The back split in her slender, elegant pencil skirt fanned open just enough to give him a tantalising glimpse of a pair of very long slender legs above shapely ankles. Not immodest. Oh no. Demure and classy, but tantalising all the same. Just enough to fire up his imagination.
She was impressive.
Every one of his sales team she spoke to looked away from the press release and winemaker portfolios that Angie had passed around to smile up at Saskia and spend a few minutes chatting before going back to their work with that smile still on their lips.
The men and women in the room knew talent when they saw it. Not everyone was able to put a guest instantly at ease. They had expected Saskia to treat them as sales people who were worthy of a cup of instant coffee and a plain biscuit. Well, she had confounded their expectations by treating every one of his four-person team as a guest and potential client in her private meeting venue. Their coffee and tea had been served from silverware with the most delicious homemade pastries and canapés.
Very clever. He liked clever. Even if it was obvious to him what she was doing.
His sales people were going to be working with clients from the finest hotels and private homes around London, and Saskia had already worked that out. She might be hosting a sales meeting, but there was no reason why she could not sell them the benefits of Elwood House at the same time.
Their hostess was elegant, warm, unpretentious and genuinely interested in her clients. Attentive to their needs, but not intrusive or overfamiliar.
It was precisely what the hospitality industry was all about. And Saskia Elwood had it in spades. He loved watching experts at work. He always had. And the lovely lady of the house was at that moment giving him a master class in exactly the type of customer service he was going to expect in the flagship London face of Burgess Wine.
He glanced back down at his phone. Ten more emails. All from his mother. All wanting urgent updates.
Rick exhaled slowly. A well buried part of his brain knew that she was concerned about him, while the upfront and only too blatant part screamed out a message loud and clear: They don’t think you can pull this off. After two years of hard work you are still the black sheep who is never going to be taken seriously. So you might as well give up now and go back to the sports where you are the best!
No. Not going to happen. He had made a commitment and he was going to see it through, no matter what it took. Rick Burgess had not risen to the top of his sport by being a quitter.
Strange how his gaze shifted automatically up from the screen towards the slim woman in the pale grey suit, refilling an elegant coffee pot.
Her light brown straight hair was tied loosely back in a shell clip at the base of her neck, which on any other woman would look too casual, but somehow looked exactly right. She knew exactly what she looked like and had taken time to perfect her appearance. Subtle day time make-up, but with skin that clear she didn’t need anything but a slick of colour on her lips. This woman knew that her eyes were her best feature and made the best of them. Her eyes were totally riveting. Those eyes captured your attention and held it tight.
Just as they were doing right now as she looked across and flashed him a glance.
Rick slid into a comfortable dining chair and instantly refocused on the business proposal, making notes on the points still to be resolved as he scanned down the snag list. But all the while his left hand tapped out a beat on the fine table and curiosity pricked his skin.
Maybe that was her secret? That hot body that every man in the room had probably already visualised, which lay under that surface layer of clothing. Tempting the men and impressing the women. She could turn on the heat for the men and the friendly girl power for the ladies.
A clever girl with a hot body wrapped in a teasing and intriguing package.
A frisson of excitement and anticipation sparked across Rick’s mind.
It would be quite a coup if he could sign up Margot Elwood’s niece to stock his wines and serve them to her guests before the store even opened.
Perhaps that would be the proof he needed to convince his parents that their reckless and, in their eyes, feckless second son would not let them down after all?
Now all he had to do was talk her into it.
Rick glanced around the table. Everyone was seated. They had their promotional material and Saskia was already scanning each page.
The game was on!
* * *
‘I have just spent the last two years tracking down the finest wine from the new wave of young winemakers all over Europe and persuading them to supply it exclusively to my new flagship wine store right here in central London. Every wine on our list has been personally chosen and vetted.’
‘You can say the same thing about every family run wine shop in London, Mr Burgess,’ the girl he now knew as Saskia Elwood replied in a light soft voice as her pen tapped onto the cover of his glossy brochure. ‘Standards are high.’
‘Yes, I know. You heard it all before. But this is new. This is a direct personal connection between the winemaker and the consumer.’
‘How confident are you that these new cellars will deliver?’ she asked. ‘A new prestigious wine store in the centre of London is one thing, but what assurances can you give me that these winemakers will come back to you year after year? I need to know that I can rely on a guaranteed supply of any wine I add to my list.’
Rick caught her sideways sigh and downward glance but, instead of stomping on her, he grinned and saluted. Her question had not been asked in an angry or accusatory tone. Far from it. She genuinely wanted to hear his answer.
‘Great point. What can I give you? My energy and my commitment. I took the time to travel to the vineyards and meet these winemakers. It was not always easy to persuade them to work exclusively with Burgess Wine, but there’s one thing I know from my work as a sportsman. Passion recognises passion. These young winemakers have invested everything they have because they are obsessive about creating the most amazing wines using modern and traditional techniques. I see that in them. That’s why I want to champion these ten small family estates because that is the only way I can guarantee that there will never be such a thing as a boring wine ever again.’
He walked around the table slowly, gesturing to the impressive brochure his parents’ marketing team had spent weeks perfecting.
‘Right now there’s a team of marketing experts back in the Californian headquarters for Burgess Wine working on websites for each of the individual growers. When you buy a bottle from this store you will have access to everything you need to know about the wine and the passion of the person who made it. I think that’s special.’
‘Sometimes passion is not enough, Mr Burgess. You need to have the experience and expertise to create a remarkable wine. And these new winemakers are still learning the trade. Not everybody is as...adventurous as you are.’
Rick wrapped his hands around the back of the solid antique dining chair and nodded down the table, making sure that he could capture the attention of Saskia and the three new members of his sales team.
‘They don’t have to be. The ten growers I’ve chosen are all part of a mentoring scheme I’ve created with well-established major winemakers who have been supplying Burgess Wine customers for years. My parents are happy to invest in the wines we select.’
‘Don’t you mean the wines you select?’ Saskia asked with a touch of surprise in her voice. From where he was standing, Rick could see that her gaze was locked onto the back cover of the brochure, which carried an impressive colour photograph of Rick in full climbing gear on a snowy mountain. ‘If I am reading this correctly,’ she whispered, ‘you already have a career as a professional sportsman, Mr Burgess. Does this new store mean that you have turned your back on adventure sports?’
And there it was. Just when he thought he might leave his past behind for a couple of hours and be taken seriously.
Rick pressed the fingers of one hand tight into his palm and fough
t back his anger. He had to stay frosty.
‘Let’s just say that I’m focusing on the less hazardous aspects. I haven’t broken anything important in years and I have every intention of staying around for a lot longer. So much wine, so little time!’
A ripple of laughter ran around the room but he could almost hear the unspoken question in the air which even his sales team were not prepared to ask out loud but were obviously thinking.
What would happen to this store if Rick Burgess jumped off some mountain with a parachute strapped to his back and the wind caught him and sent him crashing against the rocks before he could regain control?
It could happen. In fact it had already happened. One accident only a few months after Tom died.
How could he forget that day? It had been his first trip to the mountains since the funeral and he’d needed it as badly as any other addict needed that cigarette or fix of their choice.
The oppressive atmosphere of the family home and the overwhelming grief had finally become too much to bear and there was only one way he knew to try and get some balance and peace back into his life. Not trapped in a house all day staring at the four walls until he wanted to hit a wall. And go on hitting it until the pain subsided.
He needed to climb a high mountain with a specialised parachute strapped to his back. He needed to feel the rush of adrenalin as the wind caught in the parachute and he felt the power of the air lift him into the sky.
Free. Soaring like a bird. Released from the pain and trauma and grief of Tom’s death.
This was what he did. This was what had taken him to the awards podium of the European paragliding championships for three years in a row.
And for ten minutes of glorious tranquil flying in long winding curves he had been precisely where he wanted to be. Doing what he loved best.
Until one simple gust of wind in the wrong direction had ruined an otherwise perfect day.
But that was all it had taken to leave him with a broken collarbone and a badly sprained ankle.
His parents had been shocked and traumatised and full of complaints about how reckless and uncaring he had been. How very selfish and irresponsible. But that was nothing compared to the fall in the company credibility in the press.
The media loved to see a reclusive, obsessive sportsman with the golden touch take a fall. And this accident had given them the ammunition they needed to focus on one thing—his lifestyle.
Tom Burgess had been a strategic genius. But his brother Rick? What was he going to bring to the business? He might have taken Tom’s seat on the board but maybe the company was taking too much of a risk by bringing in their untrained and reckless second son.
Suddenly major wine producers who had supplied Burgess Wine for years were sucking in their cheeks and wincing about the management team at Burgess Wine.
Never mind the fact that he’d worked tirelessly to be a world-class paraglider and reach the top of this field. Never mind that he was prepared to give the same energy and determination to Burgess Wine and the family business that his brother Tom had transformed into an international company.
Never mind that he had spent the last two years since Tom’s death coming up to speed with the business to the point where his family were prepared to even listen to his ideas, despite their misgivings.
Time to make this deal swing his way. Time to take one of those risks he had become famous for. He needed buyers like Saskia Elwood to be interested and excited in this idea, not for himself but for his parents, who had taken a leap of faith. And for every one of the ten small businesses who trusted him with their future.
Rick strolled around the dining table in the sumptuous room towards the head of the table and caught Angie’s eye with a quick nod. She instantly slipped out of the room and returned a few minutes later with two silver ice buckets and gently placed them onto silver platters on the fine polished wood table.
‘Why don’t I let the wine do the talking for me?’ Rick smiled and nodded towards the slim wine bottles poking their heads out of the ice buckets. ‘Angie tells me that the sample cases are on their way here now, Saskia, but I thought you might like to try something special. A late harvest dessert wine from a single estate in Alsace which is turning out to be one of my favourite discoveries. Are you willing to give it a try?’
* * *
‘Of course,’ Saskia replied, slightly irritated that he thought it appropriate to choose the wine for her. But, as Angie went round the table, pouring the golden liquid into tiny green-tinted glasses, the genuine smiles of appreciation from the men and women in the Burgess sales team as they inhaled the aroma of the wine knocked her sideways.
They might be young but everyone around her table had one thing in common; a real and genuine passion for wine. But did that include the man himself? Her rescuer in denims and the leader of this merry band. Rick Burgess?
Rick sat back down and smiled in encouragement as Angie started a conversation about the Burgundy harvest at the other end of the table while they enjoyed the wine.
Saskia raised the glass of dessert wine to her nose, twirled the glass and inhaled the aroma, which made her eyes flutter in delight and astonishment. Then she sipped the wine ever so slowly.
It was rose petals, musk, vanilla and deep, warm spice. And on the tongue? An explosion of flavour and tingling acidity.
Saskia instantly put down her glass and reached for the bottle to read the label on the wine bottle. Twenty years old. Rare, exclusive and made by a tiny vineyard she had never heard of in Alsace. It was absolutely delicious. Unique. Expensive. But amazing.
It was so good that this wine could easily have come from the cellars of Elwood Brothers. Her mother and aunt’s family had been one of the oldest and most respected wine merchants in Britain, with traditions that went back hundreds of years. The Elwoods were famous around the world for having the finest collection of prestige wines and for employing the leading experts in their field.
Their reputation for quality and excellence had been built up over centuries. It had seemed like the end of a familiar institution when Elwood Brothers finally closed their doors a couple of years ago when the last of the brothers had decided to retire.
It was a shame that she couldn’t borrow some of that reputation for excellence to attract more clients to use Elwood House for their board meetings and private dining, combined, of course, with modern technology. The old and the new. The traditional and the modern.
But that was impossible now... Wasn’t it?
Saskia felt that familiar prickle of the hairs on the back of her neck as an outrageous and exciting idea gathered shape. Elwood House already had the kudos that came with the name. It would need a lot of investment, but what if she could build up the wine list into one of the finest in London? The best of the old wines and the best of the new.
Perhaps Rick Burgess did have something to offer her after all?
‘I am interested to hear your opinion about the wine,’ Rick said as he raised his glass towards her. Those grey eyes seemed to almost twinkle as he turned his charm offensive to maximum power. ‘I would be a happy man if I can persuade Saskia Elwood to serve my wines to her discriminating and expert guests here in Elwood House. So, tell me. Do I leave here a happy man? Or not?’
THREE
Must-Do list
Thank the wine merchant for any free wine they bring. Kate and Amber will be very grateful for the bottles. No promises to buy any, of course.
Canapés. People in the wine trade can eat! Use the sales team as guinea pigs for a couple of new savouries which might work for the Christmas parties. Let them come up with the wine to match—could be interesting.
Do not let this new wine merchant leave without a few of the lovely brochures that Sam worked on. Who knows? Word of mouth recommendation is always the best. They might have some flash customers in need of a private meeting venue.
By the time the Burgess Wine sales meeting finally closed, the grey September morning had tur
ned into a bright sunny day. In the light breeze it was still warm enough for the conservatory doors to stay open, and Saskia looked out towards the sales team, who she had invited to finish their coffee on the patio.
The golden coloured flagstones had absorbed the sun and warmed the terrace, creating a welcoming enclosed private garden. Brightly painted Mediterranean-style flowerpots created a soft barrier between the hard stone floor and the exuberant English flower borders and old stone wall covered with fragrant climbing roses and honeysuckle.
This was exactly how she had imagined it would look that cold January when her Aunt Margot had died suddenly, just when she seemed to be recovering from the strokes which had made her life so difficult. Little wonder that these experts in the wine trade were in no hurry to dash out into the rush-hour traffic and fight their way home in this busy part of London.
Saskia glanced quickly over her shoulder towards the table where Rick Burgess and his personal assistant Angie were huddled around a laptop computer.
The strength in Rick’s shoulders and back contrasted so fiercely with his long slender fingers. His neck was a twisted rope of sinew as though he was barely holding in a volcano of suppressed energy and power.
This was the man who had effortlessly lifted a planter that morning as though it was weightless.
She had felt such an idiot when Angie had arrived and her knight in denim and a leather jacket had turned out to be the client that she had been waiting for.
It had so totally floored her that she had felt off balance for most of the morning. Not that she would ever let him know that, of course.
The company directors she met did not usually turn up to meetings wearing clothes more suited to a motorcycle rally. In fact she wouldn’t be surprised in the least if there was some huge, hulking two-wheeled machine parked around the corner at that minute, waiting for him to leap on and roar away.
Combine that with tousled dark curly hair and designer stubble.
Blame It on the Champagne Page 3
