‘Saskia, come and meet Jean Baptiste Fayel. Jean is one of my winemakers I was telling you about who we are going to showcase in the London store.’
A handsome fair-haired young man stepped forward. If Saskia thought that Rick had a firm handshake then Jean Baptiste was trying to do a fine job of shaking her arm out of its socket.
‘Great to meet you, Miss Elwood.’ He grinned, still shaking her hand. ‘Rick has told us all about the fantastic plans you have to serve our wine. We’re really excited.’
‘Leave the poor girl alone.’ Rick laughed and shook Jean by the shoulders before turning to Saskia. ‘Jean is getting married this afternoon so we thought that it would do us good to escape away from the mayhem back at his house and get into the air for a few hours.’
This was the bridegroom?
Saskia turned back to Jean with a smile. ‘Congratulations. How wonderful.’
He blushed slightly, which was very charming. ‘Thank you, and of course you’re invited to the wedding. Nicole and I would love to see you there. Rick has given us a lifeline to a great opportunity. And that is something to celebrate.’
Saskia flashed a glance at Rick, who nodded slowly.
She had been ambushed! Any chance of doing work was now completely out of the window!
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ Saskia replied with a smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘Excellent,’ he replied and then nodded towards the cliff and checked his chronometer. ‘If you’ll excuse me, my future bride has a house full of guests who cannot start the eating and drinking until I get back. See you at the landing strip. But you go first. I’ll follow on.’
Rick came up and stood next to Saskia and they watched Jean Baptiste stroll casually over to the edge of the cliff, sit down as though there was not a huge drop only feet in front of him and unpack the same type of huge sack that Rick had brought.
It was like a magical toy box with an invisible bottom. Helmets, ropes, gloves and clothing, instruments like the ones she had seen in the kitchen that morning and then finally a tightly folded huge blue and red piece of canopy fabric emerged from one single bag. It was unbelievable! And scary.
She was still watching him slip into a harness when Rick slid closer and whispered into her ear. ‘You’ve just been talking to one of the most promising members of the French paragliding team. Jean Baptiste is a star. All I can do is help him with a few pointers now and then when he thinks he needs coaching. But he knows what he is doing.’
‘Good,’ Saskia gasped. ‘Because I am terrified just watching him walk over the edge onto that slope. I have no idea how he can do that.’
Rick burst out laughing and she scowled at him.
‘It’s not funny. We all have our weaknesses and this happens to be mine,’ she whispered through clenched teeth. ‘And you really should warn me about these little adventures in advance. You knew that I wouldn’t be able to refuse Jean Baptiste and I have so much work to do I’m never going to catch up.’
‘Where would be the fun in that? So you’re not tempted to take up my offer and jump into the harness with me?’ he asked, waggling his eyebrows up and down several times, and then reared back. ‘Oh, now that is a fierce look. I’ll take it as a no.’
Rick pressed a hand to the small of her back and guided her just a little closer to the edge, then opened her hand, splayed out her fingers and flashed her one of his killer smiles. For just one second Saskia thought that he might kiss her fingers, but instead he dropped a large bunch of keys onto her palm and closed her fingers over them.
‘I’m flying down. But I could really use a pickup from the landing site. You can work out where it is. Please try not to crash my truck, and have some fun! I’m going to.’
Fun! Crash!
Saskia glared at the keys but when she looked up Rick was already sitting just below Jean Baptiste on the slope, on the steep curvature of the mountain with his backpack open, splaying out the ropes of his parachute and equipment.
Risking vertigo, Saskia edged closer to the cliff so that she could see what he was doing. ‘Do be careful,’ she called out. He must’ve heard her because he replied with a quick salute to his helmet and then untangled one of the ropes which ran between his harness and the bright orange curve of a fluted canopy which extended behind his head.
Then, as she watched with her hand pressed over her mouth, her hair whipping in front of her face in the breeze, Rick got to his feet. He took a couple of steps forward and the canopy seemed to inflate all on its own behind him, making the rope lines go straight.
And then Rick Burgess ran off the edge of the mountain.
Her heart leapt into her throat. She could not move. Dared not move. But, by leaning one more inch closer to the edge, she could see that his parachute had formed a perfect rippling rainbow arc in the sky just below her. She couldn’t move her gaze from the tiny figure suspended by the ropes below.
He was sitting in some form of fabric seat made from his harness, with his legs dangling over... Nothing but air. Hundreds of feet, possibly thousands of feet, of air.
Saskia sucked in a breath as the orange canopy fluttered slightly as he turned it towards the forest of pine trees they had passed over on the way up from the safety of the gondola ski lift.
He was spinning out of control and was going to crash into the forest! Saskia’s hand pressed firmly into her mouth. But he didn’t. The parachute made a slow, gentle spiral away from the rocky mountainside and forests below and turned back across the valley, spiralling in slow wide circles ever downward.
Her hands were clutching the keys so hard as she watched him descend that the points were pressing painfully into her flesh, but she could not look away. She had to keep watching Rick as he circled down, down, moving towards the mountain and then back towards the Chamonix valley. Their landing field was so far below the viewpoint that for a fraction of a second she lost sight of Rick behind some trees on the ground.
Had his harness come undone? Had he fallen out? No. She was able to breathe again. There he was. Moving in tighter and tighter circles towards the other parachute. And just when she thought he was on the same height as the first trees next to the white flowing river, he was down. On the ground. Safe.
Saskia’s legs gave way and she sat down heavily on the rough path of gravel and Alpine grasses.
Collapsed down would be a better description.
Now she could breathe again. If she remembered how. Because Jean Baptiste was getting ready to do exactly the same thing! And he was getting married today!
Her chest had only risen and fallen a few times when the familiar ringtone of her cellphone sang out and she flicked it open to read a text message: Down safe and well. Great flight. See you soon. R.
Her fingers clumsily stabbed at the keypad. Terrifying. Heading back now. S.
Her shoulders slumped. And she flicked her phone closed.
Rick had been impressive. Watching his flight had been terrifying, horrific, awe-inspiring—and totally exhilarating at the same time.
Rick clearly did know what he was doing and Jean Baptiste respected him as a friend and a mentor and as a coach. That meant a lot.
The two men were friends and sportsmen working together to make something remarkable happen. A tiny bubble of pride in what Rick had achieved rose up from her admiration and popped into her brain before her logic could burst it.
How many more sides to Rick Burgess were there?
She had seen Rick in full-on salesman mode at Elwood House back in London.
Rick the wine merchant was a different man at the Chateau Morel and now Rick the friend and paraglider was taking the lead at home in the Alps.
She had never met anyone who was so capable of astonishing her on a daily basis.
His life seemed to be one series of constant personal challenges, all fuelled by a burning sense of life and energy and passion and drive.
No doubt about it. He was an achiever and he worked hard for those achievements.
Kate had been wrong about him.
He was not Rick the Reckless. He knew the risks and made the judgement call based on skills and talent and experience rather than some arrogant sense of his own self-importance.
Perhaps she was wrong about the wine store? Perhaps this was not a vanity project, but a real business initiative created by someone with genuine entrepreneurial zeal and passion for what they believed in.
Saskia stood up and brushed the dirt from the seat of her pants, then looked over the cliff for the landing site far below, where a blue canopy was now stretched out next to an orange one and she instantly felt sick and dizzy.
She might have been wrong about Rick, but there was one thing she was definitely clear about. There was no way she would ever, ever, jump off a cliff with a fabric bag above her head to break her fall. Even if she was strapped to Rick at the time.
She liked her feet to stay firmly on solid ground. Safe.
She stepped back from the edge and started strolling down to the ski station to catch the gondola back to the valley.
A cold hollow feeling swelled up in the pit of her stomach and it had nothing to do with the icy-cold wind that was blowing in from the snowy peaks around her.
She recognised that feeling only too well. It was a present from her old friends, fear and anxiety.
What was she doing here?
There was only one way this trip was going to end and it was in disappointment and regret for both of them.
She was too afraid to make the leap.
Whether that was running off a mountain strapped to Rick, or taking such risks in her life.
She dared not risk that precious security that she had worked so hard to create by giving her time and energy to RB Wines, and it would be a lot of her time, she could see that now.
Now all she had to do was work out how to tell Rick that she could not accept what he had to offer; and mean it.
SEVEN
Must-Do list
You are going to a wedding—the worst kind of emotional blackmail. Rick should be ashamed.
It is okay to admit that you are not keen on heights. This is not a weakness at all. Simply a statement of fact.
It is okay to admire men who jump off mountains with a grin on their face—just for fun. But that does not mean that you have to buy wine from them. Oh no.
It is okay to let people surprise you on a daily basis.
‘What a lovely dress. That colour is amazing on you.’
‘Thank you, kind sir,’ Saskia replied and turned around to face Rick. ‘My friends tell me that coral is very fashionable this season and...’ But then the words stuck in her throat.
Rick Burgess was wearing a suit. And not just any suit. This was a silk and cashmere blend that Kate would have slobbered over. Midnight-blue with a tiny paler blue stripe, which fitted his broad shoulders and narrow waist to perfection.
Matched with a pale blue shirt which highlighted his tan and a pink and blue tie.
He looked like a male model who had just walked off a fashion display. Tall, dark, clean-shaven, swept back hair and so handsome it was a joke. There were movie actors who did not look that good.
‘My, this is quite a transformation, Mr Burgess.’
Rick glanced down at his suit and smiled. ‘Oh this little old thing? I like to wear it now and again to keep the moths away.’
‘Moths? Um. So you wear a gorgeous made-to-measure suit, and yes, I know that to be a fact because my very good friend Kate is a fashion designer, for a local wedding in rural France, but choose a leather jacket for a business meeting in London? How curious. You really do like to play with people’s expectations, don’t you?’
‘Play? Are you implying that this is some sort of a game, Miss Elwood?’
Saskia strolled forward on her high heeled sandals and reached up and straightened out the yellow rosebud on his lapel and then stepped back, gave his jacket one final pat and nodded.
‘Maybe. But you are quite an expert player. I have tried so many times over the past few days to switch to work or our business and so far you have succeeded in diverting me to a fabulous champagne chateau, a paragliding flight and now a wedding party. I can squeeze in two hours tops but that is it! Seriously! Should I expect fireworks and a grand finale before we actually get around to doing the work?’
He snorted out loud and strolled over to the fireplace, which was crackling with resin from the pine wood logs, and picked up a set of cufflinks from the mantelpiece.
‘You’re starting to understand. I do things my way. We’ll get the work done. You wait and see.’
Saskia sighed and picked up a silver-framed photograph from the bookshelf next to the fireplace. In the photograph, Rick was standing on what looked like a podium, dressed in black ski shirt and trousers and mirror shades, with his arm around a taller man who was squinting at the camera as the sun reflected back from the snow. The taller man was wearing smart beige trousers with a crisp front pleat and a formal check shirt and tie. In contrast to Rick, his body language was stiff and he looked very uncomfortable standing on the snow.
She sensed rather than heard that Rick had strolled closer and looked over her shoulder at him.
‘Is this your brother? Tom, isn’t it?’
Rick glanced at the photograph in her hands, then coughed out loud. ‘That’s Tom all right. Not one of life’s natural sportsmen. He turned up out of the blue just in time to see me take the championship for jumping from the top of Mont Blanc. Typical. Right place and right time. I think it was the first time he had ever been on a mountain in the snow and I seem to remember that he had a problem with the ski lift.’
Rick glanced at Saskia and smiled. ‘In those days it was a wooden bench attached to a chain bar at the front to stop you from falling out, but your legs dangled over the huge drop.’ He shook his head. ‘We came down off the mountain in a snow plough. Can you believe that?’
‘That sounds perfectly sensible. I understand completely.’ She laughed and replaced the picture on the shelf. ‘I would have done exactly the same thing. What is Tom doing now? Is he still in the wine trade?’
Rick’s eyebrows came together and he turned away from her and slowly walked over to the fireplace and rested one hand on the mantelpiece as he raked over the burning logs with a heavy metal poker.
Rick?
His gaze was locked onto the burning embers, but when he replied his voice was ice-cold. ‘I thought that you already knew. Tom died, Saskia. He died two years ago.’
She gasped and crossed the gap between them and laid her hand gently on his arm.
He looked around and their eyes locked for a few seconds before a silent smile clicked back on.
And in that instant her heart melted.
Because, for the first time since they’d met, she knew that she had finally seen the real Richard Burgess beneath the tough man shell.
He had lost the brother he adored and it still hurt. It hurt so badly that he was incapable of expressing it. Two years was not nearly long enough to recover from that kind of loss.
Two years. Why did that stick in her mind?
Of course. Rick had been working for Burgess Wine for two years.
She should have known. She should have done her research.
Saskia broke the silence, her voice low, to disguise her thumping heart. ‘I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. It was really none of my business and I feel awful to have brought back such painful memories.’
Rick answered by reaching out and taking Saskia’s hand in his, startling her. He slowly splayed out each finger as she tried to clench her hand into a fist and stared down at her palm.
She couldn’t breathe. Could hardly dare to speak at the sadness and regret in the man’s voice; a sadness that almost overwhelmed her, a sadness that made her want to wrap her arms around him and hold him.
‘Long life line.’ He looked up into her eyes. ‘Most people take a little longer to make the connection, but you’ve worked
it out already, haven’t you?’
He lifted one hand and pushed his hair back from his forehead. ‘No regrets. Once an adrenalin junkie, always an adrenalin junkie. But you know what? We were not so different. Tom used to get exactly the same rush from solving some complex IT problem. He loved his work. Couldn’t get enough.’
Saskia looked up and raised her eyebrows, and let him continue.
Rick stopped and physically turned Saskia around and gestured towards the window, which was dominated by the towering mountain that was Mont Blanc.
‘I remember when that photograph was taken as though it was yesterday. The biting cold. The brilliant sunshine. The exhilaration that comes from jumping from the top of the mountain with only a parachute and a pair of skis!’
He looked at Saskia and grinned. ‘Those sorts of memories have to be earned. You can’t buy them or trade them. You just have to be there, at that moment in time and space. That’s special. And Tom understood that. He really did. He had built up Burgess Wine from nothing by risking the business on an Internet system for selling wine which he didn’t know would work or not. We were both risk-takers, just in different fields. We had so many great ideas about working together on some grandiose project or other, but not once did he ever try and make me walk away from life as a sportsman. That was always going to have to be my choice.’
Saskia turned her back on Rick, then whipped around, her voice trembling. ‘I’ve never understood it. Never. People in London who knew my parents think that I have somehow come to terms with the terrible risks my dad took with other people’s money for years before it all collapsed, but they are so wrong. You heard it with your own ears at Chateau Morel. People have long memories. They remember your brother for the best reasons and my dad for the worst. And, like it or not, we are both suffering from the fallout.’
She stretched out her hand towards Rick as he started to speak, but she turned back to face him so quickly that he caught her off balance, and he had to grab her around the waist and pull her towards him to steady her.
Blame It on the Champagne Page 9