“Sir, I believe someone may have handled the bottle before service. I recommend we not pour it until we establish what happened.”
Celeste stood.
“This is becoming absurd.”
Dominic watched her.
Then he looked at the bottle.
“Where has it been since it left the cellar?”
Antoine hesitated.
“On the designated service station, sir. The bottle was logged when it was brought upstairs.”
“Who had access?”
“Several staff members were working nearby.”
Celeste stepped forward.
“Dominic, we’re talking about wine. Stop interrogating everyone.”
But Dominic was no longer looking at the bottle.
He was studying his wife.
“Why are you so determined that I drink it?”
She laughed.
“Because you specifically requested it!”
“Then let Antoine replace it.”
“There is nothing wrong with it.”
“How do you know?”
Celeste stopped.
I remember that silence more clearly than the shouting.
For the first time all evening, she seemed uncertain what to say.
Then she turned toward Antoine.
“You’re making a fool of yourself. Open another bottle if it makes everyone feel better.”
But Dominic had already risen.
He moved toward the service station, where Antoine had placed the bottle out of reach of the table.
“Don’t touch it,” Dominic said.
Antoine stepped back.
“Of course, sir.”
