You Had Me at Merlot: Part 2 (3 page)

‘Are we supposed to be spitting?’ Laurie called out.

‘That’s up to you, you do what you want; you get a fresh glass with each wine either way.’

I went to spit and audibly missed my glass, hearing and feeling a splat on the ground next to me. Maybe I’d just drink up
from now on.

‘Now tell me, do you
like
it?’

There were choruses of ‘it’s okay’, ‘mmm, hell yes!’ and ‘not really’. I was in the ‘it’s okay’ group. White wine just wasn’t
my favourite, though I could appreciate this was a nice one. Strong hands that I guessed were Sebastian’s clasped my shoulders
and gently moved me a few metres to the left.

My glass was taken from my hand and a new one put in, with my helper wrapping my fingers around the stem for me.

The next taster was another white, this time a super-sweet ice wine which Sofia explained to us was made when the grapes were
frozen while still on the vine, allowing the sugars to concentrate and the flavour to intensify. It was syrupy and honeyed,
and I decided I wanted to drink it all day every day, so I told her so: ‘This is just yummy. I feel like I want to pour it
on vanilla ice cream.’

‘That’s a wonderful idea. It also makes a beautiful vinaigrette for a salad of prosciutto, melon, artichoke …’

We moved onto the reds – hurrah! – sampling delicious wine after delicious wine, each with its own history, flavours, grapes
and location out in the vineyard. I learnt that anything with hints of blackberry and chocolate were just fine in my books,
but that grappa really wasn’t my cup of tea.

We were shuffled this way and that like human chess pieces, Sebastian becoming more careful as the tasting went on and the
blood alcohol levels went up. I was intrigued to see who I’d end up being matched with.

Finally, nine wines in and a lot of hazy heads later, the tasting was finished – our ‘pairings’ to be revealed. I removed
my mask and was faced with none other than a beaming George. I turned to grumble at Sebastian, only to find Jamie behind me
wearing a barely concealed smirk. He’d been the one moving me? His hands on my arms, his hand on my hand?

‘Baby, we are meant to be. You can’t argue with love and alcohol.’ George went to caress my cheek and I backed away, eliciting
a snigger from Jamie.

‘Really?’ I asked, then turned to Jamie. ‘Really?’

‘You two are the most beautiful couple here.’

‘Isn’t she a princess? When I first lay my eyes on her I knew I was looking at my future ex-wife.’

‘Nope. No you didn’t.’

‘She likes you, George, I can see it in her eyes.’ Jamie’s eyes locked with mine. I was trying to look defiant but he could
easily have beaten me in a staring contest because the longer he held my gaze the deeper I blushed. Eventually I looked away.

‘George, I’m sorry, I just don’t see us being a great couple.’

‘That’s
amoré
, Bella. Love is blind,’ insisted Jamie.

‘You, come with me,’ I said, passing my glass to my apparent future ex-husband and dragging Jamie into a corner. We stood
close, and he smelled like the honey-scented ice wine, which I tried to ignore. ‘I don’t believe for a second that my “perfect
match” just happened to be George.’

‘Hey, don’t blame the wines, blame the drunk people.’

‘What?’

‘It’s not my fault you two like the same things and have everything in common.’

‘You know that’s not true. I don’t even like his trousers.’

‘But Elle, you’re not here to find love, right?’ he said, his tone teasing.

‘That’s right.’

‘So I can’t take other men away from the potential loves of their lives.’

‘Damn it … you’re right. I wish I wasn’t so nice.’

‘It’s your downfall.’

‘But wait: by pushing him on to me, a rendezvous that will never happen, you’re stopping George from falling in love with
someone for real. Which makes you a very bad host.’

‘Damn it … you’re right. But I think it’s too late for him. I hear George is besotted with you.’

‘No he isn’t, he’s just besotted with …’

‘With?’

‘I don’t know. My Englishness. Maybe he thinks I know Kate Middleton.’

‘Is it so hard for you to believe he might actually find you special? Just because you don’t want to be with someone doesn’t
mean someone doesn’t want to be with you.’

He was standing close to me now, our hushed conversation causing a smile to play on his lips, which were close to my eye level.

I cleared my throat. ‘I thought Sofia was the one into all this schmaltz and setting-up? Sebastian told me you find being
in love a chore.’

‘I don’t know. I guess it’s only a chore if you can’t handle the work.’

‘Oh, bleurgh, your lines are as bad as George’s.’ But, truth be told – and the last person I wanted to admit this to was my
stubborn, set-in-her-ways self – I didn’t mind them one bit.

The following day was activity-free, but we were encouraged to spend time in the communal areas, getting to know one another
and making use of the
amoré
-steeped setting. And after a morning of avoiding the clutches of both George – whose research on ‘European women’ must have
come from hours of watching
Carry On
movies – and Donna – who I was beginning to suspect must really fancy our PR agency like a teenager because she seemed to
want to drop it into every conversation. I was ready to hide out.

I grabbed an early lunch from the buffet table and was sneaking it back up to my room when I met Jamie in the corridor.

‘Well, well, if it isn’t Cupid himself,’ I said.

‘Well, well, if it isn’t Bella Notte’s very own heartbreaker. Where are you going with that?’

‘I needed a break from everyone; I was going to eat it in my room.’

‘I know a slightly more interesting place to hide out, if you want.’ He led me further down the corridor, past Laurie and
my rooms, past those of the other guests, and around the corner to a door marked ‘fire escape’. He opened it, and I stepped
out onto a stone veranda that ran along the back edge of the building,
shaded by trees and foliage. We sat down on the wall and he helped me plough through the slightly excessive amount of Pecorino
I’d helped myself to.

‘Jamie. Can I ask you a question?’

‘Of course, if I can have a bit of that chilli jam.’

‘Sure. What’s the deal with you and
You Had Me at Merlot Holidays
? You don’t seem to … like them very much.’

He looked a bit bashful. ‘Yeah, I’m a little bitter, you could say.’

‘Like an unripe grape.’

‘Just like that. I will tell you why, because you seem nice. Are you nice?’

‘So nice I was voted Nicest Person in my school yearbook.’

‘Really?’

‘No. But I do give generously to a cat-shelter charity.’

‘That’s pretty nice. Okay, the problem is that Bella Notte, as a winery, is not doing too well. Don’t get me wrong, our wine
is the best in the whole of Italy, but there’s a lot of competition, and whereas a lot of our income used to come from wine
clubs around the world and past visitors placing rolling orders, now supermarkets abroad offer big-brand wine at cheap,
cheap
prices and ours is getting pushed out. Like many winemakers, we are nearly at the last resort, which is to sell our brand
to one of these supermarkets, let them repackage and put their name all over it. But then Bella Notte wines become faceless;
it fades away.’

Sadness washed through his voice and he rubbed his hands across his face. I wanted to make it better, make him smile, but
what could I do? So I lamely handed him another lump of Pecorino.

‘This place has been in
mia mamma
’s family for hundreds of years. I don’t want it to fade away.’

My heart bled for him. He wasn’t scornful or grumpy, he was lost. He was scared. We all get that sometimes, and instinctively
my hand reached out and rubbed the back of his neck.

‘I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me,’ he continued, ‘and think I don’t want you or the other guests here.
My parents have been running
You Had Me at Merlot
for a year now, in a last attempt to bring in money and drum up new business. I should be less stubborn because actually
you’re keeping Bella Notte alive.’

‘I understand, though. I imagine it would be like the threat of losing your family home and having to open it as a B&B. You’re
grateful to the guests, but can’t help but feel a bit invaded.’

We sat in silence for a little longer, until he looked up and gave me a lopsided smile. ‘You are just going to have to fall
in love with George, because we can’t afford to have any unhappy customers.’

‘If I end up falling in love with George I’m leaving the most furious review on TripAdvisor.’

Come afternoon, Laurie and I scuttled off to the far end of the vineyard for a sunbathe and a catch-up.

Laurie rolled on to her front. ‘Ouch. I’m lying right on a massive, twiggy vine.’

‘Do you want to move?’

‘No, that would take even more effort than ignoring it. Now listen, I don’t want you talking to Jamie any more because we’re
out here to find me a husband, not you.’

I lifted my sunglasses in surprised. ‘Are you being serious?’

‘Yes, stop being such a crap friend.’

My heart thudded. Laurie and I never fought, unless we got on to a discussion about cryogenic freezing, which we had completely
opposing opinions about. I didn’t know whether to feel hurt or angry. ‘I’m sorry – nothing’s even going on between Jamie and
me really. I didn’t realise you needed me to be—’

‘Love, I’m joking. I’m not that much of a cow. Tell me all about him, and I want all the details, especially if you’ve had
any saucy dreams about him.’

‘There have been no dreams.’ My laughter trailed off. Or have there? ‘It’s nothing. We’re a little bit flirty, I guess, but
it’s just harmless fun. He’s just messing with me anyway; he seems far more interested in getting me together with George
than with himself.’

‘So, basically, it’s like when a boy at school tells you he hates your face and it means he wants to snog it.’

‘No, it’s nothing like that. I’m sure there will be no snogging.’

‘Oh, there’ll be snogging. You need a snog. Even if it comes from me after too much Merlot.’

‘You need to save your lips for all your men.’

Laurie stretched out like a cat in the sunshine and smiled. ‘I love men, I love Italy, I love love.’

‘Seriously, though, what are your thoughts so far? Anyone that you think might make you happy?’ I asked with delicacy. I didn’t
want her to wallow, or get teary. The Botox has only just started to settle.

‘I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m being too cautious. Or maybe too desperate. I don’t feel a click yet, but it’ll come, I’m
sure. It’s only the third day. It’ll come.’ I wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince, her or me, but either way I sensed
the conversation was over and we went back into a peaceful lull.

A while later, as my eyelids were drooping and the page of my John Grisham was becoming blurred, Laurie let out a snort and
sat bolt upright. ‘Well, sunshine and wine are having a wild old time reminding me I’m getting old – I think I need to head
in for another nap.’

We dragged ourselves up, stretched and gathered our belongings.

‘See you downstairs tonight though – good luck!’ said Laurie with a yawn.

‘What’s tonight?’

‘It’s the lucky-dip date. We all have to show up at eight and the first person you see, you have dinner with. They’re setting
up little tables for two outside on the terrace, I saw Sebastian and Sofia getting it ready earlier on.’

Urgh, who would I have to make small talk with? It was sure as hell not going to be George this time.

Clearly I am also ancient, because when we got back to our rooms I went straight to sleep, feeling utterly crumpled and in
need of a wash when I woke up at seven. Stepping out of the shower, my stomach growled. I didn’t care who I had to sit next
to at dinner, I just wanted to eat. Unless it was George, but then I’d probably be put off my food anyway.

As I was debating whether it would be considered rude to not bother dressing up for my lucky-dip dinner date, and instead
wear some combination of pyjamas and no bra, I noticed a note had been slipped under the door.

The beast in my belly roared with anger and I scoffed half a pack of Smints that were in my handbag.

Eventually, at eight twenty, I couldn’t wait any more and decided it was close enough. I put on my bra (sigh) with a T-shirt
and jeans (compromise) and scooted downstairs, out the door and round to the terrace.

Even an unromantic cynic like me could see this was perfect for an evening of romance. The terrace had been transformed with
a dozen bistro tables, beneath hanging stained-glass lanterns. On the tables were red and white checked cloths and tall glasses
filled with breadsticks, while low accordion music played out of who-knows-where, giving the ambience of a real little Italian
nook restaurant.

The only thing that ruined it for me, and it was a tiny thing, was that everybody else was already paired up and seemed to
be tucking into platters of antipasti.

‘There you are,’ cried Sofia, running up to me and weaving me by the arm through the tables. ‘Elle, I’m sorry about this,
but only one other person turned up late as well, so here is your date.’ She stood aside
and pulled out a chair, and of course –
of course
– there was George’s face grinning up at me like the cat who’d got the cream.

‘Baby, baby, this is just meant to be! And I like that you didn’t dress up, playing hard to get, making me work to see your
body.’

‘I don’t understand,’ I said to Sofia. ‘I’m not late. The note said to come down at eight thirty.’

‘The note?’

I turned to George. ‘Did you get a note? Saying the chef was running behind and we should come down later?’

‘Sure did.’

Sofia wrung her hands. ‘But Sebastian is your chef tonight, and he is always here. I’m sorry, I don’t—’