The Brides of Bella Lucia

But a little while ago something of significance had transpired, though surely not the coup de foudre her grandfather had always warned her about.

“Love at first sight. When I was in Italy during the Second World War, that’s what Lucia and I experienced. Fortunately for me, she was the right kind of woman to marry.

“Your grandmother and I were completely happy together. I want that same happiness for you when you meet your beloved. You’ll know when it happens.”

Rachel scoffed at the romantic notion that such a thing could happen.

Still, she couldn’t ignore certain emotions Monsieur Chartier had evoked. When she’d opened her eyes and had seen him standing there eyeing her so…intimately, she’d felt an explosion inside her that had never happened to her before.

“Rachel? Are you still there?”

Her grandfather seemed to have recovered from his coughing episode.

“Where else would I be? I want to know what Dr Lloyd had to say today.”

“To quote him, I’m ‘coming along’.”

“That’s wonderful news. Now I can enjoy my business trip without worrying too much.”

“What I’d have given to come with you.”

“We’ll do it when you’re all better. But since you have to rest right now, I’ll think of something to make up for it.

“I’d bring you home a bottle of your favorite Châteauneuf du Pape, but with those blood clots in your lungs, I know alcohol is verboten, so I’ll bring you a box of chocolate truffles instead.”

“Always my thoughtful girl. How much longer will you be gone?”

“A week.”

Because of this detour to Thann she needed two. But considering he’d been in and out of hospital several times for pain and shortness of breath, she would have to take this a day at a time.

“Did you say hello to Vincent for me when you visited the Rolland vineyards in St Emilion?”

“Of course. He sent his regards and has extended you an invitation to visit as soon as you’re better.”

“That’s nice.”

“His father also told me to say hello to you. He’s looking forward to another game of chess with you the next time you come.”

“He likes to win.”

Rachel chuckled. “I’m afraid chess isn’t my best suit either.”

“Where are yo—?” But before he could finish, another bout of coughing had started up.

“In Thann.” Anticipating his next question, she said, “I haven’t located Louis Delacroix yet, but I will. Right now you need to stop talking and drink some water. I’m going to say goodnight. I’ll call you tomorrow evening.”

“Bl-bless you, Rachel. GoodNIGHT.” The second part came out with another loud cough.

Supposedly the coughing meant he was getting rid of the dead cells off his lungs, which was a good thing.

She hung up, put the phone back in her purse and hurried down the hall, nodding to some of the guests coming up the stairs.

When she emerged from the lobby doors, she discovered Monsieur Chartier lounging against the body of the Wagoneer parked directly in front.

The sight of him pushed the worry over her grandfather to the back of her mind.

He’d changed into a soft yellow sport shirt and blue jeans that hugged his long, rock-hard legs.

She lost the battle not to stare at the strong column of his throat and the smattering of dark body hair.

Their eyes met for a stunning moment. Though she might be a mature businesswoman, this striking man had the power to reduce her to a moonstruck teen without doing one thing to entice her—except to exist.

But, as Rachel had just found out, existence was more than enough to keep her from concentrating with any degree of coherence.

The moment he saw her, he unfolded his suntanned arms and opened the passenger door for her.

As she moved past him to climb inside she felt a disturbing awareness of him she didn’t want to feel because he was a new business acquaintance. He wasn’t supposed to mean anything more to her.

If being in his presence was going to cause her to forget why she’d come to Thann, she’d better start interacting with him on a professional basis.

Once they’d left the town she said, “I drove past your vineyard on the way to the convent. It looked a lot larger than the ones I passed on my drive from Colmar.”

“You’re very observant. There are less than six thousand vineyards in Alsace. Of that amount four thousand of them are only five acres or less each.”

“So small?”

He nodded. “After Alsace fell back into French hands from the Germans, we had to build up our wine industry all over again.

“My grandfather went from village to village, buying up a few acres here, a few there.

“Today we have a total of five hundred acres located in seven villages. This vineyard of three hundred acres is an exception.”

“That means a lot of little babies to nurture.”

He turned his dark head toward her.

“Babies?” The way his native tongue caused him to pronounce the English word charmed her in ways she couldn’t describe.

“Yes. Fragile under certain circumstances, strong under others. Always needing love and care.”

“An interesting analogy, one I’ll have to pass on to my staff.”

He sounded genuinely amused, as if his thoughts had been far away, yet somehow her comment had managed to penetrate his consciousness.

When they reached the convent, he kept on going. In a few minutes he made a left onto a dirt road that bisected part of the vineyard.

Twilight had descended over Thann. She lowered the window. A gentle breeze filled the interior with warm air still rising from the sun-soaked soil.

He brought their vehicle to a stop and turned off the motor.

“We’ll go on foot from here. Maybe if we listen closely, we’ll hear growing pains.”

Rachel let out a gentle laugh before climbing down without his help. She didn’t want to risk an accidental touch. Already her thoughts about him had grown out of proportion to the occasion.

She followed his lead as they worked their way down two rows of vines in flower on either side of them.

Like her father and grandfather, he was tall, yet he moved with a certain masculine litheness. In fact he seemed part of this fusion of man to nature, as if neither could be separated from the other.

While she reflected on how in tune he was with his ancestral roots, he stopped long enough to scoop up a handful of earth.

Turning to her, he held out his hand.

“Like the seed a man plants in a woman’s womb that brings life from God, so the seed of the Riesling grape lies cocooned in this particular blend of soil found nowhere else on earth.”

The analogy shook her to the core.

“What are the components?”

“You really want to know?” His question was straightforward, yet tinged with a hint of mockery.

She couldn’t blame him if he thought she was a typical female buyer whose attraction to him was strong enough that she would say or do anything to prolong their time together.

Rachel was guilty of having feelings that had nothing to do with grapes or wine-making. In truth, now that she’d gotten over being angry, she found herself intrigued by him, not just his life’s work.

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” she came back, striving for a steady voice. “The more I learn, the more I find out I don’t know, but I want to learn as much as I can.”

“Then you’re a rare species.”

She held his enigmatic gaze. “Since I’m fortunate enough to be in the presence of a master vintner, I realize my good fortune. So let me warn you that I’m prepared to pick your brains for as long as you’re willing to indulge me.”

The second those words came out of her mouth, she couldn’t believe she’d said them. He probably thought she was flirting with him. Maybe subconsciously she was. What on earth was wrong with her?

In the fading light she couldn’t see the expression in his eyes, but she felt them studying her intently before he answered her question.

“Limestone, granite, clay, marl—”

“Marl?”

“A crumbly mixture of clays, carbonates, shells and magnesium. Each vineyard’s soil is different and suitable for a certain kind of grape.

“Did you know, for instance, that wild grape vines grew here before the Romans domesticated them?”

“How fascinating! Even then the conditions were perfect,” she said in awe.

“Yes. The aroma you enjoyed from the Tokay grape earlier this evening came from the soil at St Hippolyte.”

“It was wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I detected woodsmoke, a touch of honey and something else I still can’t identify.”

“Licorice?”

“Yes!” she cried softly.

His eyes gleamed. “I have to admit I’m impressed, mademoiselle.”

Evidently she’d passed some sort of initial test or he wouldn’t have said anything.

He shifted his weight. It threw his profile into relief, drawing her attention to the lines bracketing his mouth.

Whatever his experiences of life, which included the grief of divorce, they lent him a brooding demeanor. Yet his sensual appeal was so compelling, she had to tear her eyes away.

“It would take more than a lifetime to learn everything you know, monsieur, so don’t mind me if I hang on to every word.”

His eyes smiled. “In that case I’ll tell you the most important thing to remember. You won’t ever detect that same aroma again if it comes from a different terroir.”

A wry smile broke out on her face. “I’m going to hold you to that claim and sample every type of wine from your various vineyards.”

After a slight pause, “That could take some time.”

“How many wines do you produce?”

“Sixteen.”

A higher figure than she’d presumed. He’d just provided her with an excuse to linger in his kingdom a little longer. But if she were wise, she wouldn’t give in to that temptation or he would know she’d lost sight of her professional objective because of her growing attraction to him.

“Now I’m the one impressed,” she declared. “What days are your wine cellars open? I know tomorrow you’re closed.”

He let the soil fall from his hand. “Nevertheless I’ll ask my manager, Giles Lambert, to phone you and make himself available in the morning.

“The old man’s a walking encyclopedia of information. He’ll be delighted to brainwash you into making Domaine Chartier your exclusive white wine source.”

With those words, Monsieur Chartier had just brought this unexpected interlude to a close. Knowing he wouldn’t be around tomorrow should have eased her mind, yet she felt a strong sense of disappointment, which was ridiculous.

Hopefully her expression didn’t give her away. “If it won’t be an imposition for him.”

“He lives to talk about our precious vines.”

Her mouth curved upward. “Then I assure you I’ll be a captive audience. The Tokay I was served at dinner convinced me I don’t need to look elsewhere this trip.

“One thing I’ve learned about wine—I don’t like being overwhelmed by too many choices. I’d rather concentrate on your Pinot Gris and Riesling while I’m here.”

“You’re very wise,” he muttered, sounding as if her comment had surprised him. “If you’re ready, I’ll take you back to the hotel.”

Unable to help it, she found herself examining his firm jaw and the slight cleft in his chin. Her gaze wandered higher to his straight nose. He had well-shaped brows. All in all the arrangement in such a patently masculine face made him irresistible.

Rachel didn’t want to leave the vineyard yet, but he’d given her no choice. He had some place else to go.

Walking ahead of him, she reached the Wagoneer first and got inside before he could assist her.

He didn’t seem inclined to talk. When she thought about it, she realized he hadn’t asked her one personal question. There’d been no show of curiosity on his part, not even about the kind of restaurants she represented.

Rachel on the other hand was the one guilty of so many unanswered personal questions about him, she was ready to burst.

Yet she realized that a man like him didn’t come along often. To imagine he might be available to her, let alone interested, was absurd.

Any woman who misread the signals and tried to step over the invisible line he’d drawn would soon feel the fool.

What she should do was thank him for deputizing his venerable vineyard manager to educate her about the fabulous wines the Chartier family had produced for generations.

But she refrained from saying anything when she sensed a curious tension coming from him since they’d driven away from the vineyard.

As he maneuvered the curve that led them back to town she noticed the way his suntanned fingers tightened almost compulsively on the steering wheel.

Evidently he had something serious on his mind far removed from the possible sale of wine to some nebulous restaurants in the UK.

Was it the same thing that had been on his mind earlier today right before their near miss?

Not wanting him to think she expected tonight’s experience to be repeated, the second he pulled up in front of the hotel she opened the door and slid out while the motor was still running.

Facing him the way she would any business person at the end of a successful meeting, she said, “You’ve made my introduction to Alsatian wines the highlight of my trip.”

“Even if our initial meeting caused you some tense moments?”

She smiled. “Even then. Seriously, I’d like to thank you for giving me this much time. I’m looking forward to meeting with your manager tomorrow. Goodbye, monsieur.”

She shut the door.

If he said anything in response, she didn’t hear it as she hurried inside the hotel.

Since she wouldn’t be seeing him again, she intended to put all personal thoughts of him out of her mind.

After reaching her room, she picked up the bottle of Tokay and opened it once more to inhale the aroma.

Licorice… Of course. He knew all its secrets.

Too exhilarated to think of sleeping yet, she set up her laptop and began recording the evening’s events.

She didn’t want to leave out a single piece of information or a bit of wisdom he’d imparted. One day all this research would go into her book.

When she finally went to bed, she was still reliving the time spent with him.

“Please don’t let him be too unforgettable,” she begged of the darkness before closing her eyes.

CHAPTER TWO

ON THE forty-minute drive back to St Hippolyte, Lucien Chartier, whom everyone called Luc, got on his cell phone to Giles.

“We have a potential buyer from the UK staying in Thann at the Hotel du Roi. According to Philippe, Mademoiselle Valentine buys for three London restaurants, all called the Bella Lucia.

“I asked him to check them out for me. They’ve been established since nineteen forty-six and are reputed to be some of the most exclusive restaurants located in London.”

Mayfair, Chelsea and Knightsbridge wouldn’t mean anything to Giles, but Luc knew exactly what kind of upscale, international clientele visited such establishments.

Many famous actors and musicians from the swinging sixties had made the original restaurant famous. Between all three restaurants, three hundred and fifty people were served on a nightly basis.

Nothing could please Luc more than to know that Domaine Chartier would be gracing the tables at Bella Lucia in future. Little by little the world was getting acquainted with Alsatian white wines.

“Do me a favor and give her the royal treatment tomorrow. She’s surprisingly intuitive about wine. What she doesn’t know, she’s eager to learn. That’s where you come in, Giles.”

The older man made a sound in his throat. “I haven’t met many women buyers from the UK.”

“Nor have I.”

In fact she didn’t have a strong British accent. There’d been moments when he could have sworn she was American. Rachel Valentine was a surprise in more ways than one.

For one thing, he hadn’t thought she would forgive him. To his surprise she was willing to admit some culpability. An unusual woman.

Once they’d gotten past that hurdle, she’d shown an uncommon interest in the whole business of wine culture. There was a great deal more to her than the surface revealed.

An exceptionally beautiful surface, standing there in the vines.

The gentle night breeze had swirled her hair into a cloud of brunette silk. He’d watched it swirl around other parts of her as well, molding the top she was wearing to her lovely body.

He tried to force his thoughts to stop right there, but they filled his mind anyway.

Since first passing her on the road, then seeing her in the hotel dining room enjoying herself to the fullest, it shocked him to discover he was having difficulty controlling certain pictures of the two of them that wouldn’t leave him alone. Breathtaking pictures he shouldn’t be entertaining. Not with Paulette lying comatose in her hospital bed.

Guilt over his ex-wife’s condition caused him to drive faster, but the image of Ms Valentine tasting the wine seemed to be emblazoned in his psyche.

At first he’d thought she’d imbibed too much wine like so many other buyers anxious to sample everything at once.

Taking advantage of the moment had given him time to study her feminine profile—the way the white material of her expensive suit followed the lines and curves of her slender figure.

He’d felt a quickening in his body that hadn’t happened for so long, he couldn’t remember the last time. Years…

Troubled by the involuntary reaction over which he’d had no control, he’d plucked the bottle from the table, curious to know how much she’d consumed.

When he’d realized it was still full, his glance had flown to her wineglass, which had contained only a small residue of wine.

At that point his eyes had fastened helplessly on her pomegranate-red mouth, then her tender throat exposed to his gaze where he’d watched her savoring her first swallow of the velvety liquid.

Mon Dieu. He’d never seen anything so provocative in his life.

His hand tightened on his cell phone. “Since she wants to concentrate on the Tokay and Riesling, I suspect she could be here for a few days. Call me when you’ve taken her order.”

“I’ll make certain it’s a big one,” Giles promised.

“Why do you think I gave you the responsibility?”

Though it was inevitable for Luc to come in contact with attractive women, he was reluctant to be around her again. She’d awakened something inside him totally unexpected.

“If you need to get in touch with me tomorrow, I’ll be at the hospital. Just leave a message on my voice mail and I’ll get back to you. Otherwise I’ll see you at the banquet.”

“D’accord.”

He hung up, relieved to have put Giles in charge of Ms Valentine. Out of sight, out of mind.

As for tonight, the single best way to cure what was ailing him was to drop by the hospital in St Hippolyte.

Needing to ignore what had happened tonight, he drove straight to the long-term-care medical facility and hurried inside. After three years, it had become his second home.

To his surprise he met Yves Brouet’s accusing stare when he walked in Paulette’s room a few minutes later. That was all he needed.

She lay in a coma between them. Only the sound of the machines keeping Luc’s ex-wife alive made any noise.

Normally the two men staggered their times in order to spread out the visits. And to avoid each other. Luc usually went there in the morning before putting in a full day’s work.

“Holy Mother of God, Luc—how long are you going to fight the family on this?”

As he’d just come from battling his attraction to a certain wine buyer from the UK his dark eyes glittered with a mixture of fresh guilt and pain. “For as long as it takes.”

“Let my sister go. Let this be finished so she can rest in peace!”

Luc’s hands formed fists. He leaned over to kiss the forehead of her thin face before walking out of the room into the hall.

He refused to allow any arguing in front of Paulette. On some level he was convinced she could hear and understand what was going on. It horrified him that Yves had talked about her dying while standing next to her bed.

The other man followed him into the corridor. “My sister’s gone. You have no right to prolong this agony.”

After being best friends from childhood, it didn’t seem possible the two of them had come to this impasse.

“I’m paying for her care, Yves.”

“Money be damned. We’re talking about Paulette. She wouldn’t have wanted this. You know she wouldn’t!”

“That’s easy for us to say since we’re not the one in there fighting for life.”

Yves’ face screwed up in pain. “That’s no life. You might as well know now. Since there isn’t any reasoning with you, the family got together last month. We’ve hired an attorney to fight you in court and get these infernal machines turned off.”

“I know,” Luc whispered. “My attorney already informed me.” It was only a matter of time before Luc’s sister Giselle found out.

Thank God his new house was ready to move into so he could live on his own again. Between his mother who backed him, and Giselle who sided with Yves and fought him at every opportunity, Luc hadn’t had a moment’s peace in the last year.

“You can’t win, Luc. You’re not her husband. The only reason we gave you this long before getting legal counsel is because of our families’ longstanding friendship over the years. But because of this insanity of yours, that’s gone…disappeared.”

That was right. Because of Luc, Paulette had been consigned to a living death. But not if he could help it.

He shifted his weight. “I’m planning on her waking up, Yves. When she does, I’ll do whatever I can to help her get on with her life.”

Yves plowed fingers through hair as blond as Paulette’s. “No, Luc. Your responsibility to her is over. Even if Paulette were to wake up and make a full recovery, she wouldn’t want you involved.”

Luc closed his eyes tightly for a minute. “When she wakes up, I intend to be here for her.”

“Could it be you’re confusing guilt and remorse with love?”

Those words stung. “I loved your sister. That’s why I married her.”

“But sometimes love isn’t enough. Come on, Luc. That time is long past and now Paulette yearns to escape her body.”

If Luc thought that were true…

“This morning Maman and Papa asked me to talk sense to you one final time. They said that if you really care about her, then prove it and allow her to go free so this madness can end.”

Luc shook his dark head. “I can’t… All the research I’ve done on coma patients indicates they respond to their loved ones’ stimulation. She could wake up at any time.”

Strong hands clasped Luc’s cheeks. “But she hasn’t, and she won’t because she’s in a vegetative state. A few sounds and tiny movements over thirty-six months means nothing! So I’m begging you—give it up!” he half sobbed the words before wheeling away.

Luc watched his friend’s solid figure until it disappeared around a corner. No one could get to him like Yves, who’d been closer than a brother from childhood.

Overwhelmed by guilt attacking him from every direction, he rested against the wall for a minute and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

Not only had his four-year marriage ended in failure, Paulette’s car accident was his fault.

Talking to Yves had just compounded his guilt because of the pain he’d brought to her family. Besides their grief over her condition, they didn’t have the kind of money it took to pay attorney fees.

Had Luc become such a selfish bastard, he didn’t care who got hurt any more as long as he got his own way?

Crucified once more by Yves’ tortured plea, Luc went back to her bedside to say goodnight.

When he left the hospital, he passed by the nursing station to let them know he was on his way out. They had his cell-phone number and knew to call him day or night if there was any change in her condition.