Cognac Conspiracies Read Online Free PDF

assistant.
    But at Château Yeuse that evening, he said nothing about his encounter. He was quiet at dinner and just played with his pigeon de Gâtine . Even its perfectly rosy flesh could not whet his appetite. He told Virgile that he had taken a short stroll along the banks of the Charente River and spent some time on his guide. His editor had been uncharacteristically critical of the latest chapter.
    “You don’t seem yourself, boss,” Virgile finally said, after telling him everything about his conversation with Pierre Lavoisier. “Is it that argument with the Lavoisier woman that’s bothering you?”
    “Not exactly,” Benjamin replied listlessly as he sipped a Léoville Poyferré that should have remained in the wine cellar a few more years.
    “Nothing serious, I hope.”
    “It’s really nothing. Maybe it’s just this Saint-Julien wine, which is way too young. Or maybe it’s fatigue, the annoyances, and my impatience to get back to Grangebelle.”
    “We’ve just gotten here, and you already want to wrap up the assignment and leave? You’re in a hurry, Mr. Cooker, and that’s not like you.”
    “Just a bit weary, Virgile. Don’t mind me,” he said. He folded his napkin, indicating that dinner was over, and he had no desire for dessert, coffee, or even a cigar.
    He left the restaurant without a word. Virgile followed him out to the terrace, which overlooked the château’s lush hanging gardens. The scents of wild mint and chamomile floated in the night air.
    “Isn’t it nice here?” Virgile said. Benjamin could tell he was trying his best to sound enthusiastic.
    The two men watched the lights of Cognac beyond the river. The moon was spilling its silver luminescence on the sleepy water. The air was a bit cool but not at all humid.
    “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Virgile said again.
    Benjamin turned up the collar of his Loden and leaned against the railing. “Charente: it’s the most beautiful stream in my kingdom,” he said dramatically.
    “Who said that?” Virgile asked. There was an almost teasing tone in the question.
    “King Francis I,” Benjamin replied smugly.
    “Wrong!” Virgile responded, clearly proud of catching his mentor in a mistake. “Henry IV! Pierre quoted that line this afternoon. He’s a bit of a historian, too.”
    “He’s a bit of a lot of things, that Pierre Lavoisier. And you accept everything he tells you at face value? Where’s your discernment, Virgile?”
    “Sir, you have a lot of preconceptions about the Lavoisiers. I think we are not going to agree on anything tonight. We should just call it a night.”
    Benjamin’s feathers were ruffled, and this only exacerbated his gloomy mood. “You’re absolutely right, Virgile,” he said. Benjamin pulled away from the railing and disappeared into the darkness, leaving the crunch of gravel as his only good night.

4
    Toward Royan, a storm was racing across the hills at the speed of a galloping horse. Clouds bursting with moisture were heaped on the horizon. Benjamin thought they might even be full of hail as he sped along the road. Luxuriant flowering vines greeted him at every bend, and his 280 SL skidded when he negotiated a turn too abruptly or was distracted by a bell tower. He stopped in Villars-les-Bois to admire the tympanum and eight-centuries-old leopards of the beautiful Romanesque church. He said a prayer and took a walk through the grassy cemetery. After checking the oil in his convertible, Benjamin started toward Migron at a more deliberate speed. He wasn’t in a hurry to get to his destination.
    Benjamin realized that he should have declined the invitation, but he had allowed his reunion with Sheila to take his mind off his work. He knew now that he had to drop the assignment, and in a matter of hours, he would be done with it.
    On his way out of Cognac, Benjamin had bought some pastries and asked the salesgirl to package them nicely. For a fleeting moment, he had considered taking roses, but