Tangled Vines (26 page)

It was the first time Dougherty noticed Rutledge's son had come outside the building. Rutledge intercepted him, stopping him from climbing into the low-slung sports car.

Something was wrong. Dougherty could smell it. Worse than that, he had an uneasy feeling it had something to do with Rutledge's deal with the baron. If it did, he had a right to know. He left the building's shade and hurried over to see what it was about.

“...he called me not thirty minutes ago.” Rutledge's voice was low with fury. “Why the hell didn't you tell me things were going sour? You're the one who claimed you knew what was being said behind closed doors.”

“But,” Clay Rutledge said with a stunned look, “it's impossible. I played tennis with Natalie this morning. According to her, everything was fine.”

“The hell it was!” Gil exploded, then broke off when he saw Dougherty hovering near the hood of the sports car. “What do you want?” He glared.

“This is about the baron, isn't it?” Dougherty guessed. “Your deal with him fell through, didn't it? She beat you out of it.”

“That remains to be seen,” he said curtly.

“What about my money? I need it.”

“I'll tell the baron that. I'm sure it'll make a difference to him.” His voice was riddled with sarcasm. In the next breath, he waved Dougherty away. “Go on, get out of here.”

Dougherty hesitated a moment, then took off, making a beeline for the Buick he'd left parked in the shade. Gil watched long enough to make certain he was leaving, then turned back to Clay.

“Dammit, I had that man in the palm of my hand. I know I did.” Gil closed his fingers over his open palm and shook it in emphasis.

“What made him change his mind? Did he say?” Clay continued to frown in disbelief.

“No. When I asked, he would only say it was a business decision. It was impossible to press for a more specific answer over the phone.”

“I think I'll go over there. Maybe Natalie can tell me what this is all about.” Clay reached for the Ferrari's door handle.

“Don't bother. They've checked out,” Gil informed him tightly. “I just came from there myself.”

“Checked out?”

“Yes.” Gil smiled with cold anger. “The baron asked the desk clerk to forward his mail, messages, everything to Rutledge Estate.”

Clay's shoulders sagged. “You're joking.”

“Hardly.” He exhaled the word in a disgusted breath. “Only one person is doing any laughing right now,, and that is Katherine. But I promise you, it won't be for long.”

“What about the party tonight?” Clay remembered. “You won't go now, will you?”

His mouth curved again in a smile. “I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

“You're serious,” he said, realizing.

“You're damned right I am. And I want you there, too.” He jabbed a finger in Clay's direction. “Get his wife aside. Katherine has poisoned the baron's mind. Find out how. Got that?”

“Right.”

“I want this deal, Clay. And I'm going to get it. One way or another.” He stalked off.

Clay stood beside his car for a long moment, his initial shock slowly turning to anger. This was all Katherine's fault. She had made his life miserable for as long as he could remember. God, he hated that woman.

Frosted lights were strung over the terrace, forming a lattice like canopy that cast a soft glow over the entire area. Below, there was the gleam of china and crystal on white linen, the series of long tables arranged in a horseshoe design to accommodate the fifty-odd guests at the party.

Torcheres blazed at strategic intervals in the garden, their flames dancing to the strains of Mozart that the string quartet played. Background music to the friendly chatter of voices. The atmosphere was California casual, Napa Valley style. The warm September night dictated the dress: lightweight sports jackets and open collars for men; dresses of chiffon, crepe de chine, and ethnically embroidered gauzes for women. The satins, taffetas, and lame were left at home, along with the diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, leaving a predominance of pearls, silver chokers, and gold jewelry for adornment.

With the camera balanced on his shoulder, Steve Gibbons wandered through the throng of guests, capturing vignettes of the party scene. Kelly trailed after him, on hand to do the occasional interview and identify to DeeDee anyone of importance she recognized.

The vast majority of the guests were vintners and their spouses, with a noted wine critic, a world-renowned chef, two reporters for the trade, and the occasional celebrity or two thrown in for variety. The spice, in Kelly's opinion, was being supplied by the presence of Gil Rutledge and his son, Clay. It made for an interesting scene, all the players on stage at one time – Katherine, Baron Fougere, Gil.

When Steve stopped to get a shot of a laughing group, Kelly let her gaze stray back to Gil Rutledge. He looked relaxed, completely at ease in his surroundings, the charm turned on full force as he indulged in the pre-dinner socializing of cheek kissing, glad-handing, and wine chatting.

Kelly wondered what kind of comments they might get from Gil about Katherine. She turned to mention the thought to DeeDee – and found Sam Rutledge at her elbow. She struggled to ignore the quick frisson of response to his nearness.

“Hello.” Kelly smiled. The last time she'd seen him, Sam had been part of the informal receiving line, made up of himself, Katherine, the baron, and his wife, welcoming the arriving guests. “All finished meeting and greeting guests?”

“Unless someone decides to crash the party, the last of the guests has arrived.” Sam made another brief survey of her. The chamois-soft texture of the sand-washed silk she wore seemed to invite the stroke of his hand, the rich aquamarine color of it intensified the green of her eyes. Her auburn hair was piled atop her head, a few wisps escaping. Sam idly wondered how many pins held it in place.

“You don't really think anyone would crash the party, do you?” She sounded more amused by the unlikeliness of it than the likeliness.

He shrugged. “You never know.”

Sam could think of one – Len Dougherty. Although his foreman, Ramon Rodriguez, had mentioned to him just this morning that Dougherty was a security guard at The Cloisters. Sober, Dougherty wasn't a problem. It was only when he drank that he caused trouble.

Yet it was curious that of all the wineries in the valley, Dougherty was working for The Cloisters. Sam wondered if Gil knew Dougherty was on his payroll or if it was purely chance. He cast a speculating glance in Gil's direction and took a sip of the iced Calistoga water in his glass.

“Have you taken your plane up lately?” Kelly asked.

His gaze came back to her, regret pulling at his half smile. “I've been too busy these last couple weeks to do any flying.” He seemed pleased that she had remembered his interest in planes. “I thought I might slip away for a couple hours on Sunday and put the Cub through her paces. I have a vacant passenger seat, and the view of Napa Valley from the air is a sight that shouldn't be missed.”

“I'll have to take your word for it,” she replied with a quick smile and a shake of her head. “I went to an air show back in Iowa once. There were a couple of those small little biplanes in the show, very similar, I suspect, to the kind you have. They used them in an old-time barnstorming act, complete with wing walkers, mock dogfights, and smoke tails trailing behind them. I remember watching those little planes, spinning and diving, skimming over the tops of cornfields upside down. I have a fairly strong stomach, but I don't think it could take all those rolls and dives and loop-the-loops.”

“What if I promise to keep the wings straight and level the whole time?” His tone was teasing but his look was serious. Disturbingly so.

Kelly found herself wanting to accept his promise and his invitation. That was impossible, of course. She was leaving tomorrow. She didn't know why she didn't tell him that; instead, she said, “Maybe another time I'll take you up on that,” and instantly shifted the subject. “I remember the pilots of those other planes wearing goggles when they flew. Do you?”

She also remembered the local band playing over and over again “Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines.” At the time, she had been amused by the choice of songs. Now, looking at Sam, it seemed totally appropriate.

“In an open cockpit, goggles are virtually a necessity.” In the next beat, a glint of amusement appeared in his eyes. “Sometimes I even don a long white silk scarf like the aces in World War One wore.”

“You do?” She wasn't sure whether to believe him or not.

He nodded. “I do when I'm feeling nostalgic – or want to cut a dashing figure for a particularly attractive passenger.”

“Female, of course.”

“Of course.” Sam grinned.

“I imagine you've taken a great many female passengers up in your plane,” Kelly said, and felt an immediate, sharp twist of dislike for all of them.

“Actually I haven't. In fact -” He paused, his gaze searching her eyes. “- you are the first one I've ever asked.”

She didn't want to know that. Somehow it just made everything seem worse. Yet she managed a smile and a fairly even response. “In that case, I feel very honored.”

“I hope so.” A waiter walked purposefully among the party guests, carrying a silver triangle and striking it at intervals. “I think that's our cue for dinner,” Sam remarked.

“And our cue to pack away our camera. Excuse me.” She moved off to rejoin her crew. She was safer with them.

Entwining silver grape leaves held the place cards in front of each table setting. Kelly found the one with her name and sat down, relieved to discover DeeDee on her right. Making social small talk with strangers was not her forte.

“Beautiful,” DeeDee murmured and nodded at the centerpiece before them, identical to others scattered along the tables. The silver epergne held cascading clusters of grapes, purple-black clusters of cabernet sauvignon contrasting sharply with golden-green bunches of pinot Chardonnay.

“It is.” Kelly glanced at the arrangement. “Hugh would certainly approve of it. He deplores the use of floral centerpieces at dinner parties. According to him, the fragrance of the flowers not only interferes with the flavor of the food, but it also affect's the taste of the wine that's served.”

“That sounds like Hugh.”

Kelly nodded and idly scanned the seated guests, pausing for a moment on Sam. He sat next to Katherine at the head of the tables' horseshoe arrangement. The baron was on her right, and his wife next to him. Yet Sam was the only one Kelly noticed.

The sun had bronzed his skin and bleached his hair the color of light caramel. His brown eyes were only a shade darker. Even now, seated at the table, chatting with the woman next to him, there was an aura of calm about him that drew her, the pull of it as strong as the attraction she felt. Suddenly, more than anything, she wanted to get out of here, leave this party, this place, this valley.

Tomorrow. She could run tomorrow.

A waiter blocked her view as he leaned between her chair and DeeDee's and poured a pale golden wine into DeeDee's glass. Then he was on Kelly's left, filling her glass, his actions repeated by a cadre of black-jacketed waiters serving the guests.

A hush settled over the tables when Katherine stood. She waited until she had the full attention of everyone, then began to speak. “I have invited you here tonight to welcome a special guest to our valley. For the last two centuries, the Fougere family has made great wines at their chateau in the Medoc. Wines we have all enjoyed despite the taste of envy they left on our tongues.” Her comment drew smiles and a few chuckles. “Baron Emile Fougere has continued his family's proud tradition of making fine Bordeaux wines.” She picked up her wineglass and turned toward him, raising it in a toast. “To Baron Fougere. May this be the first of many visits he makes to our valley.”

Murmurs of agreement swept the tables as everyone stood and lifted their glasses to him before sipping the crisp Chardonnay. He rose and stood stiffly before them, then motioned them into their seats.

“It is the time, I think,” he said with a quick glance at Katherine, “when it should be known that two wine families Fougere of France and Rutledge of California – have agreed to link together and make one great wine from the grapes of Napa Valley.” There was a collective breath drawn at his announcement. The baron raised his glass. “To Fougere and Rutledge.”

Judging from Gil Rutledge's expression and the ease with which he lifted his glass, Kelly didn't think the news was any surprise to him. Oddly enough, the only involved party who seemed to be caught off guard by the announcement was Sam. Had he not known about it? Or simply not expected the announcement to be made tonight? Kelly couldn't tell, his frown passed too quickly and the smile came too readily as he responded to the congratulations from the blonde beside him. She took a thoughtful sip of her wine as the baron sat back down.

“What name will you give your wine?” a reporter with a respected wine magazine asked. “Have you decided, Baron?”

“It will be Fougere-Rutledge,” he replied.

Smiling, Katherine immediately spoke up. “Or Rutledge-Fougere

“I think you'd better wait to print that, Ed,” Gil Rutledge declared in a joking voice, “until you find out who actually comes out on top.”

Clay laughed with the rest at his father's comment, but unlike them, he knew his father wasn't referring to the wine label but to the deal itself. To their knowledge, nothing was down in ink yet. Until it was, the battle wasn't over.

A waiter set his appetizer in front of him, fresh scallops in a lemon-coriander vinaigrette, and Clay tried again to catch Natalie's eye at the head table. It had been impossible to have a private word with her before dinner. Too many people had been around to overhear. But the look of anguish that had been in her dark eyes when she'd greeted him had reassured Clay that her husband's decision had come as a total surprise to her.

Yet it worried him that she hadn't so much as glanced in his direction. Surely she had noticed where he was sitting.

But the appetizer plates were cleared away and the medallions of lamb with an olive-anchovy sauce and fried artichokes were served before her gaze sought him out and clung for several seconds, a desperation in her eyes.

All his tension dissolved as confidence surged through him. She would slip away from the party to meet him. She would do anything he asked. The stupid woman loved him.

A little smugly, Clay ate his lamb and deliberately left his glass of cabernet sauvignon untouched. It was a Rutledge Estate Private Reserve, Madam's wine. It would be as galling as swill, as far as he was concerned. But he drained the last drop of the sweet and icy Chateau d'Yquem, the creme de la creme of dessert wines, that accompanied the dinner's final course.

After dinner, the party shifted to the gardens where a five-piece band played swing music, taking the place of the string quartet. When Clay spotted Natalie standing slightly apart from her husband, he knew he had his chance.

He strolled over and stood barely a foot away, facing the band and pretending to listen to the music. “Natalie, I have to talk to you. Don't look,” he whispered in warning when she started to turn. “Just listen. On the other side of the house, there's a trail that leads into the trees. Meet me there.”

“I cannot,” she whispered back. “Not, tonight.”

“It has to be tonight,” he told her. “It may be our only chance.” He heard her draw another breath of protest and said quickly, “If you love me, you'll be there.”

The line was disgustingly old, but it never failed to work. Women were so easily manipulated by their emotions. Smiling to himself, Clay moved off before she could make any response.

A smile edged the corners of Katherine's mouth as she scanned her guests. The announcement at dinner had everyone talking, instilling a sense of excitement in the air. She glanced sideways at Emile.

“We have created a stir,” she murmured. “Many expected an announcement, but very few thought it would come this soon.”

“I suspect your grandson was not entirely pleased to hear it. You have cause to have such faith in him.”

“Oh?” Katherine gave the sound a mildly curious note.

“I confess I questioned his ability for a time. I thought his nature was too placid, that he lacked your firm hand in running the winery. It is obvious to me now that I was wrong.”

“What changed your mind?” She studied him with new interest, piqued by the certainty in his voice.

“A comment he made to me the other day,” Emile replied and Katherine waited for him to elucidate. “He expressed his dislike that a Fougere would share the credit for a great wine made by a Rutledge. He had no care whether he offended me or not.” He gave a thoughtful nod. “He is not a man to back down from what he believes. That cannot be said for many men.”

Katherine had no reply. Anger had been her first reaction when Emile had revealed Sam's comment. On its heels came a rush of questions and doubts, along with a growing sense of uneasiness. Had she misjudged Sam all along?