The Winemaker Page 7

  “To get back to the point, how are your communication skills?”

  “Obviously better than yours, if you need to communicate through wine,” she teased.

  “Seriously. How is your writing ability? Would you say your Spanish writing skills are at a business level?”

  “Of course. A lot of my students were business men.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Can you write well? I mean in the journalistic sense of the word.”

  She frowned, trying to guess what he was getting at. “I’m above average, I’d say. I attended journalism school before I went into teaching.”

  “Interesting,” he muttered. “And you have no knowledge of wine, whatsoever?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “What are you getting at?”

  “I believe I may have a proposition for you,” he said slowly.

  “What kind of proposition?” She eyed him warily.

  “How would you like to work at Sol y Sombra as a temporary PR officer?”

  Her eyes narrowed and then widened. “Public relations? Doing what exactly?”

  “We’re launching three new wines in August—a Carmenere, a Merlot, and a classic Bordeaux style blend. I believe it is going to be my best wine ever. Of late, the industry has been very harsh. These will be the wines that will exceed all the ones before. We want to expand our export market, of course, but we are also going to use it to put Sol y Sombra at the top of the list of the world’s finest wineries.

  “Until now, I’ve simply relied on our good reputation and excellent reviews to sell our wine, but with the strict competition and multi-million dollar advertising campaigns from our competitors, it’s no longer enough. I need someone who can work alongside me, write my press releases and brochures in Spanish, but also translate them into English. You’ll have to organize the local event when we launch and coordinate with the design and printing companies for all our printed material. I’ll need you to build up media hype for the launch and get articles printed in the press, paper-based and electronic. Later, there will be an international launch, but first, we are inviting some of the world’s most influential decision makers to the Chilean launch.

  “You’ll have to learn a lot, everything you need to know about the wine, the processes, and you’ll have to travel with me for the launch. It’s not an easy job I’m offering you, but it’s a way out.”

  “Phew,” she blew out a charged sigh. “What makes you think I can do the job? I don’t want you to create something for me simply to help me out of my dilemma.”

  His smile was dry. “As much as I like you, I wouldn’t have created something so serious simply because I feel sorry for you. I have to find someone, and soon. If not you, it will be someone else. So why not kill two birds with one stone? You need a place to stay and a job, at least until your court case. You’re kind of stuck until then, and I need someone who can write in Spanish and English and can organize my event. Think you can manage that?”

  She thought it over for a while, looking into the fire. Finally, she looked up. “I think so.”

  “Well,” he held his glass to hers, “it’s a deal then. Congratulations. Welcome to Sol y Sombra.”

  “Thank you, I hope. However, I must warn you I’m no genius. I’m just an average Joe.” When she saw his questioning look, she added, “Just so you don’t get your hopes up too high. I believe in being honest. Under-promise and over-deliver.”

  “I’m sure you have your discerning abilities. We all do.”

  She smiled wryly. She had no illusions about being anything but a very plain Jane. “I’m afraid the most distinctive thing about me is my name. I suppose I should feel lucky my mother named me after some exotic queen who dates back to the third century before Christ. Other than that, there’s nothing exraordinary about me.”

  “It wasn’t just any, old queen.” He looked at her with meaning. “It was a queen who, faced with the Romans’ betrayal when they assassinated her husband, the love of her life, pulled herself from the depths of despair and did what she did best—marched her army against an ally turned enemy to conquer and rule Egypt. If I remember correctly from history class, she was a highly respected, strong rebel, who led the famous revolt against the Roman Empire.” His gaze was warm, compassionate. “I think she reminds me a bit of you.”

  “Are you telling me, between the lines, that I should fight back?”

  “I’m telling you that you are stronger than you think. You’ve already pulled yourself up from the dust. Now you just have to march forward.”

  “I wish it was that easy. I’m no brave warrior queen.”

  “I sense quite the contrary,” he said, his gaze intent.

  She tried to look away, but his eyes held hers like a magnet, and every hair on her body stood at attention. She shivered, and rubbed her arms.

  Chapter Five

  There was no doubt Etán was a man who always drove a hard bargain. It was clear he expected a lot from the people who worked for him, but Zenna also sensed his fairness. He was the kind of man who rewarded hard work by the same measure it had been given, and he didn’t expect anyone to do something he wouldn’t be able to do himself.

  Zenna had hoped to have some time to digest the newfound, temporary path of her life, but Etán had hijacked her straight after Saturday breakfast to show her clippings and computer files of previous years’ press releases.

  She sat in his study in front of his laptop, while he sat behind, his hand on her chair back, pointing out the files he wanted her to read.

  Her finger paused above the scroll button. “You have to explain the whole process to me. How you actually take a grape, crush it, and make it so potent.”

  “That’s a simplification of the procedure,” he said with a smile in his voice. “Roughly put, the grapes are crushed into a pulp called must. Yeast is added. The yeast converts the simple sugars of the grapes to ethanol and carbon dioxide. The alcoholic solution that results from the fermentation contains between twelve and fifteen percent ethanol. Yeast cells cannot survive in higher concentrations of ethanol. I’ll explain it all to you in more detail when we do the tour of the grounds next week.” He touched her shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll get there.”

  “What about the taste? How do you get the wine to taste the way you want it to? Does it only come from the grapes or do you have to add other ingredients?”

  “The diversity and quality of the different wines result not only from the grape variety used, but also from the distinctive quality of the soil, climate, and topography. It is true the primary effort of making a good wine lies in the vineyard, in the origin of the wine, but grapes also take on the soil’s flavor. Grapes grow sweeter under the sun. Every type of grape has its own unique characteristics in terms of size, flavor, yield, acidity, skin thickness and color. The first important step is the choice of grape variety. Then comes good farming practice. The winemaker’s most creative, most challenging task,” he said passionately, “is deciding what percentage of each variety to blend in the finished product. That is the true art of making wine.”

  She looked at his reflection on the computer screen. “Is that why you’re so good at your job? Because of your special talent?” She sensed him tense behind her and turned. “Your mother told me,” she said apologetically.

  “Ah, I see.” He shifted. She couldn’t read his expression. “It helps,” he finally said, “but there’s more to it than that.”

  “Do you really have an amplified sense of smell?”

  He thought for a while, and just when she thought he was going to lash out at her for being nosy, he smiled. “Sometimes it is amplified, but mostly it is rather more distinguished. Amplification comes with heightened emotions. If I’m angry, for example, flowers may smell more strongly than under calm circumstances. Mostly I can distinguish and isolate many different odors from a complicated bouquet.”

  “What do you smell, for example, now?”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes.�
� She motioned around the study. “What do you smell here? In this room?”

  He studied her for some time. “I smell you.”

  “Me?” She gave a nervous laugh.

  “Yes, you.”

  “And what do I smell like?” Expecting him to guess her brand of perfume, she could only gape at him when he said, “Your hair—peaches. Your skin—fresh dew, that unique chemical make-up that would taste better than the best, award-winning wine. Your fingertips will taste like vanilla, and I think we’ve already established that your lips taste like toasted caramel.”

  Zenna’s eyes widened. She couldn’t tell if he was teasing or being serious. Her insides clenched in the most delicious way. She licked her dry lips and said quickly, “Stop playing around and give me a real example.”

  He tilted his head. “That wasn’t real enough for you?”

  “Give me something concrete.”

  He looked at her strangely, but then his eyes seemed to lighten up as he scanned the room. “Books?”

  She nudged him with her elbow and laughed, more with relief that the spell had been broken than anything. “You’re not going to work with me here, are you? Give me one, real example.”

  He tilted his head, his nostrils flaring slightly, just as she had seen him do before, standing outside on the pavement, facing the detectives. “We are going to have rain this afternoon.”

  She looked at him in disbelief. “Rain?” Her eyes flittered to the window where sunlight was pouring through. She craned her neck. “Not a cloud in the sky.”

  He shrugged. “Rain.”

  “Hello, bunnies,” a chirpy voice interrupted from the doorway. They both turned in unison to see Luca leaning in the doorframe. “How rude to make our guest work so hard on her weekend, Etán.”

  Zenna smiled. “Hi, Etán’s brother.”

  She took an immediate liking to Luca. He seemed to fill the room with laughter, even as Etán filled it with something deeper, something sensual she didn’t dare explore.

  Luca crossed the floor, slapped Etán on the back and kissed Zenna on the cheek. “We’ve met, Sugar, but I’m not sure you remember.”

  Zenna felt her cheeks grow hot. “Actually, I do remember your face.”

  “Mother said to come for tea,” Luca said to Etán. “She’s serving cake on the veranda.” He rolled his eyes affectionately. “You know how she likes to feed our guests.”

  He turned back to Zenna. “Looks like you’ve recovered nicely from your night out. Wouldn’t you like to go for a short hike before lunch? I can show you around the estate. Haven’t done that for ages, myself, and it is a beautiful day.”

  Zenna saw Etán going rigid in an instant. She glanced at him cautiously. Why did she get the feeling he didn’t like Luca’s proposal? Was he so serious about them getting the morning’s work done?

  “I don’t know, Luca,” she started, uncertain. “I’m getting acquainted with these files.” When Luca raised his eyebrows, she added, “Etán said it’s going to rain.”

  “Well,” Luca took Zenna’s hand and pulled her from the chair, “we’d better hurry then. You don’t mind, do you, Etán?” Luca’s gaze was challenging as it settled on his older brother.

  Zenna could almost feel the air move physically as Etán pulled back mentally.

  “Of course not. Go ahead. You’re right. Zenna shouldn’t be working on the weekend. Have fun.” He got up and left them in the study.

  What was that all about? Zenna looked at Luca. She almost thought he looked disappointed. She was. She was enjoying Etán’s presence. Reminding herself of Luca’s abilities, she forced her feelings back carefully, deeply. Luca looked at her in turn, seeming surprised, but he didn’t say anything. He strode to the door and stood aside for her to step out in front of him.

  It rained. Clouds built on the horizon in the afternoon and pushed over the house in thick, rolling waves, mottling the earlier, sunny indoor square with shady patches. When the first, big drops started falling, Zenna stood at the window in the big lounge Ana used for reading. A sense of sadness invaded her.

  She had gone out with Luca in the late morning. They had only walked for a short hour. He had taken her along the outskirts of the vineyard all the way to the top of the hill for a view of the valley beyond. Somehow she had felt it should have been Etán who brought her there first. He should have been the one showing her around the estate, but then she reminded herself it was a completely unfounded sentiment.

  The Saturday lunch had been even more jovial than Friday night’s dinner, spurred on by Luca’s boyish teasing, and everyone’s obvious delight at having him there. She had been surprised at the amount of food she had helped Ana, Teresa, Paula, and Josefina carry from the kitchen to the big, wooden table in the dining room until, one after the other, uninvited guests had started showing up around the lunch hour.

  She had been introduced to neighbors from bordering haciendas. Some of Ana’s friends dropped in, and a colleague of Pedro. She now understood why having her for the weekend wouldn’t have made a difference one way or the other. Ana catered for the world and everyone was free and truly welcome to join in. It made her feel less of a burden. She had even enjoyed herself, and Ana’s incredibly hearty dishes.

  With all the guests gone and Pedro taking a nap, Ana chopping away in the kitchen, and the two brothers doing whatever it was they did on a Saturday afternoon, the house was suddenly quiet, except for the sound of the rain. Watching the storm, Zenna felt cold despite her jersey.

  Her thoughts drifted to Marcos. There was nothing like a rainy afternoon to make her feel nostalgic. She remembered curling up in bed with him in her London flat, listening to the rain hammering on the roof, but that was before. Before his holiday in England had ended, and he returned to his homeland. To his new destiny. She shook her head, trying physically to shake the memory.

  “Where did you meet?”

  Zenna turned to see Luca standing in the door, watching her, his hands shoved into the pockets of his black pants. Of course. He had crept up on her and knew what she was feeling.

  “Marcos?”

  “Yeah. Him,” he said with open disdain.

  “We met in London, when he was there on holiday. I taught Spanish to English students, but I also had the odd Spanish student who wanted a few English lessons. Marcos was one of them. One of my students met him in a pub, and recommended me.” She gave Luca a wry smile.

  “Will it help if I say he’s an idiot?” Luca grinned apologetically.

  “Don’t bother. I already know that now, but it doesn’t make the feelings go away just like that.” She flicked her fingers.

  “I’m sorry.” His probing eyes turned sympathetic. “It’s painful for you to talk about it. We should change the subject. Etán told us you’re going to work with him.”

  “Yes. It’s very kind of him, to help me out.”

  “I think you’re helping him out, Sugar.”

  “I’m not kidding myself, Luca. The fact that I may be helping him with some PR may simply be something he created to save my sorry ass.”

  “It’s a nice one to save,” Luca said, teasing. His gaze wandered to her hips.

  Her mood lifted and she laughed. “Hey, watch it, Mister.”

  “Are you going to go back to teaching? I mean, here in Chile?”

  “I don’t know.” She was thoughtful. “I’ve never really enjoyed the teaching to be honest. I did it because the money had to come from somewhere, and it was all I knew. I was kind of getting excited about a travel agency Marcos ... and I...” She shrugged. “Didn’t work out that way.”

  “Yeah, I know. Sucks, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, come on, I’m not going to get all depressed about this. I’m going to see if I can help in the kitchen. I haven’t done anything since I’ve arrived, and I am starting to feel guilty.”

  Luca followed Zenna to the kitchen where Ana was busy chopping carrots, and sat down on the island counter top next to his mother.

 
; “Can I help, Ana?” Zenna rubbed her hands together. It felt colder in the kitchen. “It’s not fair that Luca and I have been gallivanting around the estate while you slave away preparing our meals.”

  “Yeah, Sugar,” Luca popped a piece of carrot in his mouth, “you can open a bottle of wine and pour us each a glass.”

  Ana slapped at Luca’s hand. “There’s red in the wine rack and white in the fridge if you prefer. If you really want, you can keep me company, but otherwise, I don’t need help. I love cooking. The only chance I get to do it in a decent kitchen is when we come here.”

  Zenna walked to the rack and examined its contents. Casa Sol 2004 Syrah caught her eye because of the beautiful golden sun on the label.

  She pulled the bottle out and held it up. “Is this one all right?”

  “You have good taste,” Luca said. “That one won my brother the first prize at the Berlin Wine Tasting in 2004.”

  “What’s the Berlin Wine Tasting?”

  “One of the most prestigious tastings in the world. Thirty-eight European experts blind taste wines from two vintages each of eight top wines from France, Italy and Chile.”

  Her eyes widened. “This one came first?”

  “Yes. Etán’s Cabernet-based red took second place at the same tasting.”

  “Wow.” Zenna turned the bottle to read the label. “Perfectly open and huge, with deep plum and black fruit smothering both the bouquet and palate. Huge berry flavors and excellent balancing acids and tannins. A wine distinguished as a bruiser with charm.” She grinned at Luca. “That sounds like you.”

  “You bet your sweet behind, Sugar. The review said, ‘While it shows very little in common with Rhône-style Syrah, for a Chilean version it rocks’.”

  Zenna laughed. “Definitely you.” She regarded the prized wine in her hand. “Shall I rather pick something less valuable?”

  Luca shrugged. He hopped from the counter and took the bottle. “They’re all good.”

  After pouring three glasses, Luca put one next to Ana and handed one to Zenna. “Cheers, Sugar. To your new job.”