“So you arrived in Paris yesterday evening?” she asked, meeting Frederic’s gaze.
“Yes, I booked a ticket as soon as you said you were coming over.” He was now looking at her as if she was the most important person in the whole world.
Nonsense.He hadn’t answered her email for several days. And yet, though the inattentiveness was his,shefelt inferior, just like she had back when she had been his pupil during her sommelier training. How she had looked up to him back then!
“You know Bordeaux well, and we have a bottle we’d like to know more about.”
“I followed up on the information you sent.” Frederic began tapping on the computer.
“Is it okay if I film this?” Elnaz picked up the camera.
“Of course.” Frederic nodded happily and ran his fingers through his short hair. “I wanted to see if I could find any vineyards that used brass plaques back then. Brass was very difficult to get ahold of during the Second World War, but a handful of vineyards worked with it before the war began.” He turned the laptop so they could see the list.
“Thanks—can you send that to me?” Bente asked.
“No problem. There are a couple of details I need to double-check, but then I’ll email it to you. Do you have the bottle with you, by the way?”
Bente took the box out of her bag and passed it to Frederic. He held it as if it were his firstborn child, gazing at it with that level of reverence. This was the Frederic she knew—passionate about wine, dedicated to both his work and his family.
He guessed at various villages, based only on the seal and the glass the bottle was made of.
“Do you know of any vineyards in Bordeaux that were involved with the resistance movement?” Didrik asked.
“Several worked with the movement—there’s plenty of information available in books and articles,” Frederic said with insincere politeness. He was always civil, but clearly disliked the competition Didrik gave him simply by being present.
“I understand.”
“When was the bottle shipped?” Frederic asked Bente.
“In 1945, just after the liberation of France but before the end of the war.”
Frederic nodded. “And as we can see from the plaque, the wine was made in 1944. That was a pretty good year, favorable weather conditions, although with quite a lot of rain during the harvest.” He was like a human reference book when it came to wines from that part of the country. “I have an acquaintance who works at the city archive in Bordeaux; I’ll ask him if he can find anything. There’s lots of old material that no one’s gone through yet. He might know more about the cargo or the ship.”
“Thanks, that’s very kind. And if you need more details about the ship, just let me know. Camille has all the information—she was part of the expedition that found the wine bottle.”
“Ah yes, Camille. Give her my best.” Frederic plastered on a smile. He and Camille had always butted heads. Camille had thought from the start that he treated Bente badly—failing to communicate with her and frequently keeping her waiting—and she hadn’t been afraid to let him know exactly what she thought.
Frederic wrote something on his notepad, turned to his laptop, then apparently changed his mind. “I’ll get back to you with a contact.”
They stood up, and Frederic held Bente’s gaze as Elnaz and Didrik headed for the door.
“So what are you doing this evening?” He moved toward her, drawing very close, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Bente felt uncomfortable. Her colleagues were in the same room—what would they think? Her cheeks were burning, and she wanted the floor to swallow her up. She took a step back.
“We’re having dinner and discussing the show.” She added the latter so that he wouldn’t invite himself along.
“I understand. Another time.”
Bente only cleared her throat in response.
“So how do you know Frederic?” Elnaz asked as they left the building. Didrik looked searchingly at her.
“We met when I was studying to be a sommelier. And we ...” She hesitated, but decided she might as well be honest. “We dated for a while.”
“He seems to know his wine,” Didrik said diplomatically.
“He does, especially when it comes to Bordeaux.”
