Last of the Vintage Page 4

  He needed to know all of it. Every last detail. The tiny room, probably intended as a closet, that he had converted into his study was covered with maps, charts, lists, notes, and anything else that would help him remember everything possible about wine. What had begun as a passion had long since evolved into an obsession. He tried to hide it from most people. He didn’t want to appear strange. But like the kid who had memorized every baseball card of every player on every team for an entire decade, his knowledge just kept popping out of his mouth.

  Jeremy turned away from the couple before he could say anything else and walked to the opposite end of the bar. A man had just come in and slid up onto a stool. Jeremy was about to ask him what he wanted when the man blurted out, “I don’t know what I want. Bring me something white. Something fruity but not sweet.” Jeremy thought for a moment. He pulled a bottle out from the refrigerator behind the bar and showed the man the label. The man shrugged in response and nodded. Jeremy poured.

  The man inhaled over the glass, took a long, slow swig, swirled the liquid around in his mouth and swallowed. “Thank you,” was all he said, then turned sideways to the bar, holding has glass and staring out the window. Jeremy had been effectively dismissed.

  That was fine with him. He wiped the moisture from the cold bottle off his hands onto his crisp white apron, then retreated to the corner of the bar where he covertly pulled out a list of German appellations that he was trying to memorize. For some reason, the German language always tripped him up.

  “Studying on the job?” the voice mad Jeremy jump. It was his boss, the owner of the wine bar, Veronica. She took the paper out of his hand and turned it around to look at it. “Good luck!” she smirked, handing it back to him.

  Jeremy shook his head. “Yeah, I know. They all sound the same to me, dammit. I have no problem with Italian and French, but for some reason this gets me every time.” He rattled the paper with annoyance.

  “You need some kind of trick. A naming device or something to help you. Or a song, maybe.”

  “Do you know any songs about German wines?” Jeremy asked in disbelief.

  “No, but I know some about the beer,” Veronica replied, straightening the bottles on the shelf behind him. She stopped and turned to face him. “Hey, in other news, I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Yeah?” Jeremy replied hesitantly. The last favor was working a double shift on a Saturday. He’d been exhausted for three days after and had lost valuable study time.

  “Oh c’mon! You’ll like this one!”

  “Why do I not believe you?” Jeremy asked without looking up from his study sheet.

  “It involves wine tasting, and it won’t be here,” she said in a taunting voice.

  Jeremy’s head jerked up. He stared intently.

  Veronica laughed. “How would you like to be the guest sommelier at a posh little party where you get to try a 150 year old Château Lafite Rothschild?”

  The study sheet slipped out of his fingers and fluttered to the floor. He ignored it. “What?” he nearly shouted.

  “Oh, you heard me,” Veronica leaned over and picked up the paper. She was a solid woman, and grunted softly as she straightened again. Handing the sheet back to him she said, “Here’s the scoop. My friend is the director of the Maine Museum of Art. She’s putting together a fundraiser for a new exhibit. Something about the ice age although I don’t know how that plays into art,” she started to trail off.

  “Keep going, Veronica! Stay with me here!” Jeremy interjected.

  She grinned. “Well it seems that someone is giving the museum a bottle of wine that they found in a shipwreck. The expected ‘donation’ to try it at the party is $5,000 a head, except for you my blessed friend. You have the great honor of tasting for free and giving your so-called expert opinion. And all because I recommended you!”

  Jeremy was speechless. This was a fantastic opportunity. No one he knew had done anything like this, ever! The group he studied with for the upcoming exam would die of envy when they heard about this!

  Veronica was still talking. “Of course it could be total crap in which case a lot of people would have shelled out some big bucks for nothing. But still…”

  Jeremy couldn’t focus. It was incredible. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Veronica!”

  “Okay, but I haven’t given you the night off yet,” she answered.

  Jeremy’s face fell. He looked like a forlorn puppy.

  “I’m joking! Of course you can go! It’ll be a good night out for you. And your weather-girl wife can look at the ice age art.”

  Jeremy hadn’t even thought about Samantha. He knew he’d been neglecting her, but he had to stay focused. “Yeah. Actually it would be good to get out with her,” he agreed.

  “Excellent. Then it’s settled. Here’s my friend’s card. Get in touch with her and get the details.”

  Jeremy took the card, reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and carefully placed the card inside. Then he stuffed the wallet as far back down in his pocket as it would go.

  From where he was seated at the bar, Patrick Spratt had heard the entire conversation. His mind was spinning. This was it, the perfect opportunity.

  His family had long been connected with the museum. His grandmother had funded an entire wing. The Spratt name was built on very old money, dating back to fortunes made in shipping during the American Revolution. That was about as far back as you could go in the US.

  Patrick didn’t often play that card, but when required he could easily use it to his advantage. He finished his wine, an excellent New Zealand Sauvignon blanc, put a fifty dollar bill on the bar, and quietly slipped out.

  Great things are done by a series

  of small things brought together.

  ― Vincent van Gogh

  CHAPTER 4

  Patrick listened to the buzzing sound of the phone on the other end of the line ringing three, four, five times and was about to give up when a cranky voice answered.

  “Hullo?” It was low and raspy, as though the speaker had enjoyed one too many glasses of scotch the night before.

  “Uncle Geoffrey! Did I wake you?” Patrick asked.

  “What the hell time is it! Middle of the night still!”

  “Uncle Geoffrey, it’s about ten o’clock in the morning,” Patrick replied smoothly. He heard a grunt from the other end of the line.

  Geoffrey Spratt was the brother of Patrick’s father. Both of his parents had died when Patrick was very young, and Geoffrey had raised him, if one could call it that. What he had done was set strict rules for behavior while Patrick was in his house, then shipped the boy off to boarding school so that he was underfoot as little as possible. Geoffrey was a confirmed bachelor. He had never really liked children. Or most anyone, for that matter.

  From an early age, however, Patrick had developed a natural charm which cast itself as innocence. He was well aware of this. He had learned to win his uncle over, quite easily in fact. Beneath Geoffrey Spratt’s gruff exterior, he adored Patrick. Geoffrey had come to think of his nephew nearly as a son.

  “Uncle, I have a question. Do you still know anyone over at the art museum?” Patrick already knew the answer. Of course Uncle Geoffrey did. He knew the entire board of directors. A check from Geoffrey Spratt would render them biddable at any given moment.

  “Of course I do. What do you need?” Geoffrey had no trouble getting to the heart of the matter as quickly as possible.

  Patrick took a deep breath. “I’ve just heard that they have a new exhibit opening that’s right down my alley. Paintings of the Little Ice Age,” he answered, diverting the point slightly.

  “What the hell is that?” the older man barked.

  “It was a period of time between the 14th and the 19th centuries when it was colder in Europe, so winters lasted longer and bodies of water froze so solidly that people could travel across them.” Patrick uttered the words in a steady stream knowing that his uncle wouldn’t care.


  “What’s that got to do with me?” Geoffrey croaked.

  Patrick considered for a moment. Should he play all of his cards now, or just the few needed to gain an invitation to the museum event? “I was hoping that you could help me get an invitation to the fundraiser that kicks off the exhibit. I’m very interested in it, as you can imagine.”

  Geoffrey was silent. He thought the world of his nephew, but he knew him, too. There had to be a catch. “Why not just wait until the thing opens officially?” he asked pointedly.

  ‘All right,’ Patrick thought. ‘Might as well spill it now. He’ll find out sooner or later.’ He took a deep breath. “To be honest, I know that Sam will be there, and I want to talk to her.”

  Now Geoffrey was fully awake. He paused. He had liked Samantha. True, she wasn’t of the same level as the Spratt family, but she had the brains and the looks to make up for that. ‘Good breeding stock,’ his family would have said. It was intended as a compliment.

  Geoffrey had thought his nephew behaved like an idiot when he had broken off the relationship with Samantha. At the time, he had made his opinion quite clear. Now he scratched his head in an effort to think more quickly. “What do you want to talk to her about?” he asked.

  “I’m not really sure,” Patrick answered. “Look, I know I was stupid and made a big mistake. And it was a huge shock to see her on TV.”

  “To all of us!” Geoffrey agreed.

  “But that’s just made me think about her even more,” Patrick admitted.

  “So you’re thinking of getting her back?” Geoffrey asked. This was the closest thing to a heart-to-heart discussion that he had ever had with his nephew.

  “That’s just it. I can’t. She’s been married for a couple of years at least.”

  “What?” Geoffrey acknowledged. “How’d that happen? I mean, seems awfully quick after the two of you were together for so long,”

  “Yeah, I know,” Patrick agreed. “She really is the one, though, isn’t she Uncle Geoffrey.”

  Geoffrey Spratt didn’t know what to say. Deep and meaningful conversations were not his forte. But he had taken a liking to the girl and did think that she was the kind of influence that Patrick needed. “Couples don’t necessarily last,” was all he could come up with. “She could become single again. Hell, maybe she’s working on it right now!” His attempt at humor fell somewhat flat.

  Patrick sighed. “I won’t bet on it,” he said simply. “But for now, can you get me an invitation to that party?” His tone was wistful.

  Uncle Geoffrey cleared his throat. “Sure thing, kid. No worries. Count on your ol’ Uncle.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Geoffrey. You’ve always been there for me. I really appreciate it.” Patrick didn’t want to lay it on too thick.

  “You’ve worked hard. No one deserves it more than you,” Geoffrey said. He grunted a salutation and hung up the phone.

  Patrick carefully put his phone down. He went over to the window and looked out across the dirty snow and the ice-covered sidewalk. He would get her back. He would do anything to get her back.

  #

  “When does your charming brother arrive?” Rachel asked while simultaneous typing on her computer.

  Dulcie was always amazed that Rachel seemed to be able to do multiple things at the same time, yet she never appeared to be flustered about anything. ‘I need to give her a raise,’ Dulcie thought. ‘If I lose her, I’m sunk.’

  Rachel paused and looked up at Dulcie, waiting for an answer. “Oh, sorry Rachel. Just thinking for a second. Dan? He flies back tomorrow morning. And I have to say, he’s not entirely happy about it.”

  Rachel looked back at her laptop screen and began to type again. “Not happy about coming back to the frozen tundra that we now live in, or not happy about leaving the sophisticated Miami social scene?” she giggled.

  “Both, I imagine!” Dulcie answered. “I’ll be glad to see him again. He’s coming to the party tomorrow night, of course, and I’m much more comfortable with him there.”

  “He sure knows how to work a room,” Rachel agreed.

  “Much better than I can,” Dulcie said.

  Rachel was sitting at the opposite side of Dulcie’s desk. She closed her laptop and peered over it at her boss. “I don’t know about that. You do really well. You always seem very relaxed and chatty.”

  “Years of practice.” Dulcie said, not looking up from her own computer. “And numerous tips from my brother.” Now she did look up. “I’ve never been comfortable with it, though. You know that. I wish I had Dan’s ease.”

  “But if you did, you might not have some of the other qualities that make you so good at the rest of your job,” Rachel replied. She stood and slid her computer under her arm. “Anything more you need from me for now?”

  Dulcie shook her head. “Thanks for finishing those emails. I think now we’re just on to the details for tomorrow.”

  Rachel nodded, smiled, and went out the door, her unruly red curls springing out of her polka-dot headband and bouncing on her shoulders.

  Dulcie reached up and smoothed her own straight dark hair into the clip that held it back. She’d been wearing it like this often as of late. ‘I should wear it down tomorrow night, just for a change,’ she thought. It reminded her that she had not planned what she would wear yet. Experience had taught her that she would inevitably run out of time and have little left to get herself ready. She thought about the black dress that she had fallen back on for several previous events. Surely everyone had seen it by now. Did it really matter, though?

  Then she remembered who would be attending. Nick of course. And Brendan. “That’s just great,” she said aloud sarcastically. But, she was a grown woman after all, right? She could certainly handle the situation.

  A new dress wouldn’t hurt, though, and might give her a little confidence boost. ‘Seriously? Are you that shallow?’ she argued with herself. ‘I don’t care. If I want a new damn dress, I’m going to buy a new damn dress!’

  She closed her computer firmly and stood before she could change her mind. Sliding into her coat she picked up her purse and nearly ran through the door of her office. She breezed by Rachel. “Hold my calls, please. I’m going dress shopping.”

  “OOOOhhhhh!” Rachel squealed from behind her. “I would so love to see this!” Dulcie was not known for taking risks with her wardrobe.

  “Shut up,” Dulcie tossed back over her shoulder. “I might just surprise you!” She pulled on her gloves, slipped her hood over her head and pushed through the heavy double doors of the museum.

  A biting wind slammed into her when she stepped outside. She gripped her hood to hold it in place. Her knee-high leather boots were obviously made for fashion and not for the cold. She stomped down the street in an effort to keep her feet warm as she made her way toward a nearby dress shop.

  As soon as she entered, a waft of potpourri hit her nostrils, and she sneezed. ‘Good start,’ she thought. Removing her gloves, she pulled out a tissue from her pocket, covertly wiped her nose, then shoved gloves and tissue back into her coat. She unbuttoned the heavy wool and began to tackle the rack of dresses in front of her.

  The hangers screeched on the rod as Dulcie flicked through the clothes. One dress caught her eye and she pulled it out. It was a dark garnet red, an unusual color for her to choose, with a longer flowing skirt, bracelet length sleeves, and a deep V-neckline. She walked over to the mirror and held it up in front of her.

  “That would look really nice on you,” a quiet voice said from behind her.

  Dulcie turned, expecting to see one of the store clerks, but instead found herself gazing at a familiar, yet unfamiliar, face. “Thanks. It’s a little outside of my comfort zone,” she said, “but maybe it’s time to shake things up a little?” she added skeptically.

  The woman laughed softly. “I know all about that!” she said.

  Dulcie continued to stare at her. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I know you from somewhere but I can
’t place you. I’m the art museum director, so I meet a lot of people and I’m terrible with names, unfortunately.”

  The woman smiled. “No, we haven’t met. You might have seen me giving the weather forecast, though.”

  The weather girl - that was it! ‘No,’ Dulcie admonished herself. ‘Weather Forecaster!’

  The woman was still talking. “We were going to meet soon, though. I mean, I think we would have. My husband and I are coming to the event tomorrow night at the museum. I’m Samantha Sanders.” She held out her hand and shook Dulcie’s quickly.

  Dulcie was surprised. She was sure that she had not seen Samantha’s name on the guest list. She made it a point to memorize them as much as possible so she would be prepared with any bits of small talk that might be appropriate. “That’s wonderful! Does your husband have the same last name? I don’t remember seeing it…”

  Samantha shook her head vigorously. “No, his name is Jeremy Plunkett.”

  Now it made sense. Neither of them had been on the guest list originally. “Our official sommelier!” Dulcie exclaimed. “My friend Veronica recommended him. I didn’t realize that he was married to a celebrity!”

  A pink blush crept up over Samantha’s cheeks. She turned to hang up one of the dresses she was holding, hoping that Dulcie wouldn’t notice. “Not really a celebrity. I just forecast the weather.”

  Forecast. So had Dulcie been right saying she was a weather forecaster? Maybe now wasn’t the best time to ask. “Well, I’m very glad you can come. Are you looking for a new dress to wear tomorrow, too?”

  Samantha nodded. She held up a simple navy blue silk sheath. It was exactly what Dulcie would have chosen for herself, except that Samantha’s hourglass shape would certainly fill it out much more seductively. She glanced at the other woman then back at the dress. A thought popped into her head. ‘She has absolutely no idea how alluring she is.’