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It was a good thing she’d learned long ago to wear comfortable leather sandals while on business. Negotiating the cobblestones with some semblance of dignity was no small feat.
On her way inside she counted a dozen cars. That meant a busy Monday for the staff who’d opened their wine cellar to customers eager to sample everything from Riesling to Pinot Blanc.
Rachel imagined the tourist traffic was non-stop, even in the low season.
Once she stepped inside, the receptionist in the foyer looked up from the computer and smiled. “Bonjour, mademoiselle.”
“Bonjour, madame,” Rachel responded in kind.
But her accent must have given her away because the other woman said in excellent English, “The cave is through that door on your right.”
“Thank you. However I’ve come on business, and would like to meet with the owner.” She handed the other woman her business card.
“My name is Rachel Valentine. I’m the chief wine buyer for three restaurants in London, each called the Bella Lucia.”
The receptionist eyed her with renewed interest. “Valentine, you say? I can’t find your name on the computer. Was Monsieur Chartier expecting you?”
“No. In fact I didn’t know of the Domaine Chartier until I arrived in Thann early today.”
“I see.”
“When I asked the hotel concierge to direct me to the best vineyard in the region, he gave me directions to the convent.”
“Monsieur Chartier will be happy to hear it.”
“Naturally I realize he might be too busy to meet with me today, so I’d like to make an appointment for tomorrow if that’s possible.”
“We’re closed tomorrow, but let me check with his secretary and find out his schedule. He has other vineyards in different villages, so he could be anywhere. Excuse me for a moment, please.”
“Of course.”
Rachel had studied enough French to speak and understand basic phrases, but the receptionist’s volley of French spoken in a low rapid tone was much too fast for her to follow.
After the woman hung up she said, “If you’ll let me know where you can be reached, Monsieur Chartier’s secretary will give him the information.”
“That would be fine. I’m staying at the Hotel du Roi.”
“Très bien. Though I can’t give you an exact time, you’ll be contacted before the end of the day.”
“Thank you for your help.”
“Pas de quoi, mademoiselle.”
Rachel went out to the car and returned to the hotel where she caught up on some paperwork.
Around five-thirty her stomach made noises it was time to eat. She decided to try the hotel’s restaurant.
In case someone tried to reach her at the hotel rather than on her cell, she told the concierge she’d be in the dining room if a call from Domaine Chartier came through for her.
Whenever Rachel traveled, she always found it instructive to study the wine list and find out what local wines were served, especially in an area like this renowned for its white varietals—wine that came from one kind of grape only.
She wasn’t surprised Domaine Chartier wines dominated the choices. The serveuse recommended the Tokay Pinot Gris to accompany the asparagus entrée, the hotel’s plat du jour.
The moment the waitress returned with the wine, Rachel thanked her, examined the labeling and then opened the bottle herself. An aroma escaped from the golden liquid whose combination of flavors was pure revelation.
She poured some into the wineglass and took an experimental sip, letting it swirl on her tongue before swallowing.
More flavors came through: maple syrup, quince and…pine-apple if she wasn’t mistaken.
So soft to the palate, yet beautifully rich and elegant due to its fine ripe acid balance…
It had a long finish in which she could find no fault.
Ah…perfection itself.
“I take it the Pinot Gris pleases you.” A deep male voice spoke to her in English with a heavy French accent.
Her eyelids fluttered open in surprise. But when she saw who it was, she nearly fell off her chair.
“You!”
Across the small round table from her stood the man who’d come close to crashing into her earlier.
For a Frenchman he was tall and powerfully built. Probably in his mid-thirties. He wore his dark brown hair considerably longer than most men she knew.
With his heavily lashed brown eyes and olive complexion, she had to admit he was incredibly handsome.
That, plus the fact that he had the audacity to be holding her wine bottle in his hand, ignited her anger all over again.
“If you’ve followed me for any other reason than to offer sincere apologies for your reckless driving, I’ll call the police to have you arrested for harassment.”
The maddening smile she remembered flashed once more.
“There are two versions to every story. The police are more likely to believe that you were all over the road because you’re used to driving on the left and became confused.”
“Considering they’re French, they probably will,” she countered. “Now that you’ve had your fun, please leave that wine bottle on the table and go away.”
“I noticed you enjoying it.”
He wasn’t about to quit.
No doubt this man, who was too attractive by far and knew it, found it amusing to flirt with what he considered an available female. Particularly one drinking alone in public and enjoying it so much she’d been sitting there with her head tilted back, eyes closed, unaware of the people around her.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but it happens to be the best white wine I’ve ever tasted.” And that was saying a lot…
He seemed to ponder her comment before he said, “I’m glad to hear it, Ms Valentine. Nineteen ninety-eight produced an excellent vintage.”
She blinked. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”
He put the bottle back on the table. “Luc Chartier. I understand you wanted to make an appointment with me.”
He was that Chartier?
Rachel sat up straighter in the chair. “I thought your secretary was going to phone. I had no idea you would take the trouble to come to the hotel this evening.”
He gave an elegant shrug of his broad shoulders covered in a light gray silk suit. “Why not? I was in the area when I received a call from my secretary, Philippe.
“It’s always a pleasure to meet a new wine buyer, especially one who has already sampled the goods with such uninhibited relish.”
His lips twitched again, rekindling her anger.
“Because of you, I almost missed the experience.”
He cocked his dark head. “What do you say we call a truce to the Hundred Years War and start over again? You’ve already admitted the Pinot Gris has no equal. I’d like to make up for the fright I caused you by giving you a personal tour of the domaine.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “In that rocket you call a car? No, thank you. I have little desire to end up as twisted wreckage around a bunch of grape vines.”
“I’ll make a concession and drive you in the estate Wagoneer,” he inserted. “That way we can go off road. I swear I’ve never had an accident with any of my prospective buyers.”
She believed him. Yet even if it weren’t true, Rachel imagined his charisma got him what he wanted no matter how audacious he was. But not this time.
“I’m afraid I’ve changed my mind about making an appointment.”
“I prefer to be spontaneous too,” he came back. “What are your plans after dinner?”
“Surely that’s not any of your business.”
He examined the shape of her oval face until her cheeks grew warm.
“The last thing I meant to do was frighten you on the road today. I’ll admit I had serious matters on my mind. Forgive me.”
Forgive him?
Where had that apology come from? It sounded a hundred percent genuine.
She could feel the ice cracking.
“Whether you do any business with me or not, I’d like to make it up to you, Ms Valentine.
“If you’ll give me half an hour, I’ll come back for you. While we talk wine, we’ll take a ride through the vineyard. Now that it’s in flower, it’s especially beautiful at dusk.”
Rachel sat back. “You’re making this very difficult for me. If I refuse to accept your apology, then I come off being the lesser person.” After a slight hesitation, “I suppose it’s possible I was so enthralled with the view, I forgot I wasn’t the only driver on the road.”
“An honest woman,” he murmured.
“A man who can say he’s sorry. I guess we’re even.”
“Pax?”
Rachel nodded. “Pax. I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit I’d enjoy seeing your vineyard. But only if you’re sure it’s all right with your wife.”
There was a distinct pause before he said, “If I weren’t divorced, my wife would be the one showing you around. As it is, you’re stuck with me.”
“Since you’re the owner of Chartier et Fils, I have no complaints,” she quipped to hide a myriad feelings she didn’t dare examine too closely.
Some unnamed emotion produced a glimmer in the dark recesses of his eyes. It caused her pulse to race for no good reason.
“In that case, I suggest you change into something casual. Lovely as your outfit is, you won’t find it suitable if you want to get out and do a little walking.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“Until you’re surrounded by the vines, you can’t fully appreciate what a miracle they are.”
He’d just expressed the thoughts she’d always held.
Whatever else went on inside him, she sensed he was a man who was in love with his work. Apology aside, not many vintners she’d met cared enough to go out of their way to this extent for a buyer.
“What color is your Wagoneer?
“Blue.”
“I’ll watch for you.”
“Bon. Enjoy the rest of your meal. A bientôt.”
As he walked away Rachel noticed that quite a few interested female eyes followed his progress from the room.
After eating a little more of the delicious vegetable entrée, she charged the bill to her room, then went upstairs to change. She took the wine bottle with her for a souvenir of her first day in Alsace.
Once she’d slipped into jeans and a plum-colored knit top, she put on a pair of well-used walking shoes she’d packed in her suitcase.
With twenty more minutes to wait until he returned, she decided to do something productive in order not to think too much.
Before she’d agreed to go with him, she’d been so furious, she’d actually shouted names at him. That was something she’d never done to anyone in her life.
Not wanting to think about how badly she’d lost control, or, worse, how easily he’d won her around, she decided now would be a good time to make a call to the UK.
Pulling out her cell phone, she punched in the digits. After three rings a familiar male voice answered.
“Grandfather? It’s Rachel.”
“How’s my Black Beauty this even—”
But before he could even finish the question, a coughing spell ensued. The doctor explained it was to be expected with a pulmonary embolism, yet it still alarmed her.
“Just a minute,” he said in a croaky voice.
“Take all the time you need.”
