Epilogue

Simone Margerolle’s memorial service took place a few weeks later, after her private burial in Paris. The arrest of Simone’s replacement, along with her producer boyfriend, had put work on Max Armond’s movie seriously behind schedule. Simone’s few family members, who lived in Ireland, had agreed to delay the service to accommodate the director.

The church was crowded with somberly dressed celebrities. In turn, they stepped up to give their remembrances, while also promoting their most recent projects: a play, a film, a television appearance… Benjamin couldn’t help feeling sad for the young woman who, despite the orchestrated and choreographed memorial production, was already forgotten. Only David Navarre seemed sincere. With dignity, he talked about her talent and her love of life.

“I have so many regrets, Benjamin,” he said after everyone had poured from the church and gotten into their limos. “I loved Simone and didn’t show her the way I should have. I should have taken on Armond and given her more attention. If I had, she wouldn’t have looked for it elsewhere. And if I hadn’t been so drunk that night…”

“You mustn’t do that to yourself,” Benjamin said. “If they hadn’t drugged her, they would have found another opportunity. You had no way of knowing.” Benjamin changed the subject in an attempt to cheer him up. “I’m looking forward to working with you on your vineyard. I’ll be there soon, along with Virgile. And I’m pleased you didn’t allow yourself to buy into the notion that the parcel’s jinxed.”

For the first time that day, the actor smiled. “Have I ever looked like a superstitious man, Benjamin? And I already have a name for the cuvée. ‘Invincible.’ If all goes well, we’ll have the jewel of Château de Tremblay.”

“We’ll do our best, David. Thank goodness this is one production that won’t be filmed.”

“Right,” David said. “No cameras allowed.” He fell silent for a moment. “Benjamin, I can’t get over Lee Friedman’s death, and so soon after Simone. Did you go to the funeral?”

“Yes. His family wanted to keep it private, but they made an exception for me. I don’t know why.”

Lee Friedman had committed suicide, swallowing a host of meds in one go. His cleaning woman had found him the morning after, his face resting on the keyboard of his computer. A Mavis Staples recording, “I’ll Take You There,” was playing in a loop.

“It’s hard to understand,” David said. “He’d just signed a contract for another screenplay. The producers wanted me to star in it, but unfortunately, I had to decline. I’d heard, though, that several other big names were interested.”

“Why didn’t you want the part?” Benjamin asked.

“I’m retiring.”

Benjamin was taken aback. “But you still have so many major roles ahead of you. Surely you’ll miss acting.”

“No, I won’t. I’m done with it. I plan to give all my attention to my vineyards and enjoy a nice quiet life out of the spotlight.”

Benjamin spotted Virgile walking over to join them.

“Well, kid, I understand I’ll be seeing a lot of you in the next few months,” David said.

Benjamin couldn’t help noticing that his assistant’s smile looked forced. He sensed that Virgile was relieved that Margaux hadn’t given her heart to someone else. She was and would be his true love. Still, the boy had been affected by Simone Margerolle, the beautiful actress who had appeared—almost like an illusion—and lingered for no more than a few minutes before vanishing.

“Yes, I’ll be there,” Virgile answered.

Benjamin could see Virgile wasn’t in the mood to chat. He turned to David. “I hear you’ll soon be done with your movie. Will you be at the premiere?”

“No, Benjamin. As I said, I’m retiring. No more premieres for me. By the way, I’ve given up the whiskey, too. I was drinking way too much. I’m sorry I didn’t do it earlier.”

Benjamin and Virgile said their good-byes and headed toward the winemaker’s convertible. Benjamin glanced at his assistant, who still seemed pensive.

“You all right, son?”

“Yeah, boss, I’m okay. But I have a request. I know we have work to do in the lab, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to the vineyards right away.”

“I suppose we could do that. We need to make appointments with several estate owners. We could put the lab work off. May I ask why?”

“Well, to tell the truth, I’ve been feeling a little strange lately, like nothing’s what it seems. Maybe it’s because of all the time we’ve spent with movie types, whose aim is creating what’s essentially a fabrication. Not that I have anything against a good film. It’s just that only the grapes and vines seem real to me right now. They’re calling me, boss. I need some dirt under my nails to feel grounded.”

 

Thank you for reading

Foul play in Vouvray

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Don’t miss the other titles in the Winemaker Detective series

Treachery in Bordeaux

Grand Cru Heist

Nightmare in Burgundy

Deadly Tasting

Cognac Conspiracies

Mayhem in Margaux

Flambé in Armagnac

Montmartre Mysteries

Backstabbing in Beaujolais

Late Harvest Havoc

Tainted Tokay

Red-Handed in Romanée-Conti

Requiem in Yquem

 

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