The Vineyard (19 page)

H
ER NOTES WERE PERFECTLY CLEAR
. Olivia went through the menu course by course, playing the role of the hostess, asking all of the questions she would want answers to if she were giving the party herself—and Lord knew, she had played
that
game often enough. It was great fun.

She had no sooner hung up the phone when it rang again. This time it was Anne Marie, the receptionist at the office, calling to say that an applicant for the position of maid was on the line and that Natalie had suggested she put the woman through to Olivia.

Olivia had never hired a day cleaner, much less a full-time maid. But some things were obvious enough. Taking the call, she asked about those, made notes for Natalie, and put them in a file marked
MAID
. She was readying to return to the photos of the early Asquonset years when Carl arrived.

“Let's take a walk,” he said. “I'll show you the winery.”

T
HEY DIDN'T ACTUALLY WALK
, but took one of the golf carts used by the staff to shuttle from one part of Asquonset to another. “We cover sixty-five acres in all,” Carl explained in a deep, slow, confident voice as he deftly steered the cart along the gravel road. Olivia could understand how Natalie had found that voice a comfort during her earliest days here. It flowed in a richly masculine way.

“Fifty are planted with grapes,” he said. “A few have corn and potatoes, but the rest are either forested or devoted to buildings.” As he turned off onto a dirt path that wormed through the trees, he shot her an amused glance. “So here we go, riding through the forest, and you're wondering why in the devil we didn't put the buildings closer together.”

Olivia smiled. “That thought did cross my mind. But what do I know about wine making? I'm sure there's a good reason.”

“Good?” He was indulgent as they rounded a turn. “Actually, it's more for looks than anything else. Natalie wanted the Great House to be special. She wanted it to stand alone, up there at the top of the vineyard. She wanted people visiting to have a taste of what it was like when the vineyard was just a vineyard.” He chuckled. “'Course, it hasn't been ‘just a vineyard' for years. But it's only in the last twenty or so that we needed more buildings. When that happened, Natalie took to the idea of having distinct activity centers. She feels that each one can have an importance all its own that would be lost if they were grouped together. So she put the business end in a converted garage by the road and the winery up here by the river.”

“What about the shed?” Olivia asked. It was a three-minute walk from the house. No golf cart was needed at all.

“The shed's something else,” Carl explained, keeping his eyes on the path. “Like the Great House, it was started way back when, then added to and added to. If we'd been starting from scratch, she might've given it more of its own space. But she says she likes seeing it. She says it's such a vital part of the vineyard that it has a right to be closer to the Great House.”

He paused.

Olivia was admiring his profile, thinking how remarkable it was at eighty and what a delight to watch, when he said, “Speaking of the shed, I want to apologize.”

“Apologize?”

“For Simon. He hasn't been particularly welcoming.”

Olivia smiled and shook her head, gesturing that there was no problem at all. “He's worried about the grapes, and here we are with another damp day.” The trees shielded them now, but above the leaves were clouds aplenty. “Besides, he's been fine.”

“He's been barely civil,” Carl remarked, holding the wheel
now with both hands. “He could have joined us for dinner at least once since you've come. He could have been the one to take you through the vineyards. He
should
have done that, since he's in charge there now. I want you to know that it isn't anything about you. It's about him.”

Olivia suspected that, yes, it was about her, too. Simon knew she was there. He looked up at her each morning now. Had she been more professional, more successful, more interesting—he might have sought her out.

Not that
she
was interested. She was definitely
not
interested.

But then there was the other. “He told me about his wife.”

Carl looked at her in surprise. The cart slowed. “When'd he do that?”

“My first morning here. We were both outside. No one else was up.” She hurried on, grateful for the chance to get it out in the open. “He said he was worried that Natalie had brought me here to be with him, and he wanted me to know that wouldn't happen.”

The cart came to a stop. Carl looked appalled. “Did he
really
say that?”

“I told him that I didn't want it either, and I'd like to tell you that, too.” She wanted it on the record, just in case anyone else had weird ideas. “I'm not Simon's type. I'm not what he needs. I'm not looking for a man
at all
. I'm doing just fine on my own. Between Tess and my work, I have plenty to keep me busy.” Mindful that Carl was Simon's father, she added, “This has nothing to do with Simon, you understand, and everything to do with me.”

Carl returned his eyes to the path. He set the cart moving ahead again, but his brows remained knit.

Olivia tried to soothe him. “I'm sure Simon's a wonderful man. He's smart. He works hard. I look out my window every morning at dawn, and there he is with his coffee at the end of the patio. He deserves the best after what he's been through. I can't begin to imagine what it's like losing two people you love like that.”

“Three,” Carl said.

The word hung in the air.

“Three?”

Carl took his eyes from the path only long enough for her to see their sad blue cast. “Simon lost three people he loved in that accident—Laura, Liana, and Ana.”

“Ana.” Olivia repeated the name as Carl had said it—
Uh-na,
with each syllable distinct. It was an incredibly simple, incredibly beautiful sound. “Ana. Who was she?”

“My wife. Simon's mother.”

Olivia pressed a hand to her heart. It had stopped cold for a second, then begun to pound. After a minute, she blew out a breath. “Your
wife
was on the boat, too?”

Carl nodded. The movement was heavy with sorrow, a testament to the fact that Simon wasn't the only one who had suffered a loss—and suddenly a whole other chapter of Asquonset history opened up, one that Olivia hadn't given much thought to before. Her focus had been on Natalie, but Carl had to have had a life all those years as well. And Simon had to have had a mother.

“How
horrible,”
she said softly. “The memories must be just as painful for you as they are for Simon.”

The golf cart continued slowly on. “I'm older. I can be more philosophical than my son. Ana and I had many good years together. She was a kind woman. She was an understanding woman. But she wasn't well. She had been diagnosed with cancer the year before the accident. She was having treatments. They were difficult. The doctors didn't give her much time. But she loved to sail. We all did.” With a gentle smile, he grew silent.

“Simon, too?”

“Simon, especially. He taught Laura how to sail—and she was good at it. She knew how to handle that boat. She did everything right.”

“Then what
happened?”

Carl drove on for another minute before he spoke. “She knew how poorly Ana was feeling and thought that a ride on the bay in the sun would give her a boost. So she zipped the three of them into life jackets, raised the sail, and left the dock. Ana was happy. People who watched them leave said they could see that. She was propped up against the gunwale, with little Liana nestled in under her arm. It was a perfect day for a sail, just enough wind without much of a chop.”

Olivia was looking at him, waiting for the next installment, when the cart emerged from the woods. The world around them brightened, a cruel irony in view of his tale.

Carl brought the cart to a stop. His hands fell to his lap. Eyes
Straight ahead, he took a deep breath. “The sailing was so good that Laura went out farther than she might have done on another day, and there was nothing wrong with that. She wasn't the only one to do it. There were other boats around. They were taking advantage of ideal conditions, too.” He looked at Olivia. “There was a speedboat—one of those big, long, powerful ones. Two men were on it, hopped up on something. Didn't even realize they were heading for our boat until they were nearly on top of it. They tried to veer off, but their judgment was so impaired that it had the reverse effect.”

“My God,” Olivia breathed.

“They cut the sailboat right in half, then sped off. Never did catch them.”

“My
God.”

“The coast guard says the force of the crash just tore everything apart. Even with life jackets on, they didn't have a chance. It was like they were on bicycles on a train track when a huge locomotive sped past.” He let out a breath, then inhaled slowly and straightened. “Now why did I tell you all that?”

“Because I asked.”

“It's not something we talk much about. Doesn't seem to be a point.”

“But talking makes you feel better. Don't you think?”

He considered her point, then sighed. “What I think doesn't matter as much as what my Natalie thinks. She thinks it's important, which is why she hired you. You know about the situation with her family?”

“Yes.”

“I've known Susanne and Greg since they were born. I always liked them. And they always liked me. They weren't snotty little rich kids, if you know what I mean.”

Olivia nodded.

“They're feeling unsettled,” he went on. “They weren't prepared. I've agonized over that.”

“Did you and Natalie discuss how to break it to them?”

“For
weeks
. Natalie kept trying to broach it with them, but she never quite got the whole thing out. She was worried that they would react exactly the way they have. So we went back and forth, she and I. A personal visit. A phone call. Nat doing it.
Me
doing it. We finally took the way that was easiest for us. They can criticize us
for it, but I'm not sure they would have taken the news well in
any
form. They're still dealing with Alexander's death.”

Olivia sensed that he was right. “Natalie seems philosophical about their reaction.”

“That's Natalie for you. She isn't one to bitch and moan. She accepts and moves on. She's a survivor. She's a
doer
. That's why she hired you.” Looking at Olivia, he grew purposeful. “I want Susanne and Greg back in the fold, but I understand the problem. It'll be hard for them to see me one way after so many years seeing me another. You'll have to help them do that.”

“I'll try.”

“I'm not trying to take Alexander's place,” he went on. “He was their father. I don't want to be that. All I want is to make their mother happy. That's all I've ever wanted.”

“Did you love her, way back when you were kids?”

“Sure, I did.”

“Why didn't you marry her then?”

“Because she married Alexander.”

“But why didn't she marry you?”

“Hasn't she told you?”

“No.”

“She will.”

Olivia smiled. “You tell me now.”

But he drew himself up and smiled. “Nope. That's not my job. Natalie's the storyteller. I'm just the guy who runs the winery.” He hitched his chin forward. “Here we are.”

Olivia looked up at a large gristmill. “Oh
my,”
she said in surprise.
“This
is the winery?” She had imagined something quite different.

Carl started up the cart. “It is,” he said with pride and drove on until the dirt path ended in a paved lot. A road approached it from the other direction. He pulled up beside two parked cars, killed the switch, and stepped out. “I'd like to say that I run this end of the operation, but that'd be taking too much credit. I'm an old guy. I need my afternoon nap.”

“That doesn't mean you can't run things,” Olivia said, because Carl was as vibrant a man as she'd ever seen at his age. “You run this. Natalie runs marketing and sales. Simon runs the vineyard.” With mention of his name, she pictured the man. The image was enhanced
now by what Carl had said. “Do you think Simon works the kinds of hours he does so that he doesn't have to think about the accident?” From what Olivia had seen, he worked sunup to sundown, seven days a week.

Carl was at her side of the cart when she stepped out. He touched her elbow just lightly enough to get her walking beside him. “Maybe. But being vineyard manager is that kind of job. It's like parenting. Grapes need coddling ‘round the clock.”

They crossed the parking lot and started up the short stone path that led to the winery door. The name and logo were on a plaque, a smaller version of the sign off the main road, but Olivia only gave it a passing glance. “He must take vacations.”

“Not in four years. What's he going to do—go to the Caribbean alone?”

“Doesn't he date at all?”

“He hasn't so far.”

“But what does he do for
fun?”

The older man thought about that. “He tends the grapes.” He pulled the screen door open.

Olivia found herself in a semicircular foyer whose stone walls made it feel like a cave. The corridors that branched left and right were narrow but tall—a full three stories' worth of windows. As Carl guided her to a large wooden door in the center, he said, “Tending the grapes isn't a bad thing. It got me through many a hard time.”

Olivia was about to ask what hard times he meant when, feeling a sudden drop in the temperature, she looked around and forgot the thought. They were in a cavernous room filled with huge stainless steel tanks. Each tank had dials and gauges on the front. Long ladders stood against several, stretching the twelve or so feet from the floor to the top of the tank. The floor was hard concrete.