Black Grapes by Eva Maclean

Author:Eva Maclean [Maclean, Eva]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-03-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter twenty-three

Sebastian Fincham was up to his elbows in machinery when they found him in the vineyard. He was wearing oil-stained jeans and a sweater that looked like it had seen better days, but still managed to look like he could step off the pages of a glossy magazine.

Wilcox waved a badge at him and he signalled agreement. They waited while he did something energetic with a wrench and then he jumped down off the platform and came towards them.

‘I thought you were just the brains of the outfit’ said Murphy. ‘Front of house, so to speak.’

He wiped his hands on a rag and smiled. ‘Would that it were so. Actually I’ve discovered a love for the physical process. Almost biblical don’t you think? Turning grapes into wine.’

‘And quite successful wine I hear?’

‘Yes. We’ve been at it six years. It takes a few years before you get any return and you’re always worrying about the weather, but now we’re reaping the rewards. Mostly whites, as the soil here is quite chalky and the climate is of course cool. Including some sparkling whites. But if the climate gets warmer, we’re looking at moving into some of the red varieties, maybe Grenache or Malbec. I’d like to grow red grapes, or the black ones that you need for a really dark Malbec. But black grapes can mean bad luck, so maybe we should hold off a bit on that.’

‘Whose idea was it originally?’

‘Mine actually. It’s fifty acres of hillside and so it used to be sheep, but I persuaded the old man to terrace it and move into grapes. The whole sheep business is declining and it’s a distasteful business anyway – sending lambs off to slaughter and all the rest of it. I wouldn’t have wanted any part of it.’

He pointed to a pressure gauge. ‘We were lucky to be late adopters. The equipment nowadays is so much more sophisticated. It’s really important to exert exactly the right amount of pressure, enough to squeeze out the maximum amount of juice without crushing the seeds, which gives it too much tannin. It also has to be exactly the right pressure to avoid mashing the skins. So quite a delicate operation.’

Wilcox moved closer to have a look. Murphy was more interested in looking at Sebastian.

‘Where were you on the night of 22 September?’

He smiled briefly. ‘Ah, alibi time. Normally I’d have to tell you I don’t have a clue, but I know that was the night we had a board meeting. Just as well in view of what happened.’

Murphy leaned against the platform. ‘So tell me about the board meeting.’

‘To begin with, it was preceded by dinner. Do you want to know about that?’

‘Sure.’

‘OK. We actually ate in the kitchen that night – Hugo and I, mum and dad and Dorothy. Mrs Parsons had made a really quite outstanding fish stew and we had a bottle of one of our own whites – a Sancerre – well obviously not a real Sancerre, and we don’t dare describe it as such, but very similar if I do say so myself.

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