by Jan Moran
Praise for USA Today Bestselling Author Jan Moran
The Winemakers
“Readers will devour this page-turner as the mystery and passions spin out.” – Library Journal
* * *
“As she did in Scent of Triumph, Moran weaves knowledge of wine and winemaking into this intense family drama.” – Booklist
* * *
“Jan Moran is the new queen of the epic romance.” —Rebecca Forster, USA Today Bestselling Author
* * *
“Jan rivals Danielle Steel at her romantic best.” — Allegra Jordan, Author of The End of Innocence
* * *
The Chocolatier and Scent of Triumph
* * *
“A delicious novel, makes you long for chocolate.” – Ciao Tutti
* * *
“A wonderful, smoothly written novel. The love of chocolate drips from the page. Full of intrigue, love, secrets, and romance.” – Lekker Lezen
* * *
“Scent of Triumph is a captivating tale of love, loss, determination and reinvention.” — Karen Marin, Givenchy Paris
* * *
Seabreeze Inn and Coral Cottage series
* * *
“The women are intelligent and strong. At the core of Jan’s books is a strong, close-knit family.” — Betty’s Reviews
Books by Jan Moran
20th-Century Historical
Hepburn’s Necklace
The Chocolatiers
The Winemakers: A Novel of Wine and Secrets
Scent of Triumph: A Novel of Perfume and Passion
Life is a Cabernet: A Wine Novella
* * *
Contemporary
The Summer Beach: Coral Cottage Series
Coral Cottage
Coral Cafe
* * *
The Summer Beach Series
Seabreeze Inn
Seabreeze Summer
Seabreeze Sunset
A Seabreeze Inn Christmas
* * *
The Love, California Series:
Flawless
Beauty Mark
Runway
Essence
Style
Sparkle
Life is a Cabernet
A Wine Country Novella
Jan Moran
Life is a Cabernet is Copyright © 2016 by Jan Moran
All Rights Reserved.
* * *
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission, except for brief quotations in critical articles and reviews.
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Moran, Jan.
/ by Jan Moran
ISBN 978-1-942073-63-5 (softcover)
ISBN 9781942073628 (epub)
* * *
9663 Santa Monica Blvd STE 1158
Beverly Hills, CA, USA
www.JanMoran.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
About the Author
Acknowledgments
1
San Francisco, Summer, 1956
* * *
“Look at the life in this cabernet.” Henri Laurent held an etched glass aloft to catch the sun’s fleeting rays slanting through the window. The wine glass cast multicolored prisms across his serious expression, while the dark, ruby-colored wine shimmered with vitality. “The more stress placed upon the vine, the better the wine. These grapes are the survivors, the finest and strongest nature can offer. Try it with me now.”
While Henri pursed his lips to taste the wine, Juliana Cardona was as transfixed as the rest of the crowd she’d gathered on this cool summer afternoon in San Francisco at the tony St. Francis Hotel. The winemaker’s mesmerizing delivery had captured the attention of every female journalist in the room she’d booked for the press party. Though greatly outnumbered by their male counterparts, women more often influenced the selection of wines at the city’s most high-profile parties on Nob Hill.
Juliana turned to the fashionably dressed executive editor seated next to her in the front row. “Bessie, which one is your favorite?”
The woman tilted her head toward Henri, whose passion for wine was transmuted into graceful, even sensual, movements. “Definitely this one.”
“You haven’t even tasted the wine.”
“Oh, were you talking about the wine?” Bessie sighed and sipped from her tasting glass. “Mmm, as delightful as the vintner. How were you able to get him here? He’s been the mystery man of Napa Valley.”
“I have my ways.” Juliana winked at her. In truth, he’d been the most difficult winemaker to engage in her promotion for Northern California wines, which was underwritten by Napa and Sonoma wineries. This event was the first one of its kind she had planned and she’d been nervous about every detail.
Only Raphael Casini, who managed the vineyards at the well-respected Mille Étoiles vineyards where she had grown up, had been able to convince Henri to appear. She didn’t ask Raphael how he’d managed that.
Ever since Henri Laurent and his family had acquired the old vineyards and winery in Calistoga a few years ago, there had been talk. The Laurent family kept to themselves, which only fueled speculation. Rumors spread that they had wired large sums of money to the bank and were using methods unlike any other winemakers in the valley. The grape pickers spoke of abundant harvests, yet few Chateau Laurent wines had been released.
“He’s a strange one, though,” Bessie continued. “I’ve contacted Henri in the past to feature him, but he always declines and offers no explanation.”
That was curious, Juliana agreed. Most winemakers would welcome a feature article in Wine Appreciation, the wine industry’s most prestigious publication. Bessie and her husband, Gilbert Waters, had catapulted several wineries to success through their coverage. Every wine collector and luxury hotelier read the magazine. Why wouldn’t he want an article on his wine? And he was certainly a handsome representative.
A reporter raised his hand to Henri. “You said you’re using new methods in winemaking, such as malolactic fermentation. Can you explain that?”
“That’s the process of turning malic acid into lactic acid,” Henri said. “It uses bacteria rather than yeast. In short, malolactic fermentation results in a smoother, rounder taste on the palate. This method is used more in Europe. You’ll find more information on the handout provided for you.”
Juliana closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the sound of Henri’s deep voice. It was as smooth and rich as the wines he created. He was an American, but certain words carried a slightly different accent as if he might have spoken French in years past. His surname was French, and he advocated European winemaking methods, but beyond that, she knew little of the man. Nor did anyone else.
Bessie held a white-gloved hand to her red lipstick-painted mouth and whispered, “Have you heard if he’s seeing anyone?”
Juliana shook her head. “His wife hasn’t been gone long.” That question cut close to her heart. She braced herself for what was surely coming next. Waiting, she picked at a thread on the new burgundy-colored suit she’d bought especially for this event.
“She died a year ago. A handsome man like that with two small children? He’s sure to marry someone soon.” Bessie’s face lit. �
�You two have a lot in common, seeing as how Alfonso is, well… no longer with us, poor boy.” She patted Juliana’s shoulder in sympathy. “I’m so sorry, dear, but you’re still a young woman. A man that virile would probably give you babies, too.”
Blinking back a sudden sting behind her eyes, Juliana offered a polite smile, though the muscles in her jaw tightened reflexively. She and Alfonso Villareal had known each other from childhood and had dated for years. Everyone assumed they would marry. She did, too.
Juliana still remembered the day Alfonso had joined the Army to work in military intelligence. He’d been so proud of representing his country and had looked so handsome in his uniform. He was excited about serving in Korea. After graduating from high school, she had waited four more interminable years, going to college while he was gone. As Alfonso’s time in the service drew to a close, they were ecstatic, their dreams in sight.
The wedding was planned, she’d made her dress, and their families were looking forward to welcoming him home. And then, just a week before he was to leave Korea, he was killed in a military ambush.
Inside, Juliana’s heart was still raw. Alfonso’s death might as well have happened yesterday, rather than five years ago. She could only imagine how difficult life must be for Henri, who had two children to look after, though he seemed like a thoughtful, patient man.
Winemakers had to have an abundance of patience. It took years from the time new rootstock was planted, and vines bore fruit, until the wine was sufficiently aged in barrels before bottling. Many of the original vines in the valley had withered long ago. The number of vineyards had been significantly depleted during Prohibition, which had wiped out the majority of grape farmers and winemakers during the 1920s and 1930s. It hadn’t been until after the depression and the Second World War that the industry had started to grow again. Juliana couldn’t be more excited.
A new era of winemaking was underway in the United States, and opportunities abounded. So why was Henri so serious in his delivery? But then, with his voice, he could probably read the telephone book and draw a crowd of admirers.
When Henri finished, Juliana rose and addressed the gathering of press and vintners. “Thank you all for coming today. We have so many incredible wines being produced today in our region, wines that can stand on the world stage in terms of excellence.” This she knew from her childhood friend Caterina Rosetta, who was a sommelier at the St. Francis Hotel and had access to the world’s finest wines. She also had one of the best wine palates in the valley.
Juliana went on. “I’d like to thank my friends and colleagues at Chateau Laurent, Mille Étoiles, and Beringer, as well as those at Charles Krug, Inglenook, Gundlach Bundschu, and Buena Vista. For our press guests, we invite you to stay and enjoy the wine. Please don’t hesitate to ask questions, because that’s why our winemakers are here. Cheers,” she added, raising her glass of Chateau Laurent, though she’d only taken a sip.
Amid the polite applause, Juliana surveyed the high-ceilinged, wainscoted meeting room to make sure people were meeting and mingling. She saw Caterina and her mother, Ava Rosetta, who was the stylish winemaker and proprietor of Mille Étoiles winery, at the rear of the room talking to a San Francisco newspaper reporter. Bessie was speaking to Raphael Casini, who was an expert in viticulture and Ava’s vigneron from Montalcino, Italy. Gilbert was asking them to pose for a photograph. Juliana turned to find Henri.
To her dismay, Henri was putting on his hat.
“Excuse me, Mr. Laurent. May I have a word with you?” Juliana hurried toward him. She didn’t want the winemakers to start leaving, because she’d promised her press contacts access to them. Henri didn’t pause until he was at the door. She saw his shoulders rise and drop, and then he turned reluctantly to her.
“Yes?” Henri still had on his hat.
“I wanted to thank you for coming.” Juliana fumbled for something to say. His dark eyebrows framed cognac-colored eyes that immediately swept her under his spell.
“My pleasure.” He nodded curtly and began to turn.
“Gilbert and Bessie Waters of Wine Appreciation magazine would like to speak to you.” Juliana pressed her palms together.
Slowly, he removed his hat and looked over his shoulder.
“They’d like photographs of all the winemakers together.” Juliana waved at Gilbert.
“No photos.” Henri put his hat back on to leave.
“Wait,” Juliana said, touching the sleeve of his light wool jacket. “There’s something else I’d like to ask you.”
Henri’s gaze slid to her hand, which was now resting on his forearm. Before Juliana could pull her hand away, he placed his hand on hers. “What is it, Miss Cardona?”
She lowered her eyes to his elegant, tapered fingers resting on hers. His skin was smooth, so unlike other farmer’s hands. “Please call me Juliana.”
“Juliana.”
At the sound of her name on his lips, Juliana was rendered nearly breathless. “I—I’m wondering where you sell your wine.” She edged her hand away, hoping he didn’t feel it quivering.
Finally, a smile tugged on one side of his mouth. “I haven’t sold any in a few years.”
“But why not?”
His eyes darted to one side, and then he replied, “I suppose the wine is aging.”
“Could I visit your home? I mean, could I see how you make your wines? The way you explained your process, you make it sound so interesting.” Juliana stopped herself, wishing she could melt away. She’d just invited herself to this man’s home. Where were her manners? Her mother would chastise her if she’d heard her. This was not the way she had been raised.
But she was a modern woman, not of her mother’s generation. Juliana squared her shoulders and gave Henri a bright smile, as if asking to visit him was the most natural thing to do. “I have ideas that could help you promote your wines.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, signaling bemusement. “You’re welcome to come anytime, Juliana. Will you come alone?”
“I might have a reporter with me. They’re all so anxious to speak to you.”
He gazed out at the clutch of winemakers and reporters, who seemed relaxed, chatting and sipping wine. “Yes, I can see that.” A smile touched his lips.
Juliana looked sheepishly through her dark lashes at him. “Well, maybe not this very moment.”
He put his hand on her forearm, and she felt a jolt of energy course through her. “You are welcome with or without a chaperone.” He chuckled.
“I’m not that young.” Juliana was suddenly incensed. “Are you laughing at me?”
Henri just shook his head. “You’re a gusty young woman, aren’t you?”
Juliana glared at him. “You would be, too, if you were me. You men get to do exactly what you want. I started this publicity business because none of you in the wine industry would hire a woman. So yes, I have to be gutsy, as you put it, to do what I love and pay the rent.” She stopped herself, touching her lips. Why couldn’t she control her tongue?
Henri was looking at her with renewed interest. “Come by tomorrow at 11:00.” Then he put his hat on and left.
Juliana groaned to herself. How could she have done such an embarrassing thing?
“Hey, why are you looking so glum?” Caterina tapped her on the shoulder.
Relieved to see her friend, Juliana said, “Oh, Cat, you have no idea what I just did.”
“Besides put on a successful event? My mother has been talking to the society editor and the food editor at the San Francisco Chronicle. She’d like for you to help her with press coverage. Seems like your dream is coming true.”
Caterina was right. Juliana had dreamed of having her own publicity business. She’d not only finished high school, but also college, quite a feat for an immigrant whose father had left her and her mother penniless. Her mother, Nina, worked as a cook for Caterina’s family. Nina and Caterina’s mother, Ava, had become close over the years after the death of Ava’s husband and through t
he lean Depression years. Juliana shot a look at her friend. “I just invited myself to see Henri Laurent tomorrow.”
“He might be a good client for you. What’s so terrible about that?”
Juliana folded her arms. “He’s disturbing, that’s what he is.”
“You just haven’t dated anyone since Alfonso.” With an understanding smile, Caterina handed Juliana a glass of wine and led her back to the crowd. “Come on, you have work to do. And wait until you hear about the new lead I have for you.”
2
Tapping the steering wheel to the beat of Elvis Presley’s “Don’t Be Cruel” and singing at the top of her lungs, Juliana kicked up clouds of dust on the back roads of Calistoga. When she reached Chateau Laurent, she turned down the radio and wheeled her faded red Chevrolet Stylemaster into the entry. Towering eucalyptus trees that released a fresh minty menthol scent shielded the property from view.
Henri was waiting for her. He unlocked the nondescript wooden gate and waved her in. “Park in front of the house,” he said, pointing to the right.
“Hop in. I’ll take you back.”
“Go on. I have to lock up.”
“Most of us in the country don’t even lock the house,” Juliana said, but he only shrugged and closed the gate behind her. She wondered if he’d grown up in a city.