Читать книгу Blame It on the Champagne - Нина Харрингтон - Страница 6

Elwood House: Must-Do list—Monday

• Meet up with Kate and Amber to finalise Amber’s wedding—do NOT let Kate talk you into fuchsia or satin—walk away from the satin.

• Decide on classical music pieces for the bathrooms.

• Be ready to fend off that very persistent new wine merchant.

• Stay in for the garden centre delivery of the spiral box trees for the front porch.

‘SNOW. I AM going to need lots of snow. And tiny white fairy lights sparkling in the trees and over the pergola. Can you do fairy lights?’ Amber’s voice tailed off into a dreamy whisper. ‘It would be so magical and romantic.’

Saskia Elwood rolled her eyes and grinned at her best friend Amber, then clicked in the box next to the garden lighting option on her wedding planner spreadsheet.

‘Of course I can do white fairy lights. As for the snow? That shouldn’t be too difficult for New Year’s Day in London. But, you know me, if you want it to snow on your wedding day, then snow you shall have, even if I have to track down a snow gun machine and make you some. Although… Won’t it be a bit cold? From the designs I have seen, that dress Kate is making for you would be perfect for a tropical beach wedding—but London in January? Brr…’

Amber giggled and flicked her long straight blonde hair over one shoulder in a move she had perfected in fashion shoots and as years performing as a concert pianist. ‘I know,’ she replied, wrinkling up her nose in delight. ‘It is so perfect. Sam is going to love it.’ Then she sighed out loud and strolled out past Saskia and through the conservatory into the garden with a faraway expression on her face. ‘Just love it.’

‘She’s off again,’ a cheery voice sounded from behind Saskia’s shoulder as Kate Lovat bounced into the room with a bundle of wedding magazines in her arms. ‘Dreaming of the fabulous Sam. If I wasn’t so smitten with my Heath I would find it a bit sickening. In fact, sometimes I’m surprised you put up with the two of us. Always talking about the lucky men who we have agreed to marry one day.’

‘Right now,’ Saskia replied with a snort, ‘I am more worried about Amber getting frostbite in that skimpy, mostly backless dress you are planning for a winter wedding. Any chance of a jacket? Thermal vest? The poor girl is going to be blue, which is not a good look for any bride.’

Kate replied by playfully hitting Saskia on the head with a rolled up bridal magazine and sat down next to her at the conservatory table. ‘Blue? With that fabulous suntan? No chance.’ Then she relaxed and rested her elbows on the table. ‘Relax. There is a beautiful full-length quilted ivory coat to go on top of that slinky dress for any outdoor photos. Fear not. The girl shall not freeze. When the dancing starts she will be glad of that layered silk gown, even if the beads will be flying everywhere.’

Kate arched her eyebrows and peered at Saskia’s computer screen, her green eyes bright with amusement. ‘Does that say dinner and reception for twenty-six? I thought this was just going to be a small family wedding. As in no professional musicians, fashion models or anybody else in Amber’s world who will make us feel totally inadequate as human beings.’

Saskia laughed out loud and started counting out on her fingers. ‘How could you forget Amber’s first dad and his huge new stepfamily, her second dad Charles Sheridan—’ she pointed towards Kate, who waved a magazine in the air ‘—with Heath and his new family. Her third dad might bring his new wife but she is having some “freshening up” surgery post-Christmas and might not have the stitches out in time. Oh, and her mum, of course. Julia is bringing the latest beau plus entourage, including her aunt and three American cousins and…’ the air whooshed out of Saskia’s lungs ‘… twenty-six hungry, cold people are going to celebrate the best wedding they have ever been to. Amber’s friend Parvita and her husband are looking after the music and I booked the waiting staff last week. All I have to do is enjoy myself.’

‘Um. Yeah. Right,’ Kate replied and looked over the top of her spectacles at her. ‘And exhaust yourself in the process of getting everything ready up front so it looks easy on the day. Who is kidding who here? We know you far too well, girl.’ Kate smiled and gave her a one-armed hug. ‘Now, let me see that list again. Aha. Thought so. You have missed out a crucial item. Tut tut.’

‘What?’ Saskia glanced at the screen in disbelief and then back to Kate. ‘I spent most of my Sunday double-checking the plan. Out with it. What have I missed?’

Kate slid out of her chair and came around to stand in front of Saskia. ‘Wedding date for a very picky hostess to be provided by her pals. Tall, dark and handsome. Dancing skills an advantage but will settle for extra hot. And you’re not typing that in.’

Saskia sat back in her chair and lifted both hands into the air. ‘Trust you to find me a date? Oh no. I still remember that graphic designer who offered to paint my portrait if I stripped down to earrings and a cheeky grin.’

Kate fluttered her eyelashes and tugged down the hem of her perfectly fitted jacket over her petite curves. ‘We do such good work.’

Saskia snorted and turned back to the laptop. ‘Thank you for the offer but the last thing I want is a boyfriend. You do know that this is the first wedding that Elwood House has ever seen, so no pressure at all.’

Kate waved her arms around and then cocked her head on one side and pushed out her lips. ‘This house is gorgeous and that curvy staircase was made for a bride to walk down on her father’s arm. It is going to be fabulous, even if we do feel guilty about leaving you to do most of the work.’

Saskia took a breath then shrugged off the lingering disquiet by tapping her wristwatch with her home-manicured fingertip.

‘And I feel bad that I am making you late for your sexy lingerie fitting appointment. You know, the one that you booked three weeks ago.’ She waggled her fingertips at Kate. ‘Go. A new wine merchant and his sales team will be here soon and the last thing they want to see are you two drooling over wedding brochures. Scoot. And have a great time!’

Kate gasped, whooped, flung the magazines onto the table and ran out to grab hold of Amber’s arm. Two minutes later all that was left of Amber and Kate were empty coffee cups and plates, a whiff of couture perfume, lipstick on her cheek and a smile on Saskia’s face that only spending breakfast with her two best friends in the world could bring.

They had known each other since high school. Totally different in every way and yet she could not want better pals. They might only have reconnected at a high school reunion that May, but now it felt as though they had never been apart.

Had it only been May? Wow. So much had happened in the past few months. Amber was engaged to Sam and spending most of her time living the dream in India, while Kate was sharing her home with Amber’s stepbrother Heath only a few streets away. They were both so happy… and off to be fitted with sexy lingerie by the most famous bra shop in London.

Suddenly the wedding planning spreadsheet lost its appeal and Saskia sniffed and sat back in her chair. She envied them the luxury of having time to spend comparing fine lingerie, while she was sitting here trying to decide on whether to have background music in the bathrooms. Or not.

Ah. The joys of running your home as a private meeting venue.

A whisper of self-pity flitted into her mind but she instantly pushed it to the back of her brain in disgust.

She had so much to be grateful for. Her friends Kate and Amber were the perfect pretend family who knew her a lot better than her absent parents. And then she had her home, Elwood House the architectural masterpiece which she had shared with her Aunt Margot until last year.

A gentle breeze wafted in from the garden outside the conservatory room and Saskia smiled out at the hardwood planters overflowing with autumn blossoms.

She had spent so many summer evenings with her aunt in this very room, talking and talking about their grand plan to transform Elwood House into a fabulous private dining venue. Her aunt had been the acclaimed wine expert with superb taste in interior design who was happy to leave Saskia to work on the details and business plans. Together they had been a genius team who had started the project together.

It was so sad that her aunt had never seen those plans come to fruition.

Shuffling to her feet, Saskia gathered up the breakfast dishes and loaded the dishwasher. Clasping hold of the marble worktop, she let her arms take the weight and closed her eyes for a second and took a couple of breaths.

The past six months had been harder than she had expected.

A lot harder and much more expensive. But she could not think like that. She had to make her home into a successful business because the alternative was too terrible to think about. A day job in the city would not come close to meeting the running expenses of a house this size.

Elwood House had been the home of the most famous wine merchants in London for over one hundred and fifty years. It was strange to think that she was the last in the line and responsible for preserving the heritage of the house the first of the Elwood clan had built in this smart part of London.

It was her safety net. Her home. Her sanctuary. And her security.

Saskia inhaled deeply and waggled her shoulders to release the tension.

No matter what it took or how many hours she had to work, Elwood House was going to pay for itself.

Patience. That was what she needed. Patience and a lot of new bookings.

She had only been going a few months and it took time to get a private meeting venue like hers off the ground. Reputation spread by word of mouth and she was already attracting repeat clients, but it was a mightily slow process and she had a big gap to fill before the Christmas party season started. Maybe Amber’s wedding would turn things around and she could start the New Year with hope and excitement burning in her heart?

And as for a date for Amber’s wedding? That was so not going to happen. She had served meals and coffee to an awful lot of businessmen over the past few months but she had not the slightest interest in dating any of them. Just the opposite. She had learnt the hard way the cost of giving up your independence and she had no intention of repeating her mother’s mistake any time soon.

Her gaze fell onto one of the wedding magazines that Kate had brought for Amber to look at and a headline on the cover leapt out at her.

Read all about the huge rise in Civil weddings at home. Celebrate your wedding in the intimate and private venue of your own home.

A spark of an idea flashed bright. Civil weddings. Now that was a thought. Amber’s wedding might be the first wedding reception that Elwood House had seen. But it need not be the last… Um… Perhaps there was a market for small private house weddings in a city this size. Not everyone wanted an extravaganza of a huge hotel banqueting suite.

The idea was still rattling around inside her head a few minutes later when the telephone rang. Saskia barely had a chance to pick up the handset and say the words ‘Elwood House,’ before a transatlantic female voice belted out down the line at such a rapid-fire pace that she had to hold the phone away from her ear for a second.

‘Oh, good morning, Angela. Yes, I am still available to talk to Mr Burgess and his team today. Not a problem at all. And there has been a change to the agenda. Right. Have you got the details? Tell me everything.’

Rick Burgess leant his elbows on the solid white railings of Waterloo Bridge and watched the water taxis mooring at the jetty below. The River Thames flowed beneath his feet and wound in wide lazy curves eastwards towards the sea. Stretched out across the horizon in front of him, high-rise marvels of modern architecture reached tall into the sky against the backdrop of landmark ancient cathedrals and majestic stone buildings that made up the city of London.

A fresh breeze wafted up the river and Rick inhaled deeply, his chest rising under his white open-necked shirt and soft black leather biker jacket.

Fresh air.

Just what he needed to clear his head after being cooped up inside an aircraft and then underground trains for the past four hours.

He ran his fingers back through his tousled dark brown hair.

Yesterday he had spent the afternoon talking wine over a plate of antipasti in a sunlit garden on a Tuscan estate with a young Italian couple who had sold everything they had to buy a tiny prestigious vineyard that he knew would be taking the world by storm in time. And today he was in London under a cloudy sky with only patches of blue peeking through to lighten the grey stone buildings.

He knew exactly where he preferred to be and it certainly was not here!

It was on mornings like this that it hit more powerfully than ever that it should be his older brother Tom who should be getting ready to go into a crucial sales meeting with one of the most prestigious private dining venues in London. Not him.

Tom had been the businessman. The IT genius who had transformed a small chain of family wine shops into Burgess Wine, the largest online wine merchant on the West Coast of America.

Rick shook his head and chuckled. He had a pretty good idea of what Tom would’ve said about the crazy enterprise he was just about to launch in this city and the language would not be fit for his parents to hear.

Tom had been a conservative businessman to the core. He would never have taken a risk with a group of independent young winemakers making tiny amounts of wine on family estates across Europe.

Not all of the wine was remarkable yet. But some of it was amazing.

It was going to have to be if he had any chance at all of redeeming himself in the eyes of the media. As far as the wine trade press were concerned, Rick had certainly never earned his place on the board of directors of Burgess Wine. Far from it.

To them, Rick Burgess would always be every bit the renegade who had walked away from a job with the family wine business to become a professional extreme sports personality. What did he know about the modern wine trade?

And they were right.

If Tom was still alive his business ambitions would have stayed in the world he knew—professional sports and adventure tourism. They had always been his passion and still were.

But Tom was dead. And there was nothing he could do to bring him back.

Just like he couldn’t change that fact that his parents were both in their sixties and needed him to take Tom’s place and work for Burgess Wine.

It had never been his decision or his choice. But as they said, there was nobody else. Burgess Wine was a family business and he had just been promoted to the son and heir whether he wanted the job or not.

Mostly not.

He didn’t like it. They didn’t like it. And they still didn’t completely trust him not to mess things up or run back to his old life.

Emotional blackmail only went so far.

This was probably why they’d set up this sales meeting with an important client he had never met. Of course they would deny it if he questioned them, but he had been long enough in the sports world to recognise a challenge when he was presented with one.

This sales pitch was just one more way they were asking him to prove that he could pull off his crazy idea to open a flagship wine store for Burgess Wine in London.

Which in his book was even more of a reason why he had to make the wine world take him seriously. And fast. Even if he did detest every second of these types of business meetings.

The upbeat rhythm of a popular dance track sang out from the breast pocket of his jacket and Rick flipped open his smartphone.

‘Finally! Were you actually planning to check your emails some time this morning, Rick?’

‘Angie, sweetheart.’ Rick chuckled. ‘How delightful to hear your welcoming voice. I have just got off the plane and getting used to being back in London. Turns out I miss my chalet in France almost as much as I miss you.’

‘Sweet talker! Sometimes I don’t know why I put up with you. Oh. I remember now—you pay me to sort out the boring stuff in your life. But forget sightseeing for the moment—I’ll take you on a tour later. Right now I need you to take your head out of the latest extreme sports magazine and flip over to the message which I am sending…now. I have some news about the sales meeting this morning, but don’t worry, it’s all under control.’

Rick straightened his back and turned away from the river, suddenly very wide awake.

‘Good news or bad news? Talk to me, Angie. I thought we locked down this meeting weeks ago.’

His personal assistant knew him well enough to immediately gush out, ‘We did. But do you remember those two TV wine experts who we approached to help promote the new store in the build-up to the launch? The ones who were so terribly busy appearing on cookery shows to get involved with yet another wine merchant? Well, guess who emailed me late last night. Apparently they heard a rumour that Elwood House might be investing in the new generation wines and suddenly they might be interested after all.’

Angie laughed down the cellphone. ‘Turns out your mother was right. The Elwood Brothers connection has paid off.’

Rick exhaled slowly, pushed back his stiff shoulders and flicked through the research information on the people he was going to have to convince to take him seriously.

‘Got it. I should be there in about ten minutes. And thanks for sorting out things at the London end, Angie.’

‘No problem. We have an hour before the presentation. Catch up with you soon.’

Rick closed down the phone and stared at it for a few seconds before popping back into his pocket with a snort.

So that was how the game was played.

The top wine experts he needed were only prepared to turn up and listen to what he had to say if he had the credibility of a famous name in the wine trade like Elwood Brothers behind him.

Yet another example of exactly the kind of old world narrow-minded network he detested. Instead of asking what he could bring to the business, all they were looking for was the validation of the old and worthy established family of wine merchants.

Rick exhaled slowly.

Was this how it was going to be from now on?

This was not his life! His life was base jumping and pushing his body to the limit under blue skies and cold air. Not walking into a conference room and selling the idea for Rick Burgess Wines to closed minded traditional hotel owners who had already made up their minds before they heard that he said.

He was about to take the biggest leap in his life and launch a flagship wine store in the centre of London. His name above the door. His future on the line.

Only this time it was not about him or his reputation as a daredevil sportsman. This time it was about passion. A passion for life, a passion for wine, and a new passion for championing small businesses.

Rick Burgess the mountaineer. Rick Burgess the champion paraglider. And now Rick Burgess the wine merchant. Same passion. Same determination to prove that he was up to the challenge he had set himself, even if it had been foisted onto him.

Frustration burned through his veins.

He inhaled slowly, pushed off from the railing and strode away over the bridge.

He needed this to work for the employees and winemakers who relied on him and for his parents who were still locked inside their grief.

He had the presentation in his head. He had time to spare to calm down and clear his head before facing one of the greatest challenges in his life. Bring it on.

Ten minutes later Rick turned the corner towards the address that Angie had given him, his hands in the trouser pockets of his designer denims and the breeze at his back.

A flock of pigeons swooped down in front of him into the tall oak and London plane trees which filled the small residential square. Families and dog walkers flittered between ornamental flower beds and wooden benches in the broken sunshine. On the face of it, just another quiet city square.

But one thing was certain, in the crazy world that was his life—you never knew what to expect.

Like now, for example.

It wasn’t every day that you saw an executive secretary having a row with a delivery driver in the middle of a prestigious London street, but it certainly made a change from dodging tiny dogs on glittery leads. Even if the pretty girls on the other end of those leads had been trying to catch his eye.

Rick slowed his steps.

He needed to take some time out before facing an incredulous wine buyer around a conference table in some soulless, stuffy meeting room. Or the first person to mention the words ‘dead man’s shoes’ would end up being decked, which would be a seriously bad move in more ways than one.

This was a far more entertaining option.

His girl was standing with her pretty hands splayed out on both hips and she was definitely a secretary but an executive one.

She was wearing a slim-fitting skirt suit in that strange shade of grey which his mother liked, but had never clinched a tiny waist with a cream coloured sash. He could just make out the tiny band of cream fabric at the cuffs of the jacket. Her long, sleek sandy coloured hair was gathered into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck.

Her very lovely long, smooth neck.

Now that was a neck he could look at all day.

As he watched, the shorter older man in the overalls who she was talking to in a low, patient, but very assertive voice, which reminded him of his junior school headmistress, suddenly shrugged, gave her a ‘nothing to do with me’ flick of both hands, jumped into a white delivery van and drove off, leaving the city girl standing on the pavement, watching the tail lights of the van disappear around the corner.

She stood frozen to the spot for a few seconds, her mouth slightly open, and then turned to glare at a pair of large shiny navy blue ceramic pots which were standing next to her on the pavement.

A five feet tall cone of what looked to Rick like a green cypress tree spilled out over the top of each planter then whirled upwards in some deformed mutant spiral shape which had nothing to do with nature and everything to do with so-called style.

Rick looked at the two plants and then back to the girl, who had started to pace up and down the pavement in platform high heeled slingback shoes, which most of the girls at his mother’s office back in California seemed to wear.

Not exactly the best footwear for moving heavy pots.

But they certainly did the trick when it came the highlighting a pair of gorgeous legs with shapely ankles.

So what if he was a leg man and proud? And she had brightened up his morning.

He could make time for some excellent distraction activity.

‘Good morning,’ he said in a bright casual voice. ‘Do you need some help with those?’

Her feet kept walking up and down. ‘Do you have a trolley handy?’

He patted his pockets. ‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Then thank you but no.’ She nodded, then stopped and stared at the huge plants, with the fingers of one hand pressed against her forehead as though she was trying to come up with a solution.

‘Good thing it’s not raining.’ He smiled. ‘In fact it is turning out to be a lovely September morning.’

Her head slowly turned towards him and Rick was punched straight in the jaw by a pair of the most stunning pale blue eyes that he had ever seen. The colour of the sky over Mont Blanc at dawn. Wild cornflowers in an alpine meadow.

Dark eyelashes clashed against the creamy clear complexion and high elegant cheekbones. Full-blown lips were outlined in a delicious shade of blush lipstick, and as she gawped at him a faint white smile caught him by surprise.

‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ She blinked. ‘But, if you’ll excuse me, I really do need to find some way of moving these plants—’ she flung the flat edge of her hand towards the nearest plant and almost knocked it flying ‘—from the pavement into my porch and some time in the next ten minutes would be good.’

‘The delivery driver?’ he asked casually.

She sniffed and closed her eyes, teeth gritted tight together, then lifted her chin and smiled. ‘Bad back. Not part of his job description. Just delivery to the kerbside.’ Her voice lifted into a slightly hysterical giggle. ‘Apparently he was expecting a team of porters to be all ready and waiting. Porters! As if I could afford porters. Unbelievable.’

‘Ah. I understand completely,’ Rick replied, nodding slowly and scratching his chin, which seemed rather stubblier than he had expected. ‘May I make a suggestion?’

She glanced up at him through her eyelashes as she pulled out a cellphone, and sighed out loud. ‘Thank you again, but I can manage very well on my own and I am sure that you have some urgent business to attend to. Somewhere else. In the meantime, I need to call a burly bloke moving company. So good morning and have a nice day.’

Rick chuckled under his breath. It was not often that pretty girls gave him the brush-off and maybe a city girl had reasons to be cautious.

‘Did your mother tell you not to talk to strangers? Relax. I can spare five minutes to help a lady in distress.’

Her fingers paused and she glared up at him, her eyebrows lifted in disbelief. ‘Distress?’ There was just enough amusement in her voice to make him take one step forward, but she instantly held up a hand. ‘You are mistaken. I am not in distress. I don’t do distress. I have never done distress, and I have no intention of starting now. Look.’ She popped her phone in her jacket pocket and gingerly wrapped her fingertips around the edge of a pot. And tried to lift it an inch closer.

The pot did not move and she threw a single glance up at him, daring him to say something, but he simply smiled, which seemed to infuriate her even more.

This time she squared her shoulders, gritted her teeth and bent slightly at the knees to go at it again. The pot wobbled slightly then shuddered back to the ground as she hissed in disbelief and stood back with a look on her face as though she wanted to kick the pot hard.

Rick had seen enough. He stepped forward and gently took her arm. ‘No need for that. You have all the lifting power you need right here. It’s a simple matter of leverage.’

‘Leverage!’ She laughed and nodded. ‘In these shoes? I don’t think so.’

‘I could move those pots for you. No problem.’

Biting down on her lower lip, the suit looked up at him and he could feel her gaze take in his new Italian boots, denims and leather biker jacket, slowly inching its way up his body until their eyes locked.

And stayed locked.

He watched her expression change as she mentally jostled between necessity and asking for help, which was clearly something she didn’t like to do.

Necessity won.

Her tongue flicked out and moistened her lips before she lifted her chin and asked, ‘What exactly did you have in mind?’