The Winemaker Page 9

  When her best friend was beaten by the men trying to get information of Zenna’s whereabouts, Zenna decided it was better not to have friends. She continued doing what she had before—sustained herself by teaching Spanish because she could pick up students by word of mouth and flee when needed without being bound to a company by contract.

  She had been so tired of running when she met Marcos, and he made her feel safe. She never confided in him, never told him about the dark figures hiding in the alleys, creeping onto busses, and waiting in the metro. She didn’t want to sound like some psycho chick. So, when he asked her to marry him and follow him to Chile, she saw it as a way out. Of course, she loved him. His love just happened to offer her a way to escape the constant onslaught. However, she could never escape the visions that tortured her. She could only guess why those men wanted her so badly, but she didn’t need to be a brain surgeon for her instincts to warn her about the evil, the dread, and the pain, that surrounded them.

  Now, Etán offered her another way out, another few months to find a solution before she had to face the onslaught if she returned to England. It was a grand mess. Her life had never been anything less.

  The next morning, Zenna woke in a haze as she always did after she took the powerful painkillers, but at least the hammering in her brain was gone. It was early, dark, and cold. Shivering, she got up, took a hot shower, and dressed in a crisp white shirt with a pointed collar and cuffs, black slacks, and boots. She was desperate for a cup of warm tea. She made her way to the kitchen and found Teresa alone, preparing breakfast.

  Zenna switched on the kettle and took a tea bag from the cupboard. “Thank you for preparing the new room for me. I assume it is you who made the bed?” Somehow, she couldn’t imagine Etán pulling sheets and blankets over a mattress.

  Teresa smiled as she busied herself with laying the breakfast crockery on a tray. “It’s a pleasure.”

  Zenna poured boiling water over the tea bag in a mug. She contemplated how to raise the question bothering her from different angles, but then decided simply to hit straight home.

  “Has a beautiful girl with long, dark hair stayed in that room at any one time?”

  Teresa’s head shot up. Her smile faded. She crossed herself and mumbled something about protection.

  Zenna immediately regretted her direct approach. “I’m just asking because I saw a photo,” she said, trying to backpedal. It wasn’t a lie. She had seen a photo of a pretty girl flanked by Ana and Pedro on the bureau in her lounge. Only, the people in the photo were small, and their faces out of focus. She couldn’t determine whether the face of the girl was the face of her vision.

  Teresa crossed herself again. “That’s Catalina. It used to be her room.”

  Zenna was almost too scared to ask, but she had to know. “Catalina?”

  Teresa busied herself with the tray again. “Etán and Luca’s sister.”

  Zenna felt her heart contract with a dark premonition. “They didn’t mention a sister.”

  The housekeeper clicked her tongue and shook her head. Her face was lined with sorrow when she looked back at Zenna. “They don’t speak about her. Etán loved her. He doted on her. He spoilt her rotten. He cannot speak about her. Neither can Luca, the poor senora, or senor Pedro.”

  Zenna’s mouth went dry. “Loved? Spoilt?” She emphasized the past tense.

  Teresa averted her eyes. “She died just before she was supposed to be married. She was only twenty-two. It was very hard on the family.”

  Clearing her throat, Zenna forced herself to speak through dry lips. “What did she die of?”

  “She was very sick. She had cancer. No one could save her. It was a long time ago, but he never got over it. I am only happy he is finally starting to face it.” Teresa put effort into smiling brightly. “Why else would he have asked me to prepare that room for you?”

  When they heard Etán’s voice drifting from the far end of the corridor speaking to someone on his mobile phone, Teresa picked up the tray. “I’m taking this to the dining room. Do you want some eggs?”

  Zenna shook her head. She didn’t trust her voice enough to speak. Why would Etán have given her his dead sister’s suite? Was he looking at her as some replacement for the sister he loved so dearly? She shook off a feeling of wariness as she walked to the dining room where Teresa had laid out a breakfast buffet for them.

  Etán interrogated Zenna the minute he saw her with an assortment of questions. Had she slept well? Had she not been too cold? Did she need anything? Was the food Teresa had prepared for breakfast all right? She replied politely to all his questions and said he had catered very well for all her needs, thank you.

  It was the first time she saw Etán in anything other than a suit. Even on the weekend he had been in suits with meetings in his office. She tried not to stare at the way his jeans hugged his powerful legs. He wore an open-neck shirt and a casual jacket that accentuated his broad chest.

  With a start, she realized he was doing exactly the same thing she was, only, whereas she was watching him discreetly, his evaluation of her was done openly. He didn’t try to hide the slow path his eyes cut from her head to her toes. She couldn’t say if he approved or disapproved of her effort to look professional. As usual, his face was a mask. His gaze made her uncomfortable, and it was with no small measure of relief that she exhaled when Etán turned from her to serve himself eggs and bacon.

  “Luca called late last night,” Etán said, seeming to measure her reaction. “He said he’ll come over today.” He poured them both coffee. “You’re a magnet where Luca is concerned. He has never spent this much time at the estate.”

  Zenna took the cup he offered her and studied him over the rim. “Is that a good, or a bad thing?”

  “It’s a good thing. I’ve been trying for years to get Luca involved in our family affairs, but until now he has successfully resisted. Until you. He told me he’s coming over to give our foreman a hand with checking the fences around the property.”

  She sipped her coffee. “Good, then.”

  Etán smiled as they heard the noise of a motorcycle outside. “Speak of the devil...”

  A minute later Luca blew into the dining room like a fresh breeze, hugging them both in greeting.

  “You’re cold,” Zenna observed.

  Luca draped himself over a chair next to Zenna. “I could have taken the pickup, but I prefer the cold winter wind when I’m on my bike to wake me up in the morning.”

  Etán looked pleased to see his younger brother. “I do wish you wouldn’t take that bike out on the highway. We have enough cars available.”

  Luca dished up ham and scrambled eggs. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, obviously with no such intention.

  “What is your assessment of the information I left you with yesterday, Zenna? I want to get a jumpstart this morning. I have meetings with our production team all afternoon, so I won’t be able to spend time with you after lunch.”

  She bit her lip. “Actually, I haven’t read the files.” She just hated the way his head lifted, the disappointed look in his eyes.

  “Oh?” His voice was level, but she could tell he wasn’t pleased. He had given her her first assignment, and she had already failed it.

  When she didn’t answer immediately, Luca responded. “She didn’t read it because she was in pain. A hell of a lot of pain,” he said with a tinge of wonder as if it surprised him.

  Zenna shot Luca an accusing look, mixed with a plea to keep his mouth shut.

  Etán’s knife and fork stilled in his hands. “What happened?”

  Zenna spoke too quickly. “Oh, nothing.” She waved a hand. “I had a headache.”

  Luca snorted. “One hell of a headache, Sugar. It almost made you sick. You suffered terribly.”

  Zenna gave him another cutting look.

  Etán’s eyes penetrated hers. “Do you mind telling me what’s going on?”

  Zenna’s defenses rose. Oh, the brothers fought all the time, but
when it suited them they stuck together, siding against her.

  “I said it was nothing. I had a migraine, that’s all. It happens from time to time. I’ll read the files now.”

  Etán shook his head. “No, I want to start with taking you on a tour of the offices and the cellars, introduce you to everyone. You can read them this afternoon. If you’re having headaches as bad as Luca says, I expect you to wake me ... or Teresa.”

  She blinked. Surely, he had to be joking. Why would she wake him up in the middle of the night with her nagging pains?

  “My medical problems are hardly yours.”

  He looked at her for a long moment. Just when she thought he wasn’t going to reply, he spoke. “As long as you work for me, they are.”

  Did she belong to him now? “I took pills. There’s nothing more to be done. So what were you going to do? Hold my hand until the headache passes?”

  Etán’s eyes darkened. “Something like that.”

  Zenna cursed inwardly. She opened her mouth to tell him to mind his own business, but Luca interrupted.

  “He’s right. You shouldn’t have to suffer. Those pills are not good if they knock you out that hard.”

  She gaped at Luca. What was this? He was on Etán’s side now?

  “Thanks a lot,” she bit out sarcastically.

  All she needed was Luca telling on her, running to Etán with everything she felt. Immediately, her barrier rose instinctively, and she quickly pushed her anger to a dark corner inside of her where Luca couldn’t reach.

  Luca smiled at her. “You do that quite well.”

  “What?” she snapped, knowing very well what he meant.

  “Hide your feelings.”

  Instead of answering, Zenna ignored both brothers. She took a piece of toast and busied herself buttering it. She felt annoyed, especially about the fact she had to hide it so Luca did not notice her irritation.

  She was mad at them both for putting their noses where they weren’t wanted, but looking at Etán, she decided she was madder at him. She didn’t need his concern. She didn’t need him to fret over her like she was his baby sister. She needed that from Luca. Shocked at the foreign thought that had so suddenly raked through her consciousness, she first gaped, and then shut her mouth noisily.

  “When you’re ready, you can tell me about your medical problems.” Etán gave her one of his rare grins. “Your confidential information is safe with me.”

  All Zenna could manage in retaliation was to shoot him a killer look, before hiding the turmoil at his interference in her personal life. She chewed on her piece of bread, tasting nothing.

  Well, she couldn’t exactly say she walked into it blindly. She felt renewed resentment for her dire situation. It was all Marcos’ fault.

  After breakfast, Etán first showed Zenna around the administration office, where he introduced her to their accountant, the driver, the sales staff, and the secretary, Emmie. He asked Emmie to arrange for a workstation to be prepared for Zenna in the open plan space. Then he took her on a tour of the laboratory, introducing her to the two other winemakers in his team, Jorge and Alejandro, and to the procurement and the production managers, Elias and Miguel. His staff members greeted her with an air of strict professionalism, but with plenty of unexpressed curiosity. Zenna could see Etán wasn’t someone who mixed business with pleasure. His attitude toward his staff was strictly professional.

  After the sales room, Etán finally led her to the cellars, where she met the logistics manager, Cristian. Etán showed her the enormous barrels in the cellar in which the wines were maturing.

  “We use French barrels of fine toast grain. As you probably know, the wine absorbs the wood’s characteristic aroma. Older barrels are used for wine that needs to mature for shorter periods like the floral and fruity bouquets of say ... a Malbec. The new barrels are used for wines that mature for a longer period, like a Cabernet Franc.”

  They walked beneath the arched dome ceiling of the rough brick cellar and through impressive rows of barrels.

  “We are going to do a proper wine tasting tonight,” Etán promised, as he showed Zenna downstairs into the tasting room of the cellar. “You need to get a basic understanding of the cultivars we produce.”

  Zenna liked the dimly lit space. Instead of making her feel boxed in as small spaces usually did, this one made her feel strangely safe. She trailed behind Etán silently, listening to his explanations as he pointed out racks, bottles, labels, recited dates, and as his lips formulated a long list of scientific words. She barely managed to concentrate on all of it while she fought the urge to stare at those lips, to wonder how they would feel on hers when he fully kissed her back.

  Yes, she had kissed him in that bar, but he never returned it. Considering her state then, she shouldn’t even remember, but she did. All too well. He had allowed the kiss, but he hadn’t participated. She flushed at the thought, both in embarrassment and with a strange hunger that surprised her. There was definitely something very wrong with her head.

  Etán looked at her, head tilted, from where he was pointing out the older red wine maturing in oak barrels. His nostrils flared ever so slightly. “Is the wine turning you on?”

  Her head jerked. He couldn’t honestly smell her arousal, could he?

  She rolled her eyes. “You have the strangest ideas,” she mumbled, before lowering her eyes because she couldn’t quite look into his.

  His laughter reached her, light and easy. Rare. “Let’s get out of here. I can see, even if it’s only fifty degrees Fahrenheit, it’s getting too hot down here for you. I’ll continue the explanation when we return for the tasting.”

  She followed sheepishly and took the arm he offered to help her up the steep stairs to the foyer above and back to the office.

  “If you want to make a dent in those files I’ve given you, go ahead to the house. I’ll be tied up in meetings regarding the bottling and distribution of our older reds. I’ll catch up with you at seven.”

  She turned from him, making her way back, her arms crossed protectively over her chest in an effort to calm her rioting nerves. Her present state made no sense at all.

  “Zenna?”

  She turned.

  He smiled, like someone who held a knowledge that gave him power over her. “Dinner is at nine. We eat late. If you’re used to an earlier dinner time as I know you English are, ask Teresa to prepare you a snack.”

  Her jaw clenched. “I can get my own snacks.” She wasn’t a schoolgirl who had to be looked after.

  “Good,” he retorted, before turning and leaving her to watch his broad back until he re-entered the office.

  By seven, Zenna had a better idea of what Etán would expect of her as his new PR officer. The press releases dealt with various newsworthy subjects from the prizes the estate wine had been awarded, to weather conditions, threatening viruses, and wine reviews. Zenna even felt a twinge of excitement as she noted other possible points for future exploitation. However, there was nothing in the newspapers or magazines about Etán’s personal life or the family’s. It didn’t surprise her. Etán was a very private person. After what Ana had told her, it made sense he would want as little as possible about himself or his family in the media. Although, a photo of his handsome features couldn’t do any harm in creating publicity or excitement around a new launch.

  A fleeting feeling of negativity entered her mind and excited her senses. Jealousy at the thought of other women drooling over Etán’s photo? She didn’t have time to explore the strange sensation because Etán spoke from the open door of her lounge.

  “Working hard?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Ready to taste some wine before dinner?”

  Etán draped her coat around her before they stepped into the chilly night to walk to the cellar, but she still trembled.

  “Cold?” he asked, close behind her.

  “A little.” She walked faster, pulling her coat tighter around her waist. “Where’s Luca? I haven’t seen him since lunch.” />
  “Don’t know. My brother is a free spirit. He comes and goes as he pleases. Don’t worry, he’ll be back.”

  Was it her imagination or had a tone of disapproval crept into his voice? “I gathered.”

  She waited for Etán to unlock the door, before stepping into the welcome protection of the cellar. He took her coat, left it on a hook by the cellar door, and lead the way downstairs to the tasting room, where a table with a white tablecloth, bottles of wine, and clean glasses waited. He drew out one of the two chairs for her.

  When she had taken her seat, he poured a small amount of red wine into a glass and handed it to her. “First, you have to learn how to taste. The how of tasting is as important as what you taste.”

  When she took the glass, her fingers brushed against his. She felt her pulse quicken and cursed inwardly. This was so unlike her. She took a deep breath and reprimanded herself. With effort, she turned her mind back to the wine and brought the glass to her lips.

  Etán’s hand closed over hers. “Not like this.”

  His head was bent, his voice close to her ear, making a shiver creep down her spine. It was a pleasant feeling. Too pleasant.

  “Look at me,” he demanded, his deep voice low and dark. When Zenna turned slowly toward him, he freed her hand.

  “Like this.” He picked up a glass, holding it lightly by its stem. “Don’t touch the body of the glass.”

  “Why? Is this some kind of table etiquette I missed?” Zenna’s voice sounded more defensive than she intended, but she was finding it hard to fight the effect he had on her. Her loss of control angered her.

  “If you clutch it around the body, the heat from your hand will raise the temperature of the wine,” he explained, unfazed by her tone. “The temperature of the wine is very important. An increase in temperature alters the molecular vibration, therefore affecting the taste. It mustn’t be too warm, or too cold. The optimal serving temperature differs for various wines, depending on their grape variety and region.

  “For example, a Syrah, like the one you said described Luca, needs a bit of warmth to express its terrific, peppery aroma. It needs to be served at about sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit, just shy of room temperature. If served warmer, you will start smelling more alcohol in the wine. If served too cold, it will taste dull.”