A Mother's Wedding Day

by Rebecca Winters; Dominique Burton

  In the end Andrea had done everything humanly possible to make a good life for Sammi and Edna, and be the perfect employee. Over time Steve became more like a favorite grandfather to Sammi. To Andrea’s mind he brought a certain stability to their world. The man whom she’d discovered was in a tumultuous marriage had turned out to be Andrea’s best friend. He’d helped her through her darkest period.

  Another wave of sadness swept through her. Steve was the one who needed help now, but she was meeting with little success in that department.

  While she sat there in sorrow, it suddenly dawned on her she was due to open up the tasting room located in the front of the main house. She jumped up to wash her face and redo her makeup before heading over there. Work was supposed to be a panacea for suffering. Since Sammi had bolted, work was the only thing saving Andrea from wallowing in pain.

  At the end of the day, she locked up and returned to the cottage. After she got ready for bed, she went into the small living room she’d converted into a studio with a kiln. For the next two hours she worked on some commissioned tiles, until she grew too drowsy to paint.

  The next morning was a repeat of the day before. She found Steve in bed, unconscious. She started a load of wash and cleaned up his room, then hurried back to the cottage to follow through with her own agenda.

  Promptly at nine she phoned the bank and was told Mr. de Roussillac was on the other line. At least he had returned!

  “Do you want to leave your name and number and he’ll call you back?”

  “I’d rather hold,” Andrea told his secretary.

  “It could be a long wait.”

  “I’ll risk it.”

  “Very well.”

  Andrea played the game with his secretary for fifteen minutes. She had to give the woman high marks for going along with her. As she was about to hang up, a deep male voice came on the line.

  “Max de Roussillac speaking.”

  Chapter Two

  Did she detect impatience in his voice? If so, it would fit with her low opinion of him. “Max? It’s Andrea Danbury.”

  After a brief silence he said, “I never thought the day would come when you would seek me out.” He kept his voice civil. “Were you the woman who called yesterday for personal reasons?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you’d left a number, I would have phoned you back immediately. What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing for me,” Andrea answered quietly. “Your father’s in a bad way. He’s been drinking too much and needs you.”

  There was a sustained silence before Max said, “Do you mean he’s in the hospital?”

  His question pushed her anger over the top. “I take it he needs to be on his deathbed before you would show a modicum of concern? Let me tell you something. He’s a greater man than you’ll ever hope to be. As for answering your question, no, he’s not in the hospital, but if he goes on languishing, he’ll end up there.”

  “Languishing?”

  “Yes. Since the divorce he hasn’t been himself. Lately, he’s taken a turn for the worse.”

  When she heard Max’s sharp intake of breath, she knew she’d hit another nerve.

  “He’s ill. If I have to explain his state of mind to you, then you’re not the brilliant man he constantly brags about who has taken the Chandler Corporation to unprecedented heights.

  “Every morning I leave the cottage and walk over to the house to fix his breakfast, but he just toys with it. Or doesn’t eat it at all. In case you didn’t know, he has stopped answering the phone. The manager calls me at the cottage now, wanting instructions from your father.

  “I’m not a vintner! I serve customers during wine-tasting hours, and those customers are getting few and far between. My time is devoted to my housekeeping and wine-tasting duties for your father. In my free time I paint.

  “If Jim Harvey comes to me again for help, I’m going to give him your number and tell him to call you from here on out.” On that fiery note she hung up on him, too angry to talk any longer.

  While she stood there, trying to calm down, she realized she’d just made everything ten times worse. But there was no right way to deal with Steve’s son. The first time they’d met, in the wine-tasting room, she’d found herself strongly attracted to the dark-haired college student, even though he was twenty-one to her twenty-four.

  It had surprised her she could have feelings for another man so soon after Chris’s death. The two men were opposites in background and nature. Where Max had inherited his father’s Gallic coloring, Chris had been a blond and was fifteen years older than Andrea.

  In the beginning she’d attributed her interest in Max to the fact that he was Steve’s son and had inherited many of his father’s appealing male qualities. When he’d asked her to go out with him, part of her had wanted to say yes, but another part told her it wouldn’t be wise to get involved with the boss’s son. Rather than turn him down flat, she’d explained that it was too soon for her to consider dating again.

  Throughout the rest of his college and graduate school years, he came to the vineyard to help his father whenever he got a break. Inevitably, he spent part of his time with her. He had a charming way with Sammi and her aunt. Just when Andrea had reached the point where she would have said yes if he’d asked her to dinner or some such thing, he no longer tried.

  She didn’t know if it was pride that held him back, because she’d turned him down so many times, or the fact that he really wasn’t interested anymore. If that was the case, then she didn’t have the temerity to make the next move.

  Whatever the reason, by keeping him at a distance too long she’d lost her opportunity. It had turned out to be another wrong decision on her part. Now the time had passed to explore what might have been between them.

  She filled her time with raising her daughter and taking care of her aunt, while she did her work for Steve. As the years went by Andrea’s art career started to take off, and Max split his time between San Francisco and Switzerland, working his way up in the banking world.

  Over that period of time Steve’s marriage grew rockier. Helen hardly ever came to the vineyard anymore. Andrea saw less of Max, whose appeal had ruined her for the other men she occasionally dated.

  It hit her hard when one day he’d unexpectedly appeared with a woman, a beautiful brunette like his mother. He’d brought Catherine Townsend to meet his father. Max had escorted her into the wine-tasting room to introduce her to Andrea. She was flashing a diamond ring, which could only mean one thing.

  Andrea had had to fight her feelings to remain friendly, without letting him know how the news of his engagement had affected her.

  For the next two months she went through what could only be described as Max withdrawal until Steve told her his son had called off the wedding. Andrea shouldn’t have been happy about it, but in her heart of hearts she was. Then she received another blow: Max had gone off to Switzerland again, this time for six months.

  After that everything seemed to fall apart. Helen divorced Steve, and then her father, the senior Chandler who was head of the bank, passed away. His funeral brought Max home to take up duties as the new chairman of the board.

  Andrea saw him only once, when he came to the cottage looking for his father. She’d been in the middle of painting some tiles and told him to come in. After she commiserated with him about his grandfather, he’d muttered something indistinct. They’d stared at each other until she could feel the tension between them. Then she’d explained that his father wasn’t at the vineyard and she had no idea when he’d be back.

  To her dismay, Max left without saying anything. That was the last time she’d seen him. Andrea didn’t know why he stayed away from his father. No doubt it had a lot to do with his parents’ divorce. It killed her, because Steve was all heart and warmth. His kindness to Sammi and her aunt had made such a difference in her life.

  If Max ever thawed enough to spend time with his father again, he would be impressed by the man who�
��d thought so highly of his son.

  Over the phone she’d been tempted to tell him he was the luckiest man alive to have a father at all. Sammi wasn’t as lucky. Chris had been snatched away before she’d known him. Didn’t Max know how blessed he was?

  Andrea wanted to blame it all on Helen, but she couldn’t. The woman might have a lot to answer for in brainwashing her son against Steve, if that’s what she’d done. Maybe she hadn’t. Maybe Max had turned against his father for his own reasons, but he’d been a grown man for a long time now. It was imperative he take responsibility for their estrangement and do something about it.

  Of course, Andrea couldn’t say any of those things to him, because she was guilty of a crime so much worse. She’d prevented Sammi from getting to know Chris’s family!

  When Sammi had lashed out in her darkest hour, she’d accused Andrea of being evil for keeping the truth from her. Evil was a strong word, one she’d never expected to hear come from her daughter’s mouth, but the word fit the crime. Andrea had the strongest premonition she would pay for that sin to the grave.

  STILL REELING FROM THE unexpected phone call, Max stood at his office window overlooking the Bay.

  For Andrea Danbury to phone him out of the blue about his father, he had to treat her call seriously. Before now she’d never taken the initiative to phone him for any reason.

  At the moment Max was in the middle of delicate negotiations to merge a new banking group with Chandler’s, but he couldn’t ignore the reason for Andrea’s phone call. Beneath her anger at him, he’d sensed her anxiety. His had been building, too. He loved his father. She’d said he’d been drinking too much. That didn’t sound like the man he’d adored from childhood.

  He buzzed his secretary. “Mrs. Reese? Would you reschedule my overseas conference call for some time next week? Tell the parties I’ll get back to them as soon as I can. An emergency has come up I have to deal with. I’m leaving the office now and will let you know my plans later.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Needing to change out of his suit, Max raced to his South Beach penthouse overlooking Rincon Hill. In case he found his father in even worse shape than Andrea had made out, he decided to pack a bag, so he’d be able to stay over. After writing a note to his housekeeper, who’d be coming in tomorrow, he left for the hour and a half drive through wine country.

  He had to concede that the route along the St. Helena Highway was one of the most beautiful in the world. During the times he’d lived in and traveled around Europe, drinking in the culture and wishing Andrea were with him, he’d visited many of the wine-making regions, including those along the Rhine. Each had its own unique charm. So did the Napa Valley, where the first de Roussillac had settled and bought thirty acres.

  Today his father grew the same kind of Riesling grapes growing on his great-aunt’s terroir in Alsace, producing a dry, elegant white wine that was a rarity in the Napa Valley. But according to Andrea, the vineyard was going downhill. Max had been so caught up in banking affairs this last year, he hadn’t taken the time to help his father the way he should have.

  The news about him wasn’t good. A guilty conscience could cause a man to drink himself into a stupor. If his father had been having an affair with Andrea, as his mother had claimed, then he ought to be feeling guilty for not having divorced Helen long before she’d divorced him.

  Max hadn’t known of his mother’s suspicions. Without telling him, she’d filed for the divorce while he’d been in Europe. It wasn’t until he came home for his grandfather’s funeral that she told him the reason she’d ended the marriage, which had been on and off and on again for years.

  He didn’t believe it at first—his father had always been an honorable man. To be married to one woman while he kept another on the side wasn’t his style. No matter what kind of a marriage they had, his father had been crazy about his mother.

  As for Andrea, she was an enigma to him. In the beginning Max had felt an immediate chemistry between them, but he’d suspected her grief over losing her husband had prevented her from going out with him at the time. After five years of her turning him down, however, he had to wonder if it was because he was younger than she was and she refused to take him seriously.

  Her rejection had stung for a long time. By his thirties he was well into his career, and enjoyed relationships with other women.

  Unfortunately, each time he visited his father, he found himself more attracted to Andrea than ever. It maddened him that she seemed so satisfied with her life. She didn’t appear to require a man to make her happy, though when she looked at him, he could swear there was still chemistry between them. Maybe more so than before. That was what baffled him.

  He’d felt it particularly when he’d introduced her to Catherine, but at that point he was an engaged man who had no business thinking about anyone but his fiancée. Though he’d tried, he couldn’t make his new relationship work. Andrea always hovered in the shadows, coming between him and his ultimate happiness.

  To his dismay she’d gotten under his skin early and had stayed there, even though he’d tried hard to forget her. Not even the beautiful Catherine had been able to erase her from his consciousness. Unwilling to go into a marriage when he wasn’t a hundred percent in love, he’d been forced to break it off with her, causing her pain he hadn’t meant to inflict.

  As for Andrea and his father, he didn’t sense anything going on between them except deep friendship and respect.

  When Max had told his mother she was wrong about the two of them, she said she had proof from an eyewitness. Furthermore, when she’d confronted his father, he’d refused to answer her one way or the other and had simply granted her the divorce.

  Since Max had never known his father to be evasive or intentionally cruel, he’d driven up to St. Helena the day after his grandfather’s funeral in order to get the truth out of him. That had been two months ago. When he couldn’t find him in the main house or the winery shed, he’d knocked on Andrea’s door and she’d told him to come in.

  He distinctly remembered it had been a rainy March morning, but you wouldn’t have known it to see her padding around inside the cottage with a flouncy cotton skirt and simple white blouse covering her rich curves.

  She’d been barefooted, her long, ash-blond hair flowing over her shoulders. The ultimate earth mother, with green eyes the color of nature. After being away so long, he’d hoped she would have aged—anything—so she would no longer live up to the images in his mind.

  If anything, she was more beautiful. Every forty-one-year-old woman with a grown daughter should look so good. Max hadn’t seen Samantha in ages. Through his father he’d learned she’d graduated from Brooks and was quite the photographer now. It came as no surprise that she’d inherited her mother’s fabulous talent.

  Andrea’s studio was full of her latest landscapes. It smelled of paint and her own subtle, flowery fragrance. His natural instinct was to study each canvas and discuss it with her. She saw things in nature that intrigued him.

  In the background he’d heard an aria from La Bohème playing. When he discovered Andrea was alone, working on a painting, he found he didn’t want to leave. While she added another dab of color, she told him his father had left the vineyard, but she didn’t know where he’d gone. That wasn’t good news.

  Before telling her he had to get back to San Francisco, Max asked about her aunt in the nursing home in Rutherford. They chatted for a few minutes longer about her condition. It wasn’t until Andrea started to clean her brush that she looked up at him.

  “Steve will be so upset when he finds out you came to visit and he wasn’t here. Promise you’ll come again soon.”

  Her entreaty reached inside him. Was she asking him to come to the vineyard for her sake, too? It sounded like it. He’d wanted to believe it, but in all probability it was more wishful thinking on his part.

  Max had banged his head on that door too many times to bloody himself yet again. In the end he’d left the cott
age, congratulating himself for not giving in to the impulse to do what he really wanted, and take her in his arms.

  As he drove away, he’d decided he couldn’t honestly see her and his father as lovers. Maybe he was reading her wrong, but he didn’t think so. Nothing about his mother’s assertions added up. Her eyewitness had to have been wrong.

  He should have asked Andrea point-blank, but how could he? His father was the one with the answers. They would have to come from him. It was too bad that at the time of his grandfather’s death, there’d been problems at the bank. Max had had to leave for Switzerland to straighten them out.

  He had ended up being in Zurich for the last two months. He’d felt it best to put off the conversation with his father until he got back. This weekend, in fact, he’d planned to drive up to St. Helena and spend time with him, but Andrea’s phone call had reached him first.

  A few miles later he came in sight of the vineyard. When he’d been here two months ago, his mind had been elsewhere. Now he could see that a portion of it had been left unattended. As he drove in, he noticed things looked run-down.

  The gray-and-white, two-story Victorian house with its wine-tasting room needed fresh paint. So did the bungalow-style cottage. Shrubs needed to be trimmed and shaped. The estate no longer had the polished appearance that had once welcomed the public.

  He parked his car at the back of the house and looked around. Shabby was the word that came to mind, one he would never have associated with his father. Not in his work ethic, or his habits.

  The divorce had done its damage, but guilt consumed Max that his father’s decline, not to mention the estate’s deterioration, had come about partly because of his own selfishness and preoccupation with other matters. Andrea had spoken the truth. He should have realized sooner what was happening and taken steps to help prevent it.