He looked amused by my eagerness. ‘What?’
‘It was fantastic. Flinty and just the right side of acidic with notes of currants and cherry.’
‘I’ve never had a still Pinot Meunier.’ Jensen’s forehead crinkled thoughtfully.
‘Exactly!’ I felt a fizz of enthusiasm, maybe if I could get him to see a way to take the vineyard in a new direction, he’d see the business as a challenge instead of simply his grandfather’s achievement. ‘It hasn’t taken off here. Yet. We could lead the way. And pink sparkling. Not that that’s new, but we should do it. Pink is in. Look what it’s done for gin!’
A waiter appeared with the bill and a card machine. I reached for my purse but Jensen waved it away so I carried on talking while he paid.
‘Talking of gin, did you know we can press the grapes a second time with more pressure after we’ve extracted the juice for our sparkling wine and use it as a base to distil gin?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
‘Yes!’ I wrinkled my nose. ‘Don’t ask me how, I haven’t researched it too deeply. But my point is …’
I stood up and Jensen gallantly helped me into my cardigan and picked up the cool bag. Lots of people then congratulated us and asked to see my ring and wished us well and it wasn’t until we were back outside on the pavement and he was flagging down another cab that I had the chance to finish my sentence.
‘My point is that Ted has laid the groundwork for a business that could grow and grow. There’s so much potential. So much we could do. You and me. Together.’
I looked at him earnestly and held my breath as Evie’s advice rang in my ears. Tell him how you feel. Tell him …
Before I could utter another word Jensen sighed and pulled me to him, pressing his cheek against mine and wrapping his arms tightly around me.
‘I love your enthusiasm, Lottie,’ he murmured. ‘And believe me, I have thought along the same lines.’
My spirits sank. ‘But?’
A taxi swung over to our side of the kerb and we got in, me giving the driver the address of the radio station.
‘Today’s the big day for our global water project. My assistant has told me that all the sealed bids have arrived from our chosen contractors and the board directors are opening them as we speak. My company has been selected to conduct a water resilience project in five cities around the world. Each city has been chosen because it has a particular type of water issue: they all suffer from either too much or too little. The Cape Town project I’ve been involved with is about solving problems of severe drought. If the infrastructure we install is successful it will provide a framework to solve water problems for the whole world.’ His eyes glittered with passion. ‘If I get offered the job of managing that I don’t think I could turn it down.’
‘Of course you couldn’t.’ I sighed. ‘It does make my gin idea seem a bit pathetic.’
He took hold of my hand with its new shiny ring and held it to his lips. ‘It’s a great idea. You’re the best thing that could have happened to Butterworth Wines. And I think you’re right: together you and I could be great.’ He stared down at his lap. ‘But next year you’ll need time off work to look after the baby, and I, well, I need to do this.’
I didn’t trust myself to speak, but I managed to nod. I hadn’t given a great deal of thought to maternity leave; there didn’t seem much point as my job was only temporary anyway. Although if I was still around, I was sure I’d be able to do most things with a small baby in tow. But it was a moot point; if Jensen couldn’t be tempted back to Derbyshire, and Betsy wanted to relinquish responsibility, the vineyard would have to be sold. Simple as that.
‘Okay if I drop you here?’ the cab driver called through the Perspex screen. ‘Global Media is across the street.’
‘Thanks for lunch and the ring,’ I said, pressing a hasty kiss to Jensen’s cheek as I got out.
He handed me the cool bag. ‘You’ll be fantastic, good luck.’
‘Thanks. You too, with your meeting.’ I managed a smile and shut the door of the cab.
‘Lottie, I …’ He raked a hand through his hair; for a man who might be about to land his dream job he didn’t look very happy.
‘Cheer up, mate,’ the cabbie laughed, turning round to watch us. ‘I’m sure you’ll see her later.’
My heart twisted; would he? We hadn’t made arrangements for after my interview. And I guessed if he did get the big job he was hoping for he’d have a lot more important things to think about than me and my plans for pink wine.
‘I’d better go,’ I said, half hoping he’d leap from the taxi and snog me senseless. He didn’t. But at the last second, just as the cab pulled away, he launched his head out of the window.
‘Lottie! Wait for me,’ he yelled. ‘I might be a while but wait for me here. Okay?’
‘Okay!’ I yelled back, my spirits soaring once again, and I waved madly until his taxi had melted into the stream of traffic.
‘Hi there?’ a polite voice called from behind me. ‘Lottie?’
I turned to see Olivia Channing jiggling on the spot.
‘I thought it was you,’ she said, darting over to give me a hug. ‘Ready for the onslaught?’
‘That sounds ominous.’
She took in my cool bag. ‘I hope you’ve brought some Butterworth wines to win him round? Good effort.’
‘I thought this was a friendly chat about English wine.’ I stared at her. ‘You’re making it sound like some sort of battle.’
She laughed and looped my arm through hers. ‘Thomas Devine hates English wine, everyone knows that.’
My scalp prickled with fear.
‘Not everyone,’ I said with a gulp.
Just what had I let myself in for this time?
Chapter 27
The last verse of ‘September’ by Earth Wind and Fire was playing across the airwaves. Fiona Love slipped her headphones back over her ears and held up a finger to silence Olivia who’d kept up a nervous chatter ever since we’d arrived in the ‘Love in the Afternoon’ studio. Olivia looked at me and let out a tiny squeak and my insides bubbled with nerves.
It had all been a bit of a rush since arriving. We’d signed in at reception, visited the Ladies and been ushered up to the fourth floor with just enough time to spare for Nigel, the show’s producer, to dispatch an assistant to fetch champagne flutes in readiness to try the sparkling wine I’d brought.
Apparently, there had been no sign of Thomas Devine and he wasn’t answering his phone, so Nigel, tearing at his already sparse hair, had hastily come up with a Plan B. Now, instead of debating the merits or otherwise of English wines and family-run vineyards as planned, Olivia and I would have a nice chat with Fiona, taste some of our sparkling wines on air and take vetted questions from callers about all things wine-related. Plan B sounded heavenly.
As the song reached its last few bars, the door opened and Thomas Devine stalked in, his phone in one hand and a bottle of champagne dripping with condensation in the other. Dressed all in black and with a thin angular face, prominent nose and slicked-back black hair, he looked like a crow. He air-kissed Fiona, nodded at us and folded his tall frame into the furthest chair from where Olivia and I were sitting on unforgiving swivel chairs.
‘Phone away now, darling,’ Fiona said, batting her eyelashes at Thomas who sighed wearily and slipped it into his back pocket.
‘My mouth’s gone dry,’ Olivia rasped beside me.
‘I think I need another wee,’ I whispered back.
The studio was like a big goldfish bowl. One wall was almost entirely made of glass through which we could see a beaming Nigel, giving us the thumbs-up. The room itself was dominated by a huge curved white desk. Fiona sat behind it on a comfy-looking chair on wheels with various keypads and mixer panels arranged in a semicircle in front of her. I was already a bit in awe of her: she seemed eminently capable of keeping up with four different computer screens showing the programme’s social media channels, national
news and the show’s playlist. She was a curvy Marilyn Monroe lookalike in red stilettos and red lipstick and if I could look half as sexy as she did when I reached her age, I’d be over the moon.
‘Hello there and welcome to “Love in the Afternoon”. I’m Fiona Love and joining me in the studio we have Olivia Channing from the English Wine Board, Lottie Allbright from Butterworth Wines and Thomas Devine, who many of you will know from his successful restaurant chain, Devine Kitchen.’
Thomas scowled and leaned into his microphone. ‘It’s not a chain.’
‘Pardon?’ Fiona gave a fluttery smile.
‘Devine Kitchen is not a chain of restaurants.’
‘Oh, Thomas.’ Fiona laughed coquettishly. ‘You have restaurants in five locations, surely that makes you a chain?’
He shook his head. ‘To call it a chain is to dismiss the effort we have put into each venue to make it different and special.’
‘Here we go,’ Olivia murmured to me under her breath. ‘Arguing already.’
Fiona’s smile was fixed. ‘But the menu is the same in each, no?’
‘Correct,’ he admitted through gritted teeth.
‘And the décor too?’
He exhaled so hard with frustration that I thought he was going to flounce out. ‘That’s hardly the point, the experience at each of our restaurants is unique and—’
‘It’s nothing to shy away from, Thomas,’ said Fiona soothingly. ‘Customers appreciate knowing what to expect, a certain quality, a guarantee of consistency.’
Thomas started to argue again but this time Fiona simply talked over him, addressing Olivia.
‘Which leads us neatly into quality English wine, and Olivia Channing.’ She smiled encouragingly at Olivia, who was trembling so much that I was worried the microphone would pick up the sound of her knocking knees. ‘Is it fair to say that one of the problems up till now with wine from this country is the lack of consistency?’
‘Um.’ Olivia swallowed in vain and managed to croak out an answer. ‘Not really.’
Poor Olivia; her saliva seemed to have deserted her. Fiona turned to look at Nigel through the glass and did the universal hand signal for drink.
‘I’m talking about unreliable weather coupled with an industry which, let’s face it,’ Fiona laughed affably, ‘we don’t exactly have huge experience in, do we?’
An assistant glided in with a plastic cup of water for Olivia, who gulped it down in one as if she’d been stranded in a sandstorm for a week, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and panted. Fiona was shooting looks at her, clearly waiting for an answer, and I realized I’d have to step in and say something. I cleared my throat and my heart rate speeded up but luckily Olivia found her voice in time.
‘Oh, that’s better now I’ve wet my whistle,’ she said with a giggle.
‘Excellent,’ said Fiona with a steely smile.
‘It’s true we’re a little behind other nations in developing a commercial wine industry, but in the last decade, English wines have made a huge impact on the worldwide scene,’ Olivia said, sounding much more confident, although there were two pink spots on her cheeks. ‘And they are now being appreciated all over the world. In fact, many vineyards have won major awards at international level.’
Thomas Devine, still smarting from the restaurant chain comment, gave a derisory snort.
I smiled sweetly at him. ‘Is that so difficult to believe?’
He gave me a withering glare and sat back lazily in his chair. ‘Look. Let’s be clear. The British are good at a lot of things. Some of our produce is the best in the world. But our grapes …?’ he scoffed. ‘Get real. Grapes in this country are never going to thrive. English wine producers are playing at it. We’re great at cider, but come on, guys, leave wine to the French.’
Fiona leaned her elbows on the desk, affording Thomas a bird’s-eye view of her considerable cleavage. ‘Not everyone thinks that way, do they, Thomas? Even our friends across the pond are beginning to take an interest, isn’t that right, Lottie?’
‘That’s correct, Fiona,’ I piped up. ‘Several well-established French wine houses have been looking very seriously at expanding their production into the UK, and Taittinger has already planted fifty acres of vines.’
Thomas laughed. ‘Yeah, yeah, let’s see how that works out for them.’
I gave him my sternest stare; there weren’t many people I disliked on first meeting, but he was an arrogant snob and very self-opinionated.
‘And let’s not forget,’ said Olivia with quiet anger, ‘that geologically-speaking, the Champagne region in France has an almost identical terroir to parts of the south-east chalk downs.’
Thomas closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath and muttered something beginning with F. On the other side of the glass, Nigel got to his feet and must have said something in Fiona’s earpiece because she looked at him sharply.
‘Thomas,’ Fiona pursed her lips, ‘it says on your website that you source locally whenever possible. There is a well-established, award-winning vineyard within five miles of your Oxfordshire restaurant and yet you don’t include it on your menu. Have you got a comment to make on that?’
‘I have indeed.’ He folded his arms. ‘We do source locally, providing we have access to the best produce. In the case of wine, we have to go further afield to find the quality our customers demand. Even if that means importing New World wines.’
That was the final straw; I’d heard enough.
‘New World wines,’ I said hotly. ‘Meaning that their wine industries have opened up relatively recently. Places that only a few decades ago were in the position English wine is now. I bet you’d like Butterworth sparkling wines if you tried them, but you’re so far up your own—’
Olivia gasped lightly and laid a restraining hand on my arm. I took a deep breath.
‘You’re so predisposed not to like them,’ I went on, changing tack, ‘that you wouldn’t admit it even if you did find them acceptable.’
Thomas looked across at my cool bag and smirked. ‘Come on, then. Put your money where your mouth is, let’s try them.’
‘And while we get prepared for some wine-tasting in the studio, here’s The Christians with their eighties hit “Harvest for the World”,’ said Fiona smoothly, taking a deep breath as the music kicked in.
‘How long have we got?’ I asked, feeling an urgent pressing on my bladder. ‘I really need to go.’
‘Only three minutes,’ Fiona replied with a frown. ‘There’s no time for a comfort break.’
‘I’ll run.’
I scrambled off my chair, darted from the studio and broke the land speed record for going to the loo. I made it back as Fiona was fading the track out.
‘Jesus, I nearly had a heart attack,’ whispered Olivia, grasping at her throat as I threw myself back into my swivel chair.
‘So. The moment I’ve been waiting for ever since my producer told me who today’s guests were,’ said Fiona with a smile in her voice. ‘I’m about to get my first taste of English sparkling wine! Over to you, Lottie.’
Fear coursed through me. I’d brought along a Classic Cuvée 2013, a Blanc de Blanc 2016 and one of our brand-new Blanc de Noirs which had a pale pink glow to it, but I’d brought them thinking this was going to be a genteel affair, not the War of the Rosés. I could see what was going to happen: Thomas Devine would ruin us. He’d say they tasted awful when they didn’t and everyone back at Butterworth Wines would be mortified. And Jensen, who said he’d be listening in … My legs had started to shake now and I could feel the blood pumping in my ears.
‘Uh-oh, Fiona, I think she’s doubting herself.’ Thomas stretched his arms up and clasped his hands behind his head. The smug sod.
‘Butterworth Wines is one of the most promising vineyards I’ve had the pleasure of visiting,’ said Olivia, tilting her chin up at him. ‘That’s why I invited Lottie along to represent the best in English wines. No doubt about it.’
‘And Lottie, I
understand you’re engaged to be married to a member of the Butterworth family, so you’re marrying into a wine dynasty?’ Fiona announced teasingly, obviously keen to lighten the mood.
‘Um.’ Dynasty was pushing it a bit, I thought, with a rush of affection towards Betsy and Starsky. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Congratulations! Can I see the ring while Olivia uncorks the first bottle?’
I held out my trembly hand with my Topshop sparkler on it.
‘Start with the Blanc de Noir,’ I muttered as Oliva unzipped the cool bag.
‘Oh what an exquisite piece of jewellery,’ Fiona gushed. ‘He’s a keeper, for sure.’
I pictured Jensen’s face listening in and grinning about his bargain ring being mistaken for precious stones. Meanwhile, Olivia removed the first cork with a practised twist and Thomas held glasses as she poured.
‘Talk us through it,’ said Fiona to me, taking a glass.
Like Olivia’s had been, my mouth was now completely desiccated. I took a big swig of the wine and looked round for somewhere to spit it out. There was nothing and with cheeks like a hamster I sent Olivia a frantic look.
‘Do you have a spittoon?’ she asked Fiona, quickly understanding my problem.
Fiona looked appalled and shook her head. ‘I don’t think spitting will translate well on air, nobody wants to listen to that sort of noise. You’ll have to swallow it.’
I felt my face go red and shook my head.
Thomas roared with sarcastic laughter. ‘Not much of an endorsement; even she doesn’t want to swallow it.’
My eyes blazed at him as I gulped the wine down. ‘That is not the case at all, I happen to be pregnant.’
I clapped a hand over my mouth; I hadn’t intended for that to come out.
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