Mayhem in Margaux Read Online Free PDF

their dinner of red sea bream, marinated mackerel, or tuna.
    “If only our everyday lives were this relaxing,” Elisabeth sighed, delicately wiping a spot of condensation off her wineglass.
    “It feels like we’re at the end of the earth,” Leslie said quietly. “I can’t wait until Margaux can join us.”
    “When do you expect her to get out of the hospital?” Ludovic asked.
    “The doctor wants to keep her a little longer,” Benjamin said, uncorking a bottle of Côtes de Saint-Mont, Les Vignes Retrouvées. “But I hate the thought of her alone in Bordeaux. If she hadn’t absolutely insisted that we keep our plans, I’d be back there right now. As it is, I feel guilty that we’re enjoying ourselves while she’s still recovering.”
    Elisabeth put her glass down and stared at her husband. “Benjamin, I feel guilty too. But you know how stubborn she can be. She wouldn’t hear of us staying in Bordeaux, and she can get the rest she needs in the hospital. She’s recovering from a trauma, after all.”
    The Lamottes agreed with Elisabeth and insisted that it was best to trust the doctors, who believed that Margaux needed to remain in the hospital. Benjamin, however, was intractable and grumpy.
    “What are they doing for her that we can’t? She can get all the rest she needs while staying with us. And Cap Ferret is known for its spa therapy centers. She could regain her health much better here, with our care, the fresh sea air, and all these trees.”
    He lifted nose and inhaled the aromas of pine resin and the sea to underscore his point.
    “The best way to recover and forget the accident is to enjoy life. She can’t do that when she’s surrounded by the smells of disinfectant and hospital food, along with scores of nurses and doctors interrupting her sleep. She shouldn’t be spending her vacation this way. I know my daughter. If she wouldn’t let us stay with her, we should have insisted that she come with us, and I could have won her over. Even now I’m willing to march into that hospital and sign the discharge papers myself.”
    He had gotten carried away. Elisabeth and the Lamottes were staring at him.
    “Benjamin, think about it,” Elisabeth said, putting her hand on his. “We were willing to stay with her, but Margaux wouldn’t have it. She didn’t want us to change our plans, and she assured us that she would be perfectly fine in the hospital. She’s a grown woman. She has the right to make decisions for herself. Give her some credit.”
    But Benjamin was still vexed. He got up and decided to take a stroll on the jetty by the docks. Haloed in pink light, the last boats were coming in and slowly tying up. A couple of amateur sailors in their sixties were hosing down their little catamaran while a tanned and muscled young man in a white tank top and kaki shorts was polishing the deck equipment of his Riva. Benjamin pulled out his cell phone and entered a number.
    “Good evening, boss. Mission accomplished, but what a tough day!” Virgile’s voice was weary.
    “Thank you for all that you’re doing. We’ll take stock tomorrow. Does the name Rinetti mean anything to you?”
    “A brand of shoes?” Virgile said. “Pasta, maybe?”
    “Stop being an imbecile, Virgile. He was the manager of Gayraud-Valrose.”
    “The guy who was with your daughter?”
    “Yes. I’d like to get some information on him. See what you can find out, but be discreet.”
    “I know the Château Gayraud-Valrose pretty well. I did an internship there when I was in my second year at La Tour Blanche. We could head over there if you want.”
    “Tell me more, Virgile.”
    “I said ‘pretty well,’ but I meant ‘very well.’ I spent a little more than a month there, and I mostly worked with the vineyard manager. An old guy, not easygoing by any stretch, but a recognized expert: Georges Moncaillou. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”
    “That name does ring a bell.”
    “I was mostly in the vineyards, but I still