IT IS half-past seven in the morning and I'm in a rather flimsy makeshift office that lies just east of the long-haul car park at Edinburgh airport. The taxi driver dropped me off and sped away, so I'm standing here, passport in one hand, trusty brown leather satchel in the other, not quite sure what to do.
Outside sits a ten-seater private jet - a plane that is used by Kylie Minogue, Sting and Madonna on their visits to Scotland. The captain stands patiently waiting to fly his next VIPs to the Continent.
Inside the shed there is a rather old-fashioned coffee machine in one corner and a row of uncomfortable-looking chairs in the other. On a makeshift table are laid out the morning's papers. A small, squat man enters the room. "You must be with Mr Murray," he says. "I'm his driver. He'll be here in a minute."
Two cars pull up outside. One is the distinctive blue Mercedes sportster driven by David Murray, chairman of Rangers Football Club, steel tycoon and latterly Burgundian vigneron. Behind is the blue Porsche Boxster carrying his son Keith, who this morning is doubling up as chauffeur to one of Hollywood's most distinguished alumni and, at the age of 78, still one of its most bankable stars.
Sean Connery gets out first, emerging from the sports car like an athletic cat stretching to its full height. Dressed in grey trousers, dark-blue blazer and black shirt buttoned right to the top, the actor looks taller than his 6ft 2in. When you see those familiar features in the flesh, it is not difficult to see why so many regard him as the definitive James Bond.
Murray's car door flies open and in a quick, powerful shuffle he is up and out, taking in the air and loudly declaring what a great day this is to be. "I kept waking up," he says. "You know what it's like when you have an early start - you just can't sleep."
"I was an hour out," jokes Connery. "I was up and ready at five, and we weren't due to leave until six."
The superstar and the tycoon are old friends, ever since they met at a charity dinner in Glasgow in the late 1980s. The friendship has grown over the decades, and now whenever Connery comes to Scotland he stays with Murray.
Today, though, we are off to France. Murray wants to show his friend his latest venture. As ever, it's founded on firm business sense, but this time it is also a labour of love. And that love is wine.
Murray will retain the domaine's name.
Picture: Phil Wilkinson
Last year Murray bought the Château Routas wine estate in Provence for £5.5 million. Earlier this year, in his Charlotte Square office, he let me in on the secret that he was close to signing a deal that would see a major Burgundian property come into his possession. Although I didn't say so at the time, I was doubtful.
Burgundy, home of the chardonnay and pinot noir grapes, is one of the most complex and sophisticated wine regions in Europe. Unlike in its wealthy rival Bordeaux, there wasn't a huge influx of capital in the 19th century that allowed for the creation of great estates or châteaux. Instead, most vineyards are still run by tiny smallholders, and this, coupled with the Napoleonic Code, which insists on equal inheritance for every family member, means that in Burgundy a vineyard the size of the Ibrox pitch can have as many as 17 different owners.
"You do know how complex the ownership is in Burgundy," I had asked.
"Of course," he confidently replied. "But I have a man on the ground in France. He's my fixer."
About six weeks later, the deal was done. Domaine Jessiaume, a family estate in Santenay, a small village in the Côte de Beaune district of Burgundy, was now, along with his Provençal estate Château Routas, heading up Murray's £10 million wine empire. By anyone's standards, the speed and scale of the deal was impressive. And he was keen to show it off. "Do you want to come and see it?" he asked. "Bring a photographer and we'll head over there. We'll take my jet. It will be a great day."
The day we are due to fly to Burgundy is the day of the latest round of terror scares. Most British airports have been affected. Heathrow is shut down and Edinburgh airport is in chaos. The night before, I ring David Murray's assistant to make sure the trip is still on. Of course it is. His is a private jet. "We don't use airports," I'm told.
There is no passport control, baggage check-in or security search; just a short walk across the tarmac, up the gangway and into the small leather-and-mahogany-lined tube. The stewardess fusses about, trying to disguise her excitement at having Connery on board. For his part, he quietly reads the paper for the entire journey.
I sit next to Keith, owner of Edinburgh's Circle Café and the now closed but soon to be relaunched Cosmo's restaurant. Reserved, mild-mannered and laid-back, Keith may not have inherited his father's ebullient personality, but he has certainly inherited his charm. He also knows about wine, with a genuine affinity and respect for the traditions of France's wine industry. Both his establishments have impressive wine lists, and it is no secret that Murray is looking to build a business centred on wine that one day he can hand over to Keith.
Murray throws me a book,
The Wines of Burgundy, by Sylvain Pitiot and Jean-Charles Servant. "This is my bible in Burgundy," he shouts above the roar of the engines. "I take it wherever I go."
I flick through the book and throw him my copy of Anthony Hanson's
Burgundy.
"I have this!" he declares. "He mentions our wines." His enthusiasm and passion are obvious. "By the time this deal is completed, I will have more than 24 hectares under vines in Burgundy and 600 in Provence. We will have more than 25 wines to sell in the UK.
"But buying a vineyard is not about making a profit. It's a passion, a lifestyle. Sure, I will grow the business - I haven't put all this money in to lose it - but I'm not going to ruin it either. I'm going to respect and grow it," he says. "Winemakers are good at making wine. They are not so good at marketing or accounts or sales. This is where the Murray business can help - we can take care of all that and let them get on with what they do best: making wine."
Spending time in the company of David Murray is an intoxicating experience. A bundle of power, energy, enthusiasm and charm, he dominates the gathering with his own turbo-charged personality. As well as his newspaper, Connery has brought along a book of Churchill's speeches as light reading matter. I wasn't surprised to learn that it belongs to Murray.
During the course of the day, Murray drinks gallons of water. This, you suspect, is to keep him sharp and help him retain the concentration and self-discipline that he applies to everything he does. It is said that he gave up alcohol for four years when he first founded his steel business so that he could concentrate on growth. Murray International Holdings is now one of Scotland's largest businesses, incorporating commercial property, call centres, private investment, metal, football and now wine.
Murray's personal fortune is estimated to be north of £650 million, and after a day with him his winning formula becomes clear: boundless energy, hard work and discipline, together with a focused approach. It could be football, steel, property, politics; whatever it is, it gets his unbridled attention. Today it is wine, and he won't speak about anything else.
"PPP," he says in response to a comment I make on the organised structure to the day. "Perfect planning prevents piss-poor performance." It's just one of the many mottoes he shares with us throughout the trip. It's a relatively short journey, though. Private jets are much faster than those flown by fuel-conscious commercial airlines. This one gets us to a military airbase just outside Dijon in less than an hour and a half.
As the stewardess shares the obligatory photograph with Connery, we all clamber out of the plane, where two people-carriers are waiting. Murray will drive Connery and Keith to the vineyard. The photographer and I are going to follow in a separate car with Grahame Haggart, Murray's fixer in France, and Martin Bain, the chief executive of Rangers. "I want you to travel down the wine route, get some photographs and get a real feel for Burgundy," Murray tells me.
Grahame Haggart, or Haggie, as he was nicknamed by Graeme Souness, first met Murray when they were both selling steel in the early 1980s. Haggie was working for a Dundee steel merchant when the young Murray was making a name for himself trading the stuff. The story goes that Murray went up to Dundee one day to take Haggie out for lunch. A bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape was ordered. Murray, keen to learn more about wine, said he liked it, at which point Haggie declared that he did too, but preferred the vineyard next door. It was the start of a 25-year friendship that has resulted in Haggie becoming Murray's wine consultant in France.
"I remember the first time David and I drove this route," he says. "As we sped through the vineyards past famous names such as Gevrey-Chambertin, Vougeot, Meursault, Puligny-Montrachet and St-Aubin, David said he couldn't believe it - these are all the wines we have drunk together over the past 25 years."
The Côte d'Or wine-growing area of Burgundy is a thin, 30-mile strip of land that begins at Chenove, just south of Dijon, and ends at Santenay. It is no more than 1,500m wide at any given point. The multi-layered lime and marlstone soil, the bedrock and drainage are ideal for pinot noir and chardonnay, the only grapes grown in the region. As of yet no other region in the world has succeeded in producing wines as sophisticated and fascinating as those from Burgundy, although in recent years a few have come close.
Domaine Jessiaume lies at the southern foot of the Côte de Beaune, in the village of Santenay. Like most Burgundian vineyards, it is a family concern, and is run by Bernard Jessiaume and his sons Marc and Pascal. The family have owned the property since the 1850s, and in that time have acquired vineyards in Santenay Gravières, Auxey Duresses and Volnay. Bernard is retiring from winemaking and has sold the property to Murray, who will continue to employ Marc and Pascal.
As we arrive at the gates of the 19th-century house, the family are there to greet us. "Bonjour!" cries Murray. The presence of Connery has sent everyone into a frenzy of excitement. Handshakes and nods ensue, and it becomes clear that none of us new arrivals can speak French. True to Burgundian form, Bernard speaks very little English. Pascal acts as translator.
We head to the cellars, where Pascal proudly shows off his new oak barrels. Above is a barn where the grapes come in and are fermented; down below lie the cellars where the wine is aged. The property is steeped in history, with vintages dating back to 1929. There are no vintages from the early 1940s because the house was requisitioned by Nazi generals who drank the wine themselves.
Tour complete, we head upstairs to what is to be the main focus of the day: the wine-tasting. On the way, I catch a moment with Connery. It is his first visit to a vineyard. "When we were down in the cellars," he says, "seeing the barrels reminded me of the old cooperage in Fountainbridge brewery." Connery was brought up in the area around the Edinburgh brewery.
Apart from its wine production, the village of Santenay is also known for its casino and spa - two settings close to James Bond's heart. But Connery wants to know about the wines. I tell him that the soil here is slightly richer than in neighbouring areas, which should give the reds more body and a firmer, rustic feel. As the tasting progresses and the wines come and go, it becomes clear that there is only one expert in the room - and it certainly isn't me. "What do you get in that, Will?" says Murray nudging me. "A bit of cassis, bit of coffee. This one is very creamy. A hint of cherries. This is lovely, I could drink it all day." And on it goes, a running wine-tasting lesson for anyone who cares to listen.
Halfway through, Madame Jessiaume comes in clutching an old video of Goldfinger. "He likes his wine shaken not stirred," quips Murray as he nods to his friend. The two men have an easy relationship and are obviously very comfortable in each other's company. Connery enjoys the joke and seems slightly surprised that they should have a copy of one of his films. Putting down the glass, he points towards Madame Jessiaume and says in his distinctive Bond burr, "Ah, Goldfinger." It's a surreal moment, watching one of Hollywood's most famous actors deliver one of Hollywood's most famous lines.
With the tasting over, we stroll into the village of Santenay for lunch. A table has been booked at the local restaurant, and once again the presence of Connery sends the waitresses into a flurry of nervous energy. This time he's on top Hollywood form, flirting, signing autographs, posing for pictures. "Where shall I sign?" he smiles as our waitress giggles nervously.
Pascal's wife has been summoned. Her sister has been infatuated with Connery ever since she was a child. She once rang home from Morocco to say that she had seen him in the flesh. Connery remembers that particular visit and poses for a photo with Pascal's wife, who can't wait to tell her sister what she is missing.
THE winemaker's family have been running the estate for five generations. In recent years there has been cashflow problems and they were forced to sell from the cellar door. The sale of the business to Murray is a win-win situation. The family get to carry on working at the winery while Murray International can take care of the finances, marketing and cashflow. Furthermore, the estate will not be forced to release wine on to the market that is rushed or not ready to drink. Now they can concentrate solely on producing wine.
Murray is adamant that he will not change a thing. A traditionalist at heart, he respects Jessiaume and its history. "Why would I want to?" he asks. "You build on something like this, you don't ruin it."
Equally important, Marc's son is a keen footballer and has already had a trial for Auxerre. Murray has arranged for the boy to come to Ibrox. "Of course," says Murray to Marc. "You are all part of the Murray empire now."
This was Sir Sean's first visit to a vineyard.
Picture: Phil Wilkinson
As a special treat, Marc has brought along a bottle of 1929 Santenay Gravières for us to try. It's a coppery colour, with an intense, raisiny, farmyard aroma. As it spends time in the glass it unfolds into a mushroomy, gamey wine. "It is impossible to find the same quality at this age in Bordeaux," Marc informs me. "Impossible."
Soon the bill is summoned and we're off. An hour later, as we speed into a rain-soaked Dijon airfield, the engines on Murray's jet are whirring. Up in the air, Murray continues to discuss his plans. He wants to get a few more properties and a few wine qualifications under his belt. He's eager to show that he understands and loves the product. Wine has opened up a new world to him that he wants to enjoy.
As the plane passes Glasgow and descends towards Edinburgh, he leans over and whispers in my ear. "Hey, Will, bet you never thought you'd be flying down to Burgundy with James Bond, did you?"
In the village of Santenay, the elderly Bernard Jessiaume, sitting by the fire enjoying a bottle of Gravières, was probably thinking exactly the same thing.
