Cognac Conspiracies by Jean-Pierre Alaux, Noël Balen Read Free Book Online Page A

youngest Lavoisier had some reasons to take his life. But there was no hard evidence to support this.
    Marie-France pulled the folds of her white robe around her tanned throat. She got up and went to the window. Under the red moon, the garden, with its willow-tree border, and the countryside beyond were a play of shadows and light. She threw open the window and wearily lit a cigarette. A cool breeze rushed into the room and slipped under her soft robe. Marie-France began to shiver. Other than the soft wind, there were no sounds at all—no bats swooshing in the air, no frogs or crickets in the grass. The night was perfectly silent.
    A splash from the river broke the stillness. It sounded like a sack of cement being thrown into the water. Marie-France was unfazed and took another drag of her cigarette. The carp were dancing. Could it be mating season? She contemplated Little Pierre for a long moment and finally surrendered to the sofa. The red moon enveloped her until the weariness and cold sent her back to her bed. In three hours it would be day.

6
    “I will fight until my last breath! Do you hear me, Mr. Cooker?”
    “I hope so, and you can be sure, Ms. Lavoisier, that I will be at your side,” Benjamin responded. He could see that Marie-France did not fully grasp his intentions.
    The winemaker caught Virgile’s smile. He also saw that Ms. Lavoisier was watching closely and most likely assessing the dynamic between him and his assistant. No doubt about it, she was a mature, self-possessed, and shrewd woman, quick to get back on her feet.
    “Which means?” Marie-France asked.
    “I have decided to give up this assignment entrusted to me by your minor shareholder,” Benjamin said, slipping his Havana cigar into a groove of the green porcelain ashtray bearing the message “Settle for nothing but Lavoisier cognac.”
    “May I at least know the conclusions of your report?” she asked as she hastily signed the correspondence that her secretary was giving her, piece by piece.
    “There will be no conclusions,” Benjamin responded.
    “I understand you are not a man to give up easily.”
    “This decision is a precedent in my career, but please don’t ask me to explain myself.”
    “I don’t mean to pry. I would simply like to apologize for your initial reception. You understand, at Lavoisier Cognacs, we are not in the habit of opening our books. Or our hearts, for that matter.”
    She threw out her chest and in doing so showed some cleavage. Benjamin imagined that underneath her dress, there was a black silk bustier pushing up her bosom. The woman’s dark gaze fell on Virgile.
    “My brother’s death is pulling me further into the lion’s den each day, but I haven’t had my last word. I have friends in high places.”
    “You’re going to need them, madam. You won’t be surprised when I say that you will need both financial and moral support. You and your brother were very close, weren’t you?” The winemaker had heard the rumors about Marie-France and her brother, but he knew this proud woman well enough to understand that she wouldn’t respond to innuendo.
    “Pierre was more than a brother,” she said. “I could tell that the takeover threat was consuming him. He had become a different person. He was nervous, fearful, almost paranoid.”
    Marie-France picked up her pack of cigarettes and offered one to Virgile, never taking her eyes off him.
    “Maybe later,” Virgile said. He was looking self-conscious. Then, in the same breath, he blurted out, “Your brother did not commit suicide.”
    “How can you be so certain?” Marie-France asked. “I am full of doubt myself.”
    “I believe I was the last person to speak to Pierre before his death. Your brother was working on new ideas for the business. I was witness to his last blends. What marvels! There was fire in his eyes. No sign of depression. Pierre—I am calling him that because he asked me to—was incapable of killing himself. He loved life too