The Winemaker Page 15

  “It’s very common in Malaysia. I told you my dad was Malaysian, right?”

  “No,” he shook his head. That explained her beautiful olive skin.

  “If you like this,” she said with growing enthusiasm, “you’re going to love my pineapple, curry, chutney, and mayonnaise salad.”

  He frowned. “Just mentioning those four ingredients in the same sentence is an insult to my senses.”

  “You’ll love it. I told you your food is bland.”

  “So, you may have your curry, but we have other delicacies you know,” he said teasingly.

  “Like?”

  “Coffee.”

  “Your brand is Colombian. Did you think I haven’t noticed?”

  “All right then, we have really excellent wine.”

  “You do.” She laughed.

  Etán wanted to make use of her good humor to make peace. He leaned forward and took her hand. “Am I forgiven for my rude interference in your life?”

  She waved her hand. “Forgiven. I just had a bad night.”

  She bit her lip and looked at his hand still cupped over hers. She pulled hers away awkwardly.

  “Listen, Etán.” She glanced back at him. “I owe you an apology for speaking about ... your sister and your ex-wife ... like that. I was out of line.”

  “Forget about it. People talk. I understand.”

  “Luca told me about Sanita when he explained why you took me to Eat for Life, and no one told me about your sister. I asked.”

  His look was imploring. “Why would you ask about my sister?”

  “You put me in her bedroom.”

  “How did you know it was hers?”

  She hesitated for a moment. “I ... sometimes ... have weird flashes.” She waved with her hands. “I thought I saw ... something. You know ... it was nothing.”

  He frowned. “Flashes? What kind of flashes?”

  Zenna pulled her hands through her hair. “It’s nothing, really.”

  “Zenna,” he insisted, “tell me what you see, feel.”

  She stared at him for a long time. Finally, she said, “I’ve had flashes from a young age. I suppose you could call them visions. Sometimes they’re from the future and sometimes from the past. I can never tell when I’ll have them. They just come. I don’t know their meaning or why I have them. It’s very sporadic.”

  “You’ve never learned how to manage, to control them?”

  “No, should I have?”

  “It would have been a lot easier for you if you could exercise conscious control.”

  “Is such a thing even possible?” She sounded doubtful.

  “The extent of the control depends on the nature of your talent, but control is always possible to a lesser or greater extent.”

  “I don’t go around publicizing it to the world.” Her face tensed. “I would appreciate your discretion in the matter.”

  “Of course.” Etán felt concern. “Your visions had something to do with my sister?”

  “I saw only glimpses of her, Etán, mainly in the bathroom. Looking at some photos you have in the study confirmed it was her face I saw.”

  Comprehension washed over him. “The sleepless nights? Having visions?”

  She looked at her hands. “Yes. Dreams. That’s a first for me.”

  “The vision is always the same, even in the dreams?”

  “Yes. It’s the same.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to upset you. To be honest, I never had any intention of anyone knowing about my ... ability.”

  “What do you see?” he said, his voice sounding haunted to his own ears.

  “I see her, in a long, white nightdress, dabbing perfume behind her ears.”

  “Can you sense emotions in your visions?” he probed with care.

  “Sometimes. Sometimes not. It’s painful after the visions. Sometimes the pain blurs the emotions.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “I’m sorry, Etán, I didn’t want to bring up a difficult subject. I know it’s not easy for you.”

  “No, you should have told me about your pain. I could have tried to help you.”

  “No one can. I have pills.”

  He leaned forward, his gaze serious. “You have to let me in, Zenna, if it happens again. I don’t want you to suffer.”

  She looked at him for a long moment again before speaking. “Why did you put me in her room if you haven’t allowed anyone else to stay there, after her death?”

  “I wanted you close to me,” he said honestly, “to protect you. It’s an instinct, Zenna, I cannot explain. I’ve learned to trust my instincts through the years. I assume my mother, if she told you about me, would have told you about her ability to grasp future visions? It was my mother who told us you needed protection. I don’t have my mother’s ability for foresight, but I trust my intuition. I’m hardly ever wrong.” He saw her visibly tense. “Did I say something?”

  Zenna closed her eyes, fleetingly. When she looked at him, her expression was one of fear. “Etán, I have been chased and followed by some men. Twice, they tried to kidnap me. I know why they are after me. It’s my visionary ability they want, but I don’t know why or what use I would be to them. I truly hope your instinct is not an indication of me endangering all of your lives. I’ve been running ever since I turned twenty.”

  His breathing increased marginally. “Zenna,” he exclaimed softly, “you should have told me.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think they could follow me across a continent.”

  “Is that why you came here?”

  “No. Yes. Partly. I really came because of Marcos, but a part of me craved freedom.”

  He could not begin to imagine the hell her life must have been. “We’ll have to sit down and talk about every single little detail of how you made your move here. You have to tell me everything. We first need to establish how easy it may be to find you and then who’s after you.”

  “I can’t fight them. I learned years ago that whoever they are, they have power and money.”

  “We will fight them, “ he said with conviction. “You have to learn to control your visions, to become the master. Right now, your visions are your master, and it’s causing you pain and confusion.”

  She shuddered. “I don’t know if I want to go there.”

  “I know it’s hard.” He knew enough about the subject to know excruciating pain could accompany the so-called flashes. “I’ll be there. You won’t be alone, this time.”

  She laughed nervously. “I think I rather prefer running.” She lifted a strand of hair. “Before this, my hair was purple.” She motioned to the silky bunch of auburn curls she held in her fist. “Before that, black. I’ve never stopped hiding, or changing—changing flats, jobs, hair color, whatever it took. Believe me, there’s nothing I’d rather do than stop running, but I’d rather run, than fight those men. I’m not sure those men are going to give up the fight just like that.”

  Her words made a shiver run down his spine, but despite the despair he felt, he grinned. “Couldn’t you have gone for less noticeable, more normal hair colors? Purple?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “And be boring and predictable? No thanks, I’d rather die.”

  His voice was tender. “I think you’re hiding as much from yourself, as from those men, Zenna, pretending to be the tough and rough rebel you have to be to survive. Deep down, there is some blonde or brunette or redhead sheltering behind a brave exterior façade.”

  She winced and tilted her head. “This is my normal color, Etán. What you see, is what you get. Maybe I am sheltering behind a brave façade. If so, I’ve ended up in the right family. We’re all running. From life.”

  Chapter Ten

  The launch was only three weeks away from the Saturday on which Zenna had confided her visionary ability to Etán. It grated on his nerves. The event couldn’t be put off, but neither did he have time to put a proper plan of action in place to ensure Zen
na’s safety. The best he could do was to hire a private security company and to alert the agents to be extra suspicious of any strange elements. He was frustrated by the fact he couldn’t explain the reason behind his concerns to the well-trained men, leaving them mostly in the dark. He knew trying to work in the dark had never brought anyone anywhere success.

  His instinct about Zenna was right. The girl needed protection, how much, she herself didn’t realize. Every time he thought about what could happen to her if caught by the men who were after her, his blood went cold. He had failed Catalina, and Sanita, and he would be damned if he was going to fail Zenna.

  Considering all the facts carefully and after weighing the consequences, he informed his parents of the situation. They had a right to know, and he needed to be sure he had powerful allies in them should the situation arise earlier than they planned, God forbid.

  Even if Ana didn’t say so, she had known all along about Zenna’s talent. Etán could sense it. It now made sense why his mother wanted her under her wing. Zenna had no idea what a valuable asset she could make to any intelligence organization, whether governmental or illegal, but either way, he didn’t want to think about that fate. He knew what they would do to her.

  After he had spoken to his parents, he went to see Luca. Of course Luca had suspected as much, but it was only during the last few days he became certain of what Zenna was hiding. Both men decided not to alarm her by sharing the full truth with her. Not just yet. Not until they could formulate a way of keeping her out of harm’s way.

  Ana would be a great help. She knew someone who could train Zenna in the physical and psychological methodology to control her visions, thereby neutralizing her value to any government or secret organization, should they try to capture her. Involuntary control was any visionist’s worst enemy. Ana made it clear it would only work if Zenna was ready. Even if it couldn’t be forced, Etán would beg, do whatever it took, even if it was the last thing he did. The risks were too high.

  * * * *

  Etán had worked with Jorge and Alejandro, the other two winemakers in his team, around the clock to create the three new blends for the launch. His favorite of the three was the cheeky Carmenere. He had blended it with small amounts of Petit Verdot and Syrah to obtain the perfect balance. It was a winner. There was no doubt in his mind that it was going to make headlines. It would take them to a new rank in the export market. As the wineries in Chile had grown from twelve in 1995 to seventy in 2005, so had the quality and the exporting potential. His country wasn’t the fifth largest exporter of wines in the world for nothing.

  Besides the three new reds, there was another one he had worked on, one that wasn’t going to be ready for the launch, but that had been requested for the Berlin Tasting that was to take place in New York. He hadn’t slept, showered, shaved, or eaten until he was satisfied with his ultimate creation. He had that eureka moment of wonder when it all came together—the Merlot 2010. His best ever. The smell, the taste, and the way it lingered on his palate, in his very soul, the way it made him want to taste more, was her. She had been his inspiration, his muse, for the ultimate expression of his senses.

  He gave his notes to Alejandro and smiled when he fingered the label design he was about to approve. It was the best thing he had ever created. If he never made another wine, it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter because this was the one he had lived for, had strived for. He was tired to the bone, but satisfied. Yet, there was still so much to be done before the launch.

  It was a good thing the vineyard didn’t need grafting, too. The team almost never slept a solid, few hours at a stretch as it was. When the Phylloxera louse devastated the world’s vineyards at the end of the nineteenth century, Chile was, somehow magically unaffected. The Carmenere grape variety he had used to create their best wine, was actually an old, forgotten Bordeaux grape one of his ancestors had brought from France that had remained intact after the Philloxera epidemic. Today, his country was the only one where that special variety had survived, and because they were lucky enough not to have been infected, their vineyard didn’t need grafting. It was considered something very rare and rather unusual by the rest of the world’s wine producing countries.

  He and Luca agreed that Luca would move to the estate to keep an eye on Zenna during those busy weeks when Etán hardly had time to eat. She had been indispensable in the launch organization and was becoming more so by the day. He was delighted with the way in which she had taken charge of things to lighten his burden. Sometimes, he didn’t know how he would ever survive without her support. His instincts about offering her the job had been right. She had over-performed as promised.

  His biggest worry remained getting her safely through the launch and back to Sol y Sombra to start her work on her gifted abilities. He had tried, pushed, and begged, but Zenna refused to go there. She was adamant she was going to survive as she always had—by running. Like hell. As soon as this launch was behind them, they were going to have a serious talk.

  Zenna noticed the tired way in which Etán sometimes wiped a hand over his unshaven face in the mornings, realizing he had never been to bed. The whole team worked hard, but Etán was the rock on which everyone leaned. He took it all on his shoulders, and he ploughed forward. He ate sporadically, mostly on the run. Zenna had to admit with no small amount of shock that she missed him. From her side, the launch was as ready as it could be. The fact she couldn’t do more to assist him made her feel helpless.

  She had gained a good understanding of the winemaking process, and she even grasped the wine cultivars to an extent, but the man behind it all eluded her. She almost felt responsible for the new, dark circles under Etán’s eyes. Now he also carried the burden of the added worry for her safety and the security guards in black suits who had invaded Sol y Sombra. She looked through the window into the night. It was already eight. She made up her mind, took her wrap, and walked to the cellar.

  Zenna let herself in, strolled past the crusher-destemmer, the fermentation bins, and the redwood barrels, down the stairs into the smaller hall where Etán sat at a table, surrounded by used and clean wine glasses and writing notes.

  She stopped a few paces away. He looked lost in the task at hand. “Hi.”

  He looked up and smiled. “Hi.”

  “How are you doing?”

  He ran his hand through his hair. His face was dark with the stubble of a beard. “Getting there.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. It was cool in the cellar. “You’re working too hard.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “Comes with the territory.”

  “I came to see if you needed anything. Maybe something to eat? A cup of tea?”

  An emotion flickered in his eyes. “Thank you. I’m working my way through these new cultivars. I can’t confuse my pallet with tea right now, as welcome as it may be. Maybe after.”

  She didn’t want to intrude. “All right. Let me know, if you need something later.” She turned to go.

  “Wait,” he called after her. When she stopped to regard him, he looked at her with tired eyes. “I can do with some company, even if I feel bad asking you to stay. I know you’ve been working hard, too, and need your sleep as much as I do.”

  She walked back toward him. “I’ll be happy to stay if I won’t be in the way.”

  He pulled out a chair for her. When she was seated, he handed her a glass with some red wine. “What do you think?”

  She did as he and Cristian had taught her to taste the wine. She swallowed. “Sorry, but I’m not spitting this one out. Too good.” She scrunched up her nose. “Nose—cherry tomato and leather. Taste—lush cherry and vanilla. No evidence of under-ripeness. Finish is sweet and oaky, with a hint of chocolate.”

  He watched her with something like pride. “Very good, Zenna. I do believe you’re a natural at cracking the tasting code.”

  “So, how did I do?” She put the empty glass on the table and pulled the wrap tighter around her shoulders.

/>   “You’ve only missed the blackberry on the tongue.”

  She pouted. “You see? No matter how hard I try, I never get a full score.”

  He smiled. “That comes with years of practice. Or maybe Cristian isn’t as good a teacher as I am,” he teased.

  She studied his face. It was rather a pity most of her wine tasting training had been done by Alejandro, Jorge, or Cristian. They were good, but they lacked Etán’s passion.

  “Congratulations. It’s going to do well at the launch.” She suddenly wondered which cultivar he liked best. He had produced so many good ones. “What’s your all time favorite?”

  “Of my own?”

  She nodded.

  “Without a doubt the new Bordeaux style blend.” He pulled her sagging wrap back into place. “How about you?”

  “Me?” Zenna thought for a while. “Without wanting to sound like a copycat, I’d have to say a Bordeaux blend, too. Year 2008. Let’s see if you get this one. Serious, fairly rich with tannins, aromas of herbs, tobacco, and olive that meet at eucalyptus.” Her eyes held his as she spoke. “Lightly roasted berry flavors and touches of sweet caramel and chocolate on the finish. Round and full in the mouth.”

  He looked at her for a long moment. “Why?”

  She tilted her head, drinking in his handsome features. She couldn’t tell him it was her favorite because that wine defined him for her, and reminded her of him in every sensual, knee-weakening sip.

  She pursed her lips together. “I guess it’s because I don’t totally get it.” She gave him a piercing look. “I’ve tasted that wine almost five times, and yet, its truth still eludes me. I don’t get the expert’s description.”

  His eyes moved to her lips, those intoxicating, decadently, sweet lips. Burnt sugar. Caramel. Chili and chocolate. It just depended on her mood. A subtle shift, and her chemistry would change. A buffet of lust, of which no man could ever get his fill.

  “Maybe that’s because, despite having been an excellent student in theory,” he said, “you lack in experience.”