Blame It on the Champagne. Nina HarringtonЧитать онлайн книгу.
the table, pouring the golden liquid into tiny green-tinted glasses, the genuine smiles of appreciation from the men and women in the Burgess sales team as they inhaled the aroma of the wine knocked her sideways.
They might be young but everyone around her table had one thing in common; a real and genuine passion for wine. But did that include the man himself? Her rescuer in denims and the leader of this merry band. Rick Burgess?
Rick sat back down and smiled in encouragement as Angie started a conversation about the Burgundy harvest at the other end of the table while they enjoyed the wine.
Saskia raised the glass of dessert wine to her nose, twirled the glass and inhaled the aroma, which made her eyes flutter in delight and astonishment. Then she sipped the wine ever so slowly.
It was rose petals, musk, vanilla and deep, warm spice. And on the tongue? An explosion of flavour and tingling acidity.
Saskia instantly put down her glass and reached for the bottle to read the label on the wine bottle. Twenty years old. Rare, exclusive and made by a tiny vineyard she had never heard of in Alsace. It was absolutely delicious. Unique. Expensive. But amazing.
It was so good that this wine could easily have come from the cellars of Elwood Brothers. Her mother and aunt’s family had been one of the oldest and most respected wine merchants in Britain, with traditions that went back hundreds of years. The Elwoods were famous around the world for having the finest collection of prestige wines and for employing the leading experts in their field.
Their reputation for quality and excellence had been built up over centuries. It had seemed like the end of a familiar institution when Elwood Brothers finally closed their doors a couple of years ago when the last of the brothers had decided to retire.
It was a shame that she couldn’t borrow some of that reputation for excellence to attract more clients to use Elwood House for their board meetings and private dining, combined, of course, with modern technology. The old and the new. The traditional and the modern.
But that was impossible now… Wasn’t it?
Saskia felt that familiar prickle of the hairs on the back of her neck as an outrageous and exciting idea gathered shape. Elwood House already had the kudos that came with the name. It would need a lot of investment, but what if she could build up the wine list into one of the finest in London? The best of the old wines and the best of the new.
Perhaps Rick Burgess did have something to offer her after all?
‘I am interested to hear your opinion about the wine,’ Rick said as he raised his glass towards her. Those grey eyes seemed to almost twinkle as he turned his charm offensive to maximum power. ‘I would be a happy man if I can persuade Saskia Elwood to serve my wines to her discriminating and expert guests here in Elwood House. So, tell me. Do I leave here a happy man? Or not?’
Must-Do list
• Thank the wine merchant for any free wine they bring. Kate and Amber will be very grateful for the bottles. No promises to buy any, of course.
• Canapés. People in the wine trade can eat! Use the sales team as guinea pigs for a couple of new savouries which might work for the Christmas parties. Let them come up with the wine to match—could be interesting.
• Do not let this new wine merchant leave without a few of the lovely brochures that Sam worked on. Who knows? Word of mouth recommendation is always the best. They might have some flash customers in need of a private meeting venue.
BY THE TIME the Burgess Wine sales meeting finally closed, the grey September morning had turned into a bright sunny day. In the light breeze it was still warm enough for the conservatory doors to stay open, and Saskia looked out towards the sales team, who she had invited to finish their coffee on the patio.
The golden coloured flagstones had absorbed the sun and warmed the terrace, creating a welcoming enclosed private garden. Brightly painted Mediterranean-style flowerpots created a soft barrier between the hard stone floor and the exuberant English flower borders and old stone wall covered with fragrant climbing roses and honeysuckle.
This was exactly how she had imagined it would look that cold January when her Aunt Margot had died suddenly, just when she seemed to be recovering from the strokes which had made her life so difficult. Little wonder that these experts in the wine trade were in no hurry to dash out into the rush-hour traffic and fight their way home in this busy part of London.
Saskia glanced quickly over her shoulder towards the table where Rick Burgess and his personal assistant Angie were huddled around a laptop computer.
The strength in Rick’s shoulders and back contrasted so fiercely with his long slender fingers. His neck was a twisted rope of sinew as though he was barely holding in a volcano of suppressed energy and power.
This was the man who had effortlessly lifted a planter that morning as though it was weightless.
She had felt such an idiot when Angie had arrived and her knight in denim and a leather jacket had turned out to be the client that she had been waiting for.
It had so totally floored her that she had felt off balance for most of the morning. Not that she would ever let him know that, of course.
The company directors she met did not usually turn up to meetings wearing clothes more suited to a motorcycle rally. In fact she wouldn’t be surprised in the least if there was some huge, hulking two-wheeled machine parked around the corner at that minute, waiting for him to leap on and roar away.
Combine that with tousled dark curly hair and designer stubble.
Rick Burgess was certainly a company director with a difference.
She watched him stand and share a laugh with Angie as they gathered up their papers and, just for a fraction of a second, she wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of the full-on charm of that power smile that beamed out of a rugged, handsome face.
She knew that she had never been the pretty one, or super-creative or musically talented like her best friends Kate and Amber. But it would be nice now and again to have a handsome man really look at her as a woman and like what he saw. Instead of asking where the toilets were and could he have more coffee.
Her beautiful mother Chantal had often said that Saskia had skipped a generation and would be much happier back in rural France on the vineyard where her own mother had been brought up, instead of living the high life of a city girl.
And she was right in so many ways.
Her mother could never understand why the teenage Saskia had begged to spend the school holidays working at the auberge with her extended French family instead of sitting on some tropical beach with her mother and her friends, while her father stayed in his room and worked on some financial deal or other.
Of course that was when her grandparents were alive and her parents were still together. When her father left them everything changed.
Suddenly her practical skills were useful and Saskia became the girl who made sure that there was food in the refrigerator and the bills were paid as her mother struggled to come to terms with what had happened and failed. Saskia had never once missed school or turned up without a clean uniform and brushed hair. When her mother’s world imploded she had become the dependable one who made sure things happened.
The girl who would always help you out at the last minute.
Not done your homework? Ask Saskia to help. All you had to do was pretend to be her friend, just long enough to get what you wanted.
It had been a long apprenticeship forged from hard times, but, like it or not, fifteen years of training and hard work in the hotel and food trade had brought her to this point. She should be happy, ecstatic really, but all this was hers and she had made