RED STREAM
by Paul Tracy
- "British journalist roasts Greek divinity over
wine tasting scandal". I can see the headline now, sighed Panos, and I'm
scared.
Sally Carson was fuming.
- Look, I was here at 6, you crazy idiot, and nothing
happened, like zilch. So what's up?
- Last night at 6 there was quite a lot happening as a
matter of fact, most of it in the local gaol.
- Who's in gaol?
- Your and my favourite winemaker. Ok, he's not in
jail exactly but wanted for questioning. That's the term you people use over
here, I believe.
- Why for Chrissake?
- The French again, I'm afraid. It always is. Max has
probably been accused of molesting minor appellations controles. Now, about
this tasting...
- Come on, Panos, tell me. It's Max I'm writing about.
- No, you come on. Don't crowd me, Sal. What are you
going to write? The Carson column this week: Max Christian in gaol. That'll go
down well with the readers, they'll think they're in the TV section. I wanted,
Sal, to give you some tasting results.
- Are they worth it?
- You tell me. You did rather well. 17 wines spot on.
- Who came out number 1?
- Can I trust you to keep this totally confidential?
- Keep talking. I have to write about something today
- Madison
- Guy Madison?
-Yes.
- So what? she shrugged.
- Well, Sally. Think about it. You're kind of slow
today, must be the week-end. Correct answers were scored by tasters if their
notes corresponded to what was indicated on the bottle, right?
- Now, if what Max told you is true, that there is
widespread fraud in this business, what does that suggest to you?
- That good tasters should score low marks on the
tasting.
Sally Carson suddenly looked gloomy.
- Which makes you, said Panos, either a crook or a bad
taster. You can live with that. Madison can't.
- Why not?
- Because the whole wine world knows that the man's a
brilliant taster. He has been for 30 years.
- So, the trap snaps shut.
- But Guy is no fool. He knows we can't prove a thing
with all this, but an acute journalist can always mention the tasting in
passing in her Sunday column.
- You guys make me sick.
-...drawing attention perhaps to the astonishing
renaissance of this reclusive wine mogul.
Sal Carson looked carefully at the Greek.
- Guy Madison was pretty big over here back in the
70's, wasn't he?
It was PanosÕs turn to shrug.
- You're younger than you look, I guess.
_________________________
- Art, you're still here. Somehow I never imagined I'd
see you at a wine fair.
- Me neither, Lew. The things I do to understand my
clients' business.
- You done the tour?
- Sure have. I'm on my way. I want to be back in the
Valley tomorrow night. Got meetings on Monday.
- Art, come and have a cup of coffee. Something's come
up I'd like your opinion on.
- No conflict of interest, Lew.
- Wooah, Art, opinion I said, anyway it's not even the
same business.
- Lead the way
They sat over a couple of cappucinos in the bar.
- Art, I was tidying up some when I cleared my office
at 3 Stones, you know how it goes. Well, maybe you don't, but I ran across a
couple of old files that belonged to our consultant winemaker, Max Christian.
You know him, of course.
- Not personally but by reputation
- When I looked more closely, I figured they weren't
his at all. They concerned something called the Christian Realty corporation,
registered in California in the 80's
- So?
The attorneyÕs manner was politely enquiring.
- It turned out to be pretty routine stuff, statutes
and the like. I was trying to work out what to do with it when I ran across your
name.
- My name? In what connection?
- I understand you're a shareholder and director.
Lew studied the attorney's face as he sipped the
piping hot coffee.
- Hm, the lawyer grunted.
- Well, are you?
- I was, Jackson replied. I'd forgotten about that
enterprise. Long time ago, in my misspent youth. I was nominee for someone. I
can't remember what happened to that corporation, guess it was liquidated.
- Strange that you shouldn't remember that. The other
shareholder is a certain Philippe Christian.
- That's right. Philippe. He was French.
- Was?
- Oh, he passed on, a few years later. Plane accident,
I believe.
- Plane accident? Are you sure?
- Yeh, now I come to think of it, we wrapped up that
corporation when his plane fell down.
- Is that so?
- I'd be grateful if you'd send those files to my
office and I'll check them out, Lew.
- I'm not sure I can do that, Art. Max Christian's
father was French, called Philippe and died in a plane accident. Now I know
whom I have to give them to.
_______________________
- This is the programme. Jay, I want you to ask the
two gentlemen we saw yesterday to come here at midday tomorrow. Tell them our
man will be here.
- Are we sure of that?
- I am sure, Jay. He looked with cold surprise at the
doubt suggested by Jay Lincoln. And I want that Red Stream press release to go
out tonight.
- Before the meeting?
- Yes, Jay, before the meeting. Patrick, find Jules
Roux and bring him here tonight.
- Then I forget Christian, Guy?
- You can't do both, Patrick, I just said I was sure
Max would be here tomorrow morning. It's Jules I need to see. Buck, what were you saying earlier
about that circular going round the fair.
- It's an extract from the Bible, Guy. Christian's
friend Panos has spread it around. Here it is.
He slid the 4 page leaflet down the table. Madison
glanced at it.
- Panos. Energetic, that Greek. We underestimated him.
This is harmless but still. Ricardo, Guy turned to his right. Are you ready to
talk figures with our two guests tomorrow? Remember, no false notes. All that
we say in this room must be perfectly straight. If the conversation were to be
overheard, there would be nothing to reproach.
They knew what he meant. Madison moved on smartly.
- Has Arnaud been traced yet?
- Looks like he's back in Paris, Jay interjected, if
we believe his cell phone. Otherwise...he shrugged.
- And that Californian attorney, Jackson?
- He's gone too, remarked Patrick gloomily
Guy Madison turned in his chair and looked around the
table. The storm signals were plain for all to see.
- What the hell is going on here today, he exploded.
Are you all half asleep or just slow on the uptake? Do I have to ask to find
all this out? Where is this fucking attorney?
- Gone back to the States. Took todayÕs plane, Patrick
answered pithily.
Buck Rosenthal cut in abruptly.
- Guy, there's some other news which kind of surprised
me today. Coppell's here.
Guy leaned back in his chair.
- Is he, by Jove. At the fair?
- Right. Even came on the stand and asked how it was
going.
Guy made a sign to Pat Hammond who leant down close to
his chair, listened a moment, nodded and left the room.
- Well, gentlemen, I think that's about all the bad
news I can take for the moment. Is my visitor here?
- In the next room, said Jay
- Show him in
He scribbled intently on a scratch pad for a minute or
so and only looked up when his visitor was standing close to him. He smiled
lazily and reached for a cheque-book.
- What's the damage, Andrew?
Arnaud came into the lobby of his apartment block at
lunchtime. If the concierge Madame Roussel had seen him pass, subsequent events
might have turned out differently. But on Saturday, she always went to her
son's house in the suburbs for lunch.
He rode up in the lift and let himself into the
flat.
He poured himself a malt whisky and sat down at his
desk, turning on his desktop computer. He carefully emptied his pockets, laying
the contents neatly on the desk together with a newspaper he'd purchased that
morning. Finally, he opened a desk drawer and frowned when he found it empty.
Only then did he really notice that the flat was in more than usual disorder.
It flashed across his mind that the police must have been looking for him.
He then began to type. The title was
Private Memorandum for the attention of Max Christian
by Arnaud de Clerc
- Where are you taking me, Max?
- To the cemetery.
Alessa sat back with a contented sigh.
- If not in Venice, then Paris. Why not after all?
WeÕll end up here one day probably.
- This time weÕre going to visit someone who is there,
said Max grimly.
Pre Lachaise in the 20th arrondissement is
the largest cemetery in Paris, so large that maps are sold to help visitors
trace the tombs of celebrities from Molire to Edith Piaf, Oscar Wilde to Jim
Morrison, Napoleonic generals and 19th century politicians. Most of
its occupants were never famous and lie here in eternal obscurity.
Max parked the car just off the Place Gambetta.
- Come on, he said to Alessa, come and meet my father.
________________________________
Banque Roux was a family affair with an English
branch. After his meeting with Madison, Jules went straight to visit cousin
Georges who had a large house in Holland Park. He was shown into the
drawing-room.
- Come in, cousin. Scotch?
- Cognac
- WhatÕs up ?
- Problems, Georges. WeÕre in deep shit. Guy's going
to drop us.
Georges raised his eyebrows in surprise
- Drop you, you mean
- If I'm dropped, so are you
- Doesn't he still need cash?
- He believes that with Red Stream up and running, heÕll
have more than enough with or without Roux. Of course he's not spelling it out
but...
Georges suddenly became abrupt:
- How can he cut us out? The bank has 50% of
Berengaria.
- 49. So does he.
- And the other two are in the U.S corporation.
Madison agreed to that when we bankrolled him. That gave us 51 if we chose to
use it.
- It's the U.S. that is causing the problem.
- Be explicit, for God's sake, Jules.
- Remember where the funds came from for that little
operation?
- Jules, it was 20 years ago.
- Philippe Christian died in a plane crash; you do recall
that, I take it.
- Of course. Clever bastard that one. It was a stroke
of luck that accident.
- As you say, said Jules, a stroke of luck. Well, the
2% belonged, still belongs, nominally of course to Philippe Christian.
- Are you serious? Georges Roux was aghast.
- Perfectly
- Why?
- Complicated to change. It would have drawn attention
to us, a lot of prying questions. Anyway, there was no need.
- And Guy?
- There was no need to inform either.
Georges Roux was concentrating hard:
- Jules, do you have signature on this?
- Yes with a nominee of course. California attorney.
- You better close this up fast, find some
technicality.
- We will have to tread very carefully, Georges.
Something in his tone made his cousin look up from the
depths of his cognac glass.
- You better explain, Jules.
- Max Christian, Philippe's son, is a winemaker. Guy
is trying to lure him into Red Stream. To do that, he needs to be sure the US
problem is solved; then he can safely get rid of us, at least as far as he can
if we still have 49%
Georges frowned
- No, no that's simplistic, Jules. Guy is not going to
hand control of Red Stream to us nor to anyone else. There's something else;
did Madison know Philippe Christian?
- I don't believe so
- Are you sure, Jules? They both lived in London.
- So do 10 million other people
- So did I and I can assure you it was hard to avoid
Christian in those days if you were in business circles. I'll try to find out.
You better go to San Francisco. That company must disappear, Jules. Without a
trace except our 2% of Berengaria. Then we'll worry about Christian fils.
______________________________________
- Mr Christian?
- Is that Courtney?
- It is, sir
- Have you been looking for me, Inspector?
- No, Mr Christian. I was calling you on a more serious
matter. My colleagues in Paris need to speak to you. I'm afraid they've found
your friend Arnaud de Clerc.
Max felt
his heart sink. The call he had dreaded since yesterday.
- Tell me the worst, Inspector
- I beg your pardon
- You said you were afraid, Courtney. What has
happened to Arnaud?
- Indications are that he committed suicide
Curiously, Max almost felt relieved.
- How?
It was a stupid question.
- Mr Christian, are you in Paris now?
- Yes, Inspector.
- Then please go to Mr de Clerc's flat at once. My
colleagues are waiting for you.
- Is this really necessary?
- Absolutely. De Clerc left a note for you, Mr
Christian.
- For me?
- A memorandum in English, a problem for my French
colleagues. It seems that de Clerc...
- Mr de Clerc, Inspector
- It seems that Mr de Clerc jumped out of the window
of his flat on the 5th floor
Max suddenly felt very sick.
_________________________
The apartment in the 16th was spacious and
conventional. Max was surprised; he had never envisaged Arnaud in quite such a luxurious
place. There were dozens of policemen, it seemed, although Max had seen nothing
out of the ordinary in the street below. He identified himself and was shown
straight into the salon where an inspector was sitting at a desk leafing
through some typed pages.
He turned as Max came in.
- Thank you for coming, Mr Christian. I would like to
know where you have been since you left London this morning.
- Where is Arnaud?
- Mr de Clerc has been transported to the morgue,
Monsieur.
- Where did it happen?
- In the cul-de-sac behind the building. Much less
obvious than the avenue, n'est-ce pas?
Max chuckled.
- Something amuses you, Monsieur?
- Not at all. But at least it is in character. So like
Arnaud to remain discreet to the end.
____________
"I meant to talk about this to you, Max, face to
face. I would like to have done that. It would have given us the chance to
spend time together, which we have not done for years. But that is not to be,
so it has to be on paper and in brief, otherwise I'll never finish.
I said to you at Louis' party in a moment of
impatience that your father let us all down. It was true although it may be
fairer to imagine that if he had not died suddenly, he might have chosen to
explain. I doubt it somehow because Philippe was a secret man. When I
discovered the truth, I was appalled, all of us were, by the duplicity of
someone we respected so much.
Philippe's plane went down on Sunday morning. The
first I heard about it was when I came in the next day. I caught the first
plane to London and spent two days trying to be useful mostly spending time
with you. When I returned to Paris on Wednesday, Philippe's personal lawyer
called me and I had a shock.
He told me his client was bankrupt, or to be exact
that there was no money in the estate. Your father had sold all his property
over the preceding 6 months, including his own house in Paris. The apartment in
London, it turned out, was only on a short let. The proceeds had been
transferred to an account in the USA. Further investigation established that
this company had been liquidated and the cash withdrawn.
All of this was done without informing his staff; even
now, I can't explain it. He left us very bitter. I did better than most, being
a lawyer, and I helped one or two others for a while, and I took you down to
Vallais because that was what Philippe wanted. He had even got me to promise to
take you there if he couldn't do so. You had no idea what was happening, you
just drifted in those days. You never asked me once about wills or the estate.
I wonder sometimes if your father didn't know what was going to happen to him,
and wanted to prepare the terrain. I suppose he succeeded there.
Time for me to go, vieil ami. I'd like to hang around
but this is too much. When you introduced me to Ccile, you said jokingly she
was deliciously evil. You won't remember that, but you were right. She cheated
you, cheated me for years and now she's gone I know I will miss her like crazy.
These fools, ces cons, have already spread muck about her all over the front
page. You understand, I know, like me how impossibly precious she was.
Salut, Max. Promise to make some good wine for
me"
- I'll do that for you, Arnaud, Max whispered softly.
For you both.
________________________
- I can't see Madison harming someone like Ccil
somehow. It doesn't fit.
Alessa at this point became irritated.
- Madison, why do you go on about Madison? Max, you
can't see what's in front of your nose.
He scratched his head as well as his nose for a
moment.
- Am I in the wrong movie? Isn't that who we've been
talking about?
- The guy you've been talking about, certainly. But
whose name came up first? Who claimed to know your father years ago? Who was
there with you and Ccile the other night? Who was Ccile's lover? Who has the
money, Max?
- Roux
- Jules Roux. For God's sake start looking at this
through the prism of Jules Roux. Are you perfectly sure that Madison and Roux
act in unison?
- Not at all.
- Then I suggest you take me back to your legendary
flat now, install me in the comfort to which Alessa is accustomed and then hit
the road, as the English like to say, back to London.
Max frowned at this outburst.
- What's the rush, cara?
Alessa shook her head in disbelief
- Because now you know your man, it might be as well
to get to him before he executes anyone else. Don't forget Louis Vallais is
still in London.
- Louis? Why would anyone want toÉ?
- Max. Alessa gave him a vicious Italian glare.
- Merde, I wish you hadn't said that, exclaimed Max
________________
His mind worked overtime as he drove towards the
coast. Luckily the autoroute was wide and straight and fairly empty. The trucks
had mostly pulled off the road for the night.
Following Alessa's advice, he cast his mind back over
the events of the past weeks through the prism of Jules Roux instead of Madison.
The wine fraud, the creative wine marketing, must surely
be Madison's work; but all these deaths were linked in some way to Red Stream.
So what was in it for Jules Roux ?
He remembered Ruth's words that day in Twickenham when
he had first heard the name
"Roux is the money side, Madison does the work,
but I'm not sure it's that simple"
His cell phone rang. It was Lew.
- Can you talk?
- No, but carry on
- Our friend Jackson took the bait. After denying that
the company existed at all, he asked me to hand over the file. He confirmed
Philippe Christian was his partner, but the real shock came when he learnt this
was your dad. Mild panic set in. My guess is there is unfinished business at
the Christian Realty corporation.
- We'll have to move fast then.
- Probably. What have you learnt?
- My dad died on May 10th 1981.
Incidentally, it was a Sunday, the day the Socialists won the French elections.
- Is that significant?
- I doubt it, but relay that date back to Kit will
you?
- Is this all Madison?
- Perhaps not, perhaps Jules Roux
- In which case Guy may not be aware of this. We might
drop a quiet word in the right ear
- We might, but what kind of word? Why should Madison
care?
- He might not, said Lew. On the other hand, he might wonder why Roux has kept this old
link with Christian senior from him when he is planning to hire the son. Call
that a loyal partner? I'll talk to Harvey right away.
- Lewis, another thing. Arnaud de Clerc
committed suicide this morning. He left me a note saying my father was bankrupt when he
died.
- Do you believe that?
- Coming from Arnaud, implicitly.
Five minutes later Max called Panos
- Where's Louis tonight, Panos?
- That's great coming from an exile whose reputation
I've been defending all day. Where the hell are you?
- Approaching Calais fast on the A1. And Louis?
- Louis and I have had an excellent dinner paid for by
you on account at one of these fashionably expensive Thai restaurants around
here. Not much to eat but they make up for it with the prices. Good wine too
which was lucky as Louis really doesn't like Thai food at all.
- Panos, I don't have all night. Stay close to Louis,
even if it bugs him. He may be the next target.
- Madison won't touch Louis.
- Someone else might. I don't think it was Madison who
killed Ccile. Or Nick.
- Oh boy. Panos, for once sounded tired.
- Another thing. Call Sally Carson. Tell her that I am
giving a press conference – a mini press conference – at the fair
tomorrow. I want her to bring along some of the boys and girls.
- A Sunday press conference? Come on.
- Just ask her, Pan.
- OK. When?
- Tomorrow, I just told you.
- I hope, Maxime, that not even you are going to talk
all day; what time?
- Midday.
Driving into central London late that evening, Max
stopped to buy an early copy of the Sunday newspaper. Sitting in the car, he
flicked to the lifestyle supplement and Sally Carson's wine column
MAX CHRISTIAN: Wine Designer or Craftsman ?
"Max Christian, reclusive but hyper-active flying
wine man does not often open his mind to the hacks who scribble about the wine
world. He doesn't much like us, or if he does, he keeps quiet about it. So it
was a surprise this week when I found myself sitting opposite this winemaker's
winemaker in a hotel lobby on the eve of the London wine jamboree. What
happened?
The existential anguish that affects many successful
people in their 40's and 50's may have reached Max: what am I, what should I be
doing?. There may be some of that but it is more likely that this Anglo-French
wine man's intense passion for his product has driven him into the open. This
pulls him in different directions. To be a craftsman, make the best wine
possible, as his mentor, Louis Vallais, taught him 25 years ago is vital. But
Christian says this is not enough. He stresses the duty – and he calls it
a duty – of every thoughtful winemaker to use their imagination to
"create" exciting wines; he does not shun such terms, he makes them
his own although the designer label is not one he likes. This smacks of haute
couture and fashion, which is not a winemaker's job.
One suspects that Christian has no prejudice over
where this blend of creativity and craftsmanship will be found; it can crop up
in multinationals just as easily as in small family outfits. It is the
individual and his capacity to impose his ideas and his enthusiasm which count.
Max Christian is worried about the direction wine has
taken recently: standard, simple, pleasant, cheap varietal juice that could
come from anywhere or nowhere gradually taking the place of standard, tannic,
fairly harsh, cheap appellation that more often than not comes from France. He
doesn't see the need to choose between these two extremes, or to blame the wine
drinker for making ŌwrongĶ choices.
He blames people like himself who have been spending
more time building reputations, he says, than making bold, innovative and, he
underlines, honest wines to enthuse all those who enjoy wine. Christian doesn't
have much time for the industry's favourite nostrums, whether they be
legislation, smart brand marketing or appellation rules. He points out that
less than 50% of Frenchmen drink wine at all, partly perhaps because French
legislation has frozen definitions of what can and can't be done in the
vineyard.
Max Christian wants wine to evolve intelligently. His
message to his peers is "instead of trying to adapt to new tastes, just
take the lead in forging these. This will be achieved by inventing original,
well-crafted wines, not simply colourful labels. Remember you're creators not
simply chemists"
Will this be enough to galvanise the troops, one
wonders?Ķ
Well, thought Max, she made an article out of it
though much good it will do me. He could see already Brian, Pablo and the
Italians asking him tomorrow what brilliant new wines he'd come up with last
night. He read on
"This year's wine fair has also been a story of
renaissance. Guy Madison, wine magician of the 1970's, somewhat of a pioneer of
cut-price wine stores in London with Madison cellars, has risen again like the
proverbial phoenix. A noted wine taster, he proved at the Christian blind
tasting on Friday that he had lost none of his legendary expertise in that
sphere. But the trade are not watching GM like hawks for his slurping or
spitting. They expect a deal, a major deal to be announced this week-end by
this courteous man, whose Berengaria wine group carried off all 24 Amphora wine
awards at this year's event. Strangely appropriate."
Max chuckled, let himself into Panos' flat and fell
into bed
____________________________
This time the car wasn't red but black. A black
limousine – what they call stretch in the States. Max was sitting in the
back and there was a glass panel between him and the driver. He heard the
murmur of voices through the glass but could see only a blur. They seemed to be
on their way out of town into the country.
The limo stopped suddenly. The passenger door nearest
Max opened and a man climbed in. The face was familiar, very familiar but he
couldn't remember the name. It was laughable, he'd seen this man not long ago,
maybe yesterday or this morning.
- Hello Max. Are you ok?
- Fine, fine, he replied, so desperately uneasy that
he could think of nothing else to say
The man looked at him and grunted
- Good, let's go then. He leant forward and tapped on
the glass. Onward
- That word rang a bell somewhere in Max's memory.
What a strange thing to say, not many people spoke like that any more
- Have a drink, Max?
- If you like.
The man flicked open a cabinet in the door to his
right. He leant inside and suddenly in his hand instead of a bottle of Scotch,
there was a small revolver.
- Now listen to me, Christian...
Max awoke with a start in a cold sweat. It took him a
few moments to focus on the ceiling thinking intently about the man in the car.
The face came back to him suddenly so strongly that he said aloud to the walls
- Is that really it?
________________
He got no further sleep that night. He made some
coffee and had some calls to make:
- Caro, what is this? It's 4 o'clock
- I know, it's 3 here. I want you to pack up and leave
now, go to the address I gave you.
- I'll go in the morning. Promise. Good-night, caro
- Alessa, you must...
- Ciao, ciao.
His next call was to California.
- Emily, I need you to make a call
Emily listened to his rapid explanation for a few
moments. Her only exclamation was when she learnt Tom was in London.
- Why the hell can't that bum let me know when he goes
on a jaunt. She listened some more, then finally said irritably.
- OK, OK I get the picture. What do you want from me,
Max ?
- Help with Madison. Get him to call off the pack
- Since when did you imagine I have that kind of
influence?
- Em, you're the only one who does.
- We talk. That doesn't mean he listens.
- Try talking then. It's a start.
Emily yawned. He could see her scowling over the phone
- Jesus, you piss me off, Christian. What did I do to
deserve you? What time is it in London now?
-Three a.m
-Guy will be pleased
Max rang off. His last call was to Tom Coppell.
____________________________
- The two wanderers arrive together. This will save
time.
Madison rose and ushered Tom and Max towards
armchairs; clearly the man had not been to bed
- By the way, Emily did her stuff admirably, Max.
- Listen to me, Madison, Max began.
- No, you two are going to listen to me. The three of
us have one thing in common: a passion for wine. That article about you in
today's paper, Max, was right about that at least. Emily Stone, a lady I esteem
tells me that no-one has more respect for wine than you, Tom. The reason we're
talking now is that I have a project – codename Red Stream – whose
aim is to put passion back into wine, and I want you two to help me run it.
- This repentance is a bit sudden, said Tom
- It's not repentance and it's not sudden. I've been
in this business 40 years and I've been heading this way since I was 20. You
may or may not believe that and frankly I don't much care either way. What I do
care about is launching this project today at 12 at a press conference with you
on my team.
- What is Red Stream?
- Berengaria, my group, has signed contracts to supply
wine to at least three major wine producers across the world. From now on we
make their wine, in other words we design, we create, we invent wines for these
big names for them to sell, as well as for ourselves. I don't want to stop
there, I'll carry on signing new contracts to ensure that more and more of the
world's wine is created by us. That's the way to lure, to entice, seduce if you
like all sorts of people, young, old, rich, poor, all across the world to come
to drink good interesting wine.
- I don't get it, said Tom. If you don't sell it, you
can't fix the price. So you're not sure of anything.
- Mr Coppell, I want fabulous wines from you two.
They'll be produced wherever they need to be produced. Let me worry about what
price they're sold at.
Max and Tom looked at each other; it was Max who
voiced their mutual thought
- Guy, you cannot take over the world of wine
Madison chuckled as he replied:
- I'm not trying to do that, Max. I am trying to
restore joy, fun and pleasure to wine. I did it in a tiny way in the 70's in
Madison cellars in London, I've been building the tools to achieve it in the
USA for the past 20 years. Now Red Stream is ready, and I do not intend to
fail. This project is exciting; what I want to know is if you two want to be
part of it.
_________________________
They discovered Panos huddled over coffee and dressed
only in a black T shirt emblazoned
"We got him" in bright yellow on the chest.
- That's a little premature said Max
- Sunday optimism, young man. Where have you two been?
Preying on defenceless women in Hyde Park?
- Talking to a megalomaniac, said Tom.
- Have breakfast then, Panos replied equably. Always
helpful after a megalomaniac session. Anyone I know?
A female vision floated across the room in an
exquisite silk bathrobe and came to rest at the table.
- Ba,
qu'est-ce que tu fais l? Max was
surprised
Ba shrugged and looked at Panos who shrugged in his
turn and smiled at Max.
- You disappoint me, Ba, sighed Max. Where is Louis?
- Definitely not here, Max. We left him at his hotel.
And before you butt in, it's a new hotel. I changed him late last night. He
didn't like that. I blamed it all on you.
- Great. What did you make of that, Tom?
- What made you do it? I had no choice, after all I'm
on the guy's payroll, but you could just walk away.
- Walk away from that job? Are you serious?
- I am. But I donÕt believe you are.
- I've got this far, man, I want to find out what this
is all about. I can't do that unless I play along.
- You don't buy Red Stream?
- Sure. It's crazy empire-building almost certain to
fail. Megalo stuff. But that's not enough. He doesn't need us, certainly not me
for Red Stream unless we're a front for something else. We're there to make the
deal respectable.
- Well, that's fair enough
- Fair enough if you want to be a glorified PR man.
We'll never get to make "brilliant" wines like that, we'll just have
golden handcuffs. And where does Roux fit into all this? Panos, I can't do that
press conference
- That's lucky because nobody will be there anyway.
They're all going to listen to Madison at 12.
- Now you tell me.
- You've been talking ever since you got here
- All right, so how do we play this, Max? Tom was
sceptical
- Tom, we have a platform, let's use it. Madison and
Roux are rich, intelligent and ruthless
- And as you are none of those things, said Panos,
letÕs hope they make mistakes which even poor, stupid, compassionate people
like you will notice.
- Even more optimistic, said Batrice.
- Not necessarily, said Max. What about some divide
and rule? United they stand but when the jackals fall out...voil. His fist
came down hard on the table. He turned to Batrice, saying casually.
- Ba, tell me how long have you known Ccile de
Clerc?
_____________________
The taxi dropped Alessa at 8.30 outside a large house
in the quiet suburb of Maisons-Lafitte, a dozen miles out of Paris. The
cast-iron gate swung open at her touch, creaking painfully. It was cold; she
shivered. The house looked decidedly gloomy. Why did Max send her out here for
Christ's sake?
She had barely knocked, when the door was opened by a
dark girl dressed in a red kimono. She was young, maybe fifteen or sixteen. She
studied Alessa, appraising her carefully, before melting into a soft smile.
- You must be Alessa, she said. I'm Anna. Come in, you
look dead.
She was shown to a spacious kitchen, and ensconced in
a large farmhouse-style chair.
- Coffee?
- Please
Anna ran barefoot to the bottom of the stairs and
called up softly.
- Mama, Mama. Alessandra's here.
She placed hot coffee in front of Alessa and sat down
beside her.
- Aren,Õt you frightened? she asked.
- No, should I be?
- I would be if there were murderers chasing me, the
child said ghoulishly.
- Murderers are not chasing her, said a voice from the
door. Where did you get that idea, Anna? I'm Nina, she said. Max told me about
you.
She took Alessa by the shoulders and looked at her as
carefully as her daughter had.
- Guapa, she concluded. Max is very lucky.
Alessa was instantly uneasy.
- He didn't tell me much, I'm afraid.
- Max never does. He expects you to work things out.
While you are here, Alessa, for 5 minutes or 5 days please treat this as home.
Any friend of Max is a friend of this family. The rest of the crew are still
asleep. Sunday libertad, you know. Anna, why don't you find Alessandra
something to eat?
____________________
Lew Stone's call left Harvey in a bad mood. Sleep was
a thing of the past and what could he do at this time on a Sunday morning. Ok
so the Christian realty corporation looked like being a key to all this but so
what? It was all tied up; if Jackson was working for someone like Roux or
Madison, he was a nominee shareholder for whoever had bought out...
He sighed, swung his legs over the side of the bed and
lunged for the bathrobe
- Where you off to, Harvey, his wife muttered sleepily
- Work to do, he grumbled
- Chrissake, she turned over burying her head in the
pillow
- You can say that again, he declared, switching on
his computer. All right, so somewhere there's a transaction. Philippe Christian
sold out. When and to whom?
That guy who invented cell phones I could strangle
him, he said to himself
_________________________
At the same time in London Georges Roux made a call to
an old friend, now retired and living in the country.
- Georges, long time no see or no hear. What gives in
the metropolis?
- Oh you know, Derek, plus a change.
- Something must have changed for you to call me on a
Sunday morning.
- I want to pick your brains, Derek.
- The few that are left, old friend, but you can
always try.
You used to invest in liquor, didn't you?
-The bank did, amongst other things.
- Did you ever run across a company called Madison
cellars.
- I remember the name. Made a bit of a noise in the
City, if I recall, not our sort of outfit. Why?
- I was wondering who put up the money for Madison.
- Can't say. Rather long time ago. Unconventional
channels, I suspect. Sorry I can't be more helpful.
- One more question, Derek. Do you remember Philippe
Christian?
- Who doesn't, poor sod. That's a thought.
- What is?
- Christian and Madison. Christian was heavily into
retail property towards the end. It's a long shot but you never know.
- Thanks Derek, you've been a great help.
A minute later Georges was trying to contact Jules on
his cell phone
_____________________
- He's on the way to the airport
- Not surprising.
- Shall we stop him?
- Certainly not. Buck, ask one of your people to meet
the London plane at Frisco airport this evening and follow Jules from there.
Now, let's meet the media
There were almost two dozen journalists slumped in
armchairs in the conference suite. Word had spread that big wine names would be
showing so there were a few ruffled individuals who looked as though their
editors had got them out of their Islington beds to head across London at an
uncivilized hour for a Sunday. Jobs weren't so easy to come by in this
profession, so only the stars could tell their editor to go to hell.
Mark Richmond and Tony Realini were talking to Jay
Lincoln in the suite when Madison entered.
- Gentlemen, our two leading winemakers, Max Christian
and Tom Coppell. Introductions were brief as the party moved towards the group
of journalists. Madison, Richmond and Realini sat in a row behind a long table
- Ladies
and gentlemen, the reason we've got everyone up early on a Sunday morning is
because we want to give you the primeur on a revolution in the wine trade. We
hold, all of us, I think, I hope, this trade in esteem and affection; otherwise
why would we have kicked our heels in it for so long?
There was some mild laughter in the audience
- There have been many changes in my 40-odd years in
wine: millions more people in Anglo-Saxon countries drink it, millions less in
Latin countries. What should we make of that? All decent wine used to be
European, most of it French; now in most places, you have to put on reading
glasses to discover where the wine comes from. I do at least. People used to
buy wine to age and drink later, now they seem to want wine to drink yesterday.
To lapse into jargon for a moment, wine has become a mass-market commodity.
- The risk of mass-market wine is that like yoghurt,
shampoo or cell phones, it will become dull, turning off more people than it
excites. So we have devised a project...