by Jan Moran
Juliana drove on and parked in front of an old stone Victorian-styled home that dated from the 1800s when the first vintners from Europe had arrived in the valley. She pushed in the parking brake with her high-heeled, leather spectator pump and then turned the rearview mirror toward her. As she touched up her matte red lipstick, she glanced in the mirror behind her. Henri was wearing a pinstriped shirt and burgundy silk tie with a buttoned vest over matching charcoal slacks. Hardly an outfit most vintners in the valley wore.
“Any trouble finding us?” Henri opened her car door for her.
“I grew up here. I know all the back roads.” Brushing wrinkles from her navy cotton skirt, she slid out from the bench seat, holding a folder with notes she’d prepared in one hand and her purse in the other. She stood and gazed up at the fine old two-story structure. “This is one of the early wineries in the valley.”
Henri shut the car door and stood beside her, hands on his hips. “The vineyard was planted in 1880, and the house was built about five years later. I’ve been restoring it since I bought it. Indoor plumbing was a must.”
“You’re not doing the work yourself, are you?”
“No, I hired several fine craftsmen from here via San Miguel de Allende.” He looked quizzically at her. “How did you know?”
“You have the smoothest farmer’s hands I’ve ever seen.”
“I guess I do now.” Henri turned his hands over as if inspecting them for the first time. “I have a vineyard manager, but I’m in charge of the winemaking. Come on, I’ll show you around. And then I want to hear your proposal for my wine.”
Juliana walked through the arched entry and gazed the around the comfortable room. Judging from the grand exterior, Juliana had thought the interior would be more formal. Bright-colored fabrics covered contemporary chairs and sofas, which lightened the dark wood floors and the wooden beamed ceiling high overhead. Light-infused Impressionist-style paintings hung on the walls, bringing pastoral scenes of nature indoors. “It’s so modern inside. You have good taste.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could have taken them back.
“Solange decorated this,” Henri said quietly.
Moistening her lips, Juliana turned to him. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I didn’t mean to bring it up.” Her chest tightened as the memory of Alfonso came rushing back.
“It’s all right. She’d been sick for a long time.” Henri studied his shoes thoughtfully and then looked up. “You wanted to see the winery. Come, I’ll show you.”
Juliana followed him through the house. Once outside, they passed a trickling three-tiered fountain and crossed the lawn. He opened a heavy wooden door to a structure near a hillside, and then descended the stairway into a cellar. Juliana followed him down, her high heels tapping on each step. The sound echoed through the white plastered stairwell.
Henri gestured to the large room before them. “This is where we store the wine for aging.”
Her eyes widening, Juliana swung around. The cellar was cool and smelled of musty aging wine, but it was a smell she loved. Everywhere she looked were barrels stacked high. Not just any barrels, but small ones of the finest French oak. She recognized them from Ava Rosetta’s cave at Mille Étoiles. These were not often used in the valley, except by the most discriminating vintners. “You have quite an investment here. Why haven’t you been bottling your wine?”
“Solange had been ill, though she was designing a new label when she died. She hadn’t finished it.”
Juliana understood the pain in his voice. “Then you need a new label,” she said softly. “I can help you with that.”
They walked through an arched tunnel that led deeper into the cave, which had been carved into the hillside. Here the wine could rest undisturbed in cooler temperatures. Henri explained some of the new techniques he’d brought from Europe. He spoke of cold fermentation and the various levels of char on the inside of the barrels used for flavoring.
With his deep, rich voice, Juliana could have listened to him forever. She was familiar with a lot of what he said. Ava was from France, and she also insisted on the highest levels of quality.
As they were emerging from the cellar, Juliana asked where he was from.
“I’m from Boston.”
“You have an interesting accent. I detect a slight French accent in some words.”
Henri didn’t respond at first. “I went to boarding school in Europe.”
“In France?”
Another hesitation. “In Switzerland. I had French-speaking instructors.”
“I’d love to visit Paris,” Juliana said. “Did you ever go there?”
“I did.” As if mired in the past, Henri fell silent.
Suddenly, Juliana felt like an idiot. Henri was perhaps ten years older than she was, which meant he’d probably served his country. “Were you in the war in Europe?”
“Yes,” he said, but offered no details.
Just then, footsteps clattered in the hall as two little girls raced into the room. “Henri, Henri!” They stumbled and stopped when they saw Juliana, their mouths gaping.
Henri put an arm around each girl. “This is Beatrice, and this is Anne. Girls, meet Miss Juliana Cardona. Haven’t I taught you how to greet a lady?”
Looking serious, the two girls held the edges of their pressed, cotton print dresses and bent their knees, dropping awkward curtseys. Juliana thought she would burst out laughing, but she didn’t want to seem rude.
The girls were adorable. Dressed in a blue gingham dress, Anne was the taller of the two, with curly dark hair and big brown eyes. Beatrice was slighter in build and had blond hair and blue eyes. They hardly looked like sisters. Juliana imagined his wife must have had a fair complexion.
Smiling, Juliana curtsied back. “I’m happy to meet you.”
The girls giggled, their eyes wide.
A pudgy aproned housekeeper appeared at the door to the living area. “Excuse me, Mr. Laurent, you have a telephone call.”
“I’ll only be a moment,” he said to Juliana. He turned to the girls. “And you two, behave.”
Seeing Henri as a father, Juliana was intrigued. She sat on a chair covered in yellow fabric, and the two girls sat on the light green sofa next to her. A small round table filled with family photos sat to one side. “I haven’t seen you girls around town before.”
Anne shot a look at Beatrice, who looked up at Juliana with a shy smile. “We don’t go to town very often,” Anne said.
“But we like to,” Beatrice added.
The girls were so precious that Juliana could have smothered them with hugs. “What grades are you in at school?”
“Fifth,” Anne said.
Beatrice shook her head. “Some of our books are for grades six and seven.”
“That’s English and math.” Anne turned to Juliana. “We’re eleven.”
Beatrice pressed her hand against her mouth, giggling. “We’re not in grade eleven. We’re eleven years old.”
Juliana smiled. “Both of you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” They bounced on the sofa, their long hair swinging around their narrow shoulders.
“Where do you go to school?”
Anne stopped bouncing. “We go to school upstairs.”
“We have a history lesson this afternoon,” Beatrice said. “Our teacher comes after lunch.”
“History was one of my favorite subjects.” Juliana grinned at them. No wonder she hadn’t seen the girls around. Many school children walked home past the boarding house in Napa where she lived. After Alfonso had died, she’d stayed on at her mother’s cottage at Mille Étoiles for a little while. But it was lonely there without her childhood friends.
When Caterina graduated from the university, she’d taken an apartment in San Francisco. Santo, whose older cousin Raphael ran the vineyards at Mille Étoiles, had moved to Davis and started his own consulting business. Juliana had desperately needed a change. She moved into a respectable boarding house in Napa that rented
only to single women.
The girls were telling Juliana more about their favorite subjects when Henri walked into the room. “I hope they’ve been nice,” he said, looking from the girls to Juliana.
“They’ve been wonderful. They were just telling me about their studies and tutors. Did they ever go to school here?”
Henri stroked his chin. “It was better for them to learn at home.”
“Of course,” Juliana said. If their mother had been ill for a long time, she wouldn’t have been able to drive them to school. They lived too far to walk to school. It seemed like an isolated life for two lively little girls.
Beatrice cupped her hands and whispered into Anne’s ear.
Henri frowned. “What have I told you about telling secrets in front of other people?”
“It’s rude.” Beatrice pushed out her lower lip and raised her eyes to Juliana. “I’m sorry I was rude.”
“Apology accepted.” Juliana pressed her hand against her chest and tried to seem serious, but she found it nearly impossible.
“Very good, thank you, Beatrice. Now girls, Mrs. Peabody has a snack for you in the kitchen.” Henri clapped his hands. “Time to go. Miss Cardona and I have business to discuss.”
The two children stood. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Cardona,” Beatrice said, glancing to Henri for approval.
Henri nodded. “Anne?”
“Very, very, very nice to meet you.” The little girl threw her arms around Juliana’s neck. “We love you,” Anne whispered.
Juliana hugged her back. “I have a lot of love in my heart for little girls like you, too.”
Beatrice leaned in and cupped her hand around Juliana’s ear, whispering, “Are you going to be our mother now?” Looking over her shoulder at Henri, Beatrice said, “It’s not rude if I whisper to her.”
Henri shook his head, hiding a grin behind his hand.
“I’m just a friend,” Juliana whispered back. Wrapping an arm around each girl, she kissed them on the tops of their heads. “I think you’re the sweetest, smartest girls I’ve met in a long, long time. I hope I see you again soon.”
“So do we.” The girls jumped up and down. “Can we see Miss Cardona again? Please?”
“Perhaps. Off with you two, now.” Chuckling, Henri put his hands on their shoulders and guided them into the kitchen. The aroma of cooking wound through the doorway to the kitchen.
When Henri returned, Juliana said, “They’re so cute, Henri. You must be proud of them.”
Henri sat in a chair next to her and placed his hands on his knees. “I am, but they’re a handful. What did Beatrice whisper to you?” He gazed at her with curiosity.
“Oh, it was just girl talk.” Juliana smiled.
“They really took to you,” he said with a note of amazement in his voice. “They’re usually shy around new people.”
Juliana had so many questions. Would it be rude to ask? She moistened her lips. “They said they’re both eleven.”
“Ah, yes.” Henri rocked back in his chair. “They were born quite close together.”
“That must have been a surprise.”
“It certainly was, but things happen.”
Why did she feel like he was hiding something? Juliana smoothed her skirt. Then again, what business was it of hers?
“You said you have some ideas for my wine business.” Henri’s golden amber eyes caught hers.
“Yes, I do.” Returning his gaze, she realized that even her toes felt tingly when he looked at her. She reached for the folder she’d brought. Clearing her throat, she began. “You’ve created exceptional wines, but few people know about them. I was glad you attended the wine and press event.”
Henri snorted. “Raphael threatened to pick me up and take me there himself if I didn’t.”
“And how do you know Raphael?”
“I’ve seen him in town several times. He knew a lot about the history of my vineyard, so he approached me and made a few suggestions that proved helpful.”
“I see.” Her heart racing, Juliana crossed her legs and tried to appear calm. “Your cabernet sauvignon is one of the finest in the valley. The last few years must have been difficult for you and your children. It’s understandable that your wine business has suffered, too. But that’s where I can help you, Henri.”
“It’s probably time we expand our distribution.” Henri clasped his hands. “That’s what Solange wanted, but it’s been difficult without her.” He glanced at the photos on the table.
Juliana touched his hands. “Solange will always be part of Chateau Laurent wines. Do this in her memory and for your children. With or without me. What matters is that you embrace your passion for winemaking.”
Henri shook his head. “Solange was my best friend.”
“I felt the same way about Alfonso,” she said quietly. “We told each other everything.” Alfonso had been honest, loyal, and hard-working. They’d shared each other’s dreams and goals from childhood.
“Were you married?” Henri’s lips parted in surprise.
“Almost. We were engaged.” Juliana told him about Alfonso, his military service in Korea, and the wedding they’d planned. Somehow, as she spoke about Alfonso to Henri, her burden seemed lighter. “So you see, it’s important to continue our lives. In so doing, we honor them.”
“How do you figure that?”
“If Solange encouraged you and was proud of your accomplishments, then she shared the love you have for your talent. She would have wanted you to share it with others.”
“Did Alfonso encourage you?” Instantly, Henri looked apologetic. “That is, if you don’t mind my asking.”
“I don’t mind. You’re easy to talk to.” Juliana felt her face warm, but it was the truth. “Alfonso was so proud of me. He was confident enough in himself to shine a light on others. When I graduated from college, he was in the front row cheering for me. He used to brag about me to his friends. We would’ve had such a good life together.” She paused, smiling. For the first time, it actually felt good talking about him.
“You still can.” Henri rose and took her hand. “I like talking to you. Shall we continue over a glass of that cabernet you like so much?”
When Juliana hesitated, he said, “It’s almost noon. Mrs. Peabody will have lunch for us.”
He still held her hand, waiting.
“I’d like that very much.” Juliana felt light-headed at his touch. Discussing her publicity plan for him over a glass of wine now seemed like an excellent idea.
3
Henri couldn’t believe his luck. Across from him sat a beautiful young woman. He raised a glass of cabernet he’d just drawn from a barrel. “To our new friendship.” He’d ventured into dangerous new territory, but from what he’d seen, Juliana Cardona could be well worth it.
“A new friendship,” she intoned.
A smile lit her dark brown eyes, melting his resolve. Henri brought the glass to his lips. Neither of them looked away as they took a sip.
Inhaling the bouquet, Juliana said, “Your wine is aging well.”
“I’m pleased my experiments are working.” Henri swirled his glass on the old oak table in the tasting room. Solange had insisted on preparing this room to receive visitors, but they’d never had a chance to use it because she tired so easily.”
Henri chuckled to himself. “I’m glad you met Anne and Beatrice. That’s the first chance they’ve had to perform their curtseys. You were a good sport.”
“They’re precious. You’re so blessed to have them.” Juliana peered at her wine, assessing it with the ingrained habit of a native valley winemaker.
“We’re lucky to have each other.” For him and Solange, the babies had been pure lights in their lives, just when the world had seemed so dark. At first, he’d thought Solange had lost her mind, but after he’d held the first baby, he had fallen irrevocably in love with the helpless new life. “And you? As a career lady, do you want to have children someday?”
�
�I do. I wish I’d at least had a child with Alfonso. We’d thought about getting married while he was in the military, but we decided to wait.”
“You’re still young.”
She laughed. “Not as young as you seem to think.”
Her laughter was sweet music to his soul. Henri rested his chin in his hand, gazing at her. He’d been enchanted from the first moment he’d seen her at the St. Francis Hotel. She wore her silky dark hair brushed from her forehead and secured with a wide band. Her navy skirt nipped in at her tiny waist. Even with heels on, she was much shorter than he was. A perfume that smelled like warm, springtime jasmine wafted from her skin as she spoke, drawing him even closer to her. He leaned in, and then caught himself. Juliana was here on business; he had to respect that.
“Tell me about the ideas you have for Chateau Laurent wines,” he said. When she’d mentioned visiting him here, he’d immediately taken her up on the idea, even though she’d seemed nervous about it. In truth, he was, too. On the way home, he’d vacillated between calling her and canceling, or inviting her to dinner instead.
Juliana brushed her hair over her shoulder and opened her folder. “As I mentioned, we’ll need to finish designing your new label. Maybe we can use the design Solange started, or modify it.”
“I think she’d like that.” Solange had dreamed of being an artist like Mary Cassatt or Berthe Morisot, her favorite female Impressionist painters. Too weak to go out, she’d painted scenes from her window and her memory.
“To spread the word in San Francisco, I’d like to organize tastings with the city’s most influential women. I’ve helped several of them stock wine cellars for their homes. These women—and couples—are serious wine collectors, and they’re quite involved with charities.”
Henri nodded, listening. “That’s a good idea.” He was impressed that she had such high-profile clients.
“Next, we’ll court the press. I know reporters who write for several important newspapers on the west coast. A few have moved on to larger cities so we can reach Chicago and New York as well.”
“I like that, too.”
