by Janet Dailey
Sally O’Malley, one of the production assistants who regularly accompanied show guests into the studio, met her at the edge of the anchor set and passed two sheets of yellow paper to her.
“The intro and questions,” she said in a very hushed whisper, then motioned. “This way.”
Guessing that Sally was taking her to meet the guest, Kelly followed, picking her way carefully over the cables strewn across the floor. She spotted Hugh Townsend standing near the back of the studio with two other people. Her glance fell on the slim, straight woman on Hugh’s right. Her summer suit in a soft pink pastel had all the marks of a Chanel, and the stylish cut of her white hair.
My God, it was Katherine Rutledge. Kelly froze, a sense of panic surfacing with a rush. She couldn’t face her. She couldn’t risk being recognized. She couldn’t.
But how could Katherine Rutledge possibly recognize her? She wasn’t the tall, overweight girl with glasses and stringy hair that Katherine would remember. She had changed. Changed her name, her appearance, her life – everything.
Yet that failed to lessen the high tension that gripped her as Kelly approached the trio. She was too experienced too well schooled, to let any of it show in her expression.
Hugh smiled a silent greeting at her, a faint gleam of triumph in his hazel eyes. Then, with impeccable manners, he turned to Katherine Rutledge. “Katherine, may I present Kelly Douglas. She will be doing your interview.” Then he reversed it. “Kelly, this is Katherine Rutledge.”
“It’s an honor to have you as a guest, Mrs. Rutledge.” Up close, Kelly could see she had aged little in twelve years. The eyes were still as sharp and bright as ever, and the heavy stage makeup gave a smooth look to her face, concealing any new lines time might have added.
“Miss Douglas.” Katherine offered her a white-gloved hand, a regal quality to the gesture that Kelly remembered well. It was as unforgettable as her voice – like cut glass. When Kelly released her hand, Katherine used it to gracefully direct her attention to the third member of the group. “This is my grandson Sam Rutledge.”
Kelly turned and looked up to a face that was strong and lean, all lines and shadows, hollows and angles. The soft, boyish look that she remembered was gone, even though she had seen him only a few times. Not surprising considering they had hardly traveled in the same circles. Sam Rutledge had belonged to the vintner set with their sleek sports cars, festive lawn parties, and the latest fashions, while she had belonged to -no, she wasn’t going to remember. She refused to remember. She had left that life far behind her.
“Welcome to New York, Mr. Rutledge,” she said, conscious of his eyes studying her with a detached interest. There was no recognition in his look, yet her tension went up a notch, along with her pulse rate. A reaction Kelly dismissed as purely nerves and nothing more, although it didn’t explain her heightened awareness of him.
“Miss Douglas.” He didn’t offer to shake hands, but simply smiled. The movement of his mouth caused the hollows to deepen and the shadows to shift, with attractive results.
“Will you be joining us for the interview, Mr. Rutledge?” she asked while silently wondering how she was going to get through it.
“No.” There was a small shake of his head, and another faint movement of his mouth. “I merely accompanied Katherine to the studio.”
Kelly thought it odd that he referred to his grandmother by her given name, but she was too preoccupied to give it more than passing notice.
Behind her, voices rose, signaling the beginning of a commercial break. Welcoming the distraction, Kelly looked back. Two cameras pulled away from the anchor desk, the operators kicking the attached cables out of the way as they maneuvered the cameras into position before the set to the right of the anchor desk. The overhead bank of lights came on, throwing their bright glare on the two chairs angled toward each other and separated by a solid round table. A stagehand hurried onto the set and added a wine bottle and stemmed glass next to the vase, filled with an arrangement of lilies and roses.
The young production assistant nudged Kelly. “Why don’t you take Mrs. Rutledge to the set and get her settled before the interview?”
“Yes.” She hesitated a split second, fighting to control the nervous churning of her stomach and taking a silent vow to make this the best interview she had ever done. It was the focus she needed. “If you will follow me, Mrs. Rutledge.”
At the woman’s nod, Kelly took the lead, avoiding the tangle of cables as best she could.
Hugh watched them make their way to the set he called the conversation pit. A shifting movement drew his glance to Sam Rutledge.
“Your grandmother is in good hands,” Hugh assured him. “Kelly is an incredible talent – with an incredible voice.”
“Yes.” But it wasn’t her on-air voice he was thinking about, with its quietly firm tone, smooth around the edges, not crisp or officious. His mind kept turning back to the warm and friendly sound of her voice when she’d been joking with the crew during a break.
When the pair reached the set, the bulky studio cameras blocked them from view. “Let’s move over there.” Hugh motioned to some unidentified spot. “We’ll be able to hear better and still see the monitor.”
“Whatever you say.” Sam followed when Hugh Townsend walked to an area to the right of the cameras but still behind them.
The angle gave Sam an unobstructed view of the set and its occupants. Katherine was already seated in the far chair, her very posture giving it the look of a throne. Kelly Douglas was still standing, tapping a finger to her headset and shaking her head that she couldn’t hear. In the shadowy corner of the studio, her auburn hair had looked almost black. Under the lights, Sam noted, it caught fire.
An audio technician rushed onto the set. Kelly presented her back to him – and to Sam. He raised her jacket up to check the battery pack attached to the waistband of her skirt, giving – Sam a glimpse of the ice blue silk and lace of the camisole she wore under it. He found it an interesting contrast to the tailored lines of her jacket.
Whatever adjustment the technician made, it worked. Almost immediately, she flashed him a smile. “It’s loud and clear now. Thanks, Carl.”
The man responded with a one-fingered salute and retreated from the set as the stage manager called out, “All right, quiet. We’ll be coming out of the break in twenty seconds.”
Kelly sat down and murmured something to Katherine that Sam couldn’t catch. Then she was bent over the papers on her lap, her pen busy slashing and scribbling across them.
“Fifteen seconds” came the warning, followed quickly by the countdown.
Sam glanced at the monitor and idly watched faces give way to weather graphics. But his mind wandered, as always his thoughts drifting to the winery and vineyards, and the work to be done. He had postponed the thinning of Sol’s Vineyard until he got back to supervise the work. The bottling of the two-year-old cabernet sauvignon was continuing, under Claude’s watchful eye. The Merlot was scheduled for bottling as well.
Len Dougherty wasn’t a concern, at least for the time being. Before they’d left for New York, the sheriff had called to tell them he had been arrested by the St. Helena police. He had pleaded guilty to a drunk-and-disorderly charge. Currently Dougherty was in the city jail, serving a four-day sentence.
Belatedly, Sam noticed a shot of Kelly Douglas on the monitor. A set of graphics flashed on the screen, promoting the gala wine auction, listing the time, the location, the ticket prices, and the charity that would receive the proceeds.
Privately he wished they could have their meeting with Baron Fougere, skip the auction, and fly home. But he also recognized this might be the last major function Katherine attended. God knows she had devoted her entire life, every bit of her energy, to Rutledge Estate, its vineyards and its wines, to the exclusion of nearly everything else. She deserved to bask in the glory her wines had achieved.
And Sam had no doubt the auction would prove to be a triumph for Rutledge Estate wines. Katherine had donated a case of the ‘73 cabernet sauvignon Rutledge Estate Reserve, a vintage that every wine expert had rated as a classic wine, the highest accolade a wine could receive. And it was a vintage that now could be found only in the cellars of private collectors. The last time a single bottle of the ‘73 vintage had been offered at auction, seven years ago, it had sold for five hundred dollars, a phenomenal sum for a California wine. The price for an entire case could end up being in the tens of thousands.
To call that a triumph might be an understatement, Sam conceded.
Beside him, Hugh Townsend murmured, “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”
Sam turned, glancing at him, a slight frown creasing his forehead. Townsend stood, one arm folded in front of him, propping an elbow while he rubbed fingers across his mouth in a thoughtful pose.
Catching Sam’s questioning look, he flicked a finger toward the set. “She threw out most of the introduction and wrote her own. It’s superb,” he murmured from behind his hand.
Only then did Sam give his attention to the words Kelly Douglas was saying.
“.... truly can be considered a legend. During Prohibition, while others were replacing their vineyards with orchards, she kept her winery going by making sacramental wines. At the same time, she replanted her vineyards with the finest viniferous cuttings, personally selected and imported from France, always firm in the belief that the great experiment of Prohibition would one day end. A belief that history has proved correct. Ask any connoisseur of California wines about Rutledge Estate, and they will speak, with a trace of awe, about ‘Madam’s’ wine.” Kelly paused and smiled at Katherine. “I said it to you earlier, but I must repeat myself, because it is truly an honor to have you with us, Madam Rutledge.”
“Thank you, but the pleasure is mine.” Katherine inclined her head briefly, charm radiating from her expression to become part of her inherent dignity.
“Curiosity. The term ‘Madam’ – how did that come about?”
“It began years ago.” She dismissed the exact number with a lift of her hand. “When I first came to Rutledge Estate as a bride, the servants referred to me as ‘the young madam,’ to differentiate, I’m sure, from my husband’s mother, who was still living at the time. Then later, when I returned from France after my husband had died, I was accompanied by Girard Broussard and his young grandson, Claude. Despite the existence of Prohibition in America at the time, Girard had agreed to become the wine master at Rutledge Estate. A post his grandson, Claude, now occupies. Being French, both Girard and Claude addressed me as Madam. It grew from that.”
Kelly was aware that Katherine had been accompanied by her two young sons, Jonathon and Gilbert, the cuttings for the vineyard, and the coffin with her husband’s remains inside on her return from France, but she chose not to mention it.
Instead she observed, “I know it’s rare for you to leave Napa Valley these days. Is it merely coincidence that both you and Baran Fougere are attending this year’s gala auction in New York, or is there truth to the rumors that you are vying with your son Gilbert’s winery, The Cloisters, to form a joint venture with the baron’s Chateau Noir firm in Napa Valley?”
Katherine smiled pleasantly. “With the presence of so many great chateaux, such as Petrus, Lafite-Rothschild, Moot and Chandon, already in the valley, there are always rumors. However, if you are asking me whether I shall be seeing the baron while I’m in New York, then the answer is yes. Our families have been friends for many years.”
Kelly gave her full marks for so deftly evading the question. Age had not lessened either the sharpness or the quickness of her mind. With less than a minute left, there wasn’t time to pursue it.
“It can’t be easy for any mother to compete with her son in the same business, whether it’s the making of fine wines or anything else. I’m sure the rivalry between you and your son Gilbert is no different.”
Katherine tilted her head to one side and smiled at Kelly with a wide-eyed look. “But the wines of Rutledge Estate have no rivals, Kelly.”
Instinctively Kelly knew that was the perfect note to end the interview on. She turned to the camera. “As I’m sure those who attend tomorrow evening’s gala auction will attest. Katherine Rutledge of California’s renowned Rutledge Estate, thank you for being with us. It has been a rare treat for everyone.”
The interview had been flawless, and Kelly knew it. That certainty offered some consolation to nerves that were raw from the strain of it.
As soon as they cut to a commercial break, Kelly excused herself and went back to her chair at the anchor desk, leaving Katherine in the capable hands of the hovering Sally O’Malley.
The last remaining minutes of the broadcast were a blur. Kelly didn’t remember any of it. She knew she made some appropriate remark when her co-anchor announced to the viewers that she was leaving, moving on to bigger and better things, and plugged her new primetime show for the network. But, for the life of her, she couldn’t have repeated it.
While the credits rolled over a shot of the anchor desk, she remained in her chair, smiling and nodding, pretending she was actually listening to the cross-chat of the broadcast team. The instant the lights were killed, Kelly wanted to throw her papers in the air in relief. But she wasn’t capable of such an emotional display in public, especially when she didn’t want anyone to know what an ordeal the interview had been for her.
She ditched the microphone and headset with more haste than usual, angry and scared after her encounter with Katherine Rutledge. Scared-because twice she had caught herself starting to slouch in the chair, as if somehow that would make her appear less tall, and wanting to avoid eye contact, as if people wouldn’t look at her if she didn’t look at them. She hated that. She hated being reminded so forcibly of her past. It had nothing to do with who and what she was now. She’d put the past far, far behind her, and she wanted to keep it there.
Without the hot television lights on, the cool of the air conditioner could be felt. Kelly breathed it in, noticing for the first time that the regular studio lights were on. She took a step away from the anchor desk and stiffened.
Hugh hadn’t left after the interview was over. He was by the door, waiting for her. Katherine Rutledge and her grandson were with him. Kelly wanted to scream at them to leave. Of course, she couldn’t – and didn’t.
Instead, she scraped together the remnants of her composure and rebuilt it, layer upon layer, before she walked over to join them.
“I thought you had left already,” Kelly managed to keep any hint of accusation from her voice.
“Katherine wanted to stay and compliment you on your knowledge of the wine industry – and the history of Rutledge Estate,” Hugh explained, smiling almost smugly. “I confess, I failed to inform her before the interview that you were born in Napa Valley.”
“Really?” Katherine studied her with new interest.
“I’m afraid that implies I was also raised in Napa Valley,” Kelly inserted quickly, “I do admit that I have long been fascinated by my place of birth. As for my knowledge of wine, Hugh has a habit of instructing anyone in his company about the finer points of wine and wine making, whether they want to learn or not.”
“You must be an apt pupil.” The remark came from Sam Rutledge.
She turned slightly toward him. “Thank you.” Despite her inner turmoil, Kelly met his eyes straight on, and felt again the unnerving impact of his presence and the ensuing tug of attraction. If he had been anyone other than Sam Rutledge, she might have explored the latter, tested the strength of it to see if it went beyond the physical. As it was, Kelly had no choice but to try to ignore it.
“Kelly is more than an apt pupil,” Hugh interposed. “She is NBC’s new rising star. In fact, as of this moment, she is officially on the network’s payroll as host of
a prime-time magazine-style show.”
“Congratulations.” Sam held out his hand and waited for her to accept it.
“Thank you.” She let her hand rest in his, but only briefly.
Kelly Douglas was an attractive woman, something he had noticed before, just as he had noticed the lacy feminine garment she wore beneath that tailored jacket. But it was the wariness behind her facade of composure that aroused his curiosity. And his interest.
“We mustn’t keep you, Miss Douglas,” Katherine remarked, to Kelly’s relief. “I merely wanted to compliment you on the interview. We shall look forward to seeing you again sometime in the future.”
“You will,” Hugh said. “Kelly will be at the reception tonight.”
“I may be late, Hugh,” Kelly warned. “The crew has a cake for me, and probably a few other surprises as well.”
“Late or not, I’ll expect you there. Consider it an order from your new boss.”
“Yes.” She smiled stiffly, unable to think of a single way out of it.
“Until tonight, Miss Douglas,” Sam murmured when they took their leave from her.
Chapter Six
The cab swung up to the curb on Fifth Avenue and stopped in front of the entrance to Trump Tower.
Kelly paid the fare, adding a tip, and stepped out into the warm summer night. She paused, her glance lifting to the marble-and-glass showplace that soared sixty-eight stories into the air.
She fought off the last-minute qualms. She had dressed carefully for the party, telling herself it was important that she make the right impression, given her new status as host of a network show, and Hugh’s formidable guest list. That was a lie. The smart, sophisticated clothes gave her confidence. Who could feel vulnerable in a Calvin Klein original?
