Blame It on the Champagne (3 page)

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 turned 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.

Rick Burgess was certainly a company
director with a difference.

She watched him stand and share a laugh with Angie as they
gathered up their papers and, just for a fraction of a second, she wondered what
it would be like to be on the receiving end of the full-on charm of that power
smile that beamed out of a rugged, handsome face.

She knew that she had never been the pretty one, or
super-creative or musically talented like her best friends Kate and Amber. But
it would be nice now and again to have a handsome man really look at her as a
woman and like what he saw. Instead of asking where the toilets were and could
he have more coffee.

Her beautiful mother Chantal had often said that Saskia had
skipped a generation and would be much happier back in rural France on the
vineyard where her own mother had been brought up, instead of living the high
life of a city girl.

And she was right in so many ways.

Her mother could never understand why the teenage Saskia had
begged to spend the school holidays working at the
auberge
with her extended French family instead of sitting on some
tropical beach with her mother and her friends, while her father stayed in his
room and worked on some financial deal or other.

Of course that was when her grandparents were alive and her
parents were still together. When her father left them everything changed.

Suddenly her practical skills were useful and Saskia became the
girl who made sure that there was food in the refrigerator and the bills were
paid as her mother struggled to come to terms with what had happened and failed.
Saskia had never once missed school or turned up without a clean uniform and
brushed hair. When her mother's world imploded she had become the dependable one
who made sure things happened.

The girl who would always help you out at the last minute.

Not done your homework? Ask Saskia to help. All you had to do
was pretend to be her friend, just long enough to get what you wanted.

It had been a long apprenticeship forged from hard times, but,
like it or not, fifteen years of training and hard work in the hotel and food
trade had brought her to this point. She should be happy, ecstatic really, but
all this was hers and she had made the business feasible on her own.

Not that there was any choice. Without Elwood House, she would
be working for someone else. She couldn't go back to that. Not ever.

Not after she had promised her aunt that she would take care of
the house and make all of their great plans a reality.

It was worth the exhaustion and never-ending strive for
excellence.

As the Burgess sales team moved into the hall, Saskia pressed
her fingertips hard against the fine marble surface of the console table and
took a deep breath before lifting her chin and personally thanking each of them
in turn as they left the building, discreetly counting to make sure that no one
had got locked in the washroom or had decided to take an unsupervised tour of
the bedrooms upstairs.

She sensed rather than heard someone coming up to speak to her
and she spun around. ‘Miss Elwood. Could you spare a moment?'

Up close and personal, Rick Burgess was just as physically
impressive standing in her hallway as he had been on the pavement that morning.
Even after two hours of what had been sometimes intense discussions, back and
forth across the table, the intelligence in his grey eyes sparkled with life and
vigour against a tanned face which had never seen a tanning salon.

‘Of course,' she replied. ‘How can I help, Mr Burgess?'

‘Oh, please call me Rick,' he replied and stretched out his
hand to shake Saskia's. ‘I just wanted to say a huge thank you for agreeing to
see us today. We appreciate your time and your warm welcome into your lovely
home.'

‘I am delighted that you enjoyed it.' She sucked in a breath
when he released his grip, which was a lot firmer than she was used to. As in
finger-crushing firmer. ‘If you should ever need a venue for a business meeting,
I do hope that you will consider Elwood House.'

‘A business meeting?' His eyebrows rose and, as he returned her
smile, the deep tan lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes creased into
sharp falls. ‘Sure. My project team will need to get together every few weeks
during pre-launch. Angie will get in contact. Although I do have one request
before I take off.'

His hands pushed into the pockets of his denims. ‘Prepare to be
shocked. I am about to declare a terrible failing.'

‘A failing?' Saskia replied, trying not to smile. ‘Surely
not.'

Rick sighed out loud and raised both hands in the air. ‘I can
understand that such a thing is hard to believe but here it is.' He paused for
dramatic effect and stepped just a little closer than she was comfortable with.
‘I'm not known for my patience. There were a couple of times during the
presentation that I picked up some sense that you might be interested in buying
from me. Am I right?'

‘Ah. Well, now it is my turn for confession,' Saskia replied,
her gazed locked onto his face. ‘I try not to make snap decisions when it comes
to spending my money. My late aunt, Margot Elwood, taught me that loyalty to a
supplier means a very great deal. I am therefore rather cautious about who I
give my loyalty to, and one bottle of wine is no guarantee that the others will
be of the same quality.'

‘Loyalty. I like that idea.'

Rick glanced over Saskia's shoulder. ‘How about I give my
future loyal customer a hand and carry that box of sample bottles down to her
wine cellar? Who knows? I might pick up a few tips from an Elwood.'

‘My wine cellar?' Saskia repeated. ‘I'm very flattered—' she
smiled ‘—thank you, but I am sure it would be boring compared to the wonderful
wines you have in your stockrooms. And I am quite capable of carrying a few
bottles down a corridor.'

Saskia straightened and kept her smile firmly fixed as she
gazed past Rick Burgess towards the front door. ‘I wouldn't want to keep your
team waiting.'

Rick replied by tilting his head. ‘They're already heading back
to the office. So you see, Miss Elwood, I'm all yours. Now. Where do you want me
to put this box?'

* * *

‘I store the specialist wine and ports in the basement.
Oh, and please mind your head. These old cellars were built for shorter
people.'

Rick followed Saskia down the narrow stone steps that led from
her modern stainless steel kitchen down into the brick and stone storeroom and
cellar that ran almost the full length of the house. He carefully lowered the
large cardboard box of wine onto a sturdy old wooden table before following her
into the cellar.

Saskia flicked on the lighting system and started her tour with
the classic red wines she had bought for the coming autumn and winter season
before moving on to the older and more prestigious wines. Racks and racks of
bottles were laid out on their sides in purpose-built curved trays, label up,
creating a superb display.

Rick peered politely at each of the winemakers and vintages
with only a quick nod to indicate that he was only vaguely interested in what he
was looking at.

It was not just annoying, it was unsettling!

She was just about to turn back when Rick pointed towards the
cabinet where she stored her most precious white wines, most of which she had
inherited from her aunt.

‘I recognise that wine, it's one of my father's
favourites.'

‘Then we have something in common.' She smiled. ‘It's one of my
favourites too. It also happens to be made at the vineyard once owned by my
Elwood grandparents. Yes, that's right. This is my family wine.'

‘Ah—' Rick chuckled ‘—you see. I was right—I have learnt
something new. Although it does make me wonder why you don't promote your
connection to the famous Elwood family more on your website. That is a
remarkable heritage to be proud of.'

She replied by smiling and shaking her head. ‘There is a very
good reason for that. I might be an Elwood but I have never been a wine merchant
and I wouldn't want anyone coming here under false pretences.'

Rick strolled up, pressed his shoulder snugly against hers and
dropped his gaze onto a copy of a wine label that she was holding in her hand.
His long wide mouth curved up into a smile that raised the temperature of the
air in the cellar by several degrees. ‘I know about that.' He chuckled. ‘Here I
am, with a new career as a wine merchant and about to open a new wine store.
Everything I know about the business I picked up from a lifetime living with a
family who is obsessed with everything to do with wine.'

‘Aunt Margot may have been the last of the Elwood family but
there was nothing that you could tell that lady about wine. I only wish I had
her experience and knowledge.'

‘Exactly!' Rick said in a voice bubbling with enthusiasm. ‘This
is why I need to be totally honest with you about the real reason that I am here
today.'

‘Real reason? What do you mean?'

His reply was to move closer, stretch out one long muscular arm
to the stone wall behind her shoulder and lean forward so that their faces were
only inches apart. Trapping her in the space between his body and the wine
racks, which were pressing into her back.

Any closer and she would be on intimate terms with his shirt
buttons.

She could hunch down and dive under his armpit if she had a
mind to but this was her cellar, not his. And, damn him, but she was not the one
who was going to have to move first. Even if he did smell of soft leather and
fine wine underpinned by a faint citrus tang of some no doubt very expensive
male grooming product designed to act as instant girl attractor.

And Lord, it was worth every penny he had spent.

His gaze scanned her face for several too long seconds before
he whispered and stepped so close that she could almost feel the heat of his
breath on her brow. ‘I think you are being far too modest, Saskia. From what
I've seen today, the clients who come to Elwood House are lucky enough to have
the very best and the excellent taste of the
mistress
of this fine house.'

The way Rick lingered on that last word sent shivers up her
spine which she blinked away. Was he trying to flirt with her?

As for modest?
What choice did she
have? Her mother might have fled to Los Angeles, leaving her with her aunt, but
it was her father who had truly ripped her heart out. She never mentioned him to
anyone, not even Kate or Amber. She had even changed her surname the same week
her mother had finally agreed to a divorce and went back to being Chantal Elwood
again. But he was always there at the back of her mind. A constant itch that
could never be scratched away. Reminding her to be careful and not take risks,
no matter how tantalising they might appear.