The Villa

by Nora Roberts

  "What is it?"

  "The divorce is final. Yesterday. It was really no more than a formality after all these years. Since Tony was in a hurry and didn't complicate matters with financial negotiations, it was really just a matter of filing the papers."

  "I see." Sophia picked up her evening bag, opened and closed the catch. "Have you told Mama?"

  "Yes. Just now. She's fine. Or she's holding up. I know it's important to her you do the same."

  "Don't worry about me. Aunt Helen." She crossed the room, took Helen's hands. "You're a brick. I don't know what she'd have done without you."

  "She needs to move on."

  "I know."

  "And so do you." She squeezed Sophia's hands. "Don't let Rene have the satisfaction of seeing this hurts you, on any level."

  "I won't."

  "Good. Now I've got to go down and run herd on my husband. If I leave James alone down there this early, he'll sneak canapés and ruin the caterer's presentation." She opened the door, glanced back. "Tony didn't do many admirable things in his life. You're one of them."

  "Thanks." Alone, Sophia let out a long breath. Then she straightened her shoulders, marched back to her mirror. Opening her bag she took out her lipstick. And painted her lips bloody-murder red.

  David sipped a full-bodied Merlot, mingled with the crowd packed into the towering stone walls of the winery, tried to tune out the hot licks from the band that was currently thrilling his son, and scanned the area for Pilar.

  He knew the Giambellis would put in an appearance. He'd been well schooled on the pomp and protocol for the holiday festivities. He'd be expected to split his time between parties, which—though it hadn't been put precisely that way—was both a privilege and a duty.

  He was learning fast that nearly every assignment in this organization came under the heading of both.

  He could find no complaint with it. He'd been given a challenge, which he needed. He was being well compensated financially, which he appreciated. And he was associated with a company he respected. And that he valued.

  Everything he'd seen in the past weeks had confirmed that Giambelli-MacMillan was a tight, family-oriented ship, run with efficiency and little sentiment. It wasn't cold, but it was calculated.

  Product was king and queen here. Money was respected and expected, but it was not the goal. Wine was. He'd found the opposite true in his later years with La Coeur.

  Now, seeing his son actually enjoying himself, watching his daughter interrogate some poor winemaker over some point of procedure, he was content.

  The move had been exactly what all of them had needed.

  "David. Good to see you."

  He turned, surprise registering briefly as he looked into Jeremy DeMorney's smiling face.

  "Jerry, I didn't know you'd be here."

  "I try never to miss an annual Giambelli bash and always hit the winery before the villa. Very democratic of La Signora to invite reps from the competition."

  "She's quite a lady."

  "One of a kind. How are you taking to working for her?"

  "It's early days yet. But the move's gone well. I'm glad to get the kids out of the city. How are things back in New York?"

  "We're managing to grope along without you." The little sting in the statement wasn't softened by the smirk. "Sorry, we're still a little sore. Hated losing you, David."

  "Nothing lasts forever. Anyone else here from La Coeur?"

  "Duberry flew in from France. He's known the old lady for a hundred years. Pearson's representing the local group. A few top levels from other labels. Gives us all a chance to drink her wine and spy on each other. Got any gossip for me?"

  "Like I said, it's early days yet." He spoke casually, but he'd become wary. Jerry's policy of gossip and corporate backstabbing had been one of the reasons it had been so easy to leave La Coeur. "Great party though. Excuse me, there's somebody I've been waiting for."

  Maybe all my life, David thought as he left Jerry without a backward glance and worked through the crowd to Pilar.

  She wore blue. Deep blue velvet with a long rope of pearls. She looked warm and regal, and he would have said utterly confident if he hadn't noticed the quick flicker of panic in her eyes.

  Then she shifted her head, just a little, and focused on him. And God help him, she blushed. Or at least more color came into her face. The idea that he'd put it there drove him crazy.

  "I've been watching for you." He took her hand before she could do anything about it. "Like a kid at a school dance. I know you have to mingle, but I want a minute first."

  It was like being swept away by a single warm wave. "David—"

  "You can't mingle without wine. It won't do." He tugged her forward. "We'll talk about business, about the weather. I'll only tell you you look beautiful five or six dozen times. Here." He plucked a flute of champagne from a tray. "I don't see how you can drink anything else looking the way you do."

  That same flutter was back in her stomach. "I can't keep up with you."

  "I can't keep up with myself. I'm making you nervous." He touched his glass lightly to hers. "I'd say I was sorry for that, but I'd be lying. It's best to start out a relationship with honesty, don't you think?"

  "No. Yes. Stop." She tried to laugh. He looked like some sort of sophisticated knight in his formal black with his rich blond hair glinting in the shimmer of light. A foolish thought, she told herself, for a middle-aged woman to have. "Are your children here?"

  "Yeah. They whined about being dragged here, and now they're having the time of their lives. You're beautiful. I did mention I was going to tell you that, didn't I?"

  She nearly giggled before she reminded herself she was forty-eight, not eighteen, and supposed to know better. "Yes, I believe you did."

  "I don't suppose we could find a dark corner and neck."

  "No. That's a definite."

  "Then you'll just have to dance with me, and give me a chance to change your mind."

  It staggered her that she thought he could change it. That she wanted him to. Inappropriate, she told herself firmly. Ridiculous. She was years older than he.

  God, what was she supposed to do? Say? Feel?

  "There are a thousand thoughts going through your head," he murmured. "I wish you'd tell me all of them."

  "Jesus." She pressed a hand to her belly where a soft, gooey ball slid in among the flutters. "You're awfully good at this."

  "I'm glad you think so because I start feeling clumsy every time I see you."

  "Fooled me." She drew in a breath, steadied herself. "David, you're very attractive—"

  "You think so?" He touched her hair, couldn't help himself. He loved the way it curved against her cheek. "Could you be more specific?"

  "And very charming," she added, struggling to keep her voice firm. "I'm very flattered, but I don't know you. And besides…" She trailed off, her smile freezing. "Hello, Tony. Rene."

  "Pilar. You look lovely." Tony leaned over to kiss her cheek.

  "Thank you. David Cutter, Tony Avano and Rene Foxx."

  "Rene Foxx Avano," Rene corrected with a purr. She lifted her hand, wiggled her fingers to send the diamond circlet wedding ring flashing. "As of today."

  It wasn't a stab in the heart, Pilar realized, as she'd thought it would be. But more of a burn, a quick shock that annoyed as much as it hurt. "Congratulations. I'm sure you'll be very happy together."

  "Oh, we already are." Rene slid her arm through Tony's. "We're flying out to Bimini right after Christmas. It'll be lovely to be out of this cold and rain. You really should take time for a little vacation yourself, Pilar. You're looking pale."

  "Strange. I was thinking how vital she looks tonight." Gauging the ground, David lifted Pilar's hand, kissed her fingers. "Delicious, in fact. I'm glad I had a chance to meet you, Tony, before you left the country."

  Smoothly, David slid an arm around Pilar's waist. "I've had considerable trouble reaching you the last few days." He gave Rene a glance, just a few
degrees short of polite. "Now I see why. Let my office know your travel plans, won't you? We've business to discuss."

  "My people know my plans."

  "Apparently mine don't. You'll excuse us, won't you? We need to make the rounds before heading up to the villa."

  "That was unkind," Pilar whispered.

  "So what?"

  Gone was the flirtatious charm. In its place was power of the cold and ruthless sort. It wasn't, she thought, any less appealing on him.

  "Over and above the fact that I didn't like him on principle, I'm COO and should have been informed if one of the VPs was going out of the country. He's been dodging me for days, avoiding my calls. I don't care for it."

  "He's just not used to having to report to you, to anyone."

  "He'll have to adjust." Over her head, David spotted Tyler. "So will others. Why don't you help clear the way a little and introduce me to some of the people who are wondering what the hell I'm doing here?"

  Ty was trying to be invisible. He hated big parties. There were too many people to talk to, and too few who had anything to say. He'd already calculated his plan. One hour in the winery, one hour in the main house. Then he could slide away, go home, catch a little ESPN and go to bed.

  As far as he was concerned, the music was too loud, the winery too crowded and the food too rich. Not that he minded looking at people, especially when they were all slicked up and polished and trying to look better than the people they were talking to.

  It was kind of like watching a play, and as long as he could stay safely in the audience he could manage for a while.

  He'd watched the little drama between Pilar and Rene. Tyler was fond enough of Pilar that he'd have sacrificed his corner and gone to her side if David Cutter hadn't already been there. Cutter irritated him on principle, but Tyler had to give him points for quick action. The little hand kiss had been a good move, one that seemed to annoy Rene and Avano.

  And whatever he'd said had wiped that idiot smile off Avano's face in a hurry.

  Avano was an asshole, Tyler thought, sipping his wine. But with Rene prodding at him, he could be a dangerous one. If Cutter could keep him in line, it was almost worth having him in the mix.

  Almost.

  "Why are you standing over here all by yourself?"

  Tyler looked down, frowned at Maddy. "Because I don't want to be here."

  "Why are you? You're an adult. You can do what you want."

  "You keep thinking that, little girl, you're doomed to disappointment."

  "You just like being irritable."

  "No, I just am irritable."

  She pursed her lips at him, nodded. "Okay. Can I have a sip of your wine?"

  "No."

  "In Europe, children are taught to appreciate wine."

  She said it so grandly, standing there in her layers of black and dead-ugly shoes, Ty wanted to laugh. "So, go to Europe. Around here it's called contributing to the delinquency."

  "I've been to Europe, but I don't remember it very well. I'm going to go back. Maybe I'll live in Paris for a while. I was talking to Mr. Delvecchio, the winemaker. He said wine was a miracle, but it's really just a chemical reaction, isn't it?"

  "It's both. It's neither."

  "It has to be. I was going to do an experiment, and I thought you could help me."

  Tyler blinked at her, a pretty, badly dressed girl with an inquiring mind. "What? Why don't you talk to your father?"

  "Because you're the vintner. I thought I would get some grapes, put them in a bowl and see what happens. I'd have another bowl, with the same type and weight of grapes, and I'd do stuff to it. The kind of things you do."

  "I eat grapes in a bowl," he said, but she'd caught his interest.

  "See, one bowl would be left alone, Mr. Delvecchio's miracle. The other I'd process, using additives and techniques. Pushing the chemical reaction. Then I could see which worked best."

  "Even if you use the same type of grapes, you'll have variations between your tests."

  "Why?"

  "You're talking store-bought this time of year. They may not have come from the same vineyard. Even if they do, you get variations. Soil type, fertility, water penetration. When they were picked. How they were picked. You can't test the grapes on the vine because they're already off the vine. The must in each bowl could be considerably different even if you left them both alone."

  "What's must?"

  "Juice." Bowl wine, he thought. Interesting. "But if you wanted to try it, you should use wooden bowls. The wood'll give the must some character. Not much, but some."

  "A chemical reaction," Maddy said with a grin. "See? It's science, not religion."

  "Baby. Wine's that and a whole lot more." Without thinking, he offered her his glass.

  She sipped, delicately, her gaze shifting just in case her father was nearby. Experimentally she let the wine roll around on her tongue before she swallowed. "It's pretty good."

  "Pretty good?" With a shake of his head, he took the glass back from her. "That's vintage Pinot Noir. Only a barbarian would call it 'pretty good'."

  She smiled, charmingly now because she knew she had him. "Will you show me the big wine barrels and the machines sometime?"

  "Yeah. Sure."

  "Mr. Delvecchio said you do the white in stainless steel and the reds in wood. I didn't get a chance to ask him why. Why?"

  Didn't he look cute? Sophia thought. Big, grouchy MacMillan deep in what seemed to be a serious conversation with the miniature Morticia. And if things were as they appeared, he was enjoying himself. He even looked good doing it.

  The fact that he did made her even more pleased she'd decided against bringing a date. Having a date meant her attention would have to be focused. Being loose gave her much more room to circulate and enjoy whoever's company intrigued her the most.

  At the moment, she thought Tyler fit the bill.

  It would take her a little while to work her way over to him. After all, she had social obligations to dispense. But she kept him at the corner of her vision as she began to work the crowd.

  "Sophia. Stunning as always."

  "Jerry. Happy holidays." She leaned in, kissed both of his cheeks. "How's business?"

  "We've had a banner year." He slipped an arm around her shoulders, steering her through the groups in the tasting room and toward the bar. "And expect another. A little bird tells me you're planning a brilliant promotion campaign."

  "Those little birds chatter entirely too much, don't they?" She beamed at the bartender. "Champagne, please. Another from the flock was singing about you launching a new label. Mid-market, with an American target."

  "Someone's going to have to shoot those birds. I saw the write-up in Vino on your Cabernet '84."

  "An excellent vintage."

  "And the auction went quite well for you. Shame on you, Sophia, for standing me up when you were in New York. You know I'd looked forward to seeing you."

  "Couldn't be helped. But I'll cash in my rain check next trip."

  "I'm counting on it."

  She lifted her wine, sipped.