A Good Year Page #8

Hope you've got a good lock

on the door, sir.

Don't be soft.

It's not real.

The real one's in my vault.

It's a copy.

Sit.

Art's a passion, Max.

Got to have passions.

I have horses, cars, money...

Are they passions or vices, sir?

Have I finished talking?

When I finish talking,

that's when you talk,

and it better be good!

While you've been

on your little holiday,

I've been in a shitstorm!

Sir, I do appreciate that my actions

may have caused some...

Max...

You're one of the ballsiest

traders in this square mile,

but you've got to learn

there are consequences

to your sort of behavior.

There it is.

You have one hour.

So, shall I pack my Smurfs?

Oh, Max!

Look after Madame Chenal's

daughter, Fanny,

while I give her mother

a tour of the estate.

Uh, but I really want to finish

the last chapter

of Death in Venice.

Well, given the book's title,

I don't think you'll be

surprised by the ending.

You be good, Fanny.

Come now, Madame Chenal.

There are many attractions

here at La Siroque,

beginning with the view,

as seen from my bedroom.

That's a lot of zeros, Max.

Or a full partnership for life.

My choice.

Now you listen to Mommy, Max.

Partner-you're made for life.

Sir Nigel didn't become partner

till he was 53,

and look at him.

Yes.

Look at him.

Now what's it to be:

The money

or your life?

When do you ever see it, Nige?

The real one?

When do you look at it?

Do you make late-night

pilgrimages down to the vault

just to see it or?

What point are you making?

Bonjour.

I think so.

You sure you don't need more time?

No, I know what I want.

You're sure?

Absolutely.

So, what is it to be?

How's the soup?

The soup is finished.

Like my job.

The fish?

We've run out.

That's like me with excuses.

Don't waste my time.

Choose something we have.

I would like a lifetime spent

with an irrational

and suspicious goddess.

Some short-tempered jealousy

on the side...

...and a bottle of wine

that tastes like you...

and a glass that's never empty.

You remember what

I whispered to you

when we were kids in the pool.

And it seems that you do, too.

Bien sur.

But it was not

until just now

that I recognized you: Max.

I said no.

What, "No, no, no, no."

No way. You are not

de-stemming those grapes.

But this is the way

I've always done things, you know.

We want structure

and color for the wine.

Leaving the stems on

when we press will give it a kick in the ass.

And the wine will taste like rocket fuel.

No way!

You are not de-stemming

those grapes.

All acids and tannins.

Oh, you say acid and tannins...

Yes, I say tannins...

I say flavor and cojones, you know,

- Barolo super Tuscans.

- Whoa.

That's what's selling out there.

Not some wimpy wine from Louveron!

Ah, Max.

Thank God you're here.

I will not work with this

mad person jamais! Never!

I love her, this woman, she...

she's like Henry, with a nice ass.

Oh...

I can't deal with this guy, Max.

What is it with the French?

Oh, and, uh, by the way,

you were running low

on green ink,

so I bought you some more.

- Never know.

You might want to write

a letter or something.

Yes?

Max, how's Christie?

How's the sale going, Charlie?

Apartments in this bracket

shift in a blink.

I'm very confident of getting

you more than you paid for it.

Bullshit, Charlie.

If you don't give me

a 40% yield,

you're off the gig, Sunshine.

You got me?

Max, you do realize, of course,

it's not going to last

down there, don't you?

You don't say.

And as impossible

as it may seem,

the very things that are

so unique and sexy now,

will soon be the dread

of your day-to-day existence.

And after a few months of eating

and drinking and sleeping,

and shagging, what have you got

to look forward to, huh?

Boredom.

I mean, what are you going

to do, write a book? Hmm?

Max, I'm your best friend,

and I'm telling you, you won't last.

We'll see about that, Charlie.

Okay, okay, okay.

Like this, l-I...

You know, that was Charlie

on the phone...

Ah, no, no, no.

Un arbre.

Oiseau.

So, uh, are you an actual rapper?

No, he's the rapper.

I'm the manager.

Mm.

I'm Jasminda, by the way.

Gemma for short.

Bollocks!

Oh.

Shh.

- Viva La Armstrong!

- Be in touch.

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