A Delicate Finish Page 7

  Jake balanced on his good leg. “Ready.”

  “On your mark.”

  Jake leaned forward.

  “Get set, go!” the boy shouted and shot forward, his long legs covering the ground like a deer. He reached the porch a full five seconds ahead of his father. Julianne opened the door. “What’s going on here?”

  “I won the race.” Nick flung his arms around his grandmother’s waist. “Now Dad has to watch Nemo with me.”

  Julianne’s lips twitched. “Again?”

  “Again,” Jake groaned.

  “What possessed you to think you could actually beat him?” she asked. “I mean, look at you.”

  “Madness.”

  Julianne laughed. “You’re pathetic. He can talk you into anything.” She moved aside. “Come in and wash your hands. Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “Who’s our guest?” asked Jake under his breath.

  “The vice president of GGI and his children, a boy and a girl.”

  Jake’s eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding? Francie wouldn’t let him within ten miles of this place.”

  Julianne shrugged her shoulders. “Obviously, he’s very persuasive.”

  “No one’s that persuasive.”

  “See for yourself. We’re eating in the dining room tonight.”

  “No cocktails in the living room?”

  Julianne shook her head. “Frances isn’t that far gone.”

  Jake took his time cleaning up. By the time he hobbled into the dining room, everyone was already seated. “Sorry, I’m late,” he apologized. “I’m at a disadvantage.”

  Mitch stood and extended his hand. “I’m Mitch Gillette, and these other strangers are my children, Sarah and Drew. It looks like you’ve had a bad time.”

  Jake grinned and shook the older man’s hand. “I’m Jake Harris and I’ve had better days.” He took the chair opposite Francesca.

  “Sarah is taking riding lessons from Francesca,” Julianne explained and smiled at the girl while she began passing around the serving bowls. “How is it going?”

  “It’s great,” replied Sarah. “I love Fairy Light.”

  “Francie loves her, too,” said Jake. “I remember the first day we brought her home.”

  “That was a long time ago,” replied Francesca hurriedly. “I’m glad she’ll have a good home with Sarah.”

  “How about you, Drew? Do you like horses?” Jake asked.

  “No,” the boy said shortly.

  Francesca buttered her roll carefully. “Tell us about your job, Mr. Gillette. Exactly what is it that you do at GGI?”

  “I buy land, then arrange for the building and operation of the plant after the land has been acquired,” he said pleasantly. He heaped his plate with mashed potatoes and salad. “What I’m really interested in is producing a top-notch Pinot Noir.”

  Jake’s eyebrows rose. “Pinot Noir grapes aren’t as marketable as Chardonnay, Merlot or even Cabernet. I would have thought GGI would be interested in whatever made the most money.”

  “This has nothing to do with GGI. I plan to start my own vineyard and winery.”

  The silence around the table was palpable. Forks halted halfway to mouths as six pairs of eyes stared at him.

  Francesca was the first to speak. “You’re really serious. I didn’t believe you.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Where?” Julianne and Jake spoke at the same time.

  “I’ve found sixty acres thirty minutes north of here. The property has a cave and a winery. I notified my real estate agent earlier today. The offer was accepted.”

  Julianne’s eyes were narrow and slightly slanted. Cat eyes. “You bought the Vandenburg estate?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Sarah gasped. “You’re kidding? You already bought it without even showing it to me?”

  “Drew saw it,” her father pointed out. “Besides, I want to make some changes. Not a great deal, but enough so you’ll like the house right away.”

  “Pinot Noir grapes don’t grow as well here as they do farther west,” Jake pointed out. “You might consider other varieties.”

  Mitch lifted his glass and considered the wine. It was a rich, clear ruby with hints of black currant and cassis, obviously an estate wine and a good one. More than likely the two bottles on the table sold for a hundred dollars each, retail. “Such as?” he asked politely.

  Jake shrugged. “You name it. Cabernet, Merlot, Syrah, even Semillon. Syrah is our specialty here in the valley. As for whites, you might try Riesling or Viognier if you don’t want to compete with a Chardonnay.”

  “I have nothing against Chardonnay,” replied Mitch. “The thing is, I’ve got my heart set on Pinot Noir. If you have any tips in that area, I’ll be happy to hear them.”

  “Why Pinot Noir?” Francesca asked, interested in spite of herself.

  “I think of it as a challenge,” Mitch explained. “I’ve tasted all the varieties available in this valley. They’re all very good. In fact, they’re as good as Napa and most of Europe. What I haven’t tasted is an outstanding Pinot Noir.”

  “Pinot Noir grapes need a climate colder and mistier than this one,” Francesca explained.

  “You grow them,” Mitch pointed out.

  Francesca smiled ruefully and once again he was reminded that she was unusually lovely.

  “We don’t make any money on them,” she confessed. “Once in a while, we have a very cold growing season and an excellent Pinot Noir harvest. But not very often. If you want really good Pinot Noir, you should settle closer to the coast.”

  “But that isn’t where GGI wants me.”

  Her smile faded. “For a minute I’d forgotten you were a company man.”

  He laughed, disarming them all. “I’m taking that as the highest compliment. Thank you, Francesca.”

  Julianne changed the subject. “When will you move in?”

  “When the house is ready to be lived in. I’ll have to meet with contractors and see if we can come up with a schedule. Until then, I’ll commute.”

  Jake whistled. “That’s quite a commute.”

  “You sound like a man who speaks from experience.”

  “I’ve been living in Napa for about two years now,” Jake said. “I make it down here about every other week to see Nick.”

  Francesca interrupted him. “I’m sure Mr. Gillette isn’t interested in our personal history, Jake.”

  Jake wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I was answering an implied question, Francesca. It isn’t unusual to tell someone where you live.”

  This time Mitch jumped in, alleviating the tension. “The wine is excellent. It’s perfect with the pork. May I ask how it’s done?”

  “The meat or the wine?” Julianne asked.

  “Both.”

  “The wine is a ’98 Syrah,” she began. “The grapes are three different kinds and estate grown, as you can see by the label. They’re aged for eighteen months in sixty-five percent French oak and thirty-five percent American-oak barrels. This particular case has been aging in bottles for about four years. As for the pork— garlic, white pepper and plum sauce are my secrets.”

  Mitch was intrigued. “I didn’t realize you knew wine as well as food.”

  “My husband was a winemaker. I’ve lived here since I was barely out of my teens. I would’ve had to be deaf and blind not to learn the trade inside and out.”

  Mitch was beginning to form a hazy idea of the family dynamics here at the table.

  Sarah spoke to Francesca. “Why does Jake live in Napa if you’re here?”

  “We’re divorced,” Francesca said bluntly.

  The girl looked surprised. “You’re awfully friendly for a divorced couple.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Drew muttered. “Shut up, Sarah.”

  “No. I mean it.” Sarah appealed to her father. “You never ate dinner with Mom and us when you were divorced.”

  “I can’t remember ever being invited.”

  Julianne pushed back
her chair. “Jake is my son. I invited him,” she explained. “Now, is anyone ready for dessert?”

  “Is it chocolate?” Drew asked.

  “I think I can scrounge up some chocolate,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Mitch rose. “I’ll help you.” He followed her into the kitchen and watched as she assembled plates, more napkins and forks.

  “The coffeepot’s over there behind the cups” she said. “If you don’t mind carrying them out, I’ll bring the dessert.”

  He looked appreciatively at the gooey chocolate bubbling out of what looked like pieces of chocolate cake.

  “It’s called chocolate bread pudding,” she said, guessing his question. “It’s Nick’s favorite.”

  “Is that why you stay here? Because of Nick?”

  She frowned. “Why wouldn’t I stay? This is my home.”

  “Even though your son is no longer married to Francesca?”

  “Even more so.” Deftly, she spooned servings of pudding-cake onto seven plates. “When Francie’s father died, she needed help with some debt. I paid it down. She’s done wonderful things with the winery. I support her every step of the way.”

  “What about Jake?”

  Julianne sighed. “Now, that situation breaks my heart. I don’t think I’ve ever seen two young people so much in love with each other.” She smiled sadly. “I guess it proves there’s more to the equation than love.”

  She rinsed off the spoon and left it in the sink. Then she faced him, hands on her hips. “Next time it’s your turn to be interrogated.”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing? Interrogating you?”

  “What else?”

  “Do you mind?”

  “That depends on what you do with the information.”

  “What if it’s pure curiosity?”

  Julianne nodded. “That’s acceptable as long as you return the favor.”

  He picked up two plates. “On one condition.”

  She tilted her head. Her eyes were very blue. “What’s that?”

  “That I provide dinner.”

  She looked surprised. “Do you cook, Mitch?”

  “No, but I’m a connoisseur of fine restaurants. Will you have dinner with me?”

  She hesitated. “Does it have to be a date?”

  “I think so, if it’s all right with you.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Forty-five.”

  Julianne breathed in. “I’m fifty.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, releasing her breath. “May I think about it?”

  “My escrow closes in four weeks. I’ll be here permanently. Will that be long enough?”

  She laughed. “You are persistent. Four weeks will be fine.”

  Seven

  Francesca closed the book and tucked the covers around Nick. His eyes were still bright and clear and a long way from sleep. “You’re usually snoring by now,” she teased him. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t snore.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I would hear it.”

  Recognizing where the conversation was going and why, she refused to get caught up in a debate. “What’s going on?” she asked instead.

  He shrugged. “I’m just not tired.”

  “It’s ten o’clock.”

  “I know.”

  She smoothed the silky hair away from his forehead. “Is something bothering you, Nick?”

  “I think Dad wants to come home.”

  The words pierced her skin like tiny splinters. She forced herself to react calmly. “Why do you think that?”

  Again Nick shrugged.

  “Did he tell you he wanted to come home?” she pressed him.

  “He said he misses us.”

  She swallowed and spoke softly. “I’m sure he does miss us, Nick. We miss him, too, but that doesn’t mean he wants to live here again. People miss each other all the time.” Francesca lifted his chin and looked at him. “Can you see that?”

  Nick sighed and turned over. “Yes,” he said. “But this is different.”

  Her eyes burned. She couldn’t talk about this now. Leaning over, she kissed his cheek. “Good night, sweetheart.”

  He burrowed down into the sheets and closed his eyes.

  Francesca hovered on the landing, undecided as to whether she should offer to help Julianne with the dishes and take a chance on running into Jake, or go straight to her room. Her better half prevailed. She walked into the kitchen just in time to dry the wine goblets and serving bowls. “I’ll clean what’s left,” she offered, picking up a dish towel.

  “You’ve worked all day, Francie,” her mother-in-law said. “I don’t mind.”

  “And I suppose you’ve been lying around eating chocolates and watching television?”

  Julianne laughed her lovely laugh. “You win. I am tired.”

  In companionable silence the two women finished the last of the dishes and wiped down the counters. Francesca broke the silence. “He’s nice, isn’t he?”

  “Who?”

  “Mitch Gillette.”

  “Very nice.”

  “It’s going to make it all that much harder,” Francesca observed. “If only he didn’t work for GGI.”

  Julianne nodded.

  “He doesn’t have a prayer of succeeding.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  Francesca raised her eyebrows. “He’s unfamiliar with the soil. He won’t find a decent winemaker and he won’t get any help because of his credentials. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

  Julianne folded the towels and hung them over the sink. “On the other hand, he doesn’t need to make a profit any time soon. You heard him. He’s experimenting with blends. It doesn’t sound like he’s going commercial. He can take as long as he wants.” She sighed. “Who knows? He might be here longer than we are.”

  “He doesn’t have water rights.”

  “He’ll get them soon enough.”

  Francesca folded her arms and leaned back against the counter. “That remains to be seen.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to use your influence to refuse him water rights. I know you better than that. The minute he said he wanted to experiment with Pinot Noir grapes, he had you.”

  “I wouldn’t influence anyone to refuse him,” Francesca stated bluntly. “But I have no problem with doing it to GGI.”

  Francesca’s stubborn streak was blinding her. Julianne spoke gently, keeping her eyes on her daughter-in-law’s face. “It’s only a matter of time, love. You know that. The small vintners will have to offer something GGI doesn’t if they’re to survive. I’d be thinking about that right now instead of burying my head in the sand.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “Yours,” Julianne said immediately. “Always. Now, I’m going upstairs.” She blew Francesca a kiss and left the room.

  Francesca poured herself another cup of coffee and carried it outside to the porch. She sat down in the glider and stared at the hills, black against a star-bright sky. She was terrified of losing the vineyard. What else did she have besides Nick and Julianne? What else was she qualified to do? It was unthinkable. She knew nothing but wine.

  Jake’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Are you in the mood for company or would you prefer to be alone?”

  Francesca stiffened. She didn’t want him beside her. That would be too much. She nodded at the chair opposite the swing. “Have a seat. It’s your mother’s porch, too. I’ll go inside.”

  Jake sat down, leaning his crutches against the house. “Does it always have to be like this, Francie? Can’t we have a normal conversation?”

  She thought a minute. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, it’s like this.” Ignoring her coffee, she leaned forward, her long braid swinging over her shoulder. “You deserted me. You walked out after my father died, leaving me with a vineyard to harvest, a mount
ain of debt and a six-year-old child. That was bad enough. But the worst part, the unforgivable part, is that never once did you explain why, nor did you give me a chance to remedy whatever was bothering you. I think that merits a good deal of resentment on my part. What amazes me is why you’re surprised that I won’t give you the time of day.”

  “You’re serious!” he said incredulously.

  “Yes.”

  “We fought like cats and dogs for the entire year after Frank died. I tried talking to you. Hell, I tried everything. You weren’t interested in what I had to say. You were my wife, Francie, but I felt like yesterday’s leftover catch. Nothing I did was right. You made it perfectly clear this was your vineyard and you made the decisions.”

  Francesca looked at the sky. “I can’t believe this.”

  His mouth twisted. “Believe it.”

  “I needed you.”

  “You had a sorry way of showing it.”

  “I was going through a lot, Jake. Surely you can see that.”

  “What I saw was a woman who wanted to run the entire show, a woman who had no respect for her husband. What kind of man would I be if I let that happen? I didn’t want Nick to grow up thinking we were normal.”

  He almost had her. He would have had her until his last remark. “No. You’d rather Nick have an absentee father he sees only four days a month.”

  “When did you get to be so bitter?”

  She stood, slim and straight and furious. “When I brought back chicken strips for my husband’s dinner just in time to watch him carry out his suitcases.” She stepped over his plastered leg. “You’ve been here for quite a while. How much longer do you plan to stay?”

  “Are you throwing me out?”

  She ignored his question. “Good night, Jake.”

  Jake lifted his hand in a mock military salute. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Upstairs in her bathroom, Francesca placed both hands on the basin of the sink and leaned close to the mirror. She felt fragile, unsteady, as if her skin had been peeled back and all her nerves exposed. Her eyes were dark and unfocused, the pupils filling up the brown of her irises. Her cheeks were attractively flushed. Rage had its advantages. The involuntary shaking began in her knees and moved upward.

  Concentrating, she turned on the faucet, waited until the water felt warm to the touch and splashed it over her face. She pulled a towel from the rack, patted her forehead and cheeks, walked back into the bedroom and threw herself facedown on the bed. She hated him. In fact, she was quite sure she’d never hated anyone as much in her entire life. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve Julianne and he certainly didn’t deserve Nick. What Jake deserved was to sit broken and alone in an upstairs apartment with no one to wait on him.