The Winemakers

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

After winding her way up Howell Mountain, Caterina turned into the gravel drive that curved to the magnificent stone château on the property. As she drove, she saw silvery shadows dancing in the breezes that flowed through meticulous rows of wizened vines. Caterina had always thought they looked like little gnomes in the moonlight.

After greeting Caterina, Ava led her to the wine cellar for a tasting before dinner. Caterina decided this was the best place to tell her mother about Marisa; there, no one would hear the inevitable argument.

“Which wines will we taste tonight?” Caterina perched on a hand-carved stool and waited for Ava to pour the wine.

“Why don’t you tell me what they are?” Ava arched a finely drawn brow as she took in the outfit Caterina had changed into after her drive from San Francisco.

Caterina sat up straighter. Already she felt scrutinized. She wore a full-skirted, white cotton piqué dress with a short matching jacket. As she fiddled with the pearls around her neck, she realized she’d chosen quite the virginal outfit for her confession. Would it make any difference? In contrast, her mother looked elegant in a slim, wide-necked burgundy silk dress.

The cellar had been constructed in the old European fashion, using stones from their property to build the underground room where racks of wines were stored to age. Though the air in the cellar beneath their castle-like home was cooler than the sun-drenched fields on their Napa Valley property above, Caterina felt perspiration gather around her torso.

She shifted as she watched her mother open a bottle of wine, her familiar movements etched in Caterina’s mind. Ava kept the label turned away from Caterina.

Everything Ava did was precise. The flick of her wrist, the set of her jaw, the tilt of her chin. A steady draw on the cork, taking care not to damage it. Next, the inspection, her dark eyes trained to quickly capture the slightest imperfection. The sniff of the cork, followed by an almost imperceptible nod of approval as she eased the wine from its dark womb, its color that of the garnets glittering on her earlobes. A swirl to aerate the oxygen-starved elixir, a glance at the streaks left on the crystal balloon, and a steady inhalation. Her eyelids were half-closed in concentration, evaluating the wine.

Ava’s superior standards had lifted Mille Étoiles’s wine to the upper echelons of the industry. Under Ava’s constant evaluative eye, Caterina had been taught perfection. Now, watching her mother was like gazing into a mirror.

Caterina chewed her lip in thought. Not only had she violated her mother’s principle of perfection—and those of her religion—but she’d also violated her own standards. She was her mother’s daughter.

Caterina moistened her lips to speak, but the words lodged in her throat. What shall I say?

Her mother offered her a wineglass. “Tell me what you think, ma chérie,” Ava said, her French-accented voice reverberating in the cellar.

Caterina met her mother’s gaze. Ava was testing her, challenging her. Had her mother ever made a mistake? She always displayed confidence. That was one of her secrets.

Rage was another—and perhaps the only point where her mother fell short of the mark on perfection. When crossed, Ava would unleash a furious tirade, her face contorting like some demon-possessed goddess. Ava was a beautiful woman—slim, elegant, and well mannered. No one—outside of the vineyard, that is—would imagine her potential for wrathful anger. And only Raphael could calm her.

Caterina had often puzzled over the source of her mother’s anger and strictness. Ava had everything—Mille Étoiles, a fairly obedient daughter who loved her, and the admiration of all who knew her. And yet, Ava Rosetta remained a woman of contradictions—she had a soft heart, but a stern spine. Was she angry over her husband’s early demise? Did she feel cheated out of a larger family?

Whatever the reason for Ava’s interminable anger, Caterina needed all the courage she could muster this weekend.

Caterina swirled the wine and then sniffed it. She held the wine to the light, inspecting its opacity. Next, she tasted, holding the liquid in her mouth, dissecting nuances. She shifted the wine farther back on her tongue, detecting different impressions, observing the evolution. Plum, apricot, oak . . . and a sharp burnt flavor.

Caterina spat the wine into another glass. She felt the weight of her mother’s inquisitive stare noting every slight movement on her daughter’s face. The lift of a brow, the tug of a lip, the twitch of a nostril. These had meaning to Ava. Caterina kept her expression stoic.

“Well?”

“It’s rot, and you know it. That’s not our wine.”

A shadow of a smile crossed Ava’s face. “Popular rot, nevertheless.” She reached for the open carafe and poured a glass. “Well done. Your reward, ma chérie.”

“Why would you do that to me?” Caterina drank from a glass of water, swishing cool well water in her mouth to cleanse her palate. “I’m a trained sommelier.”

“You have to know the popular competition, as well as our fine competitors,” Ava said. “There’s always something to be learned.”

That much was true, Caterina acknowledged. The future of their vineyard and wine label depended on Ava’s—and soon, Caterina’s, too—ability to recognize, create, and promote excellence. She brought the glass to her nose, inhaling the familiar bouquet, and then repeated the tasting process. This time she allowed the wine to linger on her tongue, savoring its complexities before swallowing.

Caterina and Ava exchanged nods of approval.

“This is the one we should enter into the competition,” Ava announced.

“I thought you asked me here for my opinion,” Caterina said. “I’d like to try others before we decide. What about the ’52 Howell Mountain cabernet?”

Ava held her glass in midair. “We’ll have that tomorrow.”

Caterina cleared her throat to speak. Now is the time to tell her. But before she could part with her secret, her pulse quickened, beads of sweat formed on her upper lip, and her jaw seemed to freeze in place.

“Maman—”

Ava paused. “Yes, what is it?”

Caterina stared at her. The words she longed to say were thick on her tongue. I want you to meet someone . . . her name is Marisa, she’s your granddaughter, and she’s beautiful.

Her mother smiled. This could be the last moment she’d ever see her mother smile.

“Nothing.” Caterina shrugged.

Ava started up the stone steps, and Caterina followed her, carrying the wine. She had missed her opportunity. A sour mixture of relief and regret coursed through her.

Caterina wound through the high-ceilinged living room. Its French-paned doors stood open to the balmy evening breeze, which carried the scent of summer basil from Nina’s herb garden.

Nina was already preparing dinner. The middle-aged woman wore a vivid yellow cotton dress festooned with colorful embroidered flowers in the Mexican tradition. She turned when she heard Caterina come in.

“Welcome home.” Nina smiled and folded Caterina to her ample breast. “You look tired, pobrecita. And you’ve lost weight.”

“That’s good.” Ava glanced at Caterina with a critical eye.

“My last year at school was stressful,” Caterina replied in defense. In more ways than you can imagine. “What’s for supper, Nina?” Caterina hugged their housekeeper again, inhaling the familiar scent of garlic and cilantro that seemed part of her cherry-brown skin.

“Coq au vin. It’s your mother’s old recipe with my wild mushrooms and onions, a crumble of bacon, our pinot noir, and a little cognac. And flan for dessert.” She winked. “If your mother approves.”

“She can have whatever she wants,” Ava said with a wave of her hand. “She’s a grown woman. Why, at her age—”

Caterina rolled her eyes. “I know, you and Papa had already immigrated, planted the new vineyard sections, and bottled the old vine wine.”

“And I was a mother.” Ava paused. “Ted Thornwald has been asking about you again.”

Caterina sat at the kitchen table and shot a look at Nina, who was arranging food on plates.

Ava filled their wine glasses. “I was thinking of having a little party tomorrow night.”

Caterina recognized the studied lightness in her mother’s voice. “It’s all planned, isn’t it?” Calmly, she sliced into the tender fragrant chicken Nina had served.

“Sí, señorita,” Nina said with a quick smile. She slid a tray of sliced cheese onto the table. Ava began to nibble on a slice of brie with apple.

Her mother shrugged and went on, “Ted and his family are coming tomorrow. I don’t know what happened between the two of you that made you want to go to Los Angeles for a semester—which delayed your graduation—but he’s willing to overlook it all. I told them you got cold feet.”

“I don’t need your help finding a husband.”

“Well, apparently, you do. Plenty of girls would like his attention, but I think he’s been waiting for you.”

“I doubt it. I sure haven’t been waiting for him.” Caterina thought of the last time she’d seen Ted. He’d asked her out to celebrate New Year’s Eve at the St. Francis, and she’d stood him up.

They had dated during her sophomore and junior years—before that unforgettable encounter with Marisa’s father in the summer before her senior year. She was fond of Ted, but she’d never been in love with him. Yet, her coolness hadn’t dissuaded his ardor. Nina’s daughter, Juliana, Caterina’s closest friend since childhood, had told her Ted had asked for her opinion on a wedding ring. He’d planned to propose on New Year’s Eve.

But Caterina had already started thickening around the middle and had missed her monthly cycles. She told everyone she was taking a semester of art illustration for marketing classes in Los Angeles to learn how to design wine labels and advertising campaigns. And it was just far enough away that Ava, with her night blindness, wouldn’t drive to visit her.

“You could do worse than Ted, you know,” Ava said with a haughty sniff. “You’re twenty-five. The city is full of magic for you now, but I won’t live forever. I’d like to see you married and settled before you take over the vineyard. Everyone thought you and Ted would marry.”

Caterina glanced at Nina, silently pleading for help.

Nina shoved a pan into a cupboard. “How about that nice young man from New York?”

Caterina swung back to her mother. “Who’s that?”

Ava dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. “Just a man who dropped by the vineyard. Some salesman.” Ava touched her wineglass to Caterina’s, the rounded tone ringing like a bell marking the moment. “At least talk to Ted, and give him a chance.”

Nina wagged her head and turned back to her work.

Caterina kissed her mother on the cheek. “I’ll speak to him,” she said in an effort to appease her. Ava smiled, and Caterina was glad she was in a good mood. Though the opportunity to speak to her in private about Marisa had passed.

Ava retired to her bedroom, relieved that Caterina had at least listened to her this evening. The only thing that could derail her plans was the news of Caterina’s inheritance she’d received, although she certainly hadn’t shared that with Caterina. A house in Montalcino. She wondered if it were the same cottage where the course of their lives had been changed.

That house must be sold. Caterina mustn’t return to Italy, not now, not ever. Ava tried to dismiss the growing sense of dread that gathered heavily in her chest.

A soft tap sounded on her bedroom door, and she rose to open it.

Raphael’s broad shoulders filled the doorway. “How’s Caterina? I was worried about you this evening.” His eyes were clouded with concern.

Ava relaxed her brow. She could smell the ripe sweetness of sunbaked grapes on Raphael. He was more than the vineyard foreman; he had become a trusted advisor and a close friend, even closer now that Caterina was no longer living at Mille Étoiles. He was responsible for the grape production. Without his expertise, as a winemaker she would have no fine palette upon which to paint.

“Caterina seems well, and I’m glad you came.” She rested her hand on his muscular forearm. A fresh sprinkle of gray hair glinted at his temples against his wavy black hair, giving him an air of authority.

Raphael had the toned, muscular physique of a man who used his body every day. Though he was nearing fifty, he showed no signs of slowing down, and men half his age couldn’t keep up with him. Only the silver threads of hair and laugh lines around his eyes belied his age.

Ava gazed into his warm brown eyes. “Ted and his family are coming tomorrow.”

Raphael stroked his stubbled chin. “How does Caterina feel about him?”

“They had a little rough patch. It happens. But they’re meant for each other.”

“Caterina has her own mind, Ava. She’s not a little girl anymore.”

“There’s no one else in her life. It’s time she made a decision.” She didn’t want Caterina to go through the difficulties she’d had.

Frowning, Raphael shook his head. “Give her some time to follow her heart.”

“She’s had enough time,” she snapped. “She could have met someone at the university.” Men don’t understand. She stopped herself; she didn’t want to argue with him. And she didn’t want to tell him about the news she’d received from the investigator. Raphael would only say he’d warned her. “I’m tired, Raphael. Tomorrow is a busy day. Good night.”

Ava pressed her lips against his cheek and firmly shut the door. Dear Raphael. What a good man he was. Even if he didn’t understand the ways of the world.