Authors: Roberta Latow
At that stage Syrah could have solved her financial worries at a stroke but she refused to sell one more bottle of rare wine from Ethan’s collection. The French and English collectors, and particularly the auction houses, wished to view the caves if nothing else. She was incredibly polite, business-like and firm, putting them all off. Instead she went to see her flying friends and was quite candid with them.
Ben Canfield had taught Syrah to fly. He considered her one of the best women pilots and knew she was always a star attraction at the air shows he organised all round the world. For years she had flown with him and their friends purely for love. It was therefore a surprise to him and his partner, Ed Sweeney, when she flew into their base near Los Angeles to ask for paid work.
After an ecstatic welcome and a surprise lunch Ben had organised with some of her other flying friends, thoroughly relaxed and happy to be back in this part of her old life, Syrah began telling them about her new existence in the Napa Valley and her vineyard. These were very close friends whom she had known for years. It was easy to tell them about her financial problems with Ruy Blas, the cellar and her intention
to work it and make something of herself in the wine world. No one seemed surprised. Rumours had abounded and most of the men at the table who had known and liked Ethan had flown up to the funeral to give her moral support and pay their last respects. They understood what a devastating loss Syrah had suffered with the death of her father.
She looked round the table and said, ‘I need to earn money, as much and as fast as I can. Charity flying is over for me. Charity must now start at home. I want to fly for money: crop dusting, air shows, working county fairs where I can take people up for rides, air taxi piloting for wealthy businessmen and women, stunt flying, long-distance races here or abroad. All the money I earn will be put back into Ruy Blas and wine.’
This world of vintage aircraft and collectors was a relatively small one where everyone knew everyone else because of their mutual passion for flying and collecting handsome aircraft. After lunch the men retreated to Ben’s office and sat round over a bottle of champagne discussing who would call whom to announce Syrah’s availability. They called Diego in Chile first who immediately told them he would host a rally there. Vic Norman and Nick Mason spoke to them from their restored First World War airfield in Gloucestershire, England. They were enthusiastic about Syrah’s entering the commercial side of vintage flying, offering to include her in several races that were being organised and to keep her informed about the many other events in England, Italy and France.
All the old excitement of flying returned to Syrah then. To be once again among those who loved aviation and its challenges, prizing vintage aircraft like jewels from another age; men and women who were courageous and daring, who flew always that little bit faster, higher, played with their aircraft and space like dancers on the top of their form, seemed so right for Syrah.
Almost immediately she had work in the air as well as on the ground and, amazingly, was able to schedule her time in such a manner that nothing suffered. She was leading the life she was determined to have and winning through. In her work and her travels Syrah was meeting attractive men. She made an effort with them, hoping she could find a man to love more than James even though he and Syrah were still together every chance that came their way. They never spoke of his
wife nor of the several men who were pursuing Syrah.
One such admirer approached her when she was visiting a cooperage to buy much-needed oak barrels for her wine. She had met Sam Holbrook at her father’s funeral and a spark had flared but quickly died between them. She had, however, felt he would always be a friend. But now, in his office, Syrah saw him again as a sensual man, undoubtedly attractive, someone she might be able to become interested in. They conducted their business and he invited her to dinner. She was not surprised; Syrah could always sense when a man wanted her.
For several weeks Sam and Syrah enjoyed a discreet but open affair. They freely acknowledged who and what they were, which strengthened their friendship but ultimately ended the relationship.
What Sam inevitably had to say came one night at a restaurant. It was a shock to her that he should choose a public place for such an intimate conversation, that he should even say what he did.
‘There are things that have to be said, Syrah,’ he began, a coldness in his voice she had never heard before.
‘Yes,’ was all she could manage in reply.
‘I think we both know that I am falling in love with you – something more, I think, than either of us expected. It’s never been a secret, your love for James. After all, I have seen you both together. One of us has to face the fact that you’re only going through the motions of an affair of the heart with me. It is sexually satisfying but can go nowhere because you love someone else. I think we’re both too honest to carry on with this any longer, don’t you?’
Syrah felt as if she had been slapped in the face with a velvet glove. Facing the truth brought tears to her eyes but she managed to hold them there. By force of will she made them vanish. She was, however, choked with emotion and so remained silent.
Sam continued, ‘I think it best for the three of us that you and I give up seeing each other in such an intimate way in favour of friendship. In this way no one cheats anyone and no one will be hurt.’
With that he raised his glass and toasted her. ‘Goodbye, my love. Hello, my friend.’
Syrah drained her champagne flute dry before going round the table to Sam who rose from his chair. She kissed him gently on the lips and told him, ‘You will understand if I don’t stay for dinner?’
‘Is it necessary for you to go?’ he asked.
‘Very. You’ve given me a great deal to think about, and of course you’re right about us. I will always remember what a good friend you are.’ Then she turned on her heel and walked from the restaurant.
While driving back from San Francisco to the Valley, Syrah could only think of how dishonest she had been with Sam. How right he had been to dump her and make her face up to what she was doing with other men. Everyone but James.
She kept thinking about men. How fearful she was of one taking over her and her son’s life. How wrapped up she now was in the survival of her vineyard, too much so to think about any life other than the one she was struggling through. Her thoughts turned to her love for James and she realised that the impermanent basis of it would simply have to be enough. Whereas sex and love, with him were a priority, marriage was not. That was, and had to be, right for them both.
‘What a waste of energy, this going out with other men. No more of it!’ She could not imagine why she and James had thought she should be free to find someone who could give her more than he was able to do. All her energy in any case had been directed toward the survival of the vineyard and winery, in caring for and nurturing Keoki and loving James. This was her life and no other could take precedence. It was at that moment that she gave up any thought of another man and happily settled for true love with James, in whatever form it came.
It had been with only half a heart that she’d dated and bedded these other suitors. She’d never been happy about what she was doing, had made every effort to stop herself from thinking of anything other than sex for the sake of erotic fulfilment, sex of the sort she had had before James had come back into her life. She and her partners had been adventurous, had fucked on the edge of depravity to know the thrill of heightened sex and orgasm. And the truth of the matter was that it
was
thrilling to reach such peaks of sexual bliss when in the throes of lust, but she came to think of it in time as mere masturbation, not loving sex within a relationship. She would stop now. Syrah was simply too much in love and lust with James, and much as she had wanted to relieve herself of the burden of her love for him, she could not cheat either him or herself of what they had together.
The next day Syrah climbed into her rusty old pick-up lorry and
drove across from her vineyard to James’s. She waved to the workers in both vineyards because by know she was known and admired and a constant visitor to Whitehawk Ridge. She was relieved to see his Range Rover there for she had been so anxious to see James she hadn’t even bothered to call. He was just coming out of the winery as she drove up to its doors.
Syrah leaped from the lorry and ran into his arms. They kissed and he slid an arm around her waist. His face lit up with the joy of her being there, as it always did every time they met. Then someone in a car with a trailer attached honked the horn and waved at them. They waved back. James and Syrah were an item locally and made no secret of their love affair. They were only secretive or discreet when there was a possibility that Katherine, his wife, was liable to see them.
‘Great surprise, I didn’t expect to see you today. I thought you were away,’ said James.
‘I
am
away, flying for a family’s birthday treat. Come with me, please? It’s only a few hours’ work. Can you get away?’ she asked.
‘Will you be back in time for lunch?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, and gave a sigh of relief that they were to be together.
‘I’ll pick you up at Blackwolf’s hangar at one o’clock,’ he told her and Syrah smiled and kissed him on the cheek before she dashed back to her lorry.
James took her to a small Mexican restaurant in the hills, one of their favourite places, where they took rooms and ordered a meal which would be served on the terrace of their suite. The place was famous for its food and its air of intimacy. The owner played the guitar and his brother the cornet, soft and lazy tunes filled with nostalgia for Old Mexico, romance, love and tenderness. Afterwards they sat in the sun, Syrah leaning against James, both drinking Tequila Gimlets.
‘I love you, Syrah,’ he told her.
‘I know, and I love you. That’s why I wanted to see you so much today,’ she told him and sat up and away from him.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.
‘Oh, no. It’s more that something is so right. James, I have something to tell you. I can no longer waste my time going out with other men and sleeping with them in the hope of distancing myself from you. I truly
don’t want my love to be a burden on you and your family but I have fucked without love, for the sake of fun, all my life until I met you. There seemed nothing wrong in that at the time. I had no commitments, no relationship that was deep and loving, and nor did my partners. But I can’t do that anymore.
‘I love you, I’m committed to you, no matter how you want to label that commitment, and to fuck a stranger I’m indifferent to is to make myself a whore and a cheat. I am not and never have been that sort of woman. I took the wrong road trying to spare you, I’ll not do that again. I can accept being your mistress for all to see and behave discreetly as one. You’ll have to learn to live with that if I can.’
‘I thought I was trying to spare you the indignity of being a mistress,’ he protested. ‘But maybe I was just being weaker than you are about facing up to what we are together. Forgive me. What a fool I’ve been,’ James told her, and pulled her once more into his arms.
The lunch arrived and they watched a young Mexican girl lay the table: a white cotton cloth embroidered with white silk flowers; terracotta pottery dishes and bowls of glazed brightly coloured flowers; silver flatware and goblets of blue glass. Dishes of beans and rice, tacos, enchiladas and chicken cooked in a chocolate sauce. A jug of chilled red wine. The proprietor’s wife arrived to serve the lovers and the sound of a guitar and cornet wafted upwards. Once served, James and Syrah were left to dine alone.
Some invisible barrier that had remained between them vanished then. Never had either of them felt so intimately involved with another soul. They had known months ago that they were as one but that afternoon they were
being
, not just knowing.
At first there was something tentative in their love making. Such tenderness only heightened their orgasms. They wallowed in their love of sex with each other; caressed and licked and sucked each other as if they were a feast tasted for the very first time. They lay in each other’s arms, naked and wound together for eternity, and spoke from their hearts and souls. Then gradually they left tenderness behind because passion and lust were driving them to desire for further, more thrilling orgasms. They left their egos and their hearts in limbo for a time so they might enjoy a spree of sexual adventurousness that delivered heightened orgasms that seemed to go on forever.
In the night they spoke of their sexual fantasies and explored them all. They seemed driven to indulge in the sweet nectar of their come, which they drank like an elixir of the gods. Had it been possible they would have bathed in it, drowned in it, for this was lust that rode on the verge of death it was so powerful.
‘Whoever said you can’t have everything was wrong,’ were James’s last words before he fell fast asleep in Syrah’s arms.
Ira was an excellent chess player. It had always been an easy game for him because he had the ability to see a dozen moves ahead. He used logic and plotted his game in advance, studying his opponent’s weaknesses and then using them to his own advantage. He was, besides, a man who could bide his time when he wanted something. His strength was that he rarely sacrificed a piece for the sake of moving forward. He played such a tight, ruthless game he rarely lost. For Ira, winning was the only option; to win big time an even better option. He conducted business in the same way and it had made him a very wealthy man, gained him the power to do pretty much whatever he wanted to do. His love life was handled in the same way. He was now an established name in property development, both in America and abroad.
Ira had known the Richebourg-Conti family socially for years. He had always envied the respect and the lifestyle Ethan enjoyed, the way he ran his wine empire and was accepted in every great house in Europe.
Right from first meeting Ethan, Ira had understood that the man had no time for him. Disliked him even. To circumvent that dislike he’d cultivated a friendship with Caleb and Paula. He secretly considered them ninnies but envied Caleb because he and all the world knew that one day he would inherit the Richebourg-Conti vineyards and the prestige that accompanied their label, which was no small thing.
He saw Caleb and Paula champing at the bit to diversify, to strike out on their own and out from under what they saw as Ethan’s autocratic rule. That was how the three of them had begun to do business together. It was not difficult to see that the couple’s greed was such that the lust for a deal, rather than good business sense, governed their every move, their every investment. It had been several years since their relationship had turned into a business one. Ira was amazed that so far they did not
seem to have realised that it was he who was gaining all the power, the best of any deal, rather than them. It was not that they were being foolish or making bad investments, merely that because they were always overextending themselves they allowed Ira to grab the largest slice of every deal. Now, with Ethan’s death and the loss of the cellar and Ruy Blas, Caleb and Paula were approaching him to bail them out of their problems at Richebourg-Conti with an injection of capital. Now was the time for Ira to make his move. A ready-made checkmate deal if ever he saw one.
For more than two years he had been plotting and planning to take over Richebourg-Conti. He wanted the vineyard for himself and his French partner and now saw himself in a strong position to get what he wanted: the greedy Caleb and Paula could be forced out. Syrah too had no idea what she was doing and could not hold out financially long enough even to bring in her first harvest. She too was ripe for takeover.
Those were the things going through his mind as he sat in the Polo Lounge of the Beverly Hills Hotel, waiting for his latest love interest to arrive: eighteen years old and on the cover of
Vogue
this month. For a fleeting moment he thought of Diana. She would always be there in the background of his life. The waiter filled his glass with champagne. And Syrah … he had always fantasised about conquering her. She remained an itch that had to be scratched.
It was personal, sexual, a fascinating challenge to win her over to him in bed. And who knew? Maybe one day even to the altar. But he never mixed business
and
pleasure, and for the moment Syrah remained very much business. He smiled to think of the hardship she was putting herself through trying to keep Ruy Blas, the difficulties Caleb and Paula were constantly contriving to put her in. It was time once more to move in on Syrah. He would make her an offer she could not refuse.
Ira looked at his watch then towards the entrance to the Lounge. Tiffany Cole was an hour late. Suddenly she appeared and every eye was upon her as she wove through the tables to join him. She was so very sexy, so obviously fire and ice in the bedroom stakes yet somehow vacuous otherwise. He rose from his chair and kissed her on the cheek, caressed her amazingly beautiful long blonde hair, and whispered in her ear: ‘You’re too late for lunch.’
Tiffany was still confused when he shoved her into a taxi and told
her, ‘Next time don’t play your feminine tricks on me.’ He slammed the door shut and told the driver, ‘Take the lady wherever she wants to go,’ handing him a fifty-dollar note. Ira watched her sobbing and crying as the taxi pulled away from the curb. One of the many things he had loved about Diana was that she never played female power games with him.
Three hours after drinking champagne, in the Polo Lounge, Ira was on a private Gulf Stream Jet with his secretary, personal assistant and lawyer en route for France for a meeting with his French associate. Baron Michel de Brilliant Vivier, whose château had lent its name to his premier cru claret, had together with Ira, been plotting the takeover of Richebourg-Conti and how to buy out every other small vineyard in the Napa Valley that came on the market.
For some time the Baron’s intention had been to move in on the California wine industry and for Château Brilliant Vivier to become as great a force in the States as it was in France. Ira wanted to become the most powerful landowner in Northern California. The two men believed they had a partnership made in heaven. It had been a long hard struggle to get into the strong position they now held and Ira was flushed with excitement about the last move.
He had called the Baron and told him, ‘Once Richebourg-Conti and Richebourg-Ruy Blas are ours, we’ll have that invincible foothold in the industry and jumping off point for the American Château Brilliant Vivier you have been waiting for. I’m flying over for a meeting to put you in the picture and discuss our final moves.’
Their association had begun when the Baron had been introduced to Ira and told he was a Mr Fixit who could be a great ally in his quest to establish himself in a big way in California. The two men quickly realised their ambitions meshed one into the other. It was Ira who put the package together for a partnership between them. It entailed a thirty per cent stake in the profits for Ira, seventy for the Baron, and Ira owning the land which he would lease for ninety-nine years to their company.
Ira dreamed up the deal and approached the Baron with it when he heard the other man was ready to move on a similar arrangement in South Africa. Time, energy and money had been expended on putting the South African deal together, but California was more tempting. It had been costly for the Baron to change horses but he was a shrewd
businessman as well as first-class wine man. He saw the advantages of expansion into California and most especially owning Ethan Richebourg’s famous vineyards.
The Baron admired Ira Rudman for his successes and his ruthlessness. He liked the good-looking American who had polished manners and a certain charm and wit that was more continental than American. He saw Ira as a good partner but had never been quite sure he could deliver all he promised: the Richebourg vineyards and winery. The Baron had known Ethan for forty years and a finer wine connoisseur had not existed. Dead or alive he was still a powerful influence in California and acquiring his vineyards would not be easy. The Baron had made it clear to Ira that money and time were prime factors in their deal together. That was the pressure he’d placed on Ira and stayed firm about.
While the two men needed each other to get what each of them wanted, the Baron liked to hedge his business deals. At the last minute in his partnership negotiations with Ira he had sprung a penalty clause into their deal. Hence the rush to confer with him.
He and his Rolls Royce were waiting on the tarmac as Ira’s plane taxied to a stop. All the way from the private airport to Paris and the Plaza Athenée where Ira always stayed it was just pleasant chit-chat and introductions to the staff he had brought with him.
The Baron had to admire Ira, who looked relaxed and full of enthusiasm. He had slept on the plane for most of the flight, shaved and showered, and there was not a wrinkle to be seen in his clothes nor any indication of jet lag.
Once they drove up to the entrance of the hotel, it was his suggestion that the staff should check in while he and the Baron went on to lunch at Le Grand Véfour, where he had taken the liberty of making a reservation. The Baron was inwardly amused. Paris might be his territory but Ira never missed a trick. He was in control of whatever he had come to see the Baron about and that even extended to organising lunch.
If it was a matter of one upmanship, which the Baron could never understand, once in the famous restaurant at the Palais Royal Ira was losing hands down. The fuss made over the Baron’s dining there was considerable but discreet. Over Ira? More elaborate, more obvious, the sort saved only for Americans.
Once seated and a sumptuous meal ordered by Ira, the wines chosen
by the Baron, Ira put him in the picture about what was going on vis-à-vis their takeover. There was no doubt that he had done a brilliant job in gaining a controlling interest in Richebourg-Conti and the Baron could understand his excitement over at last taking over the company and booting out Caleb and Paula.
‘And Ruy Blas? Ethan’s cellar? When will the girl sign them over to us?’ asked the Baron.
‘As soon as I take over Richebourg-Conti,’ answered Ira.
‘You are certain of that?’
‘Yes, it’s merely a matter of when.’
‘Well, that could be a problem for you, Ira. Is that what this meeting is about?’
‘Hardly! Time is still on my side. I came to see you because I wanted you to know I am putting in hand our takeover of Richebourg-Conti in the next few days. That will shake the Californian wine world! I thought you should prepare to be revealed as the mystery buyer. You and I need to talk about how we’ll proceed once that is accomplished. I don’t mind telling you, I feel on top of the world about this takeover and so should you.’
‘The deal is nothing to me without Ruy Blas, Ira. It has always been the very heart of Richebourg-Conti. I won’t be satisfied until I have every one of the Richebourg vineyards. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that our agreement states you must deliver the deeds to the Richebourg vineyards and winery, Ethan’s cellar included, on a specific date. The delays in moving into California have cost me dearly so you can appreciate how thrilled I am to hear the move is imminent. I admit it, Ira, I could never have done the deal without you,’ said the Baron as he lit his cigar.
Both men knew that Château Brilliant Vivier would become an immediate threat to the several French labels already established in the Napa Valley. That was why the Baron had remained in the background of the deal. Those other French wine houses would have competed mercilessly to keep Château Brilliant Vivier out of California.
The men parted after lunch and agreed to meet the following morning before Ira took off once more for California. He refused a ride to his hotel. Instead he took a walk in the Tuileries then sat down on one of the park’s benches and thought about his next moves.
In fact time was running out for Ira as well as Caleb and Paula. Syrah … The penalty clause that the Baron had so shrewdly insisted upon before he would sign the partnership agreement made between them stated that Ira must pay Château Brilliant Vivier one million dollars a day for every day the deeds were not delivered after a stipulated date. The penalty clause was to be invoked for eighty days at the end of which their partnership agreement would become null and void.
Ira had not felt he was taking such a gamble when he reluctantly accepted the last-minute clause the Baron had insisted upon. He was sure of his own cunning and the weakness and greed of Caleb and Paula, their lack of experience in high-stakes wheeling and dealing. But he could never have imagined that Ethan would split Ruy Blas from Richebourg-Conti and leave it to Syrah. Even when that did happen, knowing her character and the lifestyle she’d enjoyed, he had not been too concerned about the penalty clause. For him it was merely a side track that needed to be taken to get what he wanted. Ira believed Syrah had no work ethic, no ambition, she would sell her legacy and he would be the buyer.
Back in California Caleb and Paula waited anxiously for him to return their calls with the terms of a deal that would be advantageous to them. But Ira had vanished – gone abroad was what his office told them. For two whole days. Ira had never been unavailable to them, no matter where he had been, for such a length of time.
This absence was contrived, they were certain of that. It put the couple on edge, made them feel for the first time that they had to be more clever, drive a harder bargain with him than ever before. They were in the drawing room of Château Richebourg-Conti when for the first time Caleb realised he might possibly be on the verge of losing the family home. He rose from his chair and walked around. He had always coveted the things in the drawing room; they were beautiful and rare and yet never merely for display. Always just his home.
Standing at the fireplace, he said, ‘We need Syrah’s vineyard and the cellar more than ever to make a better deal with Ira.’
‘Well, we know that! And we’ll get them, one way or another. But it would be good to remember that whatever deal we make with Ira, he needs us just as much as we need him. He is, after all, no wine man.
What good would Richebourg-Conti be to him without us running it?’ said his wife, a note of irritation in her voice.
‘That’s what worries me. I know you’re not as passionate about the vineyards and winery as I am. Every move we have made to diversify has been right but we’re essentially wine people,’ Caleb rambled on.
‘What are you talking about, Caleb?’ she asked, more annoyed with him than ever.
‘I’m frightened – frightened of what’s happening to Richebourg-Conti. Or at least I will be until the deal is made with Ira. For me Richebourg-Conti has always meant more than wine and success and vineyards. It’s my heritage, the continuity of all the Richebourgs who immigrated from France to cross the West and establish themselves in California. I’ve suddenly remembered that.’