These Tangled Vines(14)

“You keep forgetting that I don’t have kids,” Connor said. “And if fun is what you want, you can use the proceeds from the sale to buy Chloe and Evan their very own theme park. It would be a hell of a lot closer to home, and you wouldn’t have to deal with jet lag.”

Sloane gave her brother a brutal stare. “I don’t want to buy them a theme park.”

“No? Then buy them a hobby farm or a petting zoo. Something where we don’t have to work so hard to manage it. Come on, Sloane. Don’t be an idiot. You hate having to work.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. It just makes me feel kind of dirty, liquidating our father’s life’s work for cash. Part of me would like for Chloe and Evan to come here for their vacations, like we did when we were their age.”

“Sloane. We hated it here.”

“Only when we were teenagers.”

“Seriously, when was the last time you came here by choice? Right. Never. Dad always said there was an open invitation, but neither of us ever took him up on it.”

“That’s because he was here, and I was still mad at him about the divorce and what he did to Mom. But now he’s not here.”

“Ooh!” Connor laughed. “That was cold. So much for feeling sentimental.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, covering her face with her hands. “What I meant to say is that . . . I regret that we let things fester, and now he’s gone and there’s no way to fix it. But that’s beside the point.” She lowered her hands to her sides.

“What is the point, exactly?”

“That I don’t think we should rush into selling, and if you insist on it”—she paused and folded her arms—“I might have to fight you, because I feel like this winery should stay in the family.”

Connor’s head drew back in surprise. “Wow. I’m impressed. Is this big sister playing hardball?”

“Maybe.”

He inclined his head. “You’re assuming he left us equal portions. Maybe he left the winery to me and the Belgravia house to you. We don’t know.”

His crooked smile aroused in Sloane an irrepressible urge to smack him on the ear and fight like they used to do when they were children, when he’d yank her hair and she would scream at him, and they would end up wrestling on the floor until someone pulled them apart.

Sloane checked her watch. “We should probably go inside.”

“Yep. It’s time to cash in our chips.”

Sloane called her children to follow them back to the house but found herself looking around with wonder at the rolling hills and valleys and the ancient stones on the back terrace as they made their way to the door.

She’d never truly appreciated any of this before. Admittedly, she’d been blind to it in her youth and had taken it for granted. And she had never really considered the yearly income from the wine business. She was aware that some of her father’s bottles sold for $600 in LA restaurants. She was always quite proud of that, and Alan enjoyed mentioning it to his colleagues at business dinners—that Maurizio Wines belonged to his father-in-law.

Maybe it would make more sense financially to hold on to the winery. It would be more of a long-term plan.

With age comes wisdom, she thought to herself and wondered what ancient philosopher had said that. She would have to google it.





CHAPTER 4


FIONA


By the time Maria returned to the reception room, I was on my feet, looking at a display of black-and-white framed photographs on the table behind one of the sofas. I was quite certain I had identified my half siblings, Sloane and Connor, as children in one of the photos. They were posing in front of a row of grapevines with the sunlight at their backs, smiling. I wondered if Anton had taken the picture. All the other photographs were of people I didn’t know and couldn’t guess at. Many were headshots from the 1970s.

“Fiona, can you come with me now?” Maria was wringing her hands in the doorway.

With unsteady nerves, I followed her through another door that took us across a small outdoor courtyard. We crossed to the other side and reentered the house into a large reception room that overlooked the formal gardens on the east side of the villa. At the far end of the room, people were seated at an oval dining table. Everyone sat in silence.

I halted on the spot when all eyes turned to me and stared.

Unflinching, Maria approached the table and pulled out the last two empty chairs. “Everyone, this is Fiona Bell. Sit down here, Fiona, next to me.”

I remained standing for a few seconds while Maria began introductions. “This is Connor, Anton’s son.”

My half brother.

He was slouched low in the chair with his head tipped back, staring up at the ceiling, looking bored. At the mention of his name, he lifted his head to offer me a salute from across the table, then stared up at the ceiling again.

Maria continued, gesturing to the attractive dark-haired woman sitting next to him. “This is Sloane, Anton’s daughter.”

“Good morning,” Sloane said with a slight lift of her chin. She took in my overall appearance with eagle-eyed scrutiny.

“You’ve met Mrs. Wilson,” Maria said. “And here, we have Anton’s sister, Mabel, who is visiting us from London.” Mabel was an elderly woman in a wheelchair. “Beside her is Ruth, her daughter.”