The Winemaker Page 6

  Zenna studied Ana’s profile. No doubt she was a strong woman, physically, but even more so, mentally. Zenna could sense it. She had hardly ever been wrong in sensing people. Except for men. A grim smile curved her lips. She wasn’t going to spoil the beauty of the afternoon with sad memories.

  “What about the house in Santiago?” Zenna said, to change the direction of her thoughts.

  The city house was rather unconventional in design, with raw brick, rounded walls and triangular rooms. The interior boasted plenty of dark wood inlays, beams, and panels.

  Ana took a cup from the tray and offered it to Zenna. “Black, lemon?” When Zenna nodded, she continued, “The Santiago house was owned by my parents. My father had it designed and built when he and my mother moved from the outskirts of town to the neighborhood. It was closer to our school. He was very eccentric, my father,” she added fondly.

  “So, you inherited it then.”

  “Goodness, no. I’m the oldest of ten brothers and sisters. My parents left it to all ten of us. We were supposed to sell it and share the profit, but I couldn’t let it go. My siblings weren’t interested in retaining the property, so Pedro bought them out.”

  “You’re blessed to be part of such a big family.” Zenna couldn’t help the envy in her voice. Since the year she had turned eight, it had only been her and her mother. Mostly her. Later, she didn’t even bother attending the Sunday fish and chips lunches at her mother’s kitchen table. It only ever ended up in exhausting squabbles.

  Ana chuckled. “It can get a bit crazy at times, I assure you.”

  “Still, you’re lucky, Ana, and special. It was very kind of you to invite me.”

  “I’m happy you came.” She looked at Zenna intently. “You are special too, aren’t you? What is your gift, Zenna?”

  Zenna’s head jerked up. She forced herself to say evenly, “I was a Spanish teacher.”

  “I wasn’t referring to your job.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Zenna said.

  “What is your talent? I can feel it, you know.”

  Zenna had to look away to hide the truth. How could Ana have known? She wasn’t going to insult Ana by lying to her. She liked her too much. She knew when someone was sincere or when he or she was fishing for information. Ana wasn’t fishing, but Zenna didn’t feel comfortable talking about the curse that had ruined most of her life. She had come here to marry Marcos, but also partly because she wanted to escape. She was running from her ‘talent’ and from the people who had been after it ever since she had turned twenty. It wasn’t a subject she liked to talk about. It was her big secret, one she needed to protect at all costs.

  “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Ana said, “but there are things about our family you ought to know.”

  Zenna felt her skin tingle in a familiar way. “Uh, uh. Why doesn’t this sound good?”

  “Oh,” Ana said lightly, “it all depends how you look at it.” She put her cup on the tray, and took Zenna’s hand between both of hers. “Luca is empathic, Zenna. We don’t go around advertising it to the world, but I think you have a right to know because I know you know how to raise the right barriers if you feel his observations becoming too intense. Normally, I wouldn’t bother alarming our guests in this way. They don’t notice anyway, but you’re different. If you start to pay attention, you will notice.”

  Zenna felt her heart skip a beat. “Why entrust me with this information?” She was only too aware how sought after empaths were. How they were hunted and used. It was a secret, like her own, one had to bury deep, very deep.

  “Because I know I can trust you. I know who can keep a secret and who can’t or won’t. You’re a guardian of secrets, aren’t you, Zenna? Besides, if I didn’t tell you, it would have been a little bit like having your soul exposed to a stalker, wouldn’t it?” She smiled conspiratorially.

  “Thank you, I guess.” Zenna didn’t know what else to say.

  It wasn’t on Luca her thoughts were dwelling, though. It was on the man she had kissed in that shady bar. She felt herself cringe at the sudden thought that rushed to mind. If Etán was empathic... Could he have read her thoughts, her mind, her feelings, her reaction to him? How she had craved him? When she was supposed to be ... was ... in love with Marcos?

  Etán would think her an absolute nutcase. A false person. A feeble woman. She felt so attracted to him, it was simply crazy. It was silly. It was overpowering. Then, she had gone and kissed him in her drunken state. She was only too aware he hadn’t returned the kiss.

  “What about Etán?” Zenna probed carefully. “Is he empathic, too?” The trait was genetic. It often ran in whole families.

  Ana let go of Zenna’s hand to pull wilted petals from the roses in the vase on the table. “No.” The smile that touched her lips was affectionate. “Etán is our nose and our tongue. His gift is the extraordinary ability of taste and smell. A rather ... unnaturally good ability.”

  Zenna sighed inwardly of relief. “That explains his job, making your wine.”

  “Yes, but it was something I believe he would have done even without his ... let’s call them ... talents. I remember him accompanying his grandfather to those very cellars even before he could speak.” She looked into the direction of the walkway. “He has always been fascinated by the vineyard and the process of creating wine.”

  “And Luca not?”

  Ana dropped the petals onto the tray. “Luca still has to find his balance. Sometimes he puts his empathic skills to use, but we don’t expect that. We don’t manipulate him into using them. He’ll find his path when his time comes.”

  Zenna shot Ana a cautious look. “And your gift, Ana?”

  Ana smiled secretively. “Let’s just say it is similar to yours. Different and alike, I believe.”

  Zenna nodded, looking at the cup in her hand. “I see. I tell you mine, and you tell me yours.”

  Ana tilted her head. “No. I’ll tell you more about myself when the time is right. You’ll talk about it when you’re ready.”

  “And Pedro?” Zenna caught herself. “Not that I mean to pry...”

  Ana shook her head. “These gifts are from my side of the family. From my father. Poor Pedro has only ever been burdened by mine.”

  “I doubt that very much.” A woman like Ana could only be an asset to any man.

  Zenna’s gaze was drawn in the direction of the cellars again. She imagined Etán bent over a glass of wine, his nostrils flaring, his eyes hard. She wondered if his eyes were ever soft, if there was a less serious side to him. She thought she had caught a glimpse of humor earlier that day in her kitchen when he had kissed her out of the blue. A little shiver ran over her. Her skin broke out in goosebumps.

  Ana got up. “Come, you’re cold. Let me show you to your room. The car should be offloaded by now. Get something warm to put on, before you catch a cold.”

  After their late afternoon tea, Ana asked Zenna about her eating preferences, and then took her on a quick tour of the house. Zenna found Villa Sol y Sombra an imposing, single story building that dominated the hill on which it stood and its surrounding gardens. The house was built in a square, the center forming an inner courtyard with a black marble water fountain as the focal point. The front view overlooked the vineyard.

  On the west side, beyond the walkway, sat several independent buildings, including the cellars, the estate offices, a sales warehouse, and Etán’s laboratory. The east side of the garden encompassed a huge swimming pool and a tennis court. The architectural style of the villa was very much Colonial, the typical style of the Chilean hacienda.

  Zenna’s favorite part of the mansion was the covered veranda that ran around the house. All the rooms were fitted with double doors that opened onto the welcoming space. Wicker furniture with plump cushions were scattered around the outdoor area.

  As she walked through the house, Zenna admired the plush carpets and the warm hues of cream on the walls, framed by cappuccino-colored
curtains. Ana introduced her to Teresa, the housekeeper, to the butler, Ramon, and two other girls, Paula and Josefina, who helped to manage the housekeeping. Ana then excused herself to freshen up before dinner, and Zenna took the opportunity to do the same.

  She didn’t change, but pulled on a cashmere jersey before she washed her hands and brushed her hair. She didn’t bother unpacking. Instead she read a book on the sofa in her room until nine, and then she went to the dining room for dinner.

  Etán hadn’t been there to greet them when they had arrived in his parent’s pickup from town. Neither had Luca. Ana had informed Zenna Etán was working, and would only join them later for dinner. Luca had sent a message to say he would arrive on Saturday morning.

  Even though the party only consisted of Ana, Pedro, Etán, and herself, Zenna found the dinner a pleasant affair. The conversation was interesting, and her hosts entertaining on her behalf. When Pedro excused himself to catch the late evening news broadcast, and Ana retired to the lounge with a book, Etán took Zenna to a smaller sitting room where a cozy fire burned in the fireplace. He offered her one of the chairs close to the fire and poured them each a small glass of port.

  He handed her one of the glasses and raised his. “Porta 2000 Reserva.”

  “Thank you.” She sipped the brownish ruby liquid tentatively.

  “What do you think?”

  “Of what?”

  He smiled indulgently. “The port.”

  She tilted her head, thinking. “It warms my stomach.”

  “You can do better than that.” He raised his eyebrows encouragingly.

  She tasted it again. “Perfectly pleasant plums.”

  “Mmm, I see you have a way with words.”

  “Are you making fun of my ignorance?”

  “Never.”

  “How would a professional describe it, then?”

  “Medium-bodied and easy to drink. Blackberries compete with rustic oak flavors in the mouth. The bouquet offers a bizarre blend of anise, butter cookies, and apricot.”

  “Butter cookies? You’re making fun of me.”

  “That’s a review we got from a world-famous expert.”

  “You could have told me the wine you gave me this afternoon is from your estate.” She had only put two and two together when she had seen the name and the logo of the estate on the gates outside.

  He took the chair next to hers. “From my private cellar, in fact. That one is a ... keeper.”

  There was something in the way he looked at her when he said it that made her think there was an underlying message in his words. She watched him from under her eyelashes. “That good, huh?”

  “The best.”

  There it was again. That ... tone, something she couldn’t put her finger on. A play on words. She swallowed. Her imagination was running away with her. Why was she so affected? Damn. Best get a grip.

  “Sombra ... something?” she said, clearing her throat. He must think her an idiot for not remembering the name of his wine.

  “Sombra 1999. Red blend. It is one of our earliest superstar wines.”

  “I didn’t know wine also obtained superstar status. Your mom said something of the kind earlier. I’m afraid you wasted a good bottle on me. I know nothing about wine. You should have kept it for someone who could have appreciated it.”

  He gave her a piercing look. “I chose it especially for you, because it suits you. I think it’s a wine that perfectly describes you.”

  “What do you mean ‘suits’ me?” His gaze was so intense she had to look away.

  “Did you read the label?”

  She never read wine labels. “No.”

  “Shall I recite it for you?”

  She turned her head back to him in surprise. He wasn’t seriously proposing reciting a label like a poem, was he? She wanted to say no, but she was intrigued. She didn’t want to say yes because she wasn’t sure she understood where the conversation was going. In the end, she didn’t say anything and couldn’t tear her gaze away from him.

  His eyes lowered and lingered on her lips. “Showcases sweet, dark, plummy fruit.” He spoke as if he tasted every word. Zenna looked on, mesmerized, as his gaze trailed leisurely from her mouth, down her neckline to her breasts. “Wrapped in a cedary cloak of earth, tobacco, and cassis,” he said, his voice soft and deep, his exploratory stare traveling to her hips. “Smooth and supple, framed with soft tannins.” His eyes burned on her thighs. “There is no need to cellar it.” Then those smoldering green eyes lifted and finally locked with hers again. “It should last well.”

  She gaped, feeling an instant fire shoot from her stomach to her face. He had just had the nerve to compare her to a wine. A superstar wine. It was the most sensual description any man had ever given her. He was a dangerous man.

  He studied her curiously. “I’m glad you liked the description.”

  “What makes you think I liked it?” she said, and wanted to bite her tongue for sounding guiltily defensive.

  “You’re flushed and your breathing has increased.”

  She swore inwardly and tried to recover from her reaction. “It’s your port.”

  “Port makes you breathe faster?”

  He was laughing at her with those seductive eyes of his. “I’m not hyperventilating so don’t flatter yourself.”

  “All right,” he said, looking like he didn’t believe her, “so I’ll only take credit for the blushing then.”

  “I’ve just never been compared to a wine before. I’m not sure if I should be flattered, or insulted.”

  “Let’s just say I’m not good with words. I communicate better through wine.”

  “I should give it back to you.” She hoped he got her underlying message. “What a shame to waste it on a Pisco drinker like me.”

  His pale emerald eyes held hers captive. “You don’t have to be an expert to appreciate wine. If you enjoy it, it won’t be wasted.”

  She desperately wanted to change the subject, to break the spell. “It’s a lovely house.” She looked around the room. “You are so lucky to live here.”

  His eyes followed hers. “I cannot imagine living anywhere else, but it comes with a price.” His expression suddenly became guarded. “It takes a lot of time to run a place like this.”

  “You have lots of people who work for you, right?”

  “I do. We have a team. However, they don’t do the job as well as I do.” He smiled in a teasing way, but she was sure he had meant it. He came across as a perfectionist.

  “So what are you doing right now? What does a winemaker do in winter?”

  “Right now? We’ve started pruning. It’s the end of the fermentation for the hearty reds. We’re bottling the young and older wines. The wines for aging are moved from vats to barrels after filtering.”

  “All of this at once?”

  “Did I mention administration, sales reports, and distribution?”

  “Wow, all work, no play.”

  “Maybe.” He gave her another dashing smile. “I’m more interested in talking about your home.”

  “London?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, it has its charm, of course, but here, you have the sunshine, the space.”

  “So, what is it going to be for you in the future, Zenna? London or Santiago?”

  She looked into the fire. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Are you going to stay on in the house?”

  She frowned. “No. I can’t afford the house. It’s a lovely mess because we signed a two year contract with a three-month notice period.”

  “And Marcos—that’s his name, isn’t it?—left you to deal with it?” There was displeasure in his voice.

  Zenna didn’t feel like talking about Marcos. She sipped the port without commenting.

  “It so happens the owner of your house is our family lawyer,” he said. “Enrique is also a close friend. I think I can talk him into letting you off the hook sooner and even taking on your court case.”

&
nbsp; Zenna looked up quickly. “You can? That would be marvelous. Do you think he’ll let me cancel the contract from the end of this month? I really can’t afford to pay the rent on that big place alone.”

  “The house is in an area much sought after. I’m sure he won’t have a problem in finding new tenants. I can’t see why, considering the circumstances, he won’t be lenient. He’s a reasonable man.”

  “Do you really think so?” Zenna asked expectantly.

  “We can call him tomorrow and explain your adventure with the police. I’m sure he’ll be happy to take on your case as a favor to my father.”

  “Argh, I already owe your family so much. I hate having to ask for favors.”

  “I’m sure you would have done the same for any one of us, had we been caught with a stolen vehicle in London.”

  She laughed.

  “Any idea of what you are going to do to sustain yourself until the date of the hearing?”

  Zenna shrugged. He had hit the nail on the heart of her problems. She stared at the liquid in her glass, swirling it absent-mindedly. “Marcos and I were supposed to start our own business, a tourist agency. It was his idea, actually. Since that has fallen through the cracks, I’ll have to find something else. I haven’t had time to give it any thought.”

  “What did you do in London?”

  “I was a Spanish teacher, for private students.”

  “That explains why you speak the language so well. I have to admit, I was a bit surprised at your ability to insult me in perfect Spanish the first time I saw you.”

  She blushed anew. “Yeah, well, you had no right to eavesdrop.”

  “Eavesdrop?” His voice was filled with amusement. “I just happened to wheel in our garbage bin.”

  She looked away, not happy to be reminded of the incident.