Fire in the Vineyard

by Christa Polkinhorn

  Chapter 6

  “Why would George Winter buy our wine?” Robert said. “There is no love lost between us. After all, I was in part responsible for him getting fired from his job and ending up in prison.” He and Janice were having dinner. Robert finished the last piece of vegetable quiche and put his fork down. He gazed out the window where the sun was getting ready to disappear behind the hills.

  It had been a hot day, but in the evening a blistering wind had begun to blow, shaking the trees and hurtling waves of dust across the dried-out fields. As much as Robert liked the dry weather, which helped ripen the grapes, the often-turbulent Santa Ana winds made him feel anxious and gave him headaches. He massaged his temples with his fingers.

  The incident three years ago was still fresh in his mind. It was during the height of the drought in California, which led to some acrimonious exchanges between farmers, winemakers, and the tourist industry, each side blaming the other for wasting water. It also resulted in certain government restrictions on the use of water, one of them being a moratorium on new irrigation systems. It was just at the time when Robert decided to replace his old system with a new one that used less water, therefore adding to the conservation effort. His application, however, was rejected, because no new permits were granted, not even for systems that were more efficient and less wasteful.

  According to Robert and his fellow vintners and winemakers, that was the kind of meaningless intrusion of a government that didn’t really understand the situation. He accepted the decision but then found out by accident that one of the other winemakers had received a permit. He was shocked and together with a couple of his friends he hired an investigator to look into possible unlawful governmental procedures. As it turned out, George Winter was the official who had accepted bribes in exchange for permits. He was fired from his job and spent some time in prison. Robert never heard another word about Winter until the day Adam showed him his driver’s license. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t a coincidence.

  Janice interrupted his musing. “Did Winter know it was you who turned him in?”

  “Oh, he knew all right,” Robert said.

  “Perhaps, someone gave him the wine as a present,” Janice suggested. “Since he may not have wanted to drink it himself, he gave it to Adam’s father. I don’t know. Perhaps just a coincidence.”

  “I guess so. Still, it’s odd.” Robert rubbed his forehead. “I didn’t realize Adam was related to him. Not sure I would’ve hired him, had I known.”

  “Well, you don’t think Adam is a bad person just because his uncle is a crook. Besides, he told you that they weren’t close,” Janice said.

  “I know, but still, having the nephew of one of my enemies on the estate is not very reassuring.”

  “I think you might be making too much of this. George may not like you very much, but you weren’t the only one who got him into trouble with the law. Others testified as well. Besides, Adam seems to be a very nice person. And as Ken told you, he does good work.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Robert shrugged. “You’re probably right. I may be a little too paranoid.” He got up and helped his wife clear the table.

  In the kitchen, Janice pressed the button on their espresso machine and put two small cups under the spout. She grabbed a bottle of grappa and gave Robert a questioning look. He nodded.

  “Yeah, I’ll have a little bit.”

  Janice topped their espresso off with a shot of grappa and carried the two cups into the dining room.

  “By the way, did you talk to Matt about his plans for the cellar and the estate?” Janice asked.

  Robert nodded. “Yes, we had a talk.”

  “And?” Janice asked. “What did you decide?”

  Robert who had been stirring his espresso, looked up. He took a sip and smacked his lips. The grappa added a pleasant spark to the slightly bitter coffee.” I’ll give him access to one of the accounts, so he can go ahead with his plan for the cellar.”

  “Good. Make sure you do it, though,” Janice said. “Matt seems a little frustrated, not having much authority.”

  Robert took another sip, then set his cup down. “Yeah, well, Matt is a good guy but a dreamer. He needs to toughen up and show some initiative. Authority needs to be earned.”

  “What are you talking about?” Janice stared at him. “Matt has been working hard for you and he has good ideas. But how can he put them into practice if he doesn’t have the resources? And you’re gone all the time.”

  “Oh, stop that old song.” Robert felt a spike of irritation. “I hear that enough from Matt. He’s an adult. He can make decisions. I’ll sign anything that sounds reasonable to me. Problem is, Matt is too soft. Yes, he works hard, but he doesn’t have to do all the small stuff he always does. He needs to learn to delegate. Once he runs the winery, he won’t be able to do everything himself.” Robert got up. “Sometimes I wonder if he is the right person to take over. I would’ve preferred Nicholas. He is older and more experienced, but he copped out.”

  “For God’s sake, Robert, how can you say that? One of the reasons Nicholas turned down your offer to manage the place is that it’s too big for him. He is more like your father in that respect. He prefers to be directly involved in the work. Just because he has other ideas doesn’t mean he’s a cop-out. And Matt enjoys the actual work at the winery as well. That’s why he does it, not because he doesn’t know how to delegate.”

  “I didn’t say Nick was a cop-out.” Robert waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “He turned down the inheritance, which I still regret sometimes. But it was his decision, so I accept it. But Matt agreed to take over once I retire, so he has to learn the ropes. And part of it is how to run a large estate like ours.”

  “Don’t be such a tyrant,” Janice said. “You can’t expect your children to follow exactly in your footsteps. They have to grow and develop at their own pace.”

  “All right, all right. I get the point. I don’t feel like arguing.” Robert picked up his empty cup and carried it into the kitchen. He stepped outside onto the patio and let his eyes wander over the fields and the hills of his vast estate. The turbulent winds had died down, giving way to a gentler breeze.

  The air now felt clear and invigorating. The sun had set and the sky at the horizon was a deep purple. Robert’s irritation faded, and his heart swelled with joy at the thought of how his estate and winemaking business had developed. He knew his wife meant well. Perhaps she was right, and he should ease off a little and not pressure Matt too much. He just wanted him to be strong and capable enough to continue the Segantino heritage his father had begun and he wanted to continue to develop. It was a family business, and family was important to him. Must be our Italian roots.

  Chapter 7

  George, Norman, and their friends were playing poker in George’s apartment in San Luis Obispo. George was in a bad mood; he kept losing. It seemed that Norman was the only one who won regularly. Two of their buddies had already dropped out, complaining there was too much of a difference between the players’ skills, and they were tired of losing all the time.

  On top of it, George had a headache. He attributed it to the strange weather. It had been a stifling hot day, and now a fierce dry wind was howling. The light in the apartment flickered several times, making it hard for him to concentrate on the game. The frowns on the faces of the players and a resigned groan of one of his partners told him he was not the only one getting frustrated.

  At the end of the game, Norman got up. “Perhaps we should stop playing for money. I don’t think this is fun for you.”

  “Well, you’re just too good for us,” one of the guys said. “You’re a professional.”

  Norman raised an eyebrow. “I used to play professionally, whatever that means. If you want to learn how to gamble, I could teach you, but I don’t think that’s what you want. So, let’s just play cards without money. What do you think?” He glanced at George, who shrugged.

  “Fine with me. I’m g
oing bankrupt otherwise,” George grumbled. “Okay, next time, just a friendly card game.”

  The other men nodded, got up, and left one after the other. Norman was getting ready to leave as well, but George held him by the arm. “Let’s have another beer.”

  Norman hesitated, checked his watch, and sat back down. “All right, but only one more.”

  George went into his bedroom where he kept a safe. He keyed in the code, opened the safe, took out two thousand dollars, and stuffed the bills into an envelope. In the kitchen, he pulled two bottles of Corona, Norman’s favorite beer, out of the refrigerator. He put the bottles on the table in the living room, opened them, and pushed one toward Norman.

  Norman took a sip, then glanced at his watch again.

  “You're in a hurry? Have a hot date tonight?” He grinned. Norman didn't say anything. After weeks of playing and drinking together, this strange man was still an enigma to George. Whereas the other friends hollered and swore or laughed during the game, Norman was always polite, quiet, and focused. This mysterious guy was no dummy.

  George cleared his throat and shoved the envelope with the money across the table toward Norman.

  Norman picked it up. “What’s this?”

  “Open it,” George encouraged him.

  Norman opened the envelope and dumped a bunch of one-hundred-dollar bills on the table. He glared at George.

  “I’ve been watching you carefully,” George said. “I know I’m a lousy player, but you’re excellent. I want you to take this money and play at a casino, you know, the real thing. If you win, we’ll split the winnings.”

  Norman looked at George stunned. He put the money back into the envelope and pushed it across the table. “I can’t do that. I don’t gamble at casinos anymore.”

  “Come on, dude. This is free money. If you win, that’s great. If you lose, it won’t break my bank. This is extra money I made with a successful business deal.” He pushed the envelope toward Norman again.

  George watched carefully as different emotions flashed across Norman’s face—hesitation, desire, guilt. It was the first time in his encounter with this strange guy that he saw weakness, and George rejoiced.

  Norman kept staring at the envelope for a long time. In the end he picked it up. “I shouldn’t do this,” he mumbled, then in louder voice, “okay, but only this one time.”

  George finally had him. He was all too familiar with addiction. “Have fun.” He grinned.

  Outside, on his way to the car, Norman rubbed the envelope in his pocket. Images of past events at the casinos many years before flashed before his eyes. Tables covered in red and green felt, cards, and chips in casinos in Las Vegas. The wheel of fortune, muffled outbursts of elation or despair, the voice of the croupiers crying “Faites vos jeux,” that time in Monte Carlo. He had been young and adventurous with a knack for gambling. His naturally calm, cool, and observant temperament and an almost photographic memory were ideal for this venture.

  Together with a friend he had traveled the world in search of excitement and money and temporary lovers in different cities, without any serious relationships to tie him down. It was the high life. Most of all, however, it was the thrill of winning and, even though that high was only temporary, followed by the low of losing, the highs became more and more addictive. That went on for a few years—until the day tragedy struck.

  His close friend and gambling buddy began to lose and lose big. One day, he disappeared without a word. His body was found at the bottom of an abyss on a beach in Monte Carlo. His death was ruled a suicide. Shocked, sad, and full of questions, Norman stopped gambling. Could he have done more to help his friend cover his losses? He offered him money, but his friend was a proud man and didn’t want any so-called handouts.

  After burying his friend in France, Norman returned to California, trying to decide what to do with the rest of his life. Gambling and the lifestyle associated with it lost its luster, not just because of the tragedy of his friend’s death, but for another reason. He fell in love, deeply, for the first time in his life, and decided to settle down. Marriage and the birth of a child followed and his craving for excitement gave way to a sense of belonging, which he cherished. The temptation of gambling was still there, but he’d managed to beat the craving—until the day he met George Winter.

  Was he willing to endanger his quiet and secure life by giving in to the allure of excitement? But excitement was only part of the reason he considered the tempting offer from George. Although he made a decent salary, unexpected expenses weighed him down. One win at the casino and he could pay everything off. And if he lost, it wasn’t even his money.

  He glanced at the trees in the yard next to his parked car. They were bending in the gusty wind. It smelled of dry grass and exhaust from the city streets.

  He pushed the warning voices to the back of his mind. “Only once,” he told himself as he rubbed the envelope in his pocket again.

  Chapter 8

  Sofia passed the entrance to the underground cellar on her way to Robert’s winery. She took a quick peek inside and smiled as she admired the rows of French oak barrels. When she stepped into the tasting room, she heard Matthew’s voice down the hall where the offices were.

  He sounded irritated. Thinking that Matthew and Robert were arguing, Sofia stopped, not wanting to intrude. After a few seconds, she realized it was only Matthew she heard, apparently talking on the phone. She heard him mention Nicholas’s name.

  There was a moment of silence. Then Matthew spoke again. “Sometimes I feel he’d rather have Nick run the show. He never says it outright, but I know he’s still disappointed Nick turned him down. I mean, let’s face it, I was second choice.”

  Silence again.

  “No, I’m not blowing it out of proportion … yeah, I know, it’s not Nick’s fault. Once you’re through with your studies and come home, things may improve. There’ll be the two of us; we’ll have more leverage, more power against his stubbornness.” A short laugh followed and Sofia realized that Matthew was talking to his sister Nadia.

  “Anyway, he finally gave me access to one of the estate accounts, so I can start putting my plans for the cellar into action. But I still feel he resents it. As if he thought I was trying to enrich myself. I mean, it’s for the estate for God’s sake.”

  Sofia tiptoed around the corner and left. She felt guilty for having overheard the talk. She knew things had been tense between Robert and Matthew, but she hadn’t realized the ambivalent feelings Matthew seemed to have vis-à-vis his older brother.

  Later that evening, Sofia told Nicholas about the conversation she overheard. “I felt kind of bad for eavesdropping, but by the time I realized what he was talking about, I didn’t want him to know I heard it.”

  “Well, it’s no secret that Dad and Matt don’t always see eye to eye and that Matt is frustrated. Besides, he doesn’t have a lot of self-confidence.” Nicholas was carrying little Henry around, trying to burp him. Sofia had just finished feeding him.

  “Didn’t you invite him for dinner tonight?” he asked.

  “Yes, I better check on the food. Can you put Henry down for the night?”

  “No problem. Come on little beggar. We’ll get your diaper changed, and then it’s bed time.” Henry gurgled and spit. “Hey, no backtalk.” Nicholas kissed Henry’s head and wiped his mouth before carrying him into the nursery.

  Sofia was in the kitchen, checking on the chicken roasting in the oven, when she heard a knock on the door. “Come on in,” she called.

  “You’re a trusting soul,” Matthew said as he stepped inside. “What if I’d been a burglar?”

  “I’m psychic.” Sofia laughed. “I sensed it was you.”

  Matthew put a bottle of wine on the kitchen counter and kissed her cheek. “Smells good here. Where’s the rest of the family?”

  “Nicholas is putting Henry to bed. They’re in the nursery.” Sofia took a plate of vegetables out of the refrigerator and got ready to stir-fry them.
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  “Have to see that.” Matthew left the kitchen. Soon, Sofia heard the two men murmuring in the nursery. She poured the vegetables into the wok and stirred them until they were done. Nicholas came into the kitchen and pulled the chicken out of the oven. He put it on the platter Sofia had set aside.

  As usual when he was invited, Matthew dug in and raved about Sofia’s cooking. He was a grateful guest, always had a good appetite, and enjoyed not having to cook for himself. While drinking espresso and enjoying a scoop of ice cream for dessert, Nicholas asked Matthew how work was going. Sofia could see the change of mood on Matthew’s face. The line between his eyebrows deepened.

  “Sometimes, I feel like throwing the whole damn thing in his face.”

  “Whoa. Doesn’t sound good,” Nicholas said.

  “More coffee?” Sofia asked as she gathered the empty dessert bowls.

  “Not for me. Thanks.” Matthew gave a quick smile, then his face darkened again.

  “Yes, but I’ll get it,” Nicholas said.

  “I’ll get it,” Sofia said quickly. “You two talk.” She was glad to escape the now tense atmosphere. From the kitchen, she could hear them speaking.

  “So, what’s going on?” Nicholas asked.

  “It’s always the same and I hate to sound like a broken record. I hardly ever get the feeling he appreciates me or my work. I feel I’m constantly being compared to you, and I come away lacking.”

  “What makes you think so? Did he say anything?”

  “No, not directly, but I can read between the lines,” Matthew said.

  “I think you interpret something from Dad’s behavior that isn’t there. Believe me, if I was in your place, he’d treat me the same way. You know how he is. He’s a good man, but he can be a real self-centered control freak as well. Don’t let him get to you.”