She laughed. “Well, hell, woman, just think if you did try what might happen.” Her smile slowly faded. “You’re serious.”
“Yeah.”
“You are sexier than the day I met you, and even then you had what it took for me.”
“Whatever that is.”
“You’re complicated. Intelligent, attractive. Powerful, decisive, tall.”
“I knew it was genetics.”
“Ten years ago, you didn’t have that line, right there.” Caroline’s thumb traced the curve from Toni’s nose to the corner of her mouth. “I think it’s gorgeous. You have depth and awareness that I just don’t find in many people. I keep hoping that you’ll put those qualities to work on me. On us.”
They kissed sweetly and Caroline shifted on Toni’s lap. “I’m not that complicated,” she demurred.
“Don’t sell yourself short—it’s bad for business.” They kissed again until Caroline drew back. “I have been wondering for so long if you made love the way you analyzed a business deal. Totally rapt, and every ounce of your intelligence focused on the matter at hand.”
She shifted again on Toni’s lap. Toni ignored the invitation. Her head was now too clear. “I don’t know what to say, Caroline. If only something like this was governed by practical rules.”
“We’re so suitable for each other. Same friends, similar background, we like many of the same things, like golf, when you give yourself the time.”
Toni could only think of how her father had never been the same, how part of him had never grown back after her mother died. She’d never loved anyone that way and she’d known Mira wasn’t capable of it either. Caroline, though, might be, and playing with her expectations wasn’t nice. Softly, she said, “I think it takes more than that.”
“How will we know if we don’t give it a chance?”
“I think we have.” Ten years of occasional meetings and Toni still didn’t feel more than she had felt the first day.
“This? Tonight? Oh, Toni, darling, you have no idea what I can do.” Caroline’s lips slid seductively over Toni’s mouth, her tongue soft and nimble. “You have no idea how exhausted you would be by morning. Missy wouldn’t need anyone to peel the paint for her— you and I could manage that all on our own.”
“Caroline, I’m sorry—”
Caroline’s fingertips pressed Toni’s lips to a stop. “No, no. Don’t you say that. Let’s just see what happens, okay? I’ll stay as long as you’re here.”
The drive to Netherfield was silent, and they parted at the bottom of the stairs after one last kiss. She knew Caroline would presume that the longer Toni stayed the more interested she was, and so she ought to finish up her report tomorrow and go home.
The report could have been done in a day.
The last kiss had said that if she wanted she could be in Caroline’s bed, even now, but looking at the smears on her slacks in her own bedroom mirror, she knew that wasn’t why she wanted to stay in the area. She ought to go home and the reasons she didn’t had nothing to do with Missy’s sparkling swimming pool. The real reasons were yet too foreign to be given credence. They were unquantifiable and therefore, in the matter of rational choices, they did not exist.
Syrah Ardani avoided her and Toni was not ready to go home.
Chapter 7
Fed up with the information blackout, Syrah prowled quietly through the papers in her father’s office. He was out discussing fertilizer with Carlo. Toni wasn’t due for an hour.
Her search turned up nothing of interest, though. Piles of bank statements were just what she expected to see, and the letters from the lenders she’d already read. She had no idea what was taking Toni Blanchard so long—she’d been here three whole days. What was there to know that wasn’t already apparent?
She turned on the computer, finally, and printed out orders that had been sent in from distributors. Her e-mail was next and she was surprised to see that something had arrived in her personal box since the previous day. She had nothing against e-mail but a phone call was always preferable to her and all of her friends knew that.
Not recognizing the sender’s address she almost didn’t open it, but the subject line of “About Toni Blanchard” was simply too hard to resist.
“Dear Ms. Ardani,” she read, hoping it turned out to be something she could quickly delete.
You don’t know me and at this time I cannot give you my name. We have a mutual acquaintance in Toni Blanchard, however. I had the misfortune to have dealings with her in the past of such a painful nature that I cannot tolerate that what happened to me should happen to you as well. I think I might be able to enlighten you about the temperament of this woman, if you are interested in more details. Please write back if so.
* * *
It was signed only, “A Friend.”
She didn’t like anonymous letters, and for a moment she remembered all the trouble that had resulted from an unsigned note in high school that purported undying love between two boys. It had been a hoax, and a cruel one, and the coward who’d done it had never fessed up.
She nearly deleted the message but couldn’t. This was her family’s heritage, her livelihood, her father’s entire life. She would take everything with a grain of salt, but knowledge could be power.
She wrote a carefully worded missive back, expressing her misgivings but indicating a willingness to listen. She heard someone coming through the house from the kitchen and quickly closed the mail window.
Toni had been early the three previous mornings and today was no different. Syrah ought not to have been surprised. She was again cool and poised in new jeans and a simple eggplant-hued pullover.
“I was just leaving,” Syrah said quickly.
“Could we talk for just a moment?”
Surprised, she nodded. “I hope you can give me some information. I am capable of understanding what’s going on.”
“I’m sorry about that. If you were a shareholder or member of the board I could be much more candid. But as it is, you’re an employee, technically.”
“An employee with grape DNA.”
The smile Syrah received in reply was tight. “I am well aware that you are integral to the vineyard and I have been hoping against hope that something would show up unexpectedly, but I’ve only got one thing I could report to the court as helpful. It’s a Band-Aid at best but could buy you time. Your father wasn’t very open to the idea, and I didn’t understand why. I thought you might be able to shed light on his resistance.”
Syrah said firmly, “I’m not going to talk him ’round for you.”
“That’s not what I want. My proposal was to lease more future grapes. I know next year’s leases are committed, but why not the year after that? At least some of them. Enough to bring the loans to within sixty days current. If that’s done, the judge will put a stay on the case and the creditors will step back, for a while.”
The thought had crossed Syrah’s mind, but she knew her father’s feelings. “The growers and vintners who could afford that are mass-market producers. It will sound like snobbery, but we don’t grow grapes for the mass market.”
“Would they pay you what your usual leases would bring?”
“Yes, probably.”
“So…you don’t charge a premium rate for your grapes, you’re just picky about who gets them.” Surprisingly, Toni didn’t seem judgmental, merely reciting back their business practice to be sure she understood.
Syrah nodded. “Essentially, yes. My father can also tell you whose grapes that year will need what from our vines.” She tried to speak without undue pride, but she was very proud of her father’s reputation. “There are those who think my father has elevated the overall quality of wine produced from this region in his lifetime.”
“I understand.”
Syrah didn’t believe Toni possibly could, not after a couple of days. “Every harvest is different. Every time the vines produce it’s another chance.”
“I do understand. Thank yo
u for explaining it to me. Your father was not so forthcoming.”
“We’ve been called snobs and it isn’t easy to tell an old friend he can’t have your zins that year.”
Toni said softly, “I can imagine that would be difficult for him.”
“So, if he agrees, it’s just a Band-Aid? He’d give up a whole year for no guarantees?”
Something in Toni’s eyes flinched, but she continued to meet Syrah’s gaze. “If nothing is done, I can guarantee that you’ll have to sell more than half your land, based on the most recent appraisals.”
Syrah swallowed hard. “I don’t know what went wrong. I wasn’t here.”
“I wish I could explain more.”
“Sure you do.” Syrah was almost out the door when she made herself stop. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”
“It’s okay.” Toni was already looking at her laptop screen. “I know this isn’t easy.”
As she picked up her satchel, Syrah noticed a series of bruises on Toni’s forearm. Four bruises, more or less in a row. Fresh bruises. Syrah was certain if she turned Toni’s arm over, she would find an opposing fifth to complete the picture.
Was that why Toni seemed nicer this morning? Had she gotten laid? Three days of stumbling over the woman and Syrah had only received dour looks. There was only one candidate to have done the honors, but Syrah didn’t feel at all thankful to Caroline Bingley.
Fertilizer, she thought. I don’t need this. She’s nothing to me, and she can have every woman in town for all I care. What was it about that hostile, haughty air, anyway?
The walk through the vineyard calmed her nerves as it always did. Grapes were still tight, small and bright green, but soon they’d hang lower and heavier and she and her father would begin assessing water content and anxiously studying advance weather reports. She would hate to give up any of them to an unknown fate, but there didn’t seem to be any other way.
She could have been blind and known she’d reached the latest fertilizer site by her nose alone. The full day’s sun wasn’t yet on them, but the air was dank with nitrogen and sulfur. Two crowds of workers were ready to begin walking mulch down the rows while others followed to press the mix in.
“Phew! You guys stink,” Syrah announced, repeating herself in her marginal Spanish. She was happy to pitch in for a while, losing her worries in caring for the vines. When she found herself with her father for a few moments’ privacy, she said, “I think she’s right, Dad. It’s hard, but it would buy us time. This is going to be an exceptional harvest.” Though she didn’t believe it, she added, “We could get lucky.”
“I know. I’m trying to square it in my mind. Which grapes, though? I don’t want to lose control of the zins, Pinots or Syrahs.”
“But the zins are our biggest crop.”
“Exactly.”
“Dad, I know it’s drastic.”
“It’s never a good idea to pay for today with tomorrow.”
Syrah could only nod. It seemed like sound advice for life, not just grapes.
“I shouldn’t have bought the Tarpay fields, and with the grapes on them pledged to the sellers for two years we’re paying interest on the loans with no income against it. I was anxious to get hold of them and overpaid.”
“And that was after all the modernizing and upgrading.”
“We needed those new barrels.”
But maybe they hadn’t needed the new bottling equipment. She’d thought the old one had another ten years on it at least. “I’ll tell her, if you want me to.”
“No, I’ll do it. She shouldn’t have brought you into it.”
More sharply than she meant to, Syrah asked, “Why not, Dad? Someday these will be my decisions to make.”
“I know, pumpkin, but you’re still young. I was glad to see you go to Europe. You don’t need to be married to this place yet.”
“Dad, I already am. I was born married to this place. I bleed grape juice, just like you.”
He laughed a little. “I’ll try to remember. Seems like yesterday you were going to the prom.”
“I’m thirty-one, Dad. I’m all out of proms.”
“Guess I’d better go talk to Toni, hadn’t I?”
“Might be good. Shall I walk back with you?”
“Sure.”
From the patio outside the tasting room, Toni watched the two Ardanis making their way toward the house. Yesterday she might have thought they were blissfully unaware of their woes, but both knew some of what they were up against. Still, they paused to talk over the vines, the father occasionally emphasizing a point with a gesture of his right hand. Both handled the plants as if the vines were infants. She was beginning to suspect that neither could walk past a vine without stopping to touch it and think about its future.
Corporations were, however, all alike in the ways that mattered. She couldn’t allow herself to get caught up in the vagaries of their business. Syrah was picking a grape now and apparently tasting it. Whatever the result, it made her laugh and the peal of it carried up the hill.
Toni carried her coffee back inside, banishing the image of Syrah’s dark hair glinting in the sunlight. She tried to make herself think about Caroline, about Mira, about her schedule, her work, but she could still hear Syrah’s laugh. Syrah was young, she reminded herself, young and not jaded and tired from too much money and too many people.
A truck laden with workers on their way to fields below passed the office window and Toni recognized the slices of pesto-brushed toast from Bennett’s kitchen they all carried. Yesterday she might have dared to suggest the economy of not paying for a personal chef, though she’d known the woman’s role was far more than that. Bennett was as tightly woven into this family as the family was to the grapes.
Remove the emotion, she reminded herself, and what to do about the money becomes clear. If the Ardanis wanted to buy some time, they needed to give up part of their control of the year after next’s harvest. She understood it was unpleasant, but then so were foreclosure auctions. They were babes in the woods, the vines, whatever. Why had it fallen to her to take their tranquility from them?
Anyone else would have been home by now, report filed and onto the next contract. The recommendation would be simple: sell the major assets and replace management.
She made her way to the kitchen, unsure as always of her welcome. Bennett had made very clear the standards of her hospitality, which was that if one wanted something one asked or she took great offense. She also made plain her belief that Toni was just this side of evil incarnate. Toni figured, with a tiny pull at the waist of her slacks, she was damned either way and the pesto bread looked good.
“Nobody tells me anything around here,” Bennett said by way of greeting. “You’re like all the rest in that regard.”
“I have a duty to the court.” She felt a little faint from the pungent aroma of roasted garlic.
Bennett withered her with a glance as she plated a slice of still-bubbling pesto toast with an egg over hard alongside. “It’s still an excellent idea to buy time with a future lease. A baby could tell the sense of it, but that doesn’t mean Ardani himself can see that.”
“You have a knack for acquiring information,” Toni said, halfway through the egg after two bites. “Thank you for this and for remembering it over hard. I don’t eat breakfast normally, but I’ve been ravenous since I got here.”
“Clean air. I can’t imagine how you can breathe in New York City.”
“Ever been there?”
“Heavens no. This is home, and I must say more people ought to stay home.”
Ouch, Toni thought. She finished the egg, helped herself to coffee and took the toast to savor as she settled down to work in the office.
By the time the two Ardanis noisily entered the back door of the house, Toni had finalized her five-year expense and debt projections. Neither chart had an advantageous trend.
She surreptitiously licked her fingers and tried not to be swayed by the fact that the best deli near t
he office in New York would never compare to Bennett’s cooking. She had to go home. She was not getting addicted to country air, or anything else they grew here.
“Good morning, Toni. Hard at work already?”
“You’ve already done a half-day. I feel lazy by comparison.”
“I’m sure you were awake when the markets opened.” Anthony settled into his desk chair, coffee in one hand.
Toni nodded an admission. “But I only had one eye open.”
“Same here.” He sipped from the mug, then said, “Let’s lease some future grapes.”
Astonished by how pleased she was to hear him say that, Toni found herself grinning. “I know you don’t want to, but time is hard to buy and that’s what we’ll get.”
Bennett bustled in with a plate and bustled out again saying, “Finally you’re talking some sense, I must say.”
“Glad to know you’re happy,” Anthony called after her. “The woman’s a menace, weaned on a pickle.”
“I heard that, you curmudgeon. Get your own coffee from now on.”
Toni fought down her own laughter, not able to recall when she’d felt so relaxed. It was a dangerous feeling, she knew that, and yet she couldn’t conquer it. Not right then, with the cool, clean air blowing in from the open patio door, not with Syrah framed in the light, leaning comfortably against the jamb as she gazed out at the rolling fields.
I’ve caught something from Missy, she thought. “How can we get that process started?”
“I’ll call a couple of people and invite them for a glass of vino and a casual auction. They’ll call a few and end of day we’ll see what happens.”
Toni blinked at the rapidity of it. “Aren’t there papers to be drawn up?”
“Got the boilerplates in this machine. I just need to write up the zones I’m willing to part with. It has to be the zins. Everybody can benefit from our zins.”
Nodding, Toni left him to work as she adjusted her projections. Using the last two years’ results of leases, she made a conservative estimate based on a few questions.
She was aware of Anthony Ardani’s pride as he made those few phone calls. She guessed it was the first time he’d said the words “cash flow” to people he had to consider colleagues.
Just Like That Page 9
