by Katie Penryn
“Right,” he said as the door closed behind his secretary. “What can I do for you? The mayor has asked me to tell you anything you want as long as it doesn’t breach our industry’s confidentiality rules. So no giving away blending secrets, eh?” he finished with a laugh.
“You’ll be aware Jean-Claude de Portemorency has asked me to investigate his wife’s death?” I asked.
“I thought it was an accident.”
“It may very well be, but that has not been determined as yet. Both the police, and my colleague and I are keeping an open mind for the time being. It would be helpful if you would fill us in on the cognac industry–give us some background–so that we can judge whether the industry setting had anything to do with Hélène de Portemorency’s death.”
“How much do you already know? I don’t want to waste your time and patience waxing on about my passion if it would bore you.”
“I’ll answer that one, shall I, Penzi?” said Felix looking at me for my agreement. I gave a nod and Felix continued. “We paid a visit to the de Portemorency distillery with a view to writing a tourist pamphlet for the local Chambers of Commerce, but that was the day we found Hélène. She’d been supposed to act as our guide on the tour but when she didn’t arrive, Jean-Claude took over. His mind wasn’t on the job. First of all, his leg was paining him and he had to resort to his wheelchair. Secondly, it was obvious he was worried about Hélène. As the morning progressed with still no sign of her and his calls unreturned, he grew even more anxious and couldn’t wait to end the tour and get back to the château to find out what had happened. That’s the long answer. The short answer is not much. We saw a lot of machinery but still don’t know what makes cognac cognac, if you see what I mean.”
Daniel crossed one leg over the other and leaned back. “In that case, we should start with terroir. Do you know what is meant by terroir?”
My turn to answer. “It’s an important concept in France and it’s to do with the soil.”
“It’s a vital concept rather than important. The reason why our superior French wines and brandies are the best in the world is because of terroir. Yes, we produce gallons of supermarket rubbish and middle of the market stuff, but our finest wines and spirits are the finest. And it’s down to terroir for the most part. And that is something that cannot be replicated artificially.”
It sounded a bit mumbo-jumbo to me but I was no wine connoisseur. Still, if I was to write about the industry, I ought at least to understand why terroir held the importance it did. So I asked him to explain it to a woman who hadn’t been brought up with the idea of terroir in her DNA.
“The starting point is the derivation of the word from the Latin terra meaning land via the French la terre. Terroir can have other meanings, but for the wine industry it means the soil of an area or region and its sub-strata. Each terroir produces its specialty depending on how the soil influences the development of the flavor and alcoholic potential of the grape. That is why the appellation d’origine contrôlée, the rules governing the description of various wines, restricts certain wines to certain terroirs. Like champagne, for instance, which can only be called champagne if it’s made from grapes grown in the designated champagne area. Any other fizzy wine has to be called vin mousseux, fizzy wine, at worst, or méthode champenoise, meaning the wine has be made by the same system as champagne but does not qualify for the title because of not being from the correct terroir.”
I was beginning to understand how important this was not only to differentiate wines but also to protect the pedigree of France’s fine wines and spirits. “So, how does that work here in the Cognac region?”
“Let me pour you some more coffee and top up your glasses before I continue.”
“No,” said Felix, “let me do it. This is all fascinating. I’m a whisky man myself. Scotch. Laphroaig for preference. Much of what you’re saying applies to that industry but the Scots don’t have such a tight control over the designations. It’s not unusual nowadays to find Japanese scotch on the shelves.”
“You don’t like my cognac?” Daniel asked with a grin.
Felix backtracked as fast as he could. “Sir, it’s wonderful. Smooth, soft and full of aroma. I’m enjoying it immensely but please continue with your lesson.”
Daniel tossed back the last of his cognac and leaned forwards to replace his glass on the coffee table. “Now, in order to be called cognac, a brandy has to have been made from grapes grown in the designated region and distilled in the time honored way here in Cognac. We have several grades of terroir within the region, ranging from Bois Ordinaires at the lowest end through six levels to Grande Champagne at the highest. Champagne here doesn’t mean the expensive fizzy white wine. It’s the old French word for a chalky soil. And things become more complicated when one grades and ranks the product within the terroir.”
Felix nodded. “I did try making sense of it all by reading articles on the internet, but I did find it confusing.”
“The important thing for you to realize is the de Portemorency vineyards lie in the best terroir, that producing Grande Champagne. This area is limited and cannot be extended under the present rules, and so their business is valuable even before they produce their excellent cognac. Such land has been jealously guarded down through the generations. Marriages have been arranged to keep the vineyards within the family or to extend the reach of a family owning one of the lesser terroirs. You may very well find this has some bearing on your investigation.”
I shifted in my chair as what he had said sunk home. “The obvious follow-up question is do you know of any rumblings to this effect? Has Jean-Claude received and turned down offers to sell his property? Do you know whether he is facing any hostile bids at the moment?”
“His business is a family business unlike this one which is quoted on the French stock exchange. The slightest sign of weakness and the vultures would gather. His vines would be a wonderful addition to any large business’s bouquet.”
“He hasn’t mentioned any of this to us.”
“He’s not likely to because in my opinion he doesn’t realize how vulnerable he is. Especially now. His wife was the commercial brains behind the business and with her gone, goodness knows whether he will be able to keep things going at the same level. It was his wife’s money that dug the de Portemorency distillery out of the chasm of near bankruptcy. It was touch and go at the time, but then Hélène’s parents were killed in a car crash. She received a large insurance payout and inherited a chunk of cash from them. As they were a wealthy Brittany family with only the one child, she inherited the lot.”
Felix cleared his throat. “So, would Bennetta’s be ready to buy Jean-Claude out if his business fails?”
“Of course,” said Daniel. “It would be foolish to miss the chance to own such valuable real estate.”
“Any of the others?” I asked.
Daniel pursed up his mouth while he considered my question. “Yes, I bet the de Gonzelles establishment would bid against us. There may be others as well, the larger enterprises who could raise the cash from their shareholders for such a bonus.”
I sighed at the thought of poor Jean-Claude coping with his bereavement, his motherless children and his wounded leg on his own while the powerful companies hovered around him waiting for him to falter.
“You paint a depressing picture, Monsieur Daniel,” I said.
“Maybe, but that’s life in business. However, don’t for a moment go imagining that any one of us would have tried to kill Hélène with a man trap. Apart from the fact that we are not the murdering kind, that would have been a very inefficient way to plan a murder. Totally hit and miss if you ask me.”
“That’s what makes the whole affair so baffling,” I said. “If it was murder, the murderer would have had to be sure that it would be Hélène he caught in the trap which seems beyond reason. But then why else place traps in such a place? Traps which are illegal and hard to come by?”
Daniel smiled my way. “From wh
at I’ve heard about your talents on the grapevine, so to speak, you will get to the bottom of this and the sooner the better. Hélène’s death has had an unsettling effect on the members of the BNC. They are only too aware of their predatory inclinations towards the de Portemorency establishment and it makes them ashamed. Too much schadenfreude is bad for the soul.”
It was time for us to leave and ponder what we’d been told. We made our farewells with the promise that we’d tell Monsieur Daniel the whole story once we’d discovered it.
On the way home to Beaucoup-sur-Mer, Felix said to me, “You never know what’s going on below the surface in these seemingly civilized towns and villages. I found Daniel’s picture of the big distilleries circling Jean-Claude and his beautiful château like a pack of avaricious hyenas most disturbing.”
“We have to make sure Jean-Claude gets the tools and personnel he needs. Maybe you could help him with that, Felix?”
“What me?” he replied sliding back in his seat. “What do I know about grapes?”
“You know about business. You could help him with that side of things. Make sure he employs a good finance person.”
Felix harrumphed into his chest and we left the discussion there.
Chapter 19
Jean-Claude called us that evening to tell us he had set up a rendezvous for us with Hélène’s best friends. As they were all working women, they would meet us at La Licorne, a bar and restaurant in the city center, at six thirty the following evening. Felix and I spent the day researching on the internet for everything we could find out about the cognac industry and its famous terroirs. We found an article about a billionaire who collected cognac and had a bottle that had cost him two million pounds. Although I could appreciate his passion for the water of life, I found the price paid ridiculous. Felix had to remind me that market price is what the market is prepared to pay for an item. The more we delved into the mystique of the valuable spirit, the more we leaned towards cognac being the key to the whole puzzle of Hélène’s death but we couldn’t work out how.
“Maybe the three girls–” began Felix before I interrupted him.
“Young women.”
“Young women then. Maybe they will shed some light into the dark corners of our brains and get them working.”
At five thirty we checked in with Gwinny to see if she wanted us to bring her back anything from Cognac. I’d been doing my best to be thoughtful about Gwinny. Felix had rebuked me more than once for my lackadaisical attitude towards her and I had vowed to mend my ways. Blood was supposed to be thicker than water after all.
Gwinny ducked her head submissively at my question and I sighed. Our relationship was never going to improve if she put on her act of being browbeaten every time I spoke to her. It loaded me with double guilt: first for being unable to shower her with unlimited forgiveness and, secondly, for finding her irritating for type-casting me as the baddie in the relationship. I took a deep breath and reminded myself she was my mother and as such I owed her respect, even if I couldn’t love her again yet awhile. I approached her and put my arm around her.
“Do you want to come with us? You could do some sightseeing while we’re busy?”
“Who would look after Jimbo?” she asked.
“He could come with us.”
“Yes, please,” he said looking up from his homework. As his headmistress had warned, French schoolchildren did have a heavy load of work every evening.
“Sorry,” I said quickly. Gwinny was right. I was the one being irresponsible this time. Jimbo had school the next day.
“So, Gwinny? Anything?”
She asked us to search out some fresh artichokes for dinner and I promised to do so, giving myself a silent reminder to buy a little treat for her.
*
We were a few minutes late for our meeting at La Licorne but we needn’t have worried. Only two of the women had arrived before us, both brunettes, one with long soft hazel ringlets and the other with her chestnut hair cut in that style so popular with chic Frenchwomen, the pixie cut. They introduced themselves as Catrine and Diane, respectively.
“Anne-Marie won’t be long,” said Catrine as we took our seats. “She phoned to say she’s been held up by an emergency case. She’s a doctor, a general practitioner, with her consulting rooms a couple of streets away.”
We made small talk while we waited for the third of Hélène’s friends to turn up. I asked Diane how the three of them had met.
“We were all students together at Bordeaux University. We met at a freshers’ party and have stayed close ever since.”
“And Hélène?” I asked.
She pushed her long ringlets back over her shoulder. “Hélène, too. She studied business. The only one of the four of us not to follow a science-based degree. I started off with medicine, like Anne-Marie, and then went on to anthropology to become a forensic anthropologist.”
I hoped Felix and I would never need to avail ourselves of her expertise.
“And you, Catrine?” I said turning to the woman with the slight frame and delicate features.
“Pathology for me. I work in a large lab on the outskirts of the city. It’s not glamorous work but essential to the smooth running of our health service.”
“Do you handle work for the police?” Felix asked.
“Yes, and we do autopsies, but if we’re too busy, the police have to send their work to Bordeaux.”
That’s when I realized I’d seen the name before. Catrine LaForêt. On Hélène’s autopsy report.
“Oh, my goodness, Catrine,” I said reaching my hand across the table to touch hers in apology. “I hadn’t realized. You must have been the one who performed the autopsy on Hélène.”
She shrugged. “Death is part of life even when it’s your best friend.”
“Are you all right with talking to us?”
“Of course. I want the person responsible for Hélène’s death found and punished. Whether it was negligence or murder, he must pay the price for his evil doing.”
“I’ve read the report. There was no way to say whether Hélène’s death was accidental or planned.”
“No. Cause of death was exsanguination from the wound caused by her leg being trapped in the metal teeth of the man trap. Even if the guilty person didn’t intend to catch a human being, if he was there in the vicinity and didn’t help, that is murder, too.”
Felix called the waiter over and ordered a round of drinks. “What will your friend like?” he asked Catrine and Diane.
“Pineau on the rocks, white,” Catrine answered. “Oh, here she is.”
I turned my head to see a trim young woman enter the bar. To my surprise, with her neat delicate features and coal black hair she looked Vietnamese. On second thoughts that shouldn’t have surprised me. Many Vietnamese live in France. Their country had been colonized by the French in the late 1800’s and had won its independence in 1954.
“Sorry, I’m late,” she said as Felix stood to shake her hand and then pull out a chair for her. “I’m Anne-Marie.”
After the flurry as we all settled back again, I explained that Catrine and Diane had been telling us how the three of them had met and about their chosen careers.
The waiter arrived with the drinks and we took a few moments to raise our glasses with a salut to Hélène and take a first sip. As they replaced their glasses, the three women gave us their attention, all three of them with eyebrows raised.
I smiled and they relaxed. “Jean-Claude told us you three were Hélène’s best friends. We’re hoping you can fill us in on her life and loves, so to speak.”
Anne-Marie laughed. “Hélène called us mes trois brunes, my three brunettes. We’re going to miss her greatly. I’m not sure we can add much to your investigation. Hélène was an uncomplicated loving wife and mother.”
Catrine added, “And deeply involved in the rescue of her husband’s business.”
Felix picked up the thread. “Is it true she used her inheritance to prop up de
Portemorency’s?”
“Oh yes, and the insurance money from her parents’ death. We tried to warn her at the time not to put all her money into the business, but she insisted that Jean-Claude’s life was her life.”
I took another sip of my pineau, not wanting to fire out our questions with the rapidity of a machine gun. After a decent pause, I said, “So, Jean-Claude and Hélène were a love match at the start. Was everything still all right between them? Any hints of discord?”
The three women exchanged glances. Anne-Marie and Catrine gave Diane a barely perceptible nod.
“We have been worried recently about Hélène,” Diane began. “She’s been tense and a bit irritable. That’s unlike her usual calm attitude to life. We heard her snap at Jean-Claude on the phone a few times.”
Catrine broke in. “We wondered if the money troubles had resurfaced and the stress was damaging their relationship.”
“Do you think either of them could have been having an affair?” I asked.
The three women shrank back as one in horror at the suggestion.
“Never,” said Diane her ringlets flying from side to side as she shook her head in vehement denial.
Then Anne-Marie said, “On second thoughts, I’m not so sure. One can never be sure. Hélène did say she thought Jean-Claude was keeping something from her; that he was secretive. He wouldn’t answer when she asked him what was going on. He told her everything was fine.”
“But she didn’t accept that?” I asked.
“No. But then again, I can’t say she thought he was being unfaithful. She never said that either.”
Time to change tack. “What do you three know about a man called Gilbert Clancy?”
Three heads came up as one.
“How did you hear about him?” Diane asked.
