Had Benedict not grown so wiry while manhandling barrels Frederic Paschel might have been tempted to turn his son over his knee and give him a good thrashing—but when his father’s furious gaze had measured him from top to toe, Benedict watched that resolution falter and shrivel.
“Don’t be stupid, my son,” the wine merchant said, in a more conciliatory manner. “You’ve invested far too much yourself to throw away your inheritance now. Yes, I could give you a little coin—but if you take it away it’ll soon be spent, and the winery will go to rack and ruin in the meantime, for I can’t be expected to continue running it when my heart is broken. If you will not keep it going, it will have to be sold, and what a pity that would be, when we’ve just been producing the finest wine we’ve ever made...
