The Coldest Case by Martin Walker (mobi reader android txt) 📕

sure that if the offer were made, the Mayor would feel bound to accept it, but he’d hate to feel that it was an imposition on the man he’d come to think of almost as a father. Perhaps he could try raising the matter in a roundabout way. And Yveline of the gendarmes had said she’d be keen to have a female pup. He’d have to think about this before announcing the news to all his friends. He pocketed his phone and went into the house.

He was greeted first by the scent of roasting lamb and then by two small children arriving like little bullets to clamber at his legs. They were Dora and Daniel, Florence’s children, keen to tell him of their latest exploits in Pamela’s swimming pool, where Bruno had taught them how to swim earlier that summer. Then he was besieged by Miranda’s two boys, who were now old enough to play rugby with the minimes and wanted to know when the pre-season practice would begin.

Disentangling himself, but with Dora on one arm and Daniel on the other, Bruno kissed Florence, Jacqueline and Miranda. He was then embraced by the Baron who took one of the children so that Jack Crimson could hand Bruno a glass of white wine and lead him to the big dining room where the table, already laid and with a row of candles waiting to be lit, was set for ten. He saw four open bottles of wine: his Ortus, Jack’s red from Les Verdots, Gilles’s foot-trodden wine and one of the Mayor’s favourite Pécharmant from Château de Tiregand. Then there was one mystery bottle wrapped in a black sock. This was doubtless from the Baron, one of the blind tastings he sometimes offered to test his friends. A smaller table stood at the far end with places for the four children.

‘Mon Dieu, this is splendid,’ said Bruno. ‘A fine homecoming for our two globetrotters. It could almost be Christmas.’

‘And here’s a gift for you, Bruno,’ Jacqueline said, embracing him. She gave Bruno a wrapped parcel, about the size of a book, but it felt soft and pliable.

‘We got American sweeties, like bootlaces,’ said Dora.

‘Only they taste of strawberries,’ added Daniel, glancing at his mother before adding to Jacqueline, ‘It was very kind of you to think of us.’

‘Aren’t you going to open it, Bruno?’ asked Dora.

Bruno did, and unwrapped the parcel to find a chef’s toque. It was white, pleated, nearly a foot tall and embroidered with the words ‘Top Chef’. He immediately put it on over his still-wet hair and embraced Jacqueline again.

‘Now I have something to live up to,’ he said. ‘Thank you very much, Jacqueline, but I don’t think I’ll be able to match Miranda’s roast lamb, and a little bird told me that Grandpa Jack has made a secret sauce, just for all of us, to go with the Baron’s secret bottle.’

‘Florence, Pamela, Miranda and I got aprons that look like the American flag,’ announced Fabiola. Gilles said he’d been given a T-shirt bearing the unmistakable face of the American president, which he found to be very ironic, suitable only for wearing in bed. Fabiola instantly vetoed that idea, unless Gilles was prepared to sleep alone. Crimson and the Baron had each been given the same T-shirt, which made Bruno feel all the more grateful for the chef’s toque.

‘We’re starting with a chilled soup of vegetables from the garden before we have the lamb we got from Sylvestre,’ Miranda announced, steering them to their seats. ‘I told him you’d be one of the guests, Bruno, and he said he knew what you liked.’

Bruno nodded courteously but his heart sank a little. Sylvestre was a friend of his with a sheep farm. He knew that Bruno liked a hogget, a young sheep between one and two years old with rather more of the taste of mutton than the ones born in the spring. He was far from sure that all his friends shared his fondness for the dish, but then a new-born lamb could hardly feed ten adults and four hungry children. Bruno also knew that the English tended to prefer their meat rather less pink than the French. Well, the wine would make up for it, he thought, eyeing the row of bottles with pleasure. The Baron’s mystery bottle was in the classic shape of a Bordeaux so he could rule out a Burgundy or some wine from the Rhône valley.

At least they had clear glasses. Bruno had an embarrassing memory of an evening of wine-tasting with Hubert, along with some other friends who thought they knew about wines. Hubert had served the wine in another room and brought them in already poured into black glasses. Without the customary visual clue, most of those present – including a sommelier from a well-regarded restaurant – had had no idea whether they were drinking white or red. It had been a lesson in humility that Bruno would not forget, even though he’d been sure he’d recognized a Chablis in the first glass. It had turned out to be a Sancerre, so at least he’d got the colour right.

The soup was excellent, red and yellow peppers with cucumber and skinned tomatoes, served with a generous scoop of aillou, a blend of crème fraîche and fromage blanc with garlic and parsley. Had it been his soup, Bruno might have been tempted to add a little fresh mint but then he recalled that Jack was making a mint sauce.

‘Alors, mes amis,’ said the Baron, rising to take up the covered bottle to pour half a glass for each of the adults. ‘In this moment between the soup and the lamb, let’s try to identify this mystery wine. And I’ll give you a clue. It comes from within a hundred kilometres of where we sit, so you can rule out the Médoc, the Loire and Languedoc-Roussillon.’

They all swirled, held their glasses against the light of a candle and then sniffed. Bruno, knowing that