Tangled Vines

by Janet Dailey

  Katherine gave him a half-startled look, then her expression smoothed, leaving only a glint of bitterness in her eyes. “My mother was such a woman,” she said briskly. “After my father’s death, she went from man to man. Long ago I lost count of how many stepfathers I had and how many lovers she took. Men like your cousin prey on such women. They are chameleons, changing color to be what the woman dreams. Ultimately, the delusion on both sides becomes the only thing that is real.”

  Never in his life, not even when he was a boy, had there ever been a whisper of talk in the valley that Katherine had been seen in public in the company of another man after the death of her husband. On the contrary, the locals had marveled over the fact she hadn’t.

  Yet, for a brief moment there, Sam had almost been convinced that she had been secretly involved with some man, one who had used her and left her with the bitterness of regret. Obviously he’d been wrong. Her knowledge of men like Clay could just as easily come from her mother, as she’d said. Still, he had never looked at her as a woman before. She had always been Katherine, too strong and self-sufficient to ever need anyone. But had she wanted someone?

  He almost asked, then caught himself. What the hell did he care? Suddenly impatient, whether with himself or Katherine he didn’t know, Sam swung a glance over the crowded room, that restless, edgy feeling returning with a rush.

  “I’m going out for some air before they resume the auction,” he told Katherine and headed for the nearest exit. Someone laughed, a soft, musical sound, but Sam didn’t bother to identify the source of it.

  “Mr. Rutledge,” Natalie greeted Clay in the softest of voices.

  He nodded to her, not smiling, but letting his gaze travel warmly over her face. Her glance fell beneath it, then came back to him, a soft glow radiating from the depths of her eyes.

  Clay waited until his father had engaged the baron in conversation before saying to her, “This morning, after I left you, I thought I had only imagined how beautiful you are. I didn’t.”

  She smiled suddenly, brilliantly, then cast a quick glance at her husband, but he was too engrossed in his discussion to notice. Deliberately, it seemed to Clay, she let her smile blossom into soft laughter and placed a hand on the baron’s arm.

  “Emile, you should know this handsome gentleman has paid me the most extravagant compliment,” she declared and flashed Clay a flirtatious look.

  Clay wasn’t fooled. He heard the silent cry within her words that pleaded for her husband to look at her. But when Emile glanced at her in his faintly surprised, courteous manner, he didn’t see what she so desperately wanted him to see – that she was a beautiful woman who would soon sour for lack of being wanted.

  Instead Emile patted her hand, as one would a child’s, and gave her an absent smile. “Naturellement.”

  There was not a flicker of jealousy or concern in his expression. The fool took her completely for granted. Clay gave Natalie credit for covering her hurt well. No doubt she’d had considerable experience at being ignored. Which was so much the better for him.

  “May I bring you a drink?” Clay offered. “A glass of champagne, perhaps?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Natalie watched Clay as he made his way to the bar.

  In the last two days, she had overheard comments made by other women about Clay Rutledge, comments that suggested he was something of a philanderer who had caused his wife no small amount of grief. Perhaps it was true; she didn’t know. Even if it was, she found it difficult to feel sorry for his wife. At moments like this, she thought she would prefer a husband who possessed an excess of passion over one who was scarcely aware of her much of the time.

  In truth, she envied Clay’s wife. More damning than that, she wasn’t shocked by the discovery.

  Still, she turned back to her husband and tried to give her attention to his conversation with Clay’s father.

  “. . . a remarkable woman,” Emile concluded.

  “Katherine is a very remarkable woman,” Gil Rutledge asserted, then lifted his shoulders. “But what will Rutledge Estate be when she leaves this life? A shadow of its former self, I’m afraid.”

  Emile frowned. “But her grandson-“

  “Sam?” An eyebrow lifted sharply, amusement in the look. “Sam is a good man. But this is a highly competitive business. You have to be more than good to succeed in it-“ He paused, and shrugged again. “But I’m sure you have considered that.”

  “But of course.” Yet Emile’s troubled look led Natalie to suspect that perhaps he hadn’t considered whatever it was Gil Rutledge had meant by his remark.

  There was a pounding of the gavel, signaling the auction was about to resume. People were filtering back to their seats as Clay returned with her glass of champagne. She thanked him and let Emile guide her back to their chairs.

  With the chair previously occupied by Sam vacant beside her, Katherine sat alone. A quiet settled over the ballroom as the next wine lot was presented. She listened idly while the imperial-size bottle from a rare vintage of a famed first-growth chateau in Bordeaux was praised in familiar wine language, called “intensely flavored and chewy, with a wonderful interplay of currant, oak, and berry flavors, and anise, bay leaf, and cedar notes sneaking in on the long, complex finish; intense and concentrated but gentle, with tannins smoothing to a velvety texture.”

  All were words and phrases she had often used in the past herself. It was the language of the business after all, although personally Katherine tended to think of wine in human terms, aware of the many parallels that could be drawn between wine and people.

  Just as brothers and sisters born to the same parents can differ in physical appearance, personality, and ability, so it was with vintages of wine. Each year, wine was made from grapes picked from the same vines as the previous year, yet each possessed differing characteristics and qualities. One might be handsome and charming, rich in color and clarity, possessing a heady bouquet, yet taste false in the mouth.

  Even as she thought that, Katherine found herself looking at the burnished gold head of her grandson Clay, seated only a few rows away. Gil was beside him, his head slightly turned to murmur some comment. Seeing him, she remembered the hostility, the animosity that had been in his eyes when he had congratulated her earlier – rather like a wine that showed a promise of greatness in the barrel only to turn hard and bitter with age.

  Silently Katherine gazed at him and felt a mother’s ache for a child who had grown to hate her. How had it happened? Where had she gone wrong with him? Had it begun that long-ago night? No, she didn’t accept that. Granted there were times in his youth when he had looked at her with eyes that said, I know what you did, but there were more times, many more times, when those bright, intelligent eyes of her youngest son had danced with laughter and mischief.

  Perhaps the seed of his hatred had been planted that night, but nothing can grow unless it is fed and watered. What had provided the nourishment for it? What had turned him against her? Had it begun with Jonathon? With the bitter rivalry that had developed between Gil and his older brother?

  As boys they had done their share of fighting and bickering, but no more than usual. Without question there had been occasions when Gil resented that Jonathon was allowed to do certain things because he was older. Naturally the two vied for her attention; that was to be expected in any family. If she spent more time with Jonathon than Gil, it was only because Jonathon took such a genuine interest in the vineyards and winery that demanded so much of her time. And in those days, Gil had found it boring. It wasn’t until Gil came home after the war...

  Yes, Katherine thought, it wasn’t until after the war that the real trouble started for all of them, but especially for Gil and Jonathon. During those years he was away, it had been just herself and Jonathon. Suddenly Gil was back, fresh from two years in France, where he had tasted the great Bordeaux and visited many famed wineries, Chateau Noir
among them. He had come home full of enthusiasm and ideas for the family business.

  Looking back, Katherine saw how difficult it must have been for Jonathon to suddenly have his younger brother thrusting himself onto the scene. But it had been equally difficult for Gil, at times feeling like an outsider. No doubt it was what had made Gil so sensitive anytime she rejected one of his ideas.

  Her sons had always been completely opposite in personality and temperament. Jonathon was quiet, something of a loner, while Gil was outgoing and gregarious; Jonathon was slow to anger and Gil was hot-tempered; Jonathon was conservative in his thinking, the type to examine things carefully before taking a step, and Gil wanted everything now.

  Katherine had hoped that ultimately they would complement each other – one holding the other back and one pulling the other up, achieving a balance. Instead they had clashed.

  True, that first year, even the first two, they had tried to work together. But it hadn’t been long before business disagreements began to escalate into personal quarrels.

  Both had been young, in their twenties. She had thought they would grow out of it and took steps to give them separate but equal responsibilities, placing Jonathon in charge of the vineyards and winery, and Gil in charge of sales and marketing, which entailed considerable travel.

  But that hadn’t worked either and the arguments continued. Over the years, the issues had been many and varied: Gil felt they should buy new equipment to modernize the winery, streamline production, and cut down on costs; Jonathon reminded him that the winery was his responsibility and there was no reason to buy new equipment when there was nothing wrong with what they had. Jonathon thought Gil was spending too much money on the road, using the entertainment of buyers as an excuse to dine at expensive restaurants; Gil argued that he couldn’t take buyers out to some bistro and expect them to buy quality Rutledge Estate wines from him. Gil wanted to get into the table-wine market by producing a sweet wine under another label, insisting that’s where the money was; Jonathon refused to even consider it, declaring that Rutledge Estate made only quality wines, never vin ordinaire.

  And Katherine always found herself caught in the middle of these arguments. No matter what her reason or whose side she took, the other felt wronged by her. One was always accusing the other of trying to turn her against him. Toward the last, the estate had turned into a battleground, with even the workers taking sides in the undeclared war between Gil and Jonathon.

  Yet Katherine had continued to hope that the two would settle their differences right up to the last, violent argument. She had been in Claude’s small office, talking on the telephone to someone, a salesman or some state official, she no longer remembered. She had left the door to the winery partially ajar, giving her a clear view when Jonathon had stormed into the winery, with Gil close by, continuing an argument that had obviously begun elsewhere....

  “Dammit Jon.” Gil grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to stop. Jon swung around to face him, angry in a deadly quiet way. “Stop being so damned righteous and at least look at this proposal.” Gil slapped at the papers in his hand, his own face red with anger. “Figures don’t lie.”

  “No, but liars figure.”

  “Are you calling me a liar now?” Gil shouted in outrage. “Fine!” He threw the papers in Jon’s face. “You get the numbers and you put them together. The bottom line will still be the same. Buying that old winery down the road and the two hundred acres that go with it is the smartest damned move we could make. Why the hell are you so afraid of growing and expanding?”

  “And why can’t you be satisfied with what you’ve got?” Jonathon hurled back. “Nothing is ever good enough for you, is it? Look at you in your Italian shoes, your silk tie and two-hundred-dollar suits. It’s always more, more, more. More wine, more money, more clothes, more trips.”

  “What the hell is wrong with wanting more?” Gil snapped. “Why don’t you just admit you can’t handle running two wineries?”

  “I could handle it.” Jon bristled, his hands sliding up to his waist in a challenging stance. “But I’ll be damned if I will just to satisfy your greed.”

  “I am sick to death of being told how greedy I am. And I am sick to death of you going to Katherine with your tales about me, trying to undermine me.”

  “Tales? I’m not the one padding my expense account, siphoning off money from the company. That’s you.” Jon jabbed a finger at Gil. “Her precious baby boy.”

  “You bastard,” Gil spat, swinging a fist even as he added, “you’ve accused me of being a thief for the last time!”

  From Claude’s desk, Katherine watched in horror as the blow struck Jon on the chin, catching him flatfooted and sending him staggering backward. He shook his head and raised a hand to his chin, then lunged at Gil with an inarticulate roar.

  She hung up on the caller and hurried out from behind the desk. By the time she reached the door, Jonathon was swinging at Gil with both fists. Jonathon was bigger and heavier, but Gil was quicker. Jonathon swung a right and Gil went under it, hooking a left into Jonathon’s stomach, then driving a right into the same spot. Jonathon grunted and half doubled over. Gil smashed a fist into his mouth, splitting his lip and splattering blood.

  “Stop it. Stop it, both of you!” Katherine pulled at Gil, trying to separate the two, but he continued to pummel Jonathon with his fists.

  Not until two other workers in the winery came running up to grab Gil from behind was the fight stopped. By then, Jonathon was on the floor, dazed and badly shaken, one eye half closed, bleeding profusely from the cut on his lip. Katherine knelt down beside him and tried to stem the flow of blood.

  “Two grown men fighting like a pair of little boys,” she murmured angrily. “I am thoroughly ashamed of both of you.”

  Gil shook off the restraining arms, breathing heavily. “He started it.”

  Katherine threw him an icy look. “We will discuss this later, after we get your brother to the house.”

  “Let them.” Gil gestured at the workers. “I wouldn’t lift a hand to help him if he was dying.” he turned and walked away.

  Katherine knew then the situation couldn’t be allowed to continue. Steps had to be taken. Drastic ones.

  Once she got Jonathon to the house and his injuries tended, Katherine summoned Gil to the library. When he walked in, she looked at the bruised swelling along his jaw and remembered Jonathon’s battered face.

  “If you have called me here to listen to another of your lectures about working together, give it to your eldest son,” Gil announced, a banked anger in his eyes. “I am tired of being stabbed in the back by him. I may have swung the first punch, but he deserved everything he got.”

  He would have continued, but Katherine held up a hand. “I am not interested in hearing the provocation, and there will be no lectures.” On the desk before her were the papers that Gil had attempted to show to Jonathon, a little dirty and crumpled from being ground into the winery floor during the fight. “After that disgusting brawl between you and your brother, it has become obvious to me that both of you cannot continue to work here.”

  “It’s about time you realized that,” Gil declared. “Give Jonathon one of the vineyards and let him grow his damned grapes. That’s all he cares about anyway. I can run the winery.” He saw the papers on her desk and recognized them. “We can buy the old Schmidt place down the road, the one he refused to even look at, and double our production. In five years, I can make Rutledge Estate a name everyone will know.”

  “I am quite certain you could. You have a remarkable business sense, Gil, and a gift for marketing.” Both Of which had led Katherine to the decision she had reached. “In fact, that is the very reason I believe you will do quite well on your own.”

  “You’re throwing me out?” His outrage was instant.

  “You must admit, Gil, you have never fully shared my vision of Rutledge Estate.
”

  “Don’t you mean yours and Jonathon’s?”

  Katherine ignored his jeer and continued. “Numerous times over the years, you have chafed under the policies I have set for this winery. You have long held your own ideas and beliefs. A small winery of your own will provide you with the opportunity to put them into practice. To help you get started, I will purchase your interest in Rutledge Estate.”

  “To help me get started? What you really mean is you’re buying me off. Throwing money at me to assuage your conscience before you boot me out the door!”

  “I am attempting to be fair.”

  “Fair? Is that what you call it?” he challenged angrily. “It’s always been Jonathon with you. You never could stand having me around.”

  “That is not true.”

  “Do you honestly expect me to believe you when I know how you lie? Your whole life is one big lie. And I know it. You can’t stand that, can you? You can’t stand that I know what really happened that night.”

  “That has nothing to do with this.”

  “Doesn’t it? You have never wanted me around because I’m a constant reminder of what you did – what you concealed. Do you think I don’t know that, that I haven’t always known it?”

  “You are wrong.”

  But Katherine had never been able to convince him of that. Not then and not later. When he had walked out of the library that day, he had left hating her. Once she had believed that as his winery grew and became successful, he might finally recognize that leaving Rutledge Estate had been best for everyone. But that hadn’t happened, and she no longer believed it would.

  Sam pushed through the revolving doors and stepped out into the hot night air. He paused and looked up at the buildings that blocked out most of the sky. There was no glitter of stars high above, and the steamy air smelled of exhaust and yesterday’s garbage.