These Tangled Vines(28)

There was a murmur of anticipation from the group. As she continued along, a young man wearing a red leather jacket, with too much gel in his spiky hair, pushed his way to the front to ask a question. “How much wine do you sell in the US?”

“That’s an excellent question,” Lillian replied. “In total, the winery produces about five hundred thousand bottles each year, and most are sold in Europe and the UK. Only about ten thousand are shipped to America.”

“Cool,” he replied. “I’ve never heard of this wine before, but now that I’ve been here, I’ll look for it. My girlfriend likes red wine. Do you sell any in Arizona? That’s where I’m from.”

“I’m not sure about that,” she replied. “What’s your name?”

“Bobby.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Bobby. I can certainly find out for you after the tour is over. But when you get home, take a look around your local wine shops and request it if you don’t see it. It can easily be ordered from any reputable distributor. Or you can buy a bottle while you’re here and take it home with you on the plane. I’ll recommend something very nice for your girlfriend.”

“Cool,” he said.

Lillian remained focused on the tour group, even while she was unnerved by her boss following along, listening and watching, taking mental notes, judging her performance. She wanted to do well and prayed she wouldn’t receive any difficult questions she couldn’t answer.

When they reached the door to the wine cellars, she unlocked it and directed everyone down a set of circular stairs. Mr. Clark was the last to enter, and he nodded as he passed by.

“Excellent tour so far,” he said.

She felt some of the nervous tension come loose in her shoulders and let out a breath of relief. Then she followed the group down to the damp gloom of the wine cellars with their vaulted stone ceilings, moldy walls, and gigantic oak barrels.

“Smells musty down here,” Bobby said as Lillian moved through the group to begin the next portion of the tour.

“Yes, but that’s a good thing,” she replied, pointing at the black ceilings. “The walls are covered in mold, but don’t worry. It’s not toxic. It’s caused by the evaporation of the wine from the barrels.” She moved to one of the oak barrels and laid her hand on the side of it. “Here, we age the wine for two years. In this room, we have Austrian oak barrels, which give a spicy finish to the wines, while the French oak barrels in the next room give a vanilla flavor. When we bottle the wines, we can blend them, then we store the bottles in another area of our cellars to age them longer still.”

“How long?” an older man asked.

“It depends on the type of wine it is,” she replied, “and what we use it for or how patient we are. Sometimes it’s difficult to wait for something that gives you pleasure. Wouldn’t you agree?”

A few members of the group chuckled softly.

She described the bottling process, answered more questions, and then took the group into the wine library. “Here we have the family’s private collection. Some of the older bottles are from 1943, made from grapes that were harvested at the beginning of World War Two. It is being kept for its historical value.”

“Why are all the bottles so dusty and moldy?” a young woman asked, looking horrified. “Can’t you get someone down here to clean them?”

“We don’t clean them,” Lillian replied, “because we want to keep them still so that the sediment doesn’t move around inside the bottle. That would affect the flavor. But when it’s time to open a bottle, we clean it up and put a clean label on it so it’s just like new.”

She finished the tour and led the group up another circular stone staircase to a medieval-style tasting room. Lillian presented three bottles of different red wines from the collections, described each one, poured a glass for each member of the group, and taught them how to swirl the wine, look at it and identify the “legs,” then stick their noses into the glass and attempt to describe the aromas and flavors. She did not sample the wines herself. She had done that during her training, but Mr. Clark sipped the wines while he listened to everyone’s comments and reactions.

After the final bottle was emptied and the guests began to socialize, Mr. Clark discreetly left the room through the side door. Lillian exhaled heavily, thankful to have made it through his impromptu performance review.

Later, after she sold a few cases of wine in the gift shop and said good-bye to each member of the group, she balanced the cash register, tidied up, and prepared to close the shop for the day. She was just about to leave when Mr. Clark entered through a door at the back.

“Well done today,” he said, causing her to jump. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t. I mean . . . yes, you did, but it’s fine.”

He approached the counter, and Lillian slung her purse over her shoulder.

“I appreciate you coming,” she said, “although I will be the first to admit that you made me a little nervous.”

“It didn’t show. You did well. Have you been all right since the accident?”

“Yes,” she replied. “And Freddie’s fine too. We were just a bit stiff and achy for a few days.”

He watched her move out from behind the counter. “And is the guest suite working out for you?” he asked. “Do you have everything you need?”