by Julie Thomas
Anna worked seven-day weeks and was exhausted, mentally and physically. Then her best friend, Belinda Miles, suggested a busman’s holiday. Belinda, originally from San Francisco, was a pastry chef working for Harrods, and she loved everything Italian. From chocolate cannoli, sfogliatelle, zeppole and farfellette with powdered sugar to a croquembouche cupcake, Belinda’s delicate and sweet pastry creations were mouth-wateringly delicious.
She had found an advertisement for a week-long dessert cookery course in Rome, and suggested that afterwards they could go to Tuscany for a few days, rent a villa and relax, drink wine, eat food and read anything but cookery books. The Anna of old would have found a hundred reasons to decline – clients who required her expertise for their summer parties, equipment she needed to spend money on – but the ‘new’ Anna saw the possibilities and grabbed the opportunity.
Anna and Belinda couldn’t have been more different. Belinda was petite and blonde, tanned, witty, sarcastic and full of nervous energy. Anna was taller, curvier, a fair-skinned, green-eyed brunette with a gentle, lazy bohemian chic. Her confidence seemed boundless, and only she knew that it was less than a year old.
The course was amazing and inspiring; she perfected a towering dark chocolate cake made of layers of lace-thin crêpes. She also discovered that she adored Rome, from the square pizza to the crumbed mushrooms to the bowls of pasta to the gelato.
The villa in the Tuscan hills was delightfully crumbly and dusty, but the pool was refreshing and the kitchen garden held many new delights.
One night Belinda suggested they go to a family restaurant in the hills to have dinner. The food was bursting with garlic, herbs and ripe tomato flavours. Then halfway through the main course, a broad-shouldered man got up from a table across the room and walked over to them.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MARRIAGE
It all happened in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Vinnie and Anna exchanged phone numbers after a day of tasting wine at Castello Banfi, and promised to contact each other in England. He didn’t wait: he started calling her at home while he was still in Europe. He told her what he had ordered for dessert and asked her what wine he should choose, but he didn’t tell her that dessert was often all he ordered. The conversations got longer and longer, and he described what he saw and tasted, in Rome, in Naples, at Pompeii and on the island of Sicily.
When he couldn’t reach her for a whole day, he drove to the nearest airport, handed in the car and flew home. Their first night together was his first night back, and he didn’t leave her house for a week.
It was her bohemian chic that first attracted him: she seemed comfortable in her own skin and loved to indulge her passions – chocolate, colour, art, music and, very quickly, her passion for him. She had a rich, deep laugh that reminded him of a chocolate waterfall, and they laughed a lot and at the same things. They were intellectual equals, and the verbal sparring was confirmation for them both that the relationship was strong and stimulating.
When he was, finally, on his own, Vinnie took a long, hard look in the mirror. For the first time in his life he wanted someone more than he wanted financial security. He’d had relationships before, but as soon as the woman had got serious, he had found a reason to run for the door. He had been called a commitment phobic so many times that he had begun to believe that he was. But this time he was willing to accept, even after one week, that she wouldn’t leave him if he could be worthy of her.
What would that take? Perhaps an honest pay packet for an honest job and to keep out of trouble? It was clear that she had her own standards of behaviour, and that she wouldn’t be there to post bail if he got nicked. She’d had a long-term relationship with a dependant alcoholic and had given up hope of him staying sober; she knew what she didn’t want.
When he needed to think, he walked, so he spent a whole night wandering aimlessly around his city, through the park, up to the theatre district, down to the river and across a bridge, planning and working out what he would have to give up and where he could turn to get a job. It wasn’t an easy decision – the life he led was the only life he had known. So what was he good at? Talking, selling stuff to people, convincing them that they needed what he could provide. What did he enjoy talking about most? Apart from himself, wine. Where did people like him go for wine? The Wine Warehouse! He had the passion, he had tasted some spectacular wines, and he had the kind of brain that retained facts and dates. All he had to do was bluff until his knowledge caught up with his bravado, and persuade the manager of his local branch of the Wine Warehouse to give him a job. Simple!
The next day he paid his neighbour to be a customer and take notes on all the bottles prominently displayed in the shop, and then Vinnie hurried to the library and researched those wineries in books. When he was ready, he marched into the shop and asked to speak to the manager.
‘Good morning, sir. My name is Vinnie Whitney-Ross, and I’d like to take ten minutes of your time to show you how I would sell some of your best wines. You won’t regret it.’
He was hired on the spot, and told to return at 8.30 the next morning. An hour into his first day, he was arranging bottles of Chianti when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He spun around to find Anna standing in front of him, a list in her hand.
‘I was wondering if you could help me, sir. I need some wine to go with a chocolate dessert. For a very exclusive dinner party.’
Her green eyes danced mischievously at him. He glanced over to where his new boss was flicking through a magazine and watching him furtively.
‘Certainly, madam. What kind of chocolate?’ he asked.
‘Valrhona. I’m a chocolatier.’
He paused for a moment and looked at the shelves. ‘Which Valrhona are you using?’
She raised her eyebrows in genuine surprise. ‘The recipe has three different components, all Grands Cru. The truffle is Le Noir – slightly acidic and intensely chocolate, lovely soft, spicy notes, but a definite after-taste, some would call it bitterness.’
Vinnie nodded thoughtfully. ‘And the other two?’
‘Er, Jivara – very creamy, tastes of vanilla with a malt finish. And Araguani – raisins, chestnuts and liquorice, intense, long palate.’
‘Which is the dominant flavour? Which one do you want to match?’
She shook her head in amazement and smiled at him. ‘The log is the centrepiece, and that’s the Araguani.’
He studied the shelves. ‘I was going to suggest a Californian Zinfandel, relatively new here and quite scarce, but very drinkable … but there would be too much competition between the different chocolates and the wine.’
As he spoke, he gestured for her to follow him across the shop. ‘So instead, I would go for a Cabernet Sauvignon or a Pinot Noir or perhaps even a vintage port. A Cab Sav should have some Syrah in it, which will give you raisin, cinnamon and liquorice notes.’
They stopped beside the French red wine section. He pulled out a bottle and handed it to her. His expression was very serious.
‘Château Saint Estève d’Uchaux, Vieille Vignes. All you need to know is that it’s sixty per cent Syrah and forty per cent Grenache, and comes from vines that are forty-five years old. And it is magnificent.’
She turned the bottle over in her hand.
‘How much, per bottle?’
He smiled at her. ‘How many do you need? Five glasses per bottle.’
‘Ah … three. No, better make it four.’
‘Can be up to eight hundred quid a bottle in some places, but we’ll sell you four bottles for two thousand.’
‘And it’s worth that?’
‘It’s worth double that – it’ll make your dessert sing like Callas.’
She nodded and gave him back the bottle.
‘Done. Can I pay by credit card? Callender’s, they’re one of London’s best-known catering companies.’
He took another three from the rack and gestured towards the counter. ‘Certainly, madam. Right this way. Let me giv
e you one of our special customer cards, then we’ll know you have a discerning palate.’
As they returned to the counter, the boss beamed at him and walked away.
‘Is there anything I could tell you that would put you off me?’
Anna rolled onto her side and looked at him. Vinnie was lying on one elbow, the sheets crumpled around his body, smiling at her. She frowned.
‘Do you want me to be put off?’ she asked.
‘No! Not one little bit. But I want to know what sort of thing would put you off.’
She sat up. ‘Ever killed anyone?’
‘Nope.’
‘Ever slept with anyone under sixteen?’
‘Nope.’
She smiled down at him. ‘Ever stolen anything?’
‘Ahhh. Now, that’s where we get into a grey area.’
He sat up, and she could tell by his expression that he did want to tell her something.
‘If you have stuff you want to tell me, Vinnie, just do. I’m not that fragile.’
‘Okay.’
She watched him and waited. Instinct told her not to rush him and not to interrupt. They’d had a lovely two months, and she didn’t want anything to be a deal-breaker. Not this time.
‘You know my mum’s a widow and she lives in Sussex. What you don’t know is that my dad died from a gunshot wound – a self-inflicted gunshot wound. He was an accountant and he got involved with a dodgy client and some gambling, and he killed himself. I was ten.’
He paused and she nodded slowly.
‘You poor thing!’
‘Then I got into some … trouble at school. Kids stole stuff and I fenced it, not drugs, just things. Nothing major, but I made money, a bit like Fagin! I got caught and I got expelled. I was sixteen.’
Again he paused, but she said nothing.
‘So far, nothing to get too worked up about, I guess. I wanted to make my own way, so I worked as a trader, meaning I traded stuff. People sold me things, and I sold them on to other people. Some of it wasn’t very legal.’
His eyes betrayed his anxiety, and she nodded again.
‘I worked the markets. I took deliveries and sold them on to people I knew had outlets, pubs, clubs –’
‘What sort of things?’ she asked.
‘Mainly clothes, handbags, knock-offs, household goods –’
‘Not drugs?’
‘No! Never anything like that. The odd case of wine, but never drugs.’
She smiled. ‘Nothing else matters to me, sweetheart.’
He looked relieved and she wanted to hug him, but it was too early in the conversation – there was more.
‘I went to Europe because I needed to stay out of sight. I nearly got caught up in a war between two rival gangs, all to do with some cocaine in a crate of very good knock-off designer stuff. I had been asked to store it and had no idea what it contained.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Close call.’
He nodded. ‘Yep. I decided to have a holiday and learn more about wine. I met you.’
‘Why are you telling me all this, Vinnie?’ she asked.
He sighed. ‘I guess I don’t want us to have secrets.’
‘In that case, I have a confession. I used to steal mint chocolates from the corner shop and put them in my sandwiches. I was the only kid in my class with chocolate sandwiches and all the others wanted to trade.’
He laughed. ‘You brazen hussy. Were you ever caught?’
She shook her head. ‘Nope, and Mum never suspected a thing. Wow, this is not what I expected at all. And you gave up all that because you met me?’
He nodded and took her hand in his. ‘And I got a real job,’ he said.
‘I know! But you do enjoy it, don’t you?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely! So far it’s been great.’
She had to smile at that. He was like a puppy sometimes. ‘But what if you get bored? It’s the same thing, day in and day out, and that’s not what you’re used to.’
‘It’s a stepping stone, babe. I already have plans for my own business, but I need to do my basic training. I need to learn what customers want.’
She put a hand up and stroked his face. ‘I’m amazed that you’ve changed all that for me. I don’t know what to say, except thank you for being honest about the past. I think we’re off to a great start.’
The next weekend he took her to Sussex to meet his mother. Mary was as tall as Anna and had a kind face, gentle eyes and her son’s wit. They got on well from the first moment, and she could tell that Mary was delighted with the relationship.
Bit by bit and day by day, Anna fell more in love with Vinnie. Part of her kept waiting to be disappointed, for him to show his feet of clay, but it didn’t happen and eventually she stopped believing it would. For their six-month anniversary he took her for a long weekend to a hotel in the Lakes District, and they shared a magnificent meal and a bottle of Château Lafite-Rothschild.
‘Dear Lord, this wine is good!’ she said, as he raised his glass towards her.
‘A toast?’ he asked.
‘Oh, absolutely! Sorry, just ignore the fact that I’ve had a sip or two.’
He laughed gently. ‘You’re forgiven. To us.’
She raised her glass and touched it against his. ‘To us. The best us I know,’ she said.
‘Good.’
He put his glass down and hesitated for a second, then got up and moved around to stand beside her. For a moment she thought he was going to take her hand and draw her to her feet, but instead he knelt down on one knee. She couldn’t hide her surprise.
‘Vinnie –’
‘Anna. You know I love you, you’re my soulmate. I can’t imagine my life without you now … Will you marry me?’
She nodded, speechless.
He grinned. ‘Can I get up now?’ Vinnie asked.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and they kissed. ‘Now you can get up.’
They stood, hugged and kissed again. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small black box. ‘I should’ve had this ready. You can see I’ve never done this before.’
He opened the box and offered it to her. In it was a lovely cushion diamond, surrounded by smaller diamonds, in platinum, an art deco style, the style she loved. She gasped with delight.
‘Oh darling, it’s gorgeous!’
He looked relieved as he took it from the box and slipped it onto the third finger of her left hand.
She kissed him again. ‘I love you, too, and thank you for being romantic.’
They were married in the little stone church with the Saxon font in Mary’s village. He was twenty-seven and she was twenty-four. It was 1993 and the world was in a hedonistic whirl. She and Vinnie wrote their own vows, and promised to be there for each other and never lie to each other and to follow one another to the end of the earth.
If the ceremony was simple, the wedding breakfast was far from it, and was a stupendous success. Vinnie matched each of the six courses to a different wine. He introduced the vintage and proclaimed it more wonderful than the preceding one, and Anna took the opportunity to tease him. She designed and made her own wedding cake: five tiers, and each one a different flavoured chocolate filling, with white chocolate and sugar-paste flowers wrapped around each tier, and a solid chocolate wine glass and dipping spoon on top instead of a bride and groom. Its unveiling drew a round of applause from the delighted guests.
They honeymooned in Paris and hunted for rare wine and chocolates, went to the Louvre and took a boat ride down the Seine. Anna had never been happier in her life; at last she had found a man who didn’t disappoint her and would never lie to her.
After the reception, Mary sat in her lounge and cried with joy. At last the spell of the past, the curse of the Lanes, the devastation wrought by her husband’s stupidity, had been broken. For twenty years she was right.
PART THREE
BLOOD
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DOWN THE MARKET
February
2012
Vinnie looked up from his graphic novel and smiled as he questioned his wife. ‘And what is it today, dear? Bovril and tomato? Parsley and mascarpone? Really, I should get danger money.’
He sat in a deck chair beside his stall in Covent Garden Market. She stood over him and frowned back in mock disapproval, a plastic tray of round chocolate balls in her hand. Her green eyes glittered at him.
‘Oh, very funny. My concoctions go down a treat with discerning punters.’
He dropped the book into his lap and investigated the balls by poking at them and making them roll around. He did this because he knew it annoyed her.
‘Maybe they should get danger money,’ he said as he closed his eyes and she slipped a ball into his open mouth. The first hit was intense chocolate, and the next made his eyes open in surprise.
‘Ah, let me see: tonight, Matthew, I can taste … basil?’
She punched the air with her free hand. ‘Yes! Sweet basil. Try another one.’
He shook his head vigorously. ‘Not until you tell me what they are. I need my taste buds.’
She pointed to each ball as she identified them. ‘Ginger and wasabi for the Japanese, pink peppercorn, lime and chilli, smoked Earl Grey tea, salted caramel and Pinot Noir.’
He took the last one she pointed to and held it up. ‘You could’ve started with the best one first, silly woman.’
‘It’s got some of that New Zealand wine –’
He pretended to choke. ‘You put Crystal Creek Pinot into a chocolate? You philistine!’
She gave a gasp of mock astonishment and put the tray in his hand. ‘All this time I thought you were just a wine snob, but you’re actually a full-blown wine nerd.’
