chalk. It was clear she had been crying, and now tears gathered again in stinging eyes, like rain in clouds.

‘My God, Nicole, what’s happened?’ Enzo reached her in three strides.

Her lip quivered as the tears burned tracks down her cheeks, and she looked up into his face. ‘My mother’s dead.’