“Some other time I’d be happy to,” he said in a silky voice that let me know he knew a distraction when he heard one. “It’s quite amazing. I funded the technology at Cal for nuclear resonance testing, which allows one to analyze the contents of a bottle of wine without opening it and disrupting the aging process. Very useful if you’re checking for fakes.” He picked up the tray. “Relax, Lucie, darling. I promise I’ll have you back upstairs in no time. I just wanted us to have a little privacy, is all.”

He walked over and set the tray on a glass-topped coffee table with a base that looked like a fiery blue geode. I thought he would join me on the sofa, but he settled into a black-and-white zebra-striped barrel chair directly across from me. He leaned over and poured our Madeira.

There are wines, beers, and spirits that pair well with food. Vintage Madeira is not one of them. It is to be drunk for the pure pleasure of drinking it—savored on its own—a drink for when you’re in a reflective mood.

“You’re drinking thirty-two-year-old Malmsey,” Prescott went on. “The grapes were picked in your birth year. I thought you might like to taste something of the history of what was happening in the world the year you were born.”

On the one hand his thoughtfulness touched me—any winemaker knows there is a particular magic to drinking a wine attached to a significant date. On the other hand, I was feeling more and more like a trapped insect that was slowly being spun into the web of a very clever spider. Prescott’s business prowess was legendary. I was being set up for something he really wanted.

“How kind,” I said. “Thank you.”

He handed me my glass and picked up his own. “To many more birthdays.”

“To your health. And your centenary in five years.”

We sipped our wine and he leaned back and closed his eyes. “Do you taste that velvety honeyed richness?” he asked after a moment. “The trademark of a vintage Malmsey … rich, sweet. The aromas of butterscotch, cocoa, and coffee that can fill a room.”

Madeira is the drink of a bygone era, generally considered the beverage of an older person. It must be sipped and enjoyed in an unhurried, leisurely way. Most people my age have probably never tasted it, but Madeira’s fascinating history had intrigued Quinn and me enough that we were experimenting with making our own at the vineyard. Every summer for the past few years, we hauled three old whiskey barrels filled with Seyval Blanc mixed with brandy outside and left them on the metal roof of the barrel room where the temperature could easily soar into triple digits. And last year we stored one of the barrels in our attic during July and August, just to see what would happen to the taste.