The Winemakers

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It was a sunny Saturday morning, and Caterina had dressed in dungarees to inspect the vineyard before the party tonight. Holding a cup of coffee, she peered from the kitchen window. She couldn’t wait to see how the grapes were ripening.

She’d resolved to speak to her mother about Marisa this weekend. She’d missed her opportunity last night, and her mother had already planned the party for this evening. Tomorrow would be the dreaded day. Her coffee cup shimmied in her hand as she thought about it.

Through the window, a flash of chrome caught her eye. A blue car was weaving its way through the cypress-lined drive. Curious, she drained the last swallow from her cup and then made her way through the living room.

A knock sounded on the front door just as she reached it. With Nina in the garden and her mother in the vineyard with Raphael, there was no one else around except for Vino, who stood guard nearby.

She opened the door. “May I help you?”

A tall, lanky man stood on the front steps in shiny oxfords, a fat briefcase by his side. “My name is Anthony Martoni, and I’m an investigator working on an estate case. A law firm in New York, Paxton & Brueger, hired me to locate Caterina Rosetta regarding an inheritance.” He spoke with a clipped New York accent.

“I’m Caterina Rosetta.” Her curiosity was aroused. An inheritance from whom?

“Then I have some important papers for your review. It’s good news, I suspect,” he added quickly.

“Please come in.” She swung open the arched wooden door for him. Vino trotted in after him. “Would you care for coffee?”

He stepped inside, his gaze taking in the soaring grandeur of the home. “Yes, that’s very kind of you, thank you.”

Caterina showed him to the expansive table in the formal dining room where Ava often conducted private wine tastings. A pair of antique French marquetry and marble-topped cabinets flanked the room, and multicolored bouquets of roses from their cutting garden burst from crystal vases. A Persian carpet muffled their footfalls. Though the home was stately in proportion, it was still gracious and inviting.

When Nina appeared at the doorway, Caterina signaled for her to bring coffee for them, and she sat down. Vino plopped by her feet.

She thought of finding her mother, but Ava could be anywhere on the property. She decided to hear him out first.

The investigator sat down and carefully placed his briefcase on the polished table. Nina bustled in to pour two cups of coffee.

“Thank you, Nina.” Anthony smiled and lifted the cup to his lips.

“You know Nina?” Nonplussed, Caterina looked from one to the other.

He cleared his throat. “I’ve been here before looking for you. Your mother told me you weren’t available.”

Nina quickly disappeared into the kitchen.

“Then go on,” Caterina said, rubbing Vino’s neck. Why hadn’t her mother mentioned this?

Anthony took a sip and began. “You’ve been named in your grandmother’s will. Specifically, you’ve inherited a house from Violetta Romagnoli Rosetta of Montalcino, Italy.”

Caterina looked at him in bewilderment. “That’s impossible. My grandmother died before I was born.”

“There’s no mistake.” Anthony opened his briefcase and withdrew several documents.

“A house in Montalcino?” she repeated in disbelief. “What kind of house?”

“A cottage. I understand it needs some work.” He gave her a letter and some documents from an attorney in Italy, and as she read, he swung around, peering at wine bottles displayed in an ornately sculpted iron wine enclosure. “May I look at your wines?”

“Of course. We collect other wines, too.” She sipped her coffee as she flipped through the pages.

He rested a hand on the ironwork and peered inside. “A Brunello di Montalcino. That’s one of my favorites,” he added with relish, touching the bottles with reverence.

“You certainly know your wines.” Though he was clearly mistaken about her grandmother. “My father was born in Italy. He died when I was a baby, and, as I understand, his family was gone long before that.”

“And who told you that?”

“My mother, of course.” Questions began to swirl in her mind. Surely her mother had told her the truth. Ava Rosetta didn’t keep secrets. Unlike her daughter. She pressed her temple to alleviate a throbbing vein.

Caterina rose from her chair. “I appreciate your visit, and I wish I could help you, but I’m probably not the right woman.”

“Oh, but you are.” He colored slightly. “When I spoke to your mother, she didn’t think you’d be interested, but I have a duty to uphold. Today I thought I’d try one more time to deliver your documents before I had to return.”

She narrowed her eyes in thought. None of this was making sense.

Anthony consulted his notes. “And we have orders to arrange your passage to Italy on Pan American Airways.”

“Orders?” Caterina laughed and drew herself up. Even with her low boot heels, she stood at eye level with him. “No one orders me to do anything.” Except my mother. Though his offer was ridiculous, she found the prospect of flying across the ocean in an airplane intriguing, and she’d always wondered about her father and his heritage.

“I meant that we have authorization to pay all expenses.” The investigator shuffled through his briefcase and withdrew a thick sheaf of papers with an old photograph clipped to the top. He handed the packet to her. “Review the documents, Miss Rosetta, or have an attorney look at them, but there is no mistake. You have inherited a house in Montalcino from your grandmother.”

As he finished speaking, the wine bottles began to rattle in their racks. Instinctively, Caterina shoved him away from the tall racks and into a doorway between the living room and dining room. Timbers creaked and groaned around them. The wine racks were secured against earthquakes, but as a native Californian, the duck-and-cover habit was ingrained in Caterina. Anthony’s briefcase clattered to the floor.

With her arms outstretched, Caterina pressed her palms against the doorjamb. Anthony scrambled to mimic her actions and flushed at finding himself cheek to cheek with her as they braced against the vibration. After a few seconds, the bottles grew still.

“Is that it?” Unnerved by the tremor, Anthony’s eyes were wide.

“Probably. Now you can say you’ve been in a real California earthquake. But that was just a little shake, nothing to worry about.” Taking it in stride, she stepped away. She had far larger problems to think about this weekend. Especially tomorrow.

“Will there be another one?” His face was bright pink and beaded with perspiration. He pulled out a white linen handkerchief from his suit jacket and mopped his forehead.

“You never know. That might have been a precursor to the next big one.”

“Glad I’m leaving.” He grabbed his briefcase and snapped it shut. “I’ll call you next week to make further arrangements.” He stumbled out in haste.

Before she secured the latch on the wine rack, Caterina checked the dusty Brunello di Montalcino bottles, mulling over the possibility she’d had a grandmother she hadn’t known.

As a girl, she’d often wished for a kindly grandmother. It would have been a lonely childhood, if not for Nina and Juliana. Her mother had never allowed her to mix with the farmworkers, except for Raphael, who ran the vineyard and let her play among the vines. He’d also taught her how to care for their precious grapes, for their entire existence depended on the vines.

Caterina removed a bottle that had moisture around the cork. Her thoughts reeled back to the investigator. Why would her mother have masked the truth about her grandmother, her father’s mother? She’d never known her to lie about anything.

There must be another explanation. Ava Rosetta was a woman beyond reproach. Everyone in the valley knew that.

Caterina thumbed through the documents the investigator had left. They were in Italian, which she could read fairly well, though her French was much better. Her father had been brought up in Montalcino, but she’d learned Italian from Raphael.

Ava was a superb vintner, or winemaker, born to the craft in Bordeaux, where she’d been brought up on her family’s vineyard. She and Raphael had elevated the wine label of Mille Étoiles to nothing short of magnificent. Some wine merchants who visited the vineyard even thought they were married, the way they finished each other’s sentences. But Ava hadn’t even dated since her husband’s untimely death.

Caterina peered at the tattered black-and-white photograph. The stone cottage was perched on a hill, and she could see vines on the sloped hillside that fell away to one side. Her heart quickened. Did the land go with the house? She traced the shadowy structure. A home in Montalcino. Italy. Her home now, if these documents were true.

Or were they? Perhaps there was another woman with her name, or maybe the will was an old one. Who knew what went on in Italy, a country so far, far away?

She’d always dreamed of having a family and her own vineyard where she could practice her art. There weren’t many women vintners in the world of wine, but she knew her business. She rubbed her furrowed brow, contemplating the photo. What secrets did those walls conceal?

She’d complicated her life, possibly beyond repair. She touched the house in the image again. Maybe she should go to Montalcino.

She squinted at the old photo. What did her mother know about this? She would ask her tomorrow, after the party tonight. And she’d tell her about Marisa, too. Seems we both have secrets to share.

The fine hair on her neck bristled. Even now, she sensed there was more to the story than her mother would be willing to share. Why would Ava have kept a grandmother from her all her life?

Vino brushed against her legs, whining. She patted her thigh. “Come on, Vino. Let’s go talk to Nina before we head to the vineyard.” She had a great deal to do before the party; she had to prepare herself for Ted and his parents and come to grips with the thought of reuniting with him. If she did as her mother suggested, it would only be for Marisa, for a chance at a better life for her daughter.

Could she really do it?