Too Close to the Sun (32 page)

Henley came to stand next to him. Both of
them stared at the pool, on whose cheerful blue surface floated two
sodden pages of
Wine World
. Henley kept his voice low. "Max,
if I go back and tell my partners all this, we may not have a deal
at all. I have got to cut the price to make it happen."

Screw you
, Max thought. But the fact
remained that he wanted a deal, too. And he wanted it now, and in
cash. And that meant Henley was his man.

He steeled himself. "How much?"

"Ten percent. We can do it at 27
million."

Max felt an enormous surge of relief. He'd
been worried it might be a lot bigger than that. Ten percent he
could finesse with his mother, especially if he waited for just the
right moment to tell her about it. "Would we have to do a new term
sheet?" he asked.

"No, we'd just put the new number in the
final documents."

Max nodded, and Henley slapped his back.
"Good doing business with you." Then he was gone.

It wasn't until Max was back on the chaise
that it occurred to him that he probably should have negotiated
with Henley before kissing off three million bucks. But he'd felt
such huge relief, he hadn't even thought about it.

He frowned, suddenly wondering whether Henley
might have been playing a little violin himself.

*

Gabby's alarm roused her at five o'clock in
the afternoon. Waking in that tidy, familiar room—with its
whitewashed walls, stone floor, lacy curtains billowing at the lone
window—disconcerted her at first, threw her back in time to years
before. It took her jet-lagged brain a moment or two to remember
exactly why she was back in Castelnuovo, and what she hoped to
achieve there.

She stretched like a cat in the narrow single
bed, its snow-white starched linens scratchy against her bare skin.
The greeting part of her trip was over, and had been more
comfortable than she'd expected. Vittorio had held lunch for her,
as she'd known he would. Together they ate at the long refectory
table in the winery's old kitchen, feasting on hearty
ribollita
vegetable soup and Tuscany's famous coal-charred
steak,
bistecca alla fiorentina
. All was washed down, of
course, with the winery's own Chianti. After such a meal, and so
much travel, she'd been only too happy to take Vittorio's
suggestion that she nap the rest of the afternoon. Now, fed and
rested like a proper Tuscan, she was ready for espresso and
business.

She hoped Vittorio was, too.

She bathed quickly in the aged tub, dressed
in simple blouse and slacks, applied a light makeup, then forced
herself from this sheltered oasis down the stairs to the main part
of the winery. She found Vittorio in his office, at his desk, his
dark head bent over an enormous ledger.

She took the chance to spy on him from his
half-open door. The office had the white walls and stone floor of
her room upstairs, and looked as if it didn't change much as it
passed from one generation to the next. It boasted several pieces
of heavy dark furniture and a huge, faded woven rug, thin from
centuries of use. Dust mites danced energetically in the shaft of
sunlight that fell across Vittorio's shoulders. He seemed all
concentration as his right hand rapidly made entries on the
ledger's huge lined pages. He looked Roman and aristocratic, and no
one could doubt how seriously he took the responsibility of running
his family's business. In a flash of insight, Gabby recognized just
how much tradition he came from and what it must mean to him. And
the chasm it had created between him and the American girl who'd
once been his love.

Finally he raised his eyes, saw her, started,
and smiled. "You slept well?"

"Like a baby."

He rose from his chair. "Let me call for
coffee."

They settled on a sofa with their espressos
on a low table in front of them. Ever polite, Vittorio waited for
Gabby to speak.

She set her tiny white cup down in its
saucer. "I have a proposition for you, Vittorio. One I believe
could be very beneficial to both our families."

"A business proposition, you said on the
phone." He smiled. "Gabriella, don't tell me you're giving up
winemaking to get behind a desk?"

"No, never. In fact, it's because I want to
keep making wine the way I always have that I'm coming to you with
this."

He frowned. "I don't understand."

She took a deep breath. "The owners of
Suncrest Vineyards, the Winsted family, want to sell the winery.
They've received an offer from a San Francisco investment firm. And
though I'm sure the investors mean well," she was careful to add,
"I know a little about how they work. I have an idea what they're
planning to do. And I'm very concerned that they'll take Suncrest
in the wrong direction, turn it into a big corporation that makes
mediocre wine. And use the Suncrest brand name to do it."

Vittorio's eyes didn't waver from her face.
"I know you would not like to work for such a winery."

"No, I wouldn't. And neither would my
father."

"But Gabriella, if this sale comes to pass
and things go as you fear, why don't you simply take a job at
another winery? Surely in Napa Valley there are many smaller, more
traditional wineries that would suit you."

Of course she'd thought of that. But it
wasn't as if winemaker jobs at elite wineries grew on trees. And
anyway, what about her father? "I hope it doesn't come to that,
Vittorio. Right now what I'm trying to do is keep Suncrest the way
it's always been. And that's where you come in."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I still don't
understand. What can I do?"

She gathered herself. Guilt seared through
her, and fear, and a horrible foreboding. Yet it was for this
moment that she had traveled six thousand miles. "You can consider
buying Suncrest yourself," she heard herself say. "Have Castello di
Corvo make an offer."

Silence. Vittorio's dark eyes widened in
obvious shock. Outside the castle's thick stone walls ravens cawed,
their shrill cries as familiar to this sundrenched hilltop as
grapevines. Gabby stared at Vittorio, willing him to take her
proposition seriously.

Vittorio jerked his thumb at his own chest.
"
Me
make an offer? For Suncrest?"

"Why not? I know you've been exploring
possible acquisitions in Napa Valley." It was ironic. When Gabby
had first heard that, she'd been infuriated. She'd felt as if
Vittorio were invading her own private territory. But by this
point, she'd like nothing better than to see him lay claim to
Suncrest. "It's a highly desirable property. That's why these
investors want it. It's in the Rutherford Bench, which is the best
part of the valley. Property there almost never comes available.
You couldn't do better," she added, convinced that was true despite
all the damage Max had done in recent months.

Vittorio frowned, rose from the couch, and
walked to a large window cut into the thick stone wall. She watched
the afternoon sun play on his even features, accentuate the lines
in his brow as he furrowed it in thought.

Eventually he spoke. "I agree with you that
Suncrest is very valuable, Gabriella." He turned his head to meet
her eyes. "I have been keeping track of it."

He didn't need to say why. She cleared her
throat. "Then you understand what a rare opportunity this could be
for Castello di Corvo."

He shook his head. "The problem is, it is a
much bigger acquisition than we could handle. We're looking at
wineries in the ten-million-dollar range. Do you know what the
offer price is that this buyout firm has made?"

"No." Will certainly hadn't made her privy to
that kind of information.

"I would guess it's at least three times the
size we're looking at." He rubbed his chin. "Do you have any idea
when the Winsted family plans to respond to this offer?"

She grimaced. "They already have. They've
already accepted it."

He threw out his hands. "Then Gabriella—"

"But it's not a done deal yet." She shot up
from the sofa and approached him. "The Winsteds have signed a term
sheet but not the final documents. Those aren't even written up."
At least they weren't when I left California
. "Isn't it true
that nothing's set in stone until those final documents are
signed?"

"Yes, but—"

"So it's not too late."

"But it may very well be, Gabriella." There
was frustration in his voice. "I'm sure the Winsted family has
agreed not to talk to other potential buyers. A 'no-shop clause,'
it's called. The investors don't want them to get a better
offer."

Gabby knew that a no-shop clause or not, Max
Winsted would jump at the chance to improve his take. "But the
Winsteds don't have to know that you know about this other offer.
As far as they're concerned, you're just interested in buying
Suncrest."

He stared at her. "I don't remember you being
this conniving.''

"We have a saying in English, Vittorio.
'Desperate times call for desperate measures.'"

"I don't know." He shook his head, leaned his
weight on his hands, resting on the wide stone sill beneath the
window. "Why do you even think we'd be any better at running
Suncrest than these investors you're telling me about?"

"Because the Mantuccis have run a family
winery for centuries. You've survived war and strife and God knows
what, Vittorio, and still you make wine the old-fashioned way. That
you've survived this long proves that there's a niche for the kind
of winery that takes care of its workers, that understands how
important it is to preserve the land and the values for the next
generation. It's not all about the money for you."

"We're not so idealistic as all that,
Gabriella," he said, then looked away and sighed.

He thinks I'm crazy, that I've gone off
the deep end
. She twisted away from him, a sob rising in her
throat.
Maybe I have. This is lunatic. But don't I have to try?
What do I have to lose?

Actually, a great deal.

She felt Vittorio's hand on her arm. His
voice was soft. "Gabriella, you coming all this way to ask me this,
it does have the smell of desperation."

She hung her head and stared at the stone
floor, uneven, warped by centuries. "I know."

"You don't even own Suncrest. Why do you care
so much?"

"Because I've known it all my life, Vittorio,
I grew up in those vineyards. They're home to me." By now a tear
was tracing a slow track down her cheek. "Because apart from here,
it's the most beautiful place I've ever seen. I want to protect it,
for me and for my family. And for all those people who've been
buying Suncrest wines all these years.

"And it's not just Suncrest, it's the whole
valley." She threw out her hands, tried to explain. "It's changing
in ways that everyone in my family hates and I want to try to
protect it in what little way I can." She hesitated, then, "I love
it, Vittorio, I always will. It's that simple."

Gently, he laid his hand on her cheek and
wiped a tear with his thumb. "Love is never simple, Gabriella. You
and I know that."

They had learned that lesson together. But
emerged on the other side still able to talk. Still, she realized,
friends.

She raised her eyes to his. "I know I'm
asking a lot. But I also know this could be a huge opportunity for
you and your family."

"It could be. But it's very awkward. I just
don't see how I can manage it."

"Will you try?" Once those words were out of
her mouth, she understood their great irony. Here she was again,
asking another man—another lover—for another promise. It was very
likely she'd get the same answer.

And she did. "I'll try, Gabriella. But let me
warn you, it won't be easy. I will need to investigate, to find a
partner. And it will have to happen very fast."

"You can be fast." She put a tease in her
voice. "Pretend you're on the
superstrada
."

He chuckled. "Giving the car an Italian
tune-up?"

"Now you can give
Suncrest
an Italian
tune-up."

He shook his head, but she saw the fondness
in his eyes. And heard the affection in his voice. He took her
hands. "I always told myself that if I ever had the chance to do
something for you, I would."

"If you could do this for me, I would
appreciate it for the rest of my life."

Slowly, he nodded. In that silent stone room,
they stared at one another. The sun shone in the Chianti sky as it
always did, the church bells pealed, the ravens cawed. But Gabby
knew something had changed for both her and Vittorio.

Yet that was appropriate. And just as
well.

Will saw harvest begin on a sunshiny Monday
morning in August. Driving past Suncrest's Rosemede vineyard on his
way to the winery, he spied the lemon-yellow bins that appeared
each year for crush, piled high with sauvignon blanc grapes.
Pickers moved rapidly down the rows, tugging on grape clusters with
one hand and slicing them off with the other. They were paid by the
bin, so they worked fast.

Will squinted through his dust-streaked
windshield as he moved past, searching for a woman's slim figure,
or for strands of honey-gold hair poking out from underneath a
baseball cap. But all he saw were men—dark-haired, hunched-over
men. More than a little surprised—
Is it possible Gabby's still
not back at work? Even though now harvest has started?
—he
arrived at the winery to find Felix driving a tractor past the
employee parking lot. "So crush has started?" he called, proud of
himself for using the right lingo.

Felix nodded. "We been at it five hours
already."

"You started at three in the morning?"

Felix laughed at the shock in his voice.
"Better for the grapes. They're cooler. So are we." And he laughed
again, waved and continued on, leaving Will no chance to ask the
question he really wanted answered:
Hey! Where's Gabby?