The Patriarch: A Bruno, Chief of Police Novel by Martin Walker Page B

about his death?”
    “I don’t know.” Bruno shook his head. “I saw him drunk, and I saw the body, and it was pretty clear how he died. It’s just the timing I can’t fathom, how he got so drunk so quickly.”
    “Alcoholics can be like that, one moment fine and then the next drink tips them over the top.”
    “I suppose so.” Bruno took a last sip of his drink, debating with himself whether to ask the next question. Then he plunged in. “I didn’t know you were interested in horses,” he began. “Pamela told me of your interest in the riding school.”
    Crimson’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “I was wondering if you’d bring that up. Are you intending to ask me if my intentions toward your Pamela are honorable?”
    “She’s not
my
Pamela, as you put it. She’s her own woman,” Bruno said, more curtly than he’d intended. He softened his tone. “And no, I’m not asking that. I simply would like to hear why you think Pamela could make a success of the place when those other two woman didn’t, and one of them was a well-known horsewoman, an Olympic rider.”
    “Two reasons: The first is that Pamela understands such a place is best run as a tourist-rental business which happens to have a riding school attached. So, unlike the recent owners, she won’t indulge in fanciful dreams of turning out more champions, which means she won’t be investing far too much money in very expensive horses. Pamela’s a smart woman with a good head for business. The second reason is that I’ve got a daughter, recently divorced, who has always dreamed of running a riding school. She was mad about horses as a girl and worked in some stables before she got married. It would mean a new start for her and her children.”
    “Have she and Pamela discussed it?” Bruno was realizing just how advanced Pamela’s plans had been. He’d assumed she was interested in a horse and had only then begun to think about the stables. He was surprised she had not taken him more into her confidence.
    “Yes, we all had dinner together in London when she was on her way up to Scotland. They got on well, and Miranda, that’s my daughter, likes the idea of living in France. The children are five and seven, a boy and a girl, a good age to put them in school and make them bilingual. And I’d see more of them, since I’m planning to spend a lot more time here in the Périgord.”
    “It sounds as though you’ve all worked it out very thoroughly. Has your daughter been over here yet to see the place?”
    “No, but she’s coming over this weekend, if Pamela still wants to go ahead with the plan after going through the accounts. I’m planning a dinner party for her, and of course you’ll be invited, along with Fabiola and Gilles.” He held up the bottle. “Another drink before you go? And talking of dinner, I’ve got a lasagna in the oven that’s far too much for me. Would you like to share it, or do you have other plans?”
    “That’s kind of you. I was planning a quiet evening with an omelette and a novel, but a bachelors’ evening sounds like more fun.”
    “I’ll go and set the table, and perhaps you’d go down to the cellar and pick out a really good couple of bottles to go with the meal. After all, if you hadn’t got my wines and furniture back from those damn burglars, I’d have nothing to drink.”
    After some agreeable minutes admiring the collection in Crimson’s cellar, Bruno turned his back on the classic Bordeaux and Burgundies and focused on the Bergeracs. It was partly regional loyalty, but also he was impressed by Crimson’s knowledge. Bruno climbed from the cellar carrying two bottles that he’d heard of but never tasted. One was a 2005 Côtes de Bergerac red from Les Verdots, made by a young vigneron with a stellar reputation, David Fourtout. The other was a 2009 Divine Miséricorde, Divine Mercy, a cuvée made only in exceptional years by Château Montdoyen. His friend Hubert de Montignac, the local wine