Black Diamonds (11 page)

Finally, in a voice full of wariness, she said, “I suppose I could try.”

“
Bien
.” He managed to hide his triumph. “Taste my wines, Jacaranda.” Once again he rolled the taste of the
r
of her name in his mouth. “But there’s one thing I should warn you.”

“What’s that?”

He sent her a provocative smile. “You might find you enjoy it.”

Jackie perched on the leather sofa and glanced around. Xavier’s private study contrasted with the chateau’s elegant formal drawing room. A masculine room, done in dark colours and part wood panelled, lit with softly glowing lamps, there were two long leather sofas either side of the fireplace, with sheepskin rugs on the carpet. A mahogany desk in the corner held a laptop, printer and fax.

He’d told her to sit by the fire and make herself comfortable. She squeezed her hands together. How could she make herself comfortable when she was about to be blindfolded by Xavier Antoine?

Did she really have trust issues? With embarrassment she recalled how she’d quizzed Eve earlier that day about Xavier’s ex-wife. Maybe Xavier was right. She twisted her hands tighter. What had she got herself into?

She looked up as he came into the room carrying a tray with wine glasses on it, each containing different kinds of wine. Their jewel tones, amethyst to garnet, citrine to crystal, gleamed in the firelight.

Moving the tray out of her line of vision he gave a mock frown that made her giggle. “No looking at the colours, Jacaranda.”

She held up her hands in surrender. “Sorry.”

“I’ve assembled quite a selection. There are some of my wines, of course. The others are from all around France.”

“There’s a problem,” she told him. “I don’t know the names of French wines.”

“But you know the names of grapes, don’t you? That’s how you identify them in Australia?” At her nod, he continued, “Then we’ll do it that way. You can name the variety of grape the wines are made of and I’ll tell you the French names.”

As he sat down next to her, Jackie’s pulse quickened.

“May I?” He turned to her.

What’s he doing?
Jackie panicked as he reached a hand to the back of her neck. Her purple silk scarf slid from her hair in a smooth, sensuous movement as her hair tumbled down in waves over her shoulders.

“
Voila
.” He held up the scarf. “A blindfold.”

“Oh.” She released the breath she’d been holding.

He paused. “Are you ready?”

She gulped. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Looking into her eyes, his became a smoky darkness. “You trust me?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Yes.”

He leant down and tied the scarf around her head. As she blinked, her lashes fluttered against the soft silk like butterfly wings. Double folded, it was remarkably dark; she couldn’t even make out shapes in the room.

“You cannot see?” Xavier’s French accent sounded even more pronounced.

“I can’t see anything,” she assured him honestly.

Somehow she sensed he was smiling. “No peeping now.”

The effect of the blindfold put all her other senses on high alert. Her ears strained. She heard a click before jazz started playing softly. She heard the clink of glasses. She heard Xavier cross the room and come back to the sofa, his body heat guiding her like a missile.

“Let us begin.”

Xavier’s hand felt warm as he lifted Jackie’s and wrapped it around the stem of a wine glass and covered her fingers with his. “Aroma first. I’m going to bring the glass towards you. Tell me what you smell.”

A waft of wine from the glass assailed her as he guided her hand upwards. The bouquet was much more intense with only her sense of scent to guide her. “It’s amazing.”

“What do you smell?”

She breathed in deeply. “Peaches,” she said at last. “And hazelnuts. I’d know that scent anywhere. It’s a white wine.”

“
Le vin blanc, oui
. Good. I’m impressed. Now I will let you taste it.”

The coldness of the glass touched her lips as she parted them.

“Put your head back,” he commanded.

Tilting her head, the cold wine splashed into her mouth. She held it in her mouth for a moment, before letting it wash down her throat.

“Do you know this wine?”

She swallowed. “I do. It’s unmistakeable, even though I can’t see. It’s a chardonnay.”

“
Oui
,” Xavier drawled. “These are chardonnay grapes, yes. Here in France, we call this wine Burgundy, as it is from that region. This is a
Mersault
.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never tasted it.”

“It’s a perfect wine, in my view. It’s not trying to be anything it’s not. A quality I admire.”

He released her hand from the glass.

“Do you need water?”

“Yes please.”

Another glass came to her lips, a thick edged tumbler. She rinsed her mouth with the water before he took it away.

“Are you ready to taste another?”

She nodded.

“Then here it is.”

The wine glasses clinked as she waited expectantly. She was grinning like a fool, she realised with surprise. Xavier was right; she was having fun. She’d never done anything like this before with a man. It was intimate; there was no doubt about that, but there was something playful about it too, making her uncoil inside, like a spring releasing.

It’s because I can trust Xavier, the thought popped into her head.

His fingers closing around her own again, Jackie inhaled as the glass of wine came under her nose.

“Red, obviously,” she said. “It’s been aged in oak, old oak.”

“Yes, you’re correct.
Le vin rouge
,” he agreed.

This one was harder than the first. “It isn’t your Cabernet Sauvignon, the wine we had last night. I’d be able to smell that.”

Xavier gave a short laugh. “
Non
. It isn’t. But it is one of ours—something new I’m trying. I too like to experiment.”

The tone of his voice turned her stomach to the soft, melting butter only he seemed to be able to cause.

“Well?”

Jackie kept inhaling. Finally she shook her head. “It’s not a Shiraz. I’d be able to smell pepper if it was a Shiraz.”

“I’ll let you taste it.”

The cool glass found her lips. A smooth liquid sensation flowed from her mouth to her stomach. “Mmmm. That bouquet is amazing. It’s a Merlot. How could I have missed that? It’s harder than I thought it would be, blindfolded, and I love Merlot. It’s one of my favourites.”

He trickled more into her open mouth. “Tell me about this one.”

“It’s fantastic. I bet the colour is almost purple. I can taste the oak, and it has a hint of blackcurrant too.” She frowned slightly as she licked her lips. “The tannins are a bit strong, perhaps. It might need more time in the barrel.”

“I agree. Let me give you some more water before you taste the next.”

The water splashed refreshingly on her tongue.

“Now taste this one.”

By the smaller glass pressed to her lips she could tell that this was a sweet wine. She licked them appreciatively as the drops clung to them after she’d tasted it.

“It’s a sweet wine. A sticky, that’s what we call it in Australia.”

“A sticky?” Amusement edged his accent, along with something else, something that sounded more sensual.

“Has it got
semillion
grapes in it?” she asked, licking her lips again. “Is it—a
Sauterne
?” She used the French name.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” he drawled. “You do know your French wines. This is indeed a
Sauterne
, a blend of semillion and sauvignon blanc grapes, of course, with some muscadelle too. It becomes sweet because of the
pourriture noble
—the noble rot that affects the grapes. Here in France we’re not afraid for our wines and our cheese to be affected by natural processes.”

“Just like truffles. Nothing could be more natural than truffles. Could I try the
Sauterne
again?”

“
Mais oui
.”

“It’s a bit on the syrupy side, for me,” Jackie mused after another sip. “I like more bite.”

There was a moment’s silence before Xavier asked, “Do you indeed? Then perhaps you should try this.”

She opened her mouth in anticipation.

It wasn’t another wine.

It was his lips.

It started gently, lingeringly. But as his hand reached for the blindfold tied around her head, easing it up over her eyes, the pressure began to change.

She could see him now, as well as taste him. His lips hardened against hers, and she opened to their force. The taste of the sweet wine lingered on her tongue, but it was the taste of him that made her want more. Flames shot down inside her as he pushed her back further into the sofa, her head falling against the soft cushions, his body strong against her. Every sense that had been awakened by the wine tasting was fully aroused now.

Her head swam as his lips moved from hers, travelling down her neck to find a place that set her alight. The pressure of his lips mounted on the soft delicate patch of skin as her whole body responded, shuddering.

“You like that …” He took his lips away and ran his finger down her neck. “A woman’s neck is like the neck of a wine bottle, so evocative, so beautiful …” His lips found the place below her ear again.

Tremors as deep as ocean waves ran through her. That he could do this to her, by only the touch of his lips and fingers on her neck … “I haven’t felt that before … there …”

He lifted his head, looking deep into her eyes, his own alight. “That’s only the beginning. I want you to feel many things you have never felt before, but you’ll have to trust me. Do you?”

Her breathing became ragged as she nodded.

His voice sounded husky. “I want to make love to you, here, now. But I’m not going to. Not yet.”

“But …” Her voice was hoarse as she protested helplessly, the desire surging through her making her dizzy.

“
Non
.” Resolute, he shook his head. “I’m a truffle grower, a winemaker. I know the best things take patience. In France we have two different words to describe how to eat:
gourmet
and
gourmand
. I’m a
gourmet
, I appreciate the finer things. I’m not a greedy
gourmand
. I want you to have all the time you need.”

Touching her lips with the tip of his finger he gave a laugh that was half a groan. “If I can manage to drag myself away from you, of course.”

Her limbs turned syrupy, like the Sauterne dessert wine she’d tasted. Weakly, she protested again. “I don’t think I need any more time.”

He shook his head. “Your relationship with Simon, the loss of your father—I don’t want you to think I took advantage of you.”

“I don’t think that, Xavier. I never will.”

“You’re vulnerable at the moment, more vulnerable than you realise. I want to take it slowly, Jacaranda. Will you let me?”

He added in a throaty whisper, “It will be like black diamonds.”

“Like black diamonds?”

“Worth waiting for.”

Truffle Risotto

Ingredients:

25g Fresh White, Black Winter, or 50g Black Autumn Truffles

Approx 1 litre of vegetable stock

180g Carnaroli or Arborio rice

1 small onion, chopped very fine

2 tbsp Extra Virgin Olive Oil

250ml (1 cup) dry white wine

50g butter, diced

50g finely grated Parmesan cheese or Grana Padano

Salt to taste

Method:

Using a fine cheese grater, grate two thirds of the fresh truffles into a mixing bowl. Grate the cheese into the same bowl, and add the diced butter and 1 tbsp olive oil. Mix gently. Bring a small saucepan to the boil with the vegetable stock and keep on a slow simmer. Meanwhile, using a heavy based flat bottomed pan, sauté the onion until translucent. Add the rice to the onion and heat through until all grains are hot and coated in oil. Add a cup of wine to the rice and stir until dissolved. Keep adding small quantities of stock until the rice is cooked. This will take approx. 15 minutes from adding first cup of wine. Rice should be al dente … moist with no excess liquid remaining. Turn off heat and add the diced butter, fresh truffle and parmesan mixture, and quickly beat into the risotto until you get a creamy finish. Leave for 1 minute. Plate up the risotto. Shave the remaining fresh truffles over the individual portions at the table to ensure that you maximise the experience of the fresh truffle aroma.

http://www.trufflehunter.co.uk

“So, have you bought a ticket?” Eve asked.

“Oh.” Jackie frowned as she reached for her purse. “Where do I get one? I hope I’m not too late. I didn’t know we needed to buy a ticket to the church service today.”

Eve laughed aloud. “Not for the truffle service.” She leaned over the wooden table and whispered, “For the
roller coaster
.”

Jackie grinned. “I think I might have.”

“I’m so glad.”

Jackie glanced around the warm cafe where they sat sipping coffee, filled with chattering people breakfasting on croissants and baguettes. Excitement bubbled up inside her. She’d found it hard enough to believe she was in France, and staying in an ancient chateau. Now, having been whirled by helicopter—the Antoine Estate helicopter, no less—to Richerenches, a Mecca for truffle fans, she could hardly hold back from pinching herself to check it was all true. They had landed at a nearby aero club, and been picked up by some local friends of Xavier’s in a Range Rover to drive them the last couple of kilometres through the winding country roads to Richerenches. From the sky, in the early morning light, Jackie had seen the spectacular beauty of the region, with its mountains, vineyards and limestone quarries. Something about the landscape, its dryness and colour, and clear blue sky with only a few clouds, had reminded her, oddly, of Western Australia. She knew it had a similar climate; warmer than the Dordogne. It had all been breathtaking, and the effortlessness with which Xavier, Bob and Eve had travelled in the helicopter, as though it were an everyday event, made her realise she’d entered a different world since coming to France; a world of wealth and luxury. Bob and Eve had their own private plane too, yet you’d never know it. Eve always managed to put her at ease with her unaffected American friendliness.