Sixty-sevenThe crowd in the big ballroom thinned out. The winning tables were the last to depart, the place-getters hovering in the afterglow of success as the waiters navigated around them cleaning up the party debris. Already the room had a stale smell of over-aerated wine and old tobacco. Sir John took Aristide’s forearms in both hands. When he spoke his voice was steady and warm.
“It’s been hell for you this last two weeks, Laurent, I understand that. But that’s all behind us now. Here’s to the opening of a whole new era for Vino d’Oro.”
“Thank you, sir. It means a lot to me to be vindicated.”
Sebastian approached, his wife Isabella at his side. “Sorry to break up the party, brother, but we’re off to bed. Great night, Aristide. Congrats once again.”
As he turned to go Hector de Vil
