Silenced By Syrah

by Scott, Michele

  “You don’t need wine, honey. You need to get busy with the Spaniard.”

  “Can we talk about this later?”

  He sighed and looked at his watch. “I think we’re going to have to. Marco has me scheduled for the grapeseed facial.”

  “Wait a minute, you’re going to get a spa treatment while people are coming in and out of here like this is a zoo? I’m sure your help is needed.”

  He gave her a kiss on the cheek and squeezed her hand. “Oh Goldilocks, I tell you, it pays to be the boss. There are perks. And, to run a tight ship in the spa, which is my job, I should probably try out the treatments on a regular basis to make sure it’s what we want here at the Malveaux Inn. See you at that meditation; we’ll work through that pent-up angst.” He winked at her.

  Blah! Not just nails on a chalkboard, but the alarm clock on the nightstand at the crack of dawn, when Jose Cuervo was the best friend of choice the night before.

  Another thought crossed Nikki’s mind. Was Simon so annoying with his suggestions of taking her relationship to another level with Andrés because maybe he had a point? Was it time to give up her crush on Derek and take a leap with Andrés? Too much introspection to deal with at the moment. She had an eccentric chef to tend to. Hopefully, things were running smoothly at the restaurant and no one had pissed Georges off on opening day, or vice versa. Georges wasn’t necessarily known for his couth, and already a handful of employees who’d originally been staffed at the restaurant had either been fired by Georges or had quit. Napa Valley was basically a small town in the scheme of things and Georges was quickly becoming the topic of choice for the gossip circles. It was one way to attract customers—come to Georges on the Vineyard and meet the quirky chef. Hmmm, one could cross her fingers and hope everything would go off without a hitch tonight, but the knot in the pit of Nikki’s stomach told her it was doubtful.

  Pissaladiere with

  Clos du Bois Shiraz

  Hosting your own wine tasting can be a lot of fun. Nikki would say that the best tastings go well with friends. Invite a dozen friends and ask that each bring a bottle of wine. Suggest on the invites which varietals, so that you don’t get a dozen Chardonnays. Also ask if everyone could bring an appetizer that they might pair with the wine. If your guests aren’t sure what that might be, then do the homework for them. There are many sites online, including ones from the various wineries that also have recipe sections that make suggestions for the wines. Have each guest bring the dish and a copy of the recipe so that you all go home with twelve new fabulous recipes and wine pairings for future reference.

  When hosting a wine tasting remind your guests to use all of their senses. In a well-lit room, hold your wine glass up to a white background. The color of the wine should be clear and intense, coming from the contact of the juice and grape during the wine-making process. Whites, depending on varietals, can be light green, clear, straw yellow, or gold with a slightly brown hue. Sweeter white wines start off with a deeper yellow.

  Red wines may be purple, ruby, or blood red. As red wine ages, it will lose color and appear more brick brown. Blush wines like dry rosés or white zinfandels are pink.

  For the special event at the Malveaux Inn and Spa, Nikki paired the Estate Syrah with a Pissaladiere, a.k.a. French-style, white pizza. Since Malveaux Estate Wines can only be found in Nikki’s world, another she suggested trying with this recipe is Clos du Bois Shiraz. The Sonoma County Shiraz is a full-flavored wine that pairs well with a wide range of foods. It’s reminiscent of the Australian Shiraz, with rich flavors of berries that include raspberry, blackberry, and a hint of blueberry. On the back palate the wine leaves the impression of spice, fennel, and black pepper.

  1 (6.5 oz) package “Alouette Garlic et Herbes”

  10- to 12-inch ready-made pizza crust

  1 medium sweet onion, thinly sliced

  6-12 Nicoise or black olives, pitted and sliced

  2 tsp olive oil

  1 tsp “Herbes de Provence” (or combine 1⁄4 tsp each

  basil, rosemary, marjoram, savory, and thyme)

  1 tbsp grated Parmesan cheese

  Preheat oven to 400°. Spread Alouette on pizza crust. Arrange onions and olives on top of cheese. Sprinkle with olive oil, herbs, and Parmesan. Bake for 10-15 minutes. Cut into 8 slices and serve immediately. Serves 4-6.

  Chapter 2

  Nikki walked through the lobby of the inn on her way to meet Georges at the restaurant. The inn resembled a Mediterranean villa with a central cloistered courtyard that served as a reception area, lounge, café, and wine bar. The rooms were mainly on the second story, all with sweeping views of the estate’s vineyard. There were thirty rooms divided and located among three separate courtyards. The pathways at night were lit by candles on patio stakes, bouncing shadows off the sand-colored walls. To walk through the serene gardens and past the waterfalls throughout the courtyards was nothing less than spectacular.

  A pianist played one of Norah Jones’s hits in the golden lobby of the inn. Outside the lobby was a stone pathway that led up the hill to the restaurant. As Nikki entered Georges on the Vineyard, she caught sight of the view through the windows. The restaurant had been built on the hillside to take full advantage of the vistas a few hundred feet from the hotel. Patrons could hike the steep path up to the restaurant or choose to be chauffeured in one of the vineyard’s golf carts. Nikki had chosen the hike, having missed out on her morning run. As she stepped into the foyer, she turned to look out at the view. She sighed. It never ceased to amaze her: the greens, golds, ambers, and shades of red and purple that took hold of the valley and brought it to life like an earth-toned rainbow, never to be duplicated by man’s hand.

  The clinging and clanging of pots and pans coming from the kitchen broke her reverie. She entered the kitchen to the scene of a half dozen men and women, their heads topped with chef beanies, working at a frantic pace chopping and dicing, and Georges Debussey yelling at all of them. “No, no, noo!” he hollered at a young woman at the pastry counter, who appeared to be blending cream. “Sacre bleu. You do not beat le crème? Where did you go to school? Are you an imbecile? I do not remember you. Did I hire you? Who are you?” The young woman looked up at him, her dark eyes brimming with tears. “No, no, no. Do not cry in my kitchen.” He took the blender from her. “Like this. You do it like this. Oui?” He rolled his eyes.

  “Yes, monsieur,” the young woman said, and as what seemed to be an afterthought, “My name is Bridgette.”

  “Ah, well, Bridgette, you must do as I do in my kitchen. Comprends?”

  “Yes, I understand,” she replied.

  Georges moved on and stood over a man rinsing dried porcini mushrooms. “Nice. Bon. Good. Those will be perfect in the Daube de Boef aux Cèpes et à l’Orange.” He then turned and caught Nikki’s eye. “Mon Dieu. Who do we have here?” He spread his arms out as if he’d just seen a long lost friend.

  Nikki had learned that this was the way Georges greeted everyone. She’d become his “new best friend” after working with him on the cookbook he’d done in conjunction with Derek. Nikki’s participation in the project had been to take notes for Derek about the vineyard, winery, and wines produced at Malveaux, compile them, write them out in text format, and pass them on to Georges, who then took the notes and fit them into the cookbook. It had been a fun project to work on and Nikki had discovered during it that writing was something she enjoyed. She’d had to meet with Georges at his restaurant in the city a few times in regard to the book, and although he’d always been a bit off the wall, he’d also been fun to be around. He always had a mischievous twinkle in his hazel eyes, even when scolding the underlings working for him. Right now that look was directed at Nikki. He licked his thin lips.

  “It is so good to see you, Mademoiselle Nikki,” he said, his French accent rolling off the end of each word.

  She went to shake his hand. He took it and kissed it instead and tucked a piece of salt-and-pepper hair back into his ponytail, reveal
ing a large diamond stud earring. Nikki found him sort of cute in a weird, over-fifty, eccentric, French chef kind of way. Maybe it was the dimples when he smiled, or that twinkle. Whatever it was, even with his offbeat behavior, she thought Georges charming.

  “It is soo difficult to maintain control here. My partner is late. I will kill Baron when I see him. Never have an Irishman as your partner.”

  Nikki had only met Baron O’Grady twice before and he came off as the quintessential Irishman, brogue included.

  “Baron is likely off drinking whiskey on the job,” Georges continued. He waved a hand through the air. “Enough of that, though. Come on, you are here to tell me about the vin and I am here to look at those green eyes of yours. Oui?”

  No. But whatever. He looked around. “Janie! Where is Janie?”

  A young twentysomething woman walked around the corner. She was petite, pretty, with long blonde hair, huge blue eyes, and freckles dotting her nose that made her look childlike. She came up next to Georges. “I was making sure the escargot you ordered from the city had arrived.”

  “Oui. You have met my assistant, Janie Creswell. My angel from God.”

  “Oh Georges, don’t lie to Nikki. I am not an angel.”

  Nikki smiled as the two of them laughed at the comment. “Nice to see you again, Janie.”

  Georges said, “You are an angel.”

  Nikki had not figured these two out yet. It was weird because they bantered back and forth and seemed to share a certain intimacy, but he still flirted with every other woman around, and Janie wore an engagement ring.

  “Why don’t we go into the bar and go over the wines for this evening?” Nikki said.

  “Oui. Janie?”

  “Right behind you,” she replied, notebook in hand.

  Nikki had never seen the girl without a notebook.

  They entered the bar, elegantly painted in Tuscan tones of gold, champagne, sage, and burgundy. Malveaux Estate wines sat on glass shelving behind the bar, reflected in the mirror that covered the rear wall.

  “You tell me about the vin and I tell you more about Georges,” the chef said.

  Nikki tried to laugh. Janie gave Georges a dirty look. “I am only teasing,” Georges said.

  “I’m sorry. He’s incorrigible. I do try to keep him in line,” Janie said.

  “Keep me in line. Blaspheme. I do not need to be kept in line. I am a good boy. Very bon.” He winked at Nikki.

  Okay, robbing the cradle and trying to get two women in his bed.

  “Georges,” an attractive woman seated at one at the end of the bar called out.

  “Oui, Lauren?”

  “I have some questions. I’m meeting with Rick and we need to ask you a few things before we go forward on some of these campaigns. He’ll be right back; he went to the men’s room.”

  “Is that not why I hire you? To do the job? Get it done. You are the best. I have been told that. I was not lied to, was I?” he snipped. “I do not have time for questions now. Do your job. Oui?”

  “That’s true, but we are dealing with your money here, and Rick and I need some approvals, and he needs to show you a few things on the books. Can we get five minutes of your time?”

  Georges sighed. “Come, Mademoiselle Nikki. Meet Madame Lauren Trump.”

  “No relation to The Donald,” Lauren replied and stood to shake Nikki’s hand. She had a firm handshake—all business. She wore a cream-colored suit and peach blouse, and had recently spent time in either a tanning booth, the sun, or in a spray-tan booth. She had silvered hair, cropped short in a pixie, and there weren’t any visible lines on her face. Classic, elegant type of beauty. Either one helluva plastic surgeon or someone who aged really well, because she had to be in her fifties and it had nothing to do with the silvering of her hair, but rather there was a glint of wisdom in her eyes that reminded Nikki of Aunt Cara, who had raised her. The kind of glint that only comes from many years of living, loving, and learning. “Lauren Trump. I’m Georges’ marketing director for his restaurant in the city and now I’m going to be doing some things here at the vineyard for this restaurant. I also work for Rothschild, Georges’ publisher, but only on Georges’ books.”

  “I see. Nice to meet you. I’m Nikki Sands, the winery’s manager.” A spicy, mandarin scent wafted her way. Must have been Lauren’s perfume. Strong, but fitting for the woman.

  “Fantastic. Maybe we can meet up soon and discuss some kind of campaign with the winery. I know you’ve been helping Mr. Malveaux with the notes on the book and passing them on to Georges. I think that’s wonderful. I’m surprised we haven’t met before. Granted Georges and I usually conduct our meetings in the city, but I’m certain I’ll be spending more time out here in the wine country seeing how Georges’ new restaurant will be the hottest thing around.” She turned to Georges and winked; he smiled and winked back at her.

  “Absolutely. Give me a call.” Nikki handed her a card. She knew when Derek had set out on this venture that the restaurant would be an almost separate entity. Sure it was in conjunction with the vineyard, but Derek and the rest of them had no clue how to run a restaurant. That was why he’d brought in Georges and his partner, Baron, and had given them control in that department.

  “Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Debussey. I see Lauren got your attention.”

  A slight man walked into the restaurant, he, too, wearing business attire—a charcoal suit. His hair, the color of sand, was almost shade for shade the color of his skin. Quite a contrast to Lauren Trump’s tan. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and as mean as Nikki knew the thought was, and as hard as she tried to shove it away, the word “nerd” popped into her mind. Knowing that was not nice, she stretched out her hand and introduced herself before Georges had a chance to.

  “Hello,” he replied. “I’m Rick Moran. Hello Ms. Creswell.” He nodded at Janie, who briefly glanced up from her notebook to reply.

  Funny how Ms. Trump hadn’t even looked Janie’s way, even though Janie stood behind Nikki, almost as if she were trying to hide.

  “I’m Mr. Debussey’s accountant,” Mr. Moran added.

  Accountant? Yep. That fit. Jeesh! She really had to stop thinking in terms of stereotypes.

  “Rick, stop calling me Mr. Debussey. I am Georges. Now what is the problem?”

  “Maybe it would be a good idea to discuss financial matters in private,” Rick said and gave Nikki a half-hearted smile.

  “Actually that’s not a problem for me. Janie? Why don’t we go in the other room and talk about the wines together and you can fill Georges in?” Nikki suggested.

  “Sure,” she replied with cheerleader enthusiasm.

  Georges sighed and faced Rick Moran. “Make this quick.” He waved a hand at Janie and Nikki. “I will be with you in a moment. I am so sorry.”

  Nikki and Janie walked outside to the patio dining area. This place was definitely going to be a hit. Nikki breathed it all in. This was where she and Andrés would sit tonight, right out here. But would that be too romantic?

  They had just sat down when Georges came outside.

  “That was quick,” Janie said.

  “Bah. They did not need me to make the decision. Conservative.” He looked at Nikki and smiled. “Accountants are conservateurs, and Lauren, she is not and I am not. I take risque and Lauren comprends this. Rick no. I make the décision that I know Lauren wants to hear and Rick, he will have to make the money work out. Nikki, Lauren will phone you next week. I want to have a grand campaign over the next few months and she thinks that we need to include the Château, as do I. You will discuss this with Derek, oui?”

  “Sure.” Nikki had learned Frenchlish over time. Most of Georges’ words were easy to follow and she’d learned that Château was Georges’ word for winery, as that is what they’re called in France. “Is Lauren still here? I can maybe get some thoughts from her before I leave today and speak with Derek tomorrow.”

  “I told her to have a visit at the spa. Maybe tonight you will see her at the f
ete.” He laughed. “I did not invite Monsieur Moran. He would not spend the money on a gourmet dinner, and I do not want to treat him.”

  “Georges, he’s your financial advisor and accountant. Don’t you think you should invite him tonight?” Janie suggested.

  Georges rolled his eyes. “I am irritated with Monsieur Moran. He has made some errors as of late and I am considering replacing him anyway. Enough of that. Let us open a bottle of vin, and you tell me what we will recommendons for the soiree at Georges on the Vineyard.”

  “Actually, I thought we would do a tasting rather than having a bottle right now. You know, sample each one. I can give you my recommendations on what to pair the wine with and you can decide from there. Let me grab a spittoon. And get someone in the bar area to bring out the wines.”

  “Spit? I do not spit. Je bois. Ouvre le vin.”

  Janie touched his hand. “Georges. It’s a really big night. Maybe you should wait to start celebrating, you know.”

  It was then that Nikki noticed the addition to the ring on Janie’s finger. Along with the small, delicate, not-even-one-carat diamond ring—but pretty and simple like the young woman—was now a gold band. Nikki also noticed Georges’ eyes soften as Janie touched his hand. Wait a minute. Were they married? Janie had to be at least half his age.

  “Fine. No vin.” He patted her hand and smiled. “Mademoiselle Nikki, write down the list for me. I know the servers are versed in the vin already. If you look at my menu for the night, and tell me what to have the servers recommend, that is what I will do.”