by Olga Bicos
Gil nodded. “Well, yes. But you see—” he patted Ryan’s shoulder “—the old man can take it. No worse for wear.”
“Daniel hired her to renovate Cutty House.”
“Of course, Daniel,” Gil said, only too familiar with the family dynamics.
“She’s an architect who specializes in making the old into something new. Daniel wants to erase any last sign of what was once the Cutty heritage. He’s even calling the restaurant the East Side Café, with my parents surprisingly on board.”
“And you?”
He shrugged. “I say let him. If he’s gained my mother’s support, he has mine, though I still can’t imagine how he got her to come around.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t such a long trip for Vanessa.”
“Meaning?”
“Your father. He’s a good man, my friend for too many years. But I know his weakness. He should never have taken on that expansion by himself. When he lost the gallery, I can’t even imagine how Vanessa reacted. Everything your grandfather created dwindled down to a small collection, but Cutty House was still hungry for more.” He gave Ryan a look. “Maybe she’s not so averse to letting Samuel feel the sting of his mistakes?”
But Ryan disagreed, thinking that his father couldn’t feel a damn thing and his mother was smart enough to know it.
“My mother would never sabotage the business.” Ryan shook his head, knowing how much she’d sacrificed. “She’d never betray the family.”
“She betrayed you, didn’t she?”
He thought about that. “I’m the one who walked out, Gil. She only handed Daniel the reins after she gave up on me and Dad. The way she sees it, Daniel is all she has left.”
“And the girl? Why bring her?”
“That’s the interesting part.” Holly, who could explode the past right in their faces.
Gil stood and patted Ryan’s shoulder. “Still keeping secrets. Such a lot of bother for an old man. Don’t try to protect me so much. I have Marta for that.”
He walked a bit, then picked up one of the bottles from a rack.
“It’s going to be a great year, Ryan. Maybe we’ll even get one of ours on the White House’s table, eh?”
“I’m working on it.”
He slid the bottle back into place, not looking at Ryan as he spoke. “Nina was my shooting star. She lived her life so big, as if she knew she wasn’t long for this world. Or perhaps it is the way she chose to live that took her from us,” he said in the clear-eyed sentiment Ryan had come to expect from Gil.
He sighed. “I knew my daughter, Ryan. I knew that she wasn’t always…good. But she held my heart in her hands, Lord knows she did. She could do that to a man.”
“Don’t I know.”
He nodded. “What will you do about this architect, then?”
Ryan thought about the last week. The obsession…the kiss that only added heat. And the risks he and Holly were taking, playing with fire. That most of all.
“Step right into that trap, I suppose. Take the cheese,” Ryan said. “What else?”
Gil smiled. “Spoken like a man grown.”
“Or a fool.”
But Gil shook his head. “I used to worry about you,” he told Ryan. “How easily success came. Good grades, first in anything you tried. But I never saw passion. That desire to achieve is what a man needs so dearly to survive. Except, of course, when it came to your damned boats. You saved it all up for the sea.”
Ryan laughed. “A lot of good it did me.”
He regretted the words immediately, knowing how it must sound. “Gil, I didn’t mean—”
He held up his hand, cutting Ryan off. “Yes,” Gil acknowledged, “at first I felt guilty that I’d accepted your help. But Viña Dorada needed you and I was selfish enough to accept your sacrifice.”
Gil had required months to recover from his stroke, and years of physical therapy. Without Ryan to help him, Gil would have lost not just his daughter, but his family’s heritage.
Gil shook his head. “I was overrun by guilt. I thought, here I am, manipulating your life, just as I did when your father and I threw you and Nina together. Sometimes, parents, we think we are like God, knowing what is best. It’s not until later that we learn humility.”
But Ryan had heard enough. “Moved by the spirit of the vine, I see.”
Gil smiled. Ryan always brought up the spirit of the vine when Gil fell into philosophizing. “Ah, but there’s a point to my rambling. I don’t feel guilty anymore, Ryan. Viña Dorada and I did not take without giving something back. You haven’t seen it yet, of course. You still want those open seas. But someday, you’ll realize what you have here.”
“Maybe that day isn’t as far off as you think.”
They both knew the truth. The vineyard had become a part of Ryan. The spirit Gil preached about had reached Ryan, as well. He’d started as a vineyard manager, then gone to school for his degree in Enology. He’d traveled abroad to other vineyards, and eventually became one of Viña Dorada’s two wine makers as well as its chief operating officer.
Gil was looking outside, keeping that smile. “What was it that you told me she did? Made the old into something new? A bit of a miracle that, don’t you think?” He nodded, liking the fit. “A little like wine making, the miracle of the grape and its transformation. Take the cheese, Ryan,” he said. “You need passion. We all do, whether we want it to complicate our lives or not.”
“The spirit is really working it today.”
Gil winked. “You have no idea. By the way, that cheese of yours? She’s waiting for you in the tasting room, probably wondering what’s taken me so long to fetch you. Hopefully, Tony has poured her a few more of our fine vintages. Slowed her down a bit. She talks very fast, that one. But we did have a lovely time, the two of us. I like her, Ryan. So go and be nice.”
Amazing, Ryan thought watching Gil shuffle off. Even with the paralysis, Gil still managed a smart-aleck grin.
Holly had done the full-on starlet-in-distress. She’d covered her hair with a scarf, and wore sunglasses big enough to hide half her face. She hadn’t wanted to upset anyone with her resemblance to Nina.
She thought she might have pulled it off, too, waiting in the tasting room for Ryan to show, coming to Viña Dorada without disturbing the innocent.
But it was Gil who greeted her five minutes later at the tasting room’s bar, insisting that she get rid of the “silly getup,” that he wanted to take a good look.
“No need to be frightened of a beautiful woman,”
he’d said, with a half smile that managed despite the paralysis to charm.
Oh, they spent a cozy half hour together, Holly being grilled to see if she was good enough for his Ryan. Always with a smile and an anecdote as Gil poured the next libation. She learned how the vineyard belonged to his wife’s family, hence the Spanish name. She listened to stories about Ryan growing up, always taking a polite sip of the offered wine, careful to keep her wits about her. In the end, he surprised her, giving Holly a thumbs-up before going off to find Ryan.
She’d been waiting a full twenty minutes now, her fingernails tapping on the bar as she turned the glass still full with something award-winning and delectable, the long name attached including words like demi-sec and creme.
“And here he is.” This from Tony, who’d taken over as guide to the vine in Gil’s absence.
Holly thought it was a bad sign, that hitch in her breath when she saw Ryan walking toward her. He made her think of the bubbles. Mousse, Gil had called them. Rising up inside her.
He sat on the stool next to hers. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves and his hair looked a wreck, as if he’d spent a fair amount of time harassing it. He was tanned and fit and just as delectable as the demi-sec creamy thing she’d been drinking.
He picked up the huge sunglasses, then dropped them back on the counter. “These fool anybody?”
Sitting up straighter, she took the manila folder from her lap, presenting him with her r
eason for coming. “There was no screaming this time. I consider that progress.”
She pulled the documents out of the folder and slid them across the bar to Ryan, leaving the folder on the counter. “By the way? You lied,” she told him. “I’d like to know why.”
He picked up the pages, started reading through them at a rate of speed she refused to believe possible. Show-off.
“Daniel told me you wouldn’t quit the Cutty House job.” His eyes never left the pages; he was still flipping past. “He said you didn’t have a choice. I was wondering what he meant by that?”
She thought it was nice how he could multitask. Read and interrogate.
“I have no idea,” she said, refusing to elaborate.
“So you do have a choice about quitting?” He finally put down the pages, giving her his full attention. “There’s nothing he’s holding over you?”
“Well, yes. It’s a called a paycheck. Getting one every once in awhile is kind of nice. Even necessary, where I come from.” She tapped one of the pages with her finger. “This passage here I find particularly interesting—”
He grabbed her hand. Their eyes met over the champagne glass. She could almost hear the bubbles rising, bursting.
“I know which passage interests you, Holly.”
He didn’t say her name very often. It always surprised her a little when he did. He managed to make it sound as if he liked it, as if her name were some strange new word rarely heard. Like kumquat or absinthe.
“You said the investigation didn’t support the eyewitness account,” she told him. “But that report clearly shows you—or someone—ran her off the road.”
“And I have no explanation,” he added with an enigmatic smile. “None at all. So you need the money? That’s why you’re staying?”
“I need—want the project. It’s challenging and creative work and, here’s the really neat part, I’m going to be a roaring success.”
“Write your own ticket afterwards?”
“That’s the general idea.”
“And Nina. All that stuff from the past doesn’t bother you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course, it bothers me.”
“But still worth the risk?”
“I don’t agree with your characterization.”
“What characterization? It’s a risk…you’re willing to take it.”
“My commitment only lasts out the month. I’m sure with your background you understand the term breach of contract, which I don’t intend to do. Breach my contract, that is.”
“An arbitration panel wouldn’t understand your situation?” Sarcasm. Loads of it. “Lured here under false pretenses?”
“But then Daniel can afford better lawyers, can’t he?”
Not one to let the little things get past, he took a beat. “It sounds like you’ve been there before. The lawyer thing.”
“My ex-husband. And believe me when I tell you, he had better lawyers.”
He raised his brows, the smile on his lips suddenly pure mischief. “An ex-husband?”
“Yes, I know. I’m a fascinating girl. Who knew? But I came to talk about these,” she said, once again pointing to the stapled pages.
He slid the reports back to Holly. “Now you have your proof. I lied. There it is in black and white.”
“You have nothing to add?”
His expression shut down. “Why, no, counselor. As it happens, I don’t.”
She closed her eyes, counted to ten. “I’m sorry if I sound as if I’m accusing you of something. But I think I deserve an explanation.”
He shook his head. “That’s not what you want. Not even close to why you came here today. I almost did the same, you know. Tracked you down.” She thought it might be the wine, how his voice suddenly sounded low and intimate. “I told myself I needed to set you straight about why staying was too dangerous. That you needed to listen to reason and go home. But somehow I knew it wouldn’t end there.”
He leaned closer, turning the papers so that she could easily read how well they condemned him. “You don’t want an explanation, Holly. You want a damned miracle. And maybe I do, too.”
There was no one else in the tasting room, Tony long since having made a timely exit. Ryan put his arm on the back of her stool, his minty breath again cool and sweet.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if this all went away?” He said it like a story. Once upon a time… “We met under different circumstances. Maybe I hired you,” he continued, weaving the fairy tale for them both. “To do something here at the vineyard. You look nothing like Nina. You have red hair and green eyes and you wear glasses. We get to talking, and I ask you out, and when we kiss, there’s nothing more to it than this wonderful heat that tells us both we want more. No one else involved. No ghosts.”
“And because it didn’t happen that way—” she could feel this tightness in her chest, making it hard to talk “—it can’t happen at all?”
“Well, now. Why don’t you tell me?” He touched the report.
“Why is it that men always want the girl to do all the work?”
“Lazy bastards, every last one of us.” His eyes never left hers. “Jesus, do you know what you’re like? You don’t give up. You just keep on coming. You’re like running with the wind,” he said.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means sailing with the wind at your back pushing you. I had this sloop, a thirty-foot Newport. One time, while running with the wind, I hit a perfect 10-knot high.”
“Oh, that’s me, all right,” she said with a smile. “A perfect ten.”
“Absolutely.”
They were kidding around, but there was this crazy energy.
He sighed, giving in. “You still want that explanation?” And when she nodded, he said, “My mother. She knows a lot of important people. Most likely, she worked behind the scenes. No preliminary hearing and Ryan’s off the hook. I was told there wasn’t enough evidence to support the charges.”
He stared at the report. Clearly the possibility that Nina’s death hadn’t been an accident wasn’t good news for anyone.
“How did you get this?” he asked.
Exactly what Harris had wanted to know. “Someone left it on my desk.”
He nodded. “Scare tactics,” he said, obviously coming to the same conclusion as her brother. “Not that they seem to be working.” He raised his brows. “Maybe just the opposite.”
“I believe this is where I refer you to the earlier part of our conversation.”
He tried not to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it.
He picked up the champagne glass, turning it in his hand. “Did you like our specialty wine? A little softer effervescence, more fruit but not sweet. We leave it on the yeast for two years to give it more depth. At the time, Gil told me I was crazy. Now there’s a chance this will be our first vintage to make a White House dinner.”
She took the glass from him, drained it. She picked up the folder and papers along with her purse. She couldn’t help a small sigh, looking at how beautiful he was.
“Sometimes crazy can be good,” she said, leaving them both with that thought.
FLYING BUTTRESS
25
Take the flying buttress. Holly considered the device an architectural marvel. An inclined bar on an arch resting on top of a solid pier to carry the load of a roof or vault. Even the name had a certain ring. Flying…buttress.
Seeing one for the first time marked the launching point to her fascination with architecture. Notre Dame Cathedral, Paris. July 21, 1983. Everyone in her tour group focused on the gargoyles and the bells. All of that was pretty fantastic stuff, sure.
But for Holly, it was all about the flying buttress. Dozens of them lined up like good soldiers, holding up the miracle of it all. Making that fantastic inner space possible.
In life, she’d come to think of her stubborn spirit as a metaphorical flying buttress, something that kept it all in place, sharing the load, making sure she did
n’t collapse in on herself. Good times and bad.
But stubborn could also be bad. Stubborn could keep you places, refusing to give up. Just knocking your head against the proverbial wall until one day you woke up and wondered, what was I thinking?
She could have been somewhere else by now. She could have moved on, been doing something else. Instead, she was still knocking her head against that wall. These were her thoughts as she stood in the entrance hall of Moore Manor, cocktail in hand, staring at a model of her project.
Vanessa’s party began fashionably at eight. Holly arrived unfashionably early to find a miniature of Cutty House front and center for all to see. It looked like a doll’s house; you could see both inside and out. Newly minted, the structure was made of bristol board and based on the preliminary sketches she’d shown Daniel two weeks before.
Holly hadn’t heard anything about it, of course, didn’t even know he’d commissioned the thing. Looking at the model, she felt oddly exposed and a little off. My designs. Used against me.
She told herself it was ugly, even though technically she had to admit the model wasn’t bad. Good enough to earn a trickle of oohs and aahs from the crowd moving past enjoying their second cocktail.
But the design was a shadow of her current ideas. So much had changed since she’d roughed out those sketches, plans that still developed as she added layers and nuance.
She’d never seen a preliminary design on display. Basically, it was unheard of. Preliminary designs were just that—preliminary.
For his part, Daniel watched her reaction from a safe distance. As she stared at him, he reminded her of a wolf. His eyes on hers, his muscles tensed, he was the hunter waiting for his prey to bolt.
Holly turned away, not wanting to give the image life, replacing the notion with something harmless: Daniel, the preening peacock whose worst crime was making her stand in heels, once again playing the part of Cutty House’s architect on parade.
Emma stood beside her. She bit into a canapé.
“Too much salt,” she quipped. She gave Holly a pensive look, then wiped her hands on a cocktail napkin. “Congratulations. Daniel loves everything you’ve done.”