Too Close to the Sun (9 page)

He shook his head, irritated with himself.
What was he, embarrassed about his work? That was nonsensical. GPG
was a prestigious organization, filled with high-caliber
individuals who did valuable work, resuscitating companies that
might well have gone under otherwise. True, those restructurings
always came at some cost, but what change didn't? GPG was a bastion
of free enterprise, in which he ardently believed. His fervor was
almost patriotic.

Yet . . . Gabby might not share his view.
Many of the people who worked for the companies that GPG acquired
didn't grasp the bigger economic picture, particularly if the
change in ownership landed them on the unemployment line. He
thought it was highly unlikely that would happen to Gabby, though.
In fact, if GPG acquired Suncrest and ramped up its operations, her
fortunes might well improve. No doubt she'd make more wine, lead an
expanded staff, earn more money.

"Will," Ava called, sailing toward him on the
winery path, a vision in a peach-colored sweater set and slim white
pants. She looked as cool and elegant as a parfait. Max followed in
her wake, freshly shaven this time, in much the same outfit as Will
minus the blazer. He looked considerably more presentable than he
had at the hospital, where indeed his garb had belied the notion
that he'd spent the afternoon in a business meeting in the city.
Knowing a bit about Max's history, Will hadn't quite bought into
that line, but couldn't fathom another explanation for his
extraordinary absence.

So
, Will wondered,
could it be Max
who wanted this meeting?

Ava poked a key in the winery's big oak door,
which groaned open as if it were the entry to a medieval castle. "I
thought we'd talk in my office," she murmured, then led them
through the somnolent tank room—filled with enormous stainless
steel tanks that would be abuzz with fermenting activity in the
fall—and up some stairs to an office that Ava called her own but
that clearly had not been redone since her husband's day.

It had the feel of a club room, Will thought,
and could not be more masculine. It was paneled in cherrywood, with
built-in shelves of the same rich material loaded with sports
trophies, framed photographs, and leather-bound volumes. An
imposing mahogany desk marred by only a few neat stacks of
paperwork sat atop an Oriental carpet, while two tartan sofas ate
up much of the remaining floor space. Roman shades half-drawn on
the large windows blocked the intense afternoon sun.

The office said more eloquently than Ava
Winsted ever could that she did not intend to continue running
Suncrest. She had made no mark on her late husband's professional
domain, either because she couldn't bear to or because she didn't
expect to be around long enough to make it worthwhile.

The housekeeper Will recognized from the
party bustled in with tea and scones, which she arranged on the low
table between the tartan sofas. All three sat while she poured. She
had barely exited before Ava got down to business.

"I asked you here, Will, because I'd like you
to bring Max up to speed on our discussions regarding Suncrest."
Her gaze was steady. "I told him that your firm has made an offer
to buy the winery."

"I'm certainly interested in hearing what you
have to say." Max smiled broadly. "But I have to tell you that I
agree with my mother on this. I have no interest in selling."

Will tried to get a read on Max. He seemed
intelligent and charming enough, and certainly looked the part of
the well-bred heir. That didn't jibe, though, with Will's research,
which had produced a different picture—that of a restless,
self-indulgent youth who'd never shown more than mediocre ability
in the classroom or on the athletic field. He'd gotten into some
scrapes both in high school and at USC, where apparently he'd
majored in parties and minored in women.

That wasn't indicative of much, though. Will
had always been straitlaced but many solid, highly successful
people had wild college careers on their resumes.

Will launched into his spiel. "I must
compliment both of you on Suncrest," he told them. "It's in an
enviable position. The label is well-known and synonymous with
high-quality, high-end wines."

Ava nodded. "That was always the niche Porter
envisioned for Suncrest."

"And he made that vision a reality. It is
quite impressive to have remained competitive in that category for
so long." Will turned to Max, confident that for all his
apprenticing in France, Ava's son had only a rudimentary
understanding of the wine business. "My firm is interested in the
wine sector for a variety of reasons. As you well know, wine sales
have grown at double the rate of the economy since the 1980s."

Max nodded sagely. "That's certainly
true."

"In addition, the demographic trends are very
positive for premium wines. Ten thousand baby boomers turn fifty
every day and that will be true for the next dozen years. In short,
we view the wine business as an attractive area for
investment."

"So do we!" Max laughed again, "That's why we
don't want to sell."

Will leaned forward and set his elbows on his
knees, gearing up for the core of his pitch. "Your family has built
a tremendously successful winery, thanks to enormous effort,
persistence, and skill." He raised his head to catch Ava's eye.
"Yet I can imagine that you might be in a chapter of your life when
you want to move in a different direction, be free of a winery's
constant demands. Enjoy the fruits of all that labor."

"You make a good point," Ava murmured.

Will almost fell out of his chair. That was
the most receptive comment Ava had ever made to him on this
subject. Then he had a revelation.

She was using him to frighten Max. She had no
more intention of selling Suncrest to GPG than she ever had. But
she wanted Max to believe she might sell.

Ever the actress, Ava Winsted was playing a
part, for an audience of one. And Will was, for lack of a better
term, her prop.

Fine. He was unfazed. She had given him the
opportunity to repeat his case to her, and to make it for the first
time to Max. These transactions were never sealed on the initial
meetings, anyway. They were based on trust, earned over time.
Emotions, ego, ambition invariably played a role. The human factor
was huge.

Will continued. "GPG is prepared to invest in
Suncrest and assume control of the winery, leaving you with cash
and a substantial stake in the upside. Or"—and he leaned closer to
Max for the kill—"we could take Suncrest entirely off your hands.
Free you up. Provide to you, in cash, the substantial value of your
holdings." He paused for dramatic effect. "For thirty million
dollars."

Will watched Max's pupils dilate. He'd seen
that before, too.

"Thirty million dollars," Ava repeated
softly. "You see, Max, why I find Will's offer so compelling."

This time, Max made no kneejerk comment about
"no interest in selling." He was notably silent and
contemplative.

"This is a lot for you to digest," Will told
Max, "especially as you've just come home to California. Here." He
handed Max a business card. "Call me anytime to talk further. I
know that once you start to chew on this, you'll have all kinds of
questions."

Ava rose to shake his hand, an unmistakable
gleam of satisfaction in her light blue eyes. "You certainly have
given us food for thought today, Will. Thank you again for coming
all this way." Then she led him and her son out the way they had
come.

*

Gabby had just reached the main winery
building when she ran right into Will, standing next to Max. She
spied Mrs. W some distance away, walking along the path toward her
house.

"Will!" Flummoxed, Gabby tore the ratty
baseball cap off her head, the first thing she could think of doing
to improve her appearance. It was woefully inadequate, she knew. In
the ninety-degree heat, after four hours of helping Felix and Pepe
spray three mite-infested vineyards, she was sweat-stained,
dirt-smeared, and stank to high heaven of pesticides. "What brings
you back to Napa?"

One look and she realized that though she was
thrilled to see him, he wasn't in the least excited to see her.
Quite the opposite, in fact. He wore a wide-eyed stare, like the
Ghost of Christmas Past had just appeared on his doorstep.

That's it,
she thought, and her heart
plummeted. It was over before it had even started. She'd misread
him, misread feeling in tune with him. Those shivers had only been
going up her spine, because now he made her feel about as desirable
as a social disease. Then again, who could get jazzed about a woman
who smelled like one part lime-sulfur to two parts methyl
bromide?

He jerked his thumb back to indicate the
winery building behind him. "I just had a chat with Ava and
Max."

"More than a chat." Max laughed. "FYI, Gabby,
Will here made an offer to buy Suncrest."

Immediately Will piped up. "I'd rather not
get into that, Max."

Gabby frowned. "Made an offer to do
what?"

"Oh, I understand." Max shook Will's hand.
"We'll talk soon," he said, then nodded at Gabby with a weird smile
and took off after his mother at a half jog.

Will turned toward her. "So how's your
father?"

What did Max mean, Will made an offer to
buy Suncrest?
"He's better all the time." She gave him a brief
rundown, concluding with the mysterious move to the telemetry unit.
"I guess that's good but I don't really know what it means."

"Telemetry means being measured from a
distance. They'll put lots of sensors on him so they can track any
changes to heartbeat and intercede immediately if they have to. Of
course, that's what they do in ICU, too, but this allows them to
staff at a lower level."

She took that in. He sounded cool,
businesslike—not warm and easy like the Will from the other night.
What happened? And what is this business about Suncrest?
"What did Max mean, you made an offer to buy Suncrest?"

He stared at her with a funny expression, as
if she'd caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. Then, "I
really can't talk about it, Gabby."

"Does that mean it's true?"

He said nothing, just looked at her like all
he wanted in the world was to get away. But no way she would let
that happen. Not after this bombshell.

"Before you said you were in investments. But
what you actually do is buy companies? I don't understand."

Was this guy a liar? Was he some kind of
corporate raider? Was he not at all what he seemed to be? Was he
another Vittorio?

Will rubbed his forehead, hard, looking away
from her at the long drive that sloped down to Suncrest's bronze
gates on the Silverado Trail. Then once again his eyes met hers,
and her breath caught as she read the truth in their blue depths.
"Do you have time to take a walk?" he asked her.

She most certainly did, so they set off.
Silence ballooned between them, broken only by the crunch of their
shoes on the gravel that bordered the drive.

Finally, he spoke. "This is confidential
information, Gabby, and I really should not be discussing it with
you. But I will tell you if you promise to keep it to yourself. It
is very important that you tell no one."

She didn't like the sound of any of that but
by this point would rather hear it than not. "I won't say a
word."

They walked farther. She heard him take a
deep breath, and steeled herself. Then, "It's true. I'm a partner
with a firm called GPG and we've made an offer to buy
Suncrest."

There it was, out. It was true, as she had
known it would be from the moment Max spilled the beans. She said
the first thing that came into her head. "But Suncrest has always
been in the Winsted family."

He said nothing to that.

"Did Mrs. Winsted approach you?"

"No, I approached her."

"Does she want to sell?"

He shook his head. "She says no."

"But you don't believe her?"

"I'm hoping I can persuade her to change her
mind."

"Is this the first conversation you've had
with her about it?"

He hesitated on that one. Then, "No. I've had
several meetings with Ava. This is my first with Max."

Things were starting to click into place in
her mind, building a jigsaw whose picture she wasn't at all sure
she liked. "Mrs. Winsted doesn't want to sell but you're hoping Max
will convince her to go along."

He didn't seem to like that line of
reasoning. "We've made a proposal that we believe both of them
should find very attractive."

"Who's this
we
you're talking
about?"

"As I said, I'm a member of a partnership.
General Pacific Group."

She thought maybe she'd heard of them, though
she'd never been much for the financial pages. "Why couldn't you
tell me this before?"

"Because it's the first commandment of my job
not to discuss the offers we make. It's highly confidential, Gabby.
I shouldn't be telling you any of this."

Am I supposed to be flattered?
She
wasn't. Mostly she felt that he'd misled her somehow, if he hadn't
actually lied. At the party he'd dodged her questions about what he
did—very deftly, too. Now she knew why.

Thoughts bobbed and weaved in her mind like
the birds that cavorted in the cloudless sky above. Acres of
Suncrest vineyards lay on either side of them, the vines heavy with
grapes, getting sweeter every second under the heat of the sun. On
the Trail twenty yards ahead, perpendicular to the drive, cars sped
past at high speed, going sixty, seventy miles an hour, as fast as
they could get away with.

They halted at the winery's bronze gates. She
turned to face him. The late afternoon sun glinted on his blond
head, caused his blue eyes to squint. She noticed for the first
time how long his lashes were, and how fine the bones of his nose.
He looked the same as ever—intelligent, steady, honorable. Vittorio
had appeared to be all those things, too. In fact, in many ways he
had been. But not in all.