Queen of My Pitiful Soul - James Patrick March | EN-US

II. burgundy mess

                      Dijon, Burgundy, France 

 February 1st, 1976

Melinda had only set foot in the wine capital a few hours earlier before finding herself seated across from the two most prominent winemakers in the Burgundy region.

"Anette, show her to the room. Make her feel at home!" the man in his early 50s instructed the maid. "Once settled, dear, you can join us." He finished, this time addressing Melinda.

The servant led her through the grand corridors of the house. Melinda thought the place could be considered a sanatorium, with all those white and bland walls and decorations. It was enough to drive anyone who wasn't already lost mad.

Finally, in the room that was to be her lodging, there was a hint of color: an emerald-green armchair next to the bed, which had white and mint-colored floral sheets. The maid helped her place her bags in the corner of the room, so that they could be unpacked later with ease.

"Can you help me with this, please?" Melinda turned back to her and gathered her hair in her hands on top of the head, giving a perfect view of her nape and the zipper to which she referred. "Thank you!"

"How long do you plan to stay?" Anette asked. She didn't seem too pleased with the idea of having another person to serve.

The maid was short and thin, she must not have weighed more than 45kg, and despite her childlike appearance, she had many wrinkles and expression lines. If she would improve that ugly face, maybe she wouldn't have so many, that's what Melinda thought. She wondered how such a small woman could manage such a large house with so much voracity, since there wasn't a speck of dust on the furniture.

"That will depend on many things." Melinda slid the dress off her body, wearing only a pair of panties, not caring about the presence of the little one. "But don't worry. I plan to be quick." She teased as she looked for a new outfit in one of the bags.

But as Melinda settled into her room, she couldn't clear the feeling that something was amiss. The pristine white walls and tasteful decor seemed too perfect, almost as if it were hiding something. And as the evening progressed and she joined her hosts for a tour, she couldn't overcome the distress that she was being watched, that every move she made was being closely monitored.

As the season dictated, there was not much to see, yet the first stop was at the plantations. They explained every petty detail of the factors that influenced planting and harvesting - an early harvest could result in watery wines, while a late harvest could result in a higher alcohol content, but less acidity. Melinda listened to it all in silence, with a sly and false interest - as if she didn't know much more than they did.

The tour extended to the quality control center in the cellars. The entire winery was completely sophisticated, from the ceiling to the floor. They guided her through all the stages of wine production, before offering a taste of an old vintage. By the end of the tour, night had already fallen and the temperatures had dropped considerably, considering the winter in there. The wine flowed freely, and the conversation was light and pleasant, but Melinda couldn't rid oneself of the unease that there was something off.

The air was chill, but the warmth of the fire was inviting. The light flickered against Melinda's face, casting shadows that concealed her true emotions. She had an uncanny ability to hide her true state of boredom, with a beautiful smile and nods of the head every time she was flattered. It was a fact that she found them interesting and pleasant, but her attention was little affected by it. She was there for one thing and one thing only, counting the seconds until she could put an end to this theater.