Backstabbing in Beaujolais (Winemaker Detective Book 9) Read Online Free PDF Page B

I don’t think I have anything to teach you in that area.”
    “I wouldn’t say that, Mr. Cooker. In fact, I would appreciate your point of view on the subject.”
    Benjamin helped himself to a large slice of wine-cooked sausage, but looked with longing at Périthiard’s marinated and breaded tripe, served with béarnaise sauce.
    He took a bite and chewed for a few moments before continuing. “Today, to sell a primeur wine, you need to get it into the hands of the ignorant who will drink anything. I believe that your most urgent concern is to have a zealous export manager who won’t make a fuss over using screw tops instead of corks.”
    “I’m surprised to hear you say that, Mr. Cooker.”
    “Why are you surprised?”
    “I can’t imagine that you would condone something like that, so I can’t tell if you really believe what you’re saying or if you’re joking or trying to provoke me. In any case, it doesn’t fit the image I have of you.” Périthiard seemed to weigh his words before continuing.
    “Do go on, Mr. Périthiard. I’m interested in what you have to say.”
    “You can’t possibly be that cynical. I’m picking up a note of disdain. Working with pragmatic people, especially people who are both pragmatic and perceptive, suits me perfectly. But disdain, which is quite similar to contempt, is something altogether different. I wouldn’t like to think I inspire such a feeling in you.”
    “No, I don’t mean to give that impression,” Benjamin said, dipping a large piece of sausage in mustard. “And it isn’t you—or the wine producers and merchants who bother me. It’s the consumers who have no respect, who know nothing, and who, in the long run, are the ones who decide everything.”
    “You’re exaggerating a bit, don’t you think?”
    “Look at what happened in China. All those newly minted millionaires started drinking French wines a decade ago. But what have they been doing with it? Making cocktails—one-third Pétrus with two-thirds Yquem!”
    “You can’t be serious.”
    “Do I look like I’m joking? There are idiots everywhere. Haven’t you heard about the French firm that’s producing red wine mixed with cola? And I hear that marrying wine and cola is all the rage in the Basque region.”
    “So if I follow, the quality of the wine would be secondary. It’s being trendy that counts. Am I correct?”
    “In my assistant’s vernacular, you have to create buzz. You need to keep up with the times—not too far in front and not too far behind. Beware, for example, of the Chinese market, which has already started to dip. That goes back to what people have been doing with the wine—it has been a status symbol, perfect for gift-giving. Sales began to drop when the Chinese government started cracking down on corruption.”
    Périthiard arranged his fork and knife on this plate and took a sip of his Morgon. He seemed preoccupied, off somewhere far from the brouhaha of the restaurant. Benjamin kept an eye on him as he finished his dish.
    “I like your exactitude,” Périthiard said, suddenly back to reality. “That’s very important to me.”
    Benjamin stayed focused on cleaning his plate. He didn’t want to feed the conversation any more. He was waiting for Périthiard to put his cards on the table.
    “That said, for one to be on time, both hands of the clock must meet.”
    “Let me stop you right away, Mr. Périthiard. There’s a big hand and a little hand, and every hour on the hour, the little hand disappears under the big one. I may be here to advise you, but I’m not keen on playing the role of the little hand or even that of the big hand.”
    “So you would rather be a cog?”
    “You could put it that way, or, to be more precise, I’m the oil in the mainspring.”
    “In that case, find me the person who will pull out all the stops.”
    “Just as I’m not a wine trader, I’m not a headhunter, Mr. Périthiard.”
    The businessman stiffened and glanced at his