They had been introduced earlier and, recalling the Garibaldi wines that were served in her family’s home on special occasions, Claudine had asked, “Are you connected with the Garibaldi family of Tuscan wine fame?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Tony had said with a smile as he poured each of them another glass of beer from the seemingly bottomless pitcher.
Throughout the course of the evening, Tony had slowly unfolded the story of his life. She remembered telling him she was confused as to why someone with such a heritage in the wine business had joined an intensive political economics program.
His brow furrowed. “Believe me when I say that my family and I have personally seen the dark side of fascism for a very long time. At first, we didn’t pay too much attention to Mussolini. We regarded him as a foul-mouthed, bombastic political aspirant. We were so preoccupied with resolving an epidemic of phylloxera in our vineyards that we didn’t have time for much else.
“Once we became aware that certain Italian industrialists used their influence with Mussolini’s government for their own self-interests, we began to take notice. It wasn’t long before stories began to filter out of Rome describing the government’s nationalization of companies whose owners failed to align themselves with the government. Even industries that had nothing to do with national defense, like the wine industry, were being targeted.”
“Your family was threatened?”
“In 1932, everyone in Italy was living under constant threat. As the oldest son, I was already set to study enology and viticulture at the University of California at Davis. But by the time I completed school, things had gotten so bad that my family asked me to stay in the United States and help them prepare for the possible transfer of our wine operations to the Napa Valley.”
“But still… what made you join Dr. Tom’s program? I mean, why would you want to divert so much time and energy away from your primary mission?”
“It’s just as we have been talking about. My family was a responsible maker of fine wines, an employer of hundreds of people, and an influential force in our community. Unfortunately, we didn’t spend the effort to remain well informed or to initiate action when there was still time. We have learned the hard way that it’s not enough to concentrate on producing great wines. It’s important also to pay attention to what’s going on around you. We don’t want to make the same mistake twice. That’s why this program is so important to me.”
For Claudine, that conversation marked the start of what was to become a strong personal relationship. It wasn’t long before Tony invited her to accompany him on his weekend trips into the Napa Valley. She could still remember carrying the heavy surveyors’ instruments up and down the hillsides. The weather was hot, the distances were long, and the footing was unsteady. It wasn’t exactly romantic, but it reminded her of her summers in Switzerland, when her family would go on long hikes.
Together, she and Tony had mapped the elevations, taken soil samples, and set up small weather stations to record wind currents, rainfall, and air temperatures. Everything had been faithfully recorded in one of Tony’s coded books.
One day in particular she would never forget. Tony was trying to determine the presence of underground water on a parcel of land he thought to be particularly well suited for growing cabernet sauvignon grapes.
“Come on, let’s get serious. You think that little piece of wood is going to help you find water?” she had asked him.
She remembered sitting on a rock under a tree, watching Tony hold the Y-shaped willow wand by its two forks, extending the main stem out in front of him as he walked over the areas where he believed underground water might exist. If she hadn’t seen the wand actually dip—indicating the probable presence of underground water—she wouldn’t have believed it. Still not convinced, she recalled asking, “Tony, can I hold one side of that wand?” Putting one arm around his waist, she made sure that she had a strong enough grip on one of the forks to prevent him from manipulating it with his other hand. They had moved only a few yards before she could feel the pull on the fork as it dipped toward the ground. “Well, I’ll be damned, it really does work!” Two weeks later, with the help of a local water-drilling company, they found water under four of the five locations they had established with the witching wand.
The nights were her favorite part of the day. After a long day’s work, they would search for a small restaurant known for its local wines and good Italian cooking. She would watch as Tony first consulted with the waiter in an effort to learn which wines best reflected the unique growing conditions of that particular region. He would then engage the waiter in a long and sometimes active debate over which food selection would best amplify the qualities of the particular wine he had ordered.
The waiters had learned to recommend wines that would best complement the food, just the opposite of what Tony asked them. In dim candlelight Claudine and Tony would sample the local wines, test a different wine with each course of the dinner, talk about their day, and faithfully complete making their notes in the little notebooks.
They would always wait until after dinner to look for a place to spend the night. Claudine recalled how Tony would drive around until he would hear her say the magic words, “Now there is a place where a girl could relax and enjoy herself.”
She could still feel his warm, strong arms wrapped around her, his special smell, but most of all his gentleness. It was as if he knew that there was a sensitive little girl trapped in a young woman’s body that needed to be recognized and understood. That was the girl to whom he made love.
______
By 1937, the economic backlash of Prohibition, continuing Depression problems, and the absence of a market for anything other than brandy were creating financial difficulties for many of California’s oldest and proudest wine-making families. California banks that had faithfully supported the businesses up till then could no longer extend credit. Reluctantly, the banks began to force customers to begin the liquidation of their property or face foreclosure. Repossessed properties were resold to anyone with a minimum down payment and a history of vineyard and winery operations. Tony had both.
Tony’s time had come. He was one of a very small group of able and willing buyers. The deposits from Italy were growing. The banks liked him. He was a high-energy, well-educated, experienced vintner who was supported by his family’s capital. Braced with the information carefully recorded in his books, he knew which parcels best fit his program. Unsure of how long this opportunity to acquire prime lands at such low prices would last, he moved quickly. It wasn’t long before analyzing each new opportunity, communicating with his family, and using their capital to acquire only the highest potential lands had become a full-time job.
His fellow graduate students had watched Tony’s academic work suffer. Knowing that someday he would regret not completing his doctoral studies, they had felt they had no choice but to help carry him. They had divided the workload by five instead of six.
Claudine now realized that the demands of the extra work had prevented her from seeing the changes that had begun to occur in their relationship. Trips with Tony to Napa had become less frequent. When they had gotten together, Tony had always seemed preoccupied with his business. He had no longer had the time or interest to think about Claudine or her feelings.
She had never been sure if he had noticed when she began to withdraw. After they had completed their doctoral work and the demands of study were behind them, she had hoped that Tony might realize what was happening and come to his senses. To make certain that she hadn’t misread the situation, she made arrangements to stay with Cecelia in her San Francisco apartment. He never called or visited.
Claudine frowned as she thought of the pain he had caused her. I really loved that man. If he had asked me to remain in California, marry him, and share in his life, I probably would have said yes.
Maybe it’s time that I take a fresh look at my life. My victories seem so hollow. It was never my intent t
o forge an independent career, I always thought of myself as someone’s partner.
She forced herself to change the direction of her thoughts, and began imagining the feeling of Jacques’ lips pressed against hers, the way her body had responded, with no conscious decision on her part. She shook her head. Come on, girl, Monsieur Jacques Roth has broken way too many hearts. You’d best keep your mind on your business.
Chapter 10
AN ABDUCTION
Sighing in frustration, Cecelia stood in the hallway outside her apartment, rifling through the contents of her handbag. The “business” dinner with her government contacts had been grueling, and all she wanted to do now was to get inside her apartment, kick off her shoes, and relax. How can I not even be organized enough to keep track of my keys?
Whenever she had to help with the network or set up a transaction from Hong Kong, she’d be met at the bank by some “friends” who escorted her to Johnny Kan’s restaurant in San Francisco’s Chinatown. She often thought bitterly that the restaurant was becoming her second office.
Johnny Kan’s was well suited for their meetings. The stairs leading to the second-floor private dining rooms were just inside the entrance, directly opposite the maître d’ station. Anyone following Cecelia or any of the others could be readily noticed.
There was a panel near the rear of the private dining room that separated it from a staircase leading to the back alley. People who wanted to arrive and leave without being observed could use the rear entrance.
At tonight’s meeting, shortly after their dinner had been served, Ted Lee, the San Francisco manager of the Bank of Hong Kong, had quietly entered from behind the panel. Nodding to Cecelia’s companions, he’d chosen an open seat next to her. After waiting for the waiter to finish organizing his place setting, Lee had reached into the inside pocket of his linen suit, extracted a plain white envelope, and handed her the two sheets of paper that were inside. Excusing herself, Cecelia had gone to the restroom, where she could study and commit to memory the content of the pages before tearing the papers up and flushing them down the toilet. One sheet had contained a list of coded names and the other a column of figures.
What a glamorous life, she’d thought, studying her face in the lavatory mirror. Working all day at the bank, spying at night for the government, and carrying on a coast-to-coast relationship with Mike. What else could a girl want?
Still, Cecelia thought, she was getting her wish, as she had expressed it to her father: she was pursuing her own destiny, mostly on her own terms. She couldn’t deny how different her life was from that of the traditional Chinese woman forced to remain in Hong Kong. When the U.S. government had first approached her to help, she’d known it was only a question of time before the Japanese would invade China, Hong Kong, the Philippines, Malaysia, and Indonesia. It would take years for the American public to recognize the true imperial motives of Japan and vote for the larger military budgets required to take action.
Cecelia had apparently attracted the attention of a group within the U.S. government that knew something had to be done. Political and business leaders, teachers, and professional people in and around China, people whose participation would be of critical importance in postwar reconstruction, had to be smuggled out of harm’s way. Their wealth had to be secured also, and it was a wonderful feeling for Cecelia to know that she—a single Chinese girl—could make such a difference in so many lives.
But these days, Cecelia was feeling she had done more than her share, and the need for her services was declining. Her old desire to retire from the government work was constantly on her mind. She wanted what she had always wanted—freedom to make her own choices. And one of those choices involved spending a lot more time with Mike Stone.
“Finally!” Cecelia said, wrestling her keys from the depths of her purse. She opened the front door, placed her purse and keys on the hall table, and walked into the living room.
After slipping off her shoes, she sat down on the sofa and flexed her tired feet, then stretched like a cat. Maybe a glass of wine would help me relax. Anyway, it couldn’t hurt.
Sighing, she got up from the couch and moved to the antique bar, where she poured herself a glass of port. As she turned to set the glass down on her lacquered coffee table, she stopped.
The table legs are a few inches off the indentations in the carpet.
Cecelia cocked her head to one side, slid the table back into its regular place, and walked over to the window nearby. It didn’t make sense; there was never anyone else in her apartment. Despite the fact that she checked that the window was locked, she felt the beginnings of fear growing inside, and immediately chided herself for it. It was probably just the super who came in to fix something. Cecelia refused to be one of those women scared of living alone—not after she had worked so hard to get here.
She returned to the couch, leaned back into the sofa cushions, took a long sip of wine, and stretched her feet out on the coffee table. But instead of relaxing, she noticed a small snag in one of her stockings.
After taking another sip of wine, she set the glass down, got up, and walked into the bathroom.
She reached beneath her skirt and unsnapped her garters, letting the nylons fall around her ankles before reaching down and carefully removing them.
Since she didn’t have to share bathroom space with anyone, Cecelia had gotten into the habit of hand-washing her nylons in the bathroom sink and hanging them to dry on the rod of the shower curtain. She turned on the water and studied her reflection in the mirror above the sink as she waited for the water to warm. Suddenly she had the feeling that someone was watching her.
This is crazy. I’m imagining things. I just need to calm down. She forced herself to take deep breaths. She would fling the shower curtain open to reveal nothing more threatening than the cream-colored tile of the shower. She started to reach for the shower curtain, then hesitated. Just do it, Cecelia. You know there’s nothing there except your imagination.
She could hear the blood pounding in her ears and… breathing. She could swear she heard someone breathing.
Her fingers lightly touched the curtain. Then, she gave it a sudden tug. A man with a pockmarked face sprang forward and clamped his hand over her mouth before she could scream. From somewhere else, another man grabbed both of her hands and twisted them behind her.
“Look, lady, we have instructions not to hurt you—unless you give us trouble,” the pockmarked one said in a low voice. Cecelia felt the other man’s huge hand pressing between her shoulder blades as he pushed her against the bathroom sink.
“Are you going to be a good girl?” continued the man in a menacing tone.
Cecelia quickly nodded her head. As soon as he took his hand away from her mouth, she spoke as calmly as she could. “Take anything you want. I won’t tell a soul.”
“What we want is you,” he said.
They’re going to rape me.
Cecelia took a breath to scream, but the man clamped his hand back over her mouth.
“Shhh! If you behave yourself, we won’t hurt you,” the man said, his face close enough to read the terror in her eyes. “Not that I wouldn’t like a piece of you, darlin’, but we have instructions to deliver you to the boss man unhurt. I’m going to take my hand away from that pretty little mouth of yours, and you’re going to keep your head about you, okay?”
Cecelia nodded her agreement again and tried to show a look of resignation in her eyes. The man in back released her hands but twisted one of her arms way up behind her. She winced in pain but said nothing.
“Good,” the pockmarked man said, showing her his gun. “Now, we’re all going to walk out of your apartment like a happy little threesome, and nobody will be the wiser.”
The two men flanked her on both sides and walked her into the living room. She looked over at the mantle, at a picture of Mike, and wondered how long it would take him to realize she was missing.
Chapter 11
IAN THE MAGNIFICE
NT
Following an easy, uneventful flight, the Demaureux Bank DC3 landed at London’s Hanworth Park airfield. After clearing customs, Jacques phoned Ian while Mike retrieved their luggage.
“Jacques, you can’t be serious!” Ian’s voice crackled over the line. “What do you mean you want to meet me alone? Since you left four days ago, Natalie has done nothing but ask Emily when you would return.”
“Ian, it’s just that there’s a certain… business proposition I’d like to—”
“What kind of proposition could take precedence over the most beautiful woman in all of London? My good man, I don’t know what’s come over you. What am I going to say when she learns that you were here and didn’t see her?”
“Fine,” Jacques said. “Let’s have our meeting first, sort things out, and if there’s time, Emily and Natalie can join us later.”
______
Ian arrived at the French Club within minutes of Jacques and Mike. It was packed, as usual. Maggie greeted them at the door, but she could tell from the looks on their faces that their visit was business. No whoops, no hugs, no big wet kisses; these would have to wait until next time. Without another word, she escorted them upstairs to a small, private room, set tankards of beer on the table, and respectfully retreated, leaving them alone.
“So tell me, how is our sweet Claudine?” asked Ian.
“She’s even more beautiful than ever,” Mike said. “And she enjoys the admiration and respect of the entire European banking community. Her work developing the gold bearer bond has been well received as a landmark piece of work.”
“That all sounds quite lovely,” Ian said. “But how is she? The woman—our friend? What’s going on in her life?”
Mike shrugged. “I… I don’t know. I guess it never really came up.” He looked at Jacques.
Thinking about the kiss, Jacques decided to keep his own counsel. He gave Ian a shrug. “Nothing doing on the romantic front, as far as I could tell.”
The Sentinels: Fortunes of War Page 7
