These Tangled Vines(44)

He held it aloft against the flickering candlelight. “This looks quite old. Was there a note to go along with it, explaining where it belongs?”

“No, there was nothing else in the box.”

He turned it over and laid it across his open palm, staring for a long moment. “I think I might know.”

“Really?”

“I can’t be certain, but this is probably the key to a room in the wine cellars. It’s been locked for decades, and Anton wouldn’t let anyone set foot in there. My father told me the key had disappeared years ago, but this is probably it. Anton had it all along, naturally. What a devil he was.”

I sat forward. “What’s in the room?”

“Wine, I presume,” Vincent replied, “but I can’t say for sure. I’ve never been inside.” He handed the key back to me. “Maria has asked me to show you around the vineyards tomorrow. Meet me first thing in the morning, in the gift shop, and we’ll go down to the cellars and try that key in the lock. We’ll see if it fits.”

I slipped the key back into my purse. “Thank you, Vincent. You’re a gem.”

“And now for dessert,” Maria said, rising from her chair. “I hope you like chocolate, Fiona.”

“Who doesn’t?” I replied as I marveled at how the joy of spending time with such good people could outweigh the jet lag I still felt from my long journey across the Atlantic.





CHAPTER 15


LILLIAN


Tuscany, 1986

Lillian drove Freddie to the station to catch an early train to Paris, then spent half a day manning the hotel reception desk before she moved to the wine shop to begin a tour. Afterward, she led the group back to the shop to make purchases and was surprised to find Anton waiting there. Hands in his trouser pockets, one shoulder leaning against the doorjamb, he stood casually, smiling.

“How was the tour?” he asked the guests in a friendly fashion as they filed into the shop, one by one.

“Wonderful!” a woman said.

“Very educational.”

“Fascinating.”

Lillian brought up the rear. “Everyone,” she said, “this is Anton Clark. He’s the owner of Maurizio Wines.”

“Marvelous!” an older man said, pumping Anton’s hand. “You, sir, are living the dream.”

Anton gave him an easy smile. “I can’t argue there.”

He remained to socialize with the group until they made their purchases and headed to their cars. When the last vehicle honked a good-bye as it pulled away from the gravel parking lot, Lillian waved. Then she looked up at Anton, who was standing at her side.

“That went well, I think,” she said.

“It went more than well. You must have set a sales record, Lillian. Twelve cases to be shipped to America. What in the world did you say to them?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just expressed the things I felt last night when we were tasting the older vintages.”

They walked slowly to the stone wall at the edge of the lot that overlooked the vineyards. Angry gray clouds shifted and rolled beyond the mountainous horizon.

“I hope it’s all right,” she said, “but I told them about Signor Maurizio’s special private collections for his children and grandchildren. We stood outside the locked door, and they found it very moving. Then, in the tasting room, I showed them which vintages age particularly well, and I encouraged them to store a bottle or two at home, to put it somewhere special and wait five to ten years for a special occasion, like a daughter’s wedding or the birth of a grandchild. I think that’s what they were all planning to do with the cases they bought. And I think it goes without saying that they’ll talk about those special bottles with their friends. It’ll be good for word of mouth.”

He turned to her. “That’s brilliant, Lillian. Maybe there’s hope for us in America after all, with all these cases shipping out across the ocean.”

They stood side by side, looking across the green landscape. The tall cypresses swayed in a fresh, cool wind, and the leaves on the grapevines fluttered and whispered.

Lillian pointed. “Look at the rain over there. It’s blotting out that mountain completely.” She sighed. “Oh, to be holding a paintbrush right now . . .”

His head turned, and he looked at her raptly. “Do you paint?”

She chuckled at the idea. “No, but I admire those who can. I understand the desire.”

They faced the horizon and watched the dramatic weather unfold.

“It’s coming this way,” he said. “It’ll be good for the soil, but we’ll have to eat indoors tonight. Will you come? Bring Freddie, of course.”

She kept her eyes on the horizon. “I’d love to come, but I’ll be on my own tonight. Freddie left for Paris this morning.”

“Whatever for?”

“To research the ending of his book.”

Anton looked up at a bird hovering lightly on the wind. “How long will he be gone?”

She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Last night he said it would just be for a few days, but I suspect he’ll stay until he’s finished it, however long that takes.”

They started to walk back toward the gift shop.

“Well then,” Anton said. “You must come for dinner this evening—and every night this week. I’d hate to think of you eating alone.”