‘A pregnant English winemaker,’ Thomas hooted, slapping his thigh. ‘You couldn’t make it up.’
‘Congratulations!’ Fiona beamed. ‘When is it due?’
My heart thumped. This wasn’t in the script. Not that there was a script as such but no one had warned me the questions might get personal. ‘February,’ I said hurriedly, reaching for the cool bag again. ‘I’ll get the next bottle ready.’
‘A winter baby, how lovely!’ Fiona cried. ‘Let’s all toast to Lottie and Jensen.’
‘Thank you,’ I said quietly. I didn’t like lying and I had a bad feeling about this. I also hadn’t mentioned any of this ruse to my family, who I knew were listening in – even Dad and Agnes in Germany.
Olivia saw my discomfort and took over, swirling the wine in the glass and inhaling it. ‘This has a slightly pinky hue, Fiona, and can you smell the red fruit?’
Thomas and Fiona both sniffed loudly. Olivia slurped it, sucking air in over her tongue to release the flavours. ‘Mmm, mmm.’ She swallowed it and smacked her lips like all good professionals do. ‘It’s got a complex toasted palate, with a lovely balanced finish.’
‘I like it,’ said Fiona simply, holding up her glass for a refill. ‘Thomas?’
He sniffed. ‘Can’t say I’m bowled over. Next.’
Rude. He met my eye and shrugged, a mean grin of amusement plastered across his face. It was just as I thought; he was enjoying taking us down and there was nothing I could do about it.
I uncorked the Blanc de Blanc and poured some for everyone, including a drop for myself, explaining for the listeners’ benefit that it was made solely from Chardonnay grapes, left on its lees for eighteen months and had hazelnut notes and a citrusy acidity on the palate.
Fiona and Olivia made appreciative noises while they sipped it; Thomas stared into his glass as if he’d spotted a fly in it, knocked it back in one and gave a slight shudder as he set the glass down.
Fiona noticed and shot him a warning look. ‘What would you recommend to serve this with, Olivia?’
‘It’s elegant and the bubbles are super-fine, I think it would work well as an aperitif and perfect with something delicate like seafood.’
‘Would you agree with that, Thomas?’ I asked.
‘It has nothing to recommend it, I’m afraid,’ he said curtly, focusing on his bottle of champagne as he whipped off the foil and removed the wire cage. ‘Why don’t we try the real stuff now?’
I quickly scanned the bottle but despite the work both Sidney and Matt had done with me, I didn’t recognize the house it was from. Maybe it was far superior to ours, I couldn’t tell, but there was a chance that Thomas wouldn’t be able to tell either and at this point it was a risk I was prepared to take.
‘How about a blind tasting?’ I blurted out, challenging him with my stare. ‘The French fizz against our Classic Cuvée. We could put a blindfold on Doubting Thomas here and ask him to name which is his favourite.’
‘That would be interesting.’ Olivia’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
Thomas’s face was a study in lemon-sucking and he shook his head dangerously at me. The tension in the air had immediately doubled.
‘I love it,’ cried Fiona swiftly, clapping her hands. ‘We’ve got ninety seconds until the news, so let’s make it snappy.’
Olivia and I leapt into action, uncorking the bottles while an assistant came in and tied a West Ham scarf around Thomas’s face.
‘Careful, not so tight.’ He grimaced. ‘Ugh, this rag smells of fried onions.’
Someone else appeared with fresh glasses, Fiona read out the names of the two bottles in the blind taste test and I passed Thomas his first glass.
‘I’m being stitched up like a kipper here,’ he muttered.
This time, with Fiona giving a running commentary, Thomas laboured over it, inhaling, swirling the liquid around, inhaling again before taking a big draft of the pale yellow sparkling wine. It was ours. I daren’t speak in case I gave something away; I so wanted him to prefer it.
‘It’s crisp and fresh, full of minerals. I’m getting that nice brioche flavour. Creamy soft mousse. Not bad,’ he said after swallowing.
I could have punched the air; Olivia and I exchanged excited smiles.
‘And the second one,’ I said, mildly putting a glass of French champagne into his hand. He sniffed and sipped again and smacked his lips after downing it.
‘Well?’ said Fiona with a hint of drawl. ‘What do you think?’
‘Quite lively. Fizzier than the first one and yeasty aroma. I’m tasting toasted oats and apricots.’
He pulled the scarf off and stared distrustfully at all three of us, scared of making a fool of himself.
‘And the moment of truth,’ said Olivia, her eyes wide with anticipation. ‘Which did you prefer?’
I held my breath, crossed my fingers and prayed that he picked ours.
He scratched his chin, scowling. ‘They were both passable.’
I grinned at him; however this finished, an English sparkling wine had already been deemed passable by the impossible-to-impress Mr Devine.
‘We need an answer,’ said Fiona, glancing as the seconds on the wall clock counted down.
Thomas gave an exasperated huff. ‘Okay, I’ll go with the first.’
Olivia and I jumped out of our chairs and hooted with delight.
‘And the winner is the Butterworth Classic Cuvée,’ said Fiona. ‘We’ll be back after the news; over to you, Sarah …’
We came off air while a reporter in the next studio read the news.
‘Congratulations,’ Olivia whispered, squeezing my hand.
‘Thanks,’ I beamed back. ‘This has made my day. The Butterworth team are going to be so thrilled.’
I was so elated that I could have happily run from the studio and phoned the vineyard immediately, but we still had a few more minutes left to go to wrap things up.
Thomas’s expression was as hard as granite and he folded his arms. ‘Whatever. My opinion still holds. And any restaurateur who serves English wine in his restaurant is an idiot.’
‘Is that so?’ I said quietly.
I slid my mobile phone across the desk, displaying the photo I’d taken at his restaurant earlier. Pride of place on the table was the award-winning bottle of Cornish Brut we’d been drinking.
Thomas picked up the phone and stared at the picture in disbelief. ‘Is that …? How …?’
‘Also recommended by Her Majesty. I must admit it was the perfect accompaniment to your wild boar sausages.’ I smiled innocently at him. ‘An idiot, you say?’
Fiona cleared her throat. ‘Thank you for that news report, Sarah,’ she said easily. ‘The big news here on “Love in the Afternoon” is that a sparkling wine from Derbyshire-based Butterworth’s has beaten a bottle of French champagne in a taste test, according to Thomas Devine. A man who until today was a staunch believer that English sparkling wine can’t compete with our European cousins and has no place on wine lists across the UK. This must be quite a triumph for the English wine world, Olivia?’
‘It’s certainly confirmation of what we already knew,’ Olivia replied. ‘And hopefully an indication of a mood swing in the restaurant world.’
‘English wines are starting to appear more frequently on wine lists,’ I said. ‘A trend I hope to see continue.’
Thomas swallowed, his eyes darting towards the door as if contemplating his escape. Now was my moment, I mused. I could have dropped him in it. But I decided not to. I had an advantage and I was determined to press it home.
Fiona hadn’t seen the photo on my phone, but she had picked up on a change in energy between Thomas and me.
‘Lottie, you’re obviously very passionate about your wines; what do you think the future holds?’
‘Wines, not just sparkling, but still wines, are emerging from all over Britain. We might not be the most experienced winemakers in the world, we might not be able to grow the range of grape varieties that
lots of other countries can. But we’re learning all the time. Year after year we’re getting better at what we do. And Thomas …’ I leaned forward to hold his gaze, oblivious to the fact I was on national radio broadcasting to thousands. Right now, my audience was one man alone. ‘What we need is people in influential places to help us. Having someone to believe in us makes all the difference, don’t you agree? A champion?’
I’d done my research into Thomas Devine and I was paraphrasing his words from a recent newspaper interview. Thomas had been brought up in poverty. And then he’d had a spot of good fortune: aged sixteen his talent had been spotted by the millionaire owner of the local football club where’d he’d played for their junior team. Not as a footballer, his skills were only just above average, but as a kid with a fire in his belly. Thomas referred to that man as his champion; he’d supported him through college and lent him the money to set up his first burger van outside the football ground. And Thomas had repaid the man’s faith in him a hundredfold.
And if Butterworth Wines and myriad other vineyards around the country were going to hit the next level, we’d benefit from that same good fortune, that same faith in us.
‘Thomas?’ Fiona prompted.
‘Sure,’ said Thomas reluctantly, ignoring her and staring narrow-eyed at me, ‘as long as that belief isn’t misplaced.’
Just then the baby moved; a rapid fluttering deep in my core. I pressed a hand to my stomach before replying. It may have been a fanciful thought, but having someone real to fight for made me sit up straight and return his stare.
‘We English winemakers aren’t playing at it. Far from it. It’s a multi-million-pound business now, and as exports flourish, the future looks even brighter.’
Olivia jumped in in support. ‘Over a million new vines are being planted per year at the moment, can you believe it!’ she gushed. ‘And global warming has increased mean temperatures by up to one and a half degrees in some areas, which has a big impact on ripening grapes.’
‘Hurray,’ said Thomas sarcastically, ‘who cares about the polar ice cap when it means we can have more inferior wine!’
I turned my back on him. ‘Fiona, supporting home-grown wine by asking for it in shops and restaurants isn’t just helping wine producers like Butterworth. There is a whole host of industries that we rely on: printers, manufacturers of bottles, steel tanks, valves, hoses, specialist equipment for our labs such as refractometers and hydrometers, and a thousand and one others.’
Fiona nodded. ‘Gosh, I’d never considered that.’
‘We’re setting our sights on the world stage,’ I said excitedly. ‘My goal for next year is to conquer the Chinese market.’
I paused for a second as I absorbed what I’d just said. You’re having a baby, a little voice in my head reminded me. None of this is going to happen. It couldn’t.
‘Really?’ Fiona nodded encouragingly. ‘Why China?’
I dragged myself back from my thoughts.
‘The Chinese people are falling in love with sparkling wine,’ I explained. ‘Consumption has gone up by twenty per cent in the last three years. Within the next couple of years, they’ll be the second largest market in the world after the United States. Vineyards are starting to pop up in China, but it will be a long time before supply can match demand. In the meantime,’ I spread my hands and grinned, ‘it’s Butterworth Wines to the rescue.’
‘Well, that’s very ambitious of you,’ said Fiona, looking impressed.
‘Not really,’ I said lightly, ‘it’s a combination of risk, optimism and fact. We can succeed there and I believe we will.’
‘Actually, I’d second that,’ Thomas said, sounding surprised to be agreeing with me. ‘China has a huge hunger for British brands. In fact, Devine Kitchen will be opening up in Beijing next spring.’
‘And will you have the Butterworth Classic Cuvée on your wine list?’ I asked, holding my breath.
Our eyes connected and I saw something in him shift; somehow, incredibly, it looked like I’d won him over. His face relaxed, he inclined his head towards me and the first genuine smile I’d seen from him lit up his face. ‘Why not? Hell, I might even serve it at our official opening party.’
My smile was so big I nearly turned myself inside out. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’
He laughed. ‘I don’t doubt it for one second.’
‘Thank you to my guests this afternoon: Olivia Channing from the English Wine Board,’ said Fiona, ‘Thomas Devine from Devine Kitchen and Lottie Allbright from Butterworth Wines, whom I think we’ll be hearing an awful lot more from in the future.’
Once our slot was over, the production assistant wasted no time in escorting us back down to reception and signing us out and within minutes I was back on the pavement in Leicester Square. After surprisingly amicable farewells, both Olivia and Thomas had jumped in taxis and zoomed away. It was four o’clock; Jensen would be heading into his meeting so I had some time to kill. My head was buzzing from my exchange with Thomas Devine and I couldn’t wait to talk to Jensen about it. I walked round to stretch my legs for a while, merged with the crowd to watch a bare-chested fire eater and then headed to a coffee shop and ordered a skinny decaff latte.
Beating the French champagne had given me an incredible boost. The truth was that our wines were amazing and the company ethos was fantastic. Ted Butterworth had created a legacy which was simply too awe-inspiring to let it slide into someone else’s hands. Fiona was right when she said I was ambitious for wanting to expand into China and grow the Butterworth brand internationally; I’d meant every word.
It was a tall order given my current circumstances, I acknowledged, stroking my baby bump, and Betsy’s circumstances too. But right now, I felt I could conquer the world and maybe if I could somehow persuade Jensen to help me do it, I actually would.
Chapter 28
Alone at a window table, watching a continuous stream of tourists, city workers and fast-food delivery guys pass by, I sipped my latte and turned on my phone. A barrage of notifications flashed up on the screen but before I had a chance to open any of them a call came through from Pippa.
‘The library event went SO WELL!’ she squealed. ‘It was amazing, they loved it, they loved ME!’
‘Of course they did,’ I replied, thrilled for her. ‘You’re an expert on Butterworth Wines and people recognize passion when they see it.’
‘Do you know,’ she said, sounding perky, ‘I think you might be right. I was shaking like a leaf to begin with and gripped Godfrey’s arm so tightly that his wrist turned white, but then I got into my stride and … Oh, the power, I had the audience in the palm of my hand. I felt like a celeb. And then Clare turned up at the end with her son Ben. My eyes nearly popped out; he’s so handsome. I went all tongue-tied again.’
That was probably the longest speech I’d ever heard from her and her excitement made my heart fill with joy.
‘So we’ll be booking more events, then?’ I smiled.
‘Definitely. I’m thinking of ringing Good Morning Derbyshire to see if they’d like to come for a tour.’
‘The TV news show?’ I stared at the phone in disbelief. This was the woman who wouldn’t say boo to a goose only a week ago.
‘Absolutely. Butterworth Wines has been hiding in the shadows far too long,’ she said determinedly. ‘And so have I.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ I said, slurping the last of my coffee.
As soon as Pippa signed off, a call came through from my dad.
‘Hi, Dad!’
‘Not disturbing you, am I?’
‘Not at all, it’s lovely to hear from you!’
The two middle-aged ladies sharing a strawberry tart at the next table smiled at me and then each other indulgently.
‘Just wanted to say congratulations, love. Agnes and I have just listened to your interview on the internet.’
‘Ah, thank you!’ I said with a wave of love, imagining them both listening avidly in Germany. ‘I’ve never been s
o nervous in my life.’
There was a pause down the line.
‘I’m not surprised.’ He sounded hurt. ‘In my day, a young fellow asked the father’s permission before proposing to his girlfriend. Fancy me finding out from the radio that my daughter’s engaged to be married.’
I laughed. ‘I promise you, Dad, if a man were really to ask for my hand in marriage, you’d be the first to know.’
‘So you’re not engaged?’
‘No it was just a ruse, don’t worry.’
He sighed and I could picture him scratching his beard. ‘I’m confused.’
It took me a few minutes to convince him about my fake engagement and the two ladies at the next table didn’t even bother to hide the fact that they were totally enthralled by my tale. But eventually Dad saw the funny side, at which point I heard his voice tremble and he told me how proud he’d been to hear me talk on the radio.
‘And I didn’t realize you were so passionate about wine, love?’
‘It’s taken me by surprise too. I’ve never been so passionate about anything before,’ I said. ‘Until I started working at the vineyard, I didn’t think of myself as a career woman. After Mum died and I dropped out of university, I lost my purpose. Now I’ve found something I love and I know I’m having a baby and it won’t be easy but I want to go back to uni, Dad, and learn how to do it properly. I really think I could make a go of this. As well as motherhood, that is.’
There was a silence down the line that went on a beat too long for comfort; for a moment I thought the line had gone dead.
‘Are you still there?’ I asked.
‘Lottie, there’s something I want to say that I should have said long ago,’ he said haltingly. ‘I leaned on you far too heavily when your mum died. A stronger man would have insisted that you live your own life and not put your aspirations on hold to look after a grieving father. Then I was selfish again when I encouraged you to join Allbright Tree Services. You should have been out in the world ploughing your own furrow instead of helping me with mine. I loved having you so close, but even at the time I felt guilty about it. I’m sorry, love.’
A Vintage Summer Page 31