Читать книгу Blame It on the Champagne - Нина Харрингтон - Страница 7

Must-Do list

• Make sure that the new spiral box trees are arranged very elegantly either side of the main entrance. This is bound to impress the clients and set the right tone.

• Try and forget how much these two trees cost and watch out for dogs!

• Come up with a brilliant plan to shamelessly but unobtrusively use these wine folks to bring in more business.

IT WAS THE long green twirly plants on sticks that were the problem.

Rick had worked out a way of lifting up the edge of the heavy planter using a wooden door wedge then tipping it forward just enough to use the pot as a lever, but the moment he started to roll the bottom rim of the china pot along on one edge, the plant started waving out of control in all directions across the pavement like some demented flagpole, causing mayhem with the pedestrians.

It was amazing how the street seemed to fill up with girls pushing baby buggies, dog walkers and children in the space of ten minutes, but after two narrow escapes where his secretary had to dodge out of the way or risk getting a tree branch in her eye, Rick had managed to roll one planter all the way from the pavement to the patio without causing serious injury to people or the china base.

‘Brilliant,’ she gushed, trying to catch her breath after waving away a dog with a full bladder. ‘One small step and we’re there!’

Rick scratched his chin. ‘Tip and shuffle. I tip the pot back and then roll it slightly forward until the edge is on the step. But someone has to hold the greenery out of the way when it swings onto the step. Two man job. Are you up for it?’

He looked up into her face and his breath caught. Close up, he could see that her flawless creamy skin was not a product of pristine grooming and clever make-up but natural beauty which went beyond pretty without being in-your-face gorgeous. The splash of cream at her neck was a perfect contrast to her brown hair and eyebrows and seemed to make her pale blue eyes even more startling.

He had never seen eyes that colour on a girl before but everything about her screamed out that he was talking to a real English rose.

‘Absolutely,’ she replied with a quick nod and reached for the bottom of the tree. ‘Let’s do it. Ready? Yes? Go! Oh, ouch. It got me. Almost there. Done!’

Rick stood back, peered at the pot from several angles then leant forward and shifted it to the left slightly.

‘That’s better.’

‘Better! It’s fantastic. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along. Thank you so much… Oh, I’m sorry, how rude of me. I don’t even know your name…’

‘Just call me Rick,’ he replied with a wave of one hand. ‘And it was my pleasure, Miss…’

‘Rick! You found it.’

He half turned as Angie bounded up the pavement towards them, her huge shoulder bag bouncing over one shoulder and a bulging document folder stuffed under her arm and stretched out her hand towards his secretary.

‘Miss Elwood, lovely to meet you. Angie Roberts—we talked on the phone earlier. Thanks again for fitting us in at such short notice. What a fabulous house. And I can see that you have already met my boss.’

‘Thank you, Angie, and welcome to Elwood House. If you would like to come inside and…’ She paused, opened her mouth, closed it again, inhaled slowly and turned back to face him. ‘Your boss?’

Rick pushed his shoulders back and glanced sideways at the high gloss painted door of the house whose porch he was standing in. The words ‘Elwood House’ were engraved in a curvy elegant font on a small brass plaque attached to the stone portico.

It would appear that he had arrived at his destination.

And his English rose was one of the Elwood dynasty.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. So this was the hardened old wine merchant he was going to be making his sales pitch to! Well, that showed him. How wrong could he be?

‘Rick Burgess.’ He grinned into his secretary’s stunned face. ‘Apparently you are expecting us.’

Rick braced his shoulder on the ornate white marble fireplace in what had been the elegant, huge formal dining room of Elwood House and held the colour brochure for Rick Burgess Wines in one hand as he watched Saskia Elwood glide effortlessly around the sunlit room.

The back split in her slender, elegant pencil skirt fanned open just enough to give him a tantalising glimpse of a pair of very long slender legs above shapely ankles. Not immodest. Oh no. Demure and classy, but tantalising all the same. Just enough to fire up his imagination.

She was impressive.

Every one of his sales team she spoke to looked away from the press release and winemaker portfolios that Angie had passed around to smile up at Saskia and spend a few minutes chatting before going back to their work with that smile still on their lips.

The men and women in the room knew talent when they saw it. Not everyone was able to put a guest instantly at ease. They had expected Saskia to treat them as sales people who were worthy of a cup of instant coffee and a plain biscuit. Well, she had confounded their expectations by treating every one of his four-person team as a guest and potential client in her private meeting venue. Their coffee and tea had been served from silverware with the most delicious homemade pastries and canapés.

Very clever. He liked clever. Even if it was obvious to him what she was doing.

His sales people were going to be working with clients from the finest hotels and private homes around London, and Saskia had already worked that out. She might be hosting a sales meeting, but there was no reason why she could not sell them the benefits of Elwood House at the same time.

Their hostess was elegant, warm, unpretentious and genuinely interested in her clients. Attentive to their needs, but not intrusive or overfamiliar.

It was precisely what the hospitality industry was all about. And Saskia Elwood had it in spades. He loved watching experts at work. He always had. And the lovely lady of the house was at that moment giving him a master class in exactly the type of customer service he was going to expect in the flagship London face of Burgess Wine.

He glanced back down at his phone. Ten more emails. All from his mother. All wanting urgent updates.

Rick exhaled slowly. A well buried part of his brain knew that she was concerned about him, while the upfront and only too blatant part screamed out a message loud and clear: They don’t think you can pull this off. After two years of hard work you are still the black sheep who is never going to be taken seriously. So you might as well give up now and go back to the sports where you are the best!

No. Not going to happen. He had made a commitment and he was going to see it through, no matter what it took. Rick Burgess had not risen to the top of his sport by being a quitter.

Strange how his gaze shifted automatically up from the screen towards the slim woman in the pale grey suit, refilling an elegant coffee pot.

Her light brown straight hair was tied loosely back in a shell clip at the base of her neck, which on any other woman would look too casual, but somehow looked exactly right. She knew exactly what she looked like and had taken time to perfect her appearance. Subtle day time make-up, but with skin that clear she didn’t need anything but a slick of colour on her lips. This woman knew that her eyes were her best feature and made the best of them. Her eyes were totally riveting. Those eyes captured your attention and held it tight.

Just as they were doing right now as she looked across and flashed him a glance.

Rick slid into a comfortable dining chair and instantly refocused on the business proposal, making notes on the points still to be resolved as he scanned down the snag list. But all the while his left hand tapped out a beat on the fine table and curiosity pricked his skin.

Maybe that was her secret? That hot body that every man in the room had probably already visualised, which lay under that surface layer of clothing. Tempting the men and impressing the women. She could turn on the heat for the men and the friendly girl power for the ladies.

A clever girl with a hot body wrapped in a teasing and intriguing package.

A frisson of excitement and anticipation sparked across Rick’s mind.

It would be quite a coup if he could sign up Margot Elwood’s niece to stock his wines and serve them to her guests before the store even opened.

Perhaps that would be the proof he needed to convince his parents that their reckless and, in their eyes, feckless second son would not let them down after all?

Now all he had to do was talk her into it.

Rick glanced around the table. Everyone was seated. They had their promotional material and Saskia was already scanning each page.

The game was on!

‘I have just spent the last two years tracking down the finest wine from the new wave of young winemakers all over Europe and persuading them to supply it exclusively to my new flagship wine store right here in central London. Every wine on our list has been personally chosen and vetted.’

‘You can say the same thing about every family run wine shop in London, Mr Burgess,’ the girl he now knew as Saskia Elwood replied in a light soft voice as her pen tapped onto the cover of his glossy brochure. ‘Standards are high.’

‘Yes, I know. You heard it all before. But this is new. This is a direct personal connection between the winemaker and the consumer.’

‘How confident are you that these new cellars will deliver?’ she asked. ‘A new prestigious wine store in the centre of London is one thing, but what assurances can you give me that these winemakers will come back to you year after year? I need to know that I can rely on a guaranteed supply of any wine I add to my list.’

Rick caught her sideways sigh and downward glance but, instead of stomping on her, he grinned and saluted. Her question had not been asked in an angry or accusatory tone. Far from it. She genuinely wanted to hear his answer.

‘Great point. What can I give you? My energy and my commitment. I took the time to travel to the vineyards and meet these winemakers. It was not always easy to persuade them to work exclusively with Burgess Wine, but there’s one thing I know from my work as a sportsman. Passion recognises passion. These young winemakers have invested everything they have because they are obsessive about creating the most amazing wines using modern and traditional techniques. I see that in them. That’s why I want to champion these ten small family estates because that is the only way I can guarantee that there will never be such a thing as a boring wine ever again.’

He walked around the table slowly, gesturing to the impressive brochure his parents’ marketing team had spent weeks perfecting.

‘Right now there’s a team of marketing experts back in the Californian headquarters for Burgess Wine working on websites for each of the individual growers. When you buy a bottle from this store you will have access to everything you need to know about the wine and the passion of the person who made it. I think that’s special.’

‘Sometimes passion is not enough, Mr Burgess. You need to have the experience and expertise to create a remarkable wine. And these new winemakers are still learning the trade. Not everybody is as… adventurous as you are.’

Rick wrapped his hands around the back of the solid antique dining chair and nodded down the table, making sure that he could capture the attention of Saskia and the three new members of his sales team.

‘They don’t have to be. The ten growers I’ve chosen are all part of a mentoring scheme I’ve created with well-established major winemakers who have been supplying Burgess Wine customers for years. My parents are happy to invest in the wines we select.’

‘Don’t you mean the wines you select?’ Saskia asked with a touch of surprise in her voice. From where he was standing, Rick could see that her gaze was locked onto the back cover of the brochure, which carried an impressive colour photograph of Rick in full climbing gear on a snowy mountain. ‘If I am reading this correctly,’ she whispered, ‘you already have a career as a professional sportsman, Mr Burgess. Does this new store mean that you have turned your back on adventure sports?’

And there it was. Just when he thought he might leave his past behind for a couple of hours and be taken seriously.

Rick pressed the fingers of one hand tight into his palm and fought back his anger. He had to stay frosty.

‘Let’s just say that I’m focusing on the less hazardous aspects. I haven’t broken anything important in years and I have every intention of staying around for a lot longer. So much wine, so little time!’

A ripple of laughter ran around the room but he could almost hear the unspoken question in the air which even his sales team were not prepared to ask out loud but were obviously thinking.

What would happen to this store if Rick Burgess jumped off some mountain with a parachute strapped to his back and the wind caught him and sent him crashing against the rocks before he could regain control?

It could happen. In fact it had already happened. One accident only a few months after Tom died.

How could he forget that day? It had been his first trip to the mountains since the funeral and he’d needed it as badly as any other addict needed that cigarette or fix of their choice.

The oppressive atmosphere of the family home and the overwhelming grief had finally become too much to bear and there was only one way he knew to try and get some balance and peace back into his life. Not trapped in a house all day staring at the four walls until he wanted to hit a wall. And go on hitting it until the pain subsided.

He needed to climb a high mountain with a specialised parachute strapped to his back. He needed to feel the rush of adrenalin as the wind caught in the parachute and he felt the power of the air lift him into the sky.

Free. Soaring like a bird. Released from the pain and trauma and grief of Tom’s death.

This was what he did. This was what had taken him to the awards podium of the European paragliding championships for three years in a row.

And for ten minutes of glorious tranquil flying in long winding curves he had been precisely where he wanted to be. Doing what he loved best.

Until one simple gust of wind in the wrong direction had ruined an otherwise perfect day.

But that was all it had taken to leave him with a broken collarbone and a badly sprained ankle.

His parents had been shocked and traumatised and full of complaints about how reckless and uncaring he had been. How very selfish and irresponsible. But that was nothing compared to the fall in the company credibility in the press.

The media loved to see a reclusive, obsessive sportsman with the golden touch take a fall. And this accident had given them the ammunition they needed to focus on one thing—his lifestyle.

Tom Burgess had been a strategic genius. But his brother Rick? What was he going to bring to the business? He might have taken Tom’s seat on the board but maybe the company was taking too much of a risk by bringing in their untrained and reckless second son.

Suddenly major wine producers who had supplied Burgess Wine for years were sucking in their cheeks and wincing about the management team at Burgess Wine.

Never mind the fact that he’d worked tirelessly to be a world-class paraglider and reach the top of this field. Never mind that he was prepared to give the same energy and determination to Burgess Wine and the family business that his brother Tom had transformed into an international company.

Never mind that he had spent the last two years since Tom’s death coming up to speed with the business to the point where his family were prepared to even listen to his ideas, despite their misgivings.

Time to make this deal swing his way. Time to take one of those risks he had become famous for. He needed buyers like Saskia Elwood to be interested and excited in this idea, not for himself but for his parents, who had taken a leap of faith. And for every one of the ten small businesses who trusted him with their future.

Rick strolled around the dining table in the sumptuous room towards the head of the table and caught Angie’s eye with a quick nod. She instantly slipped out of the room and returned a few minutes later with two silver ice buckets and gently placed them onto silver platters on the fine polished wood table.

‘Why don’t I let the wine do the talking for me?’ Rick smiled and nodded towards the slim wine bottles poking their heads out of the ice buckets. ‘Angie tells me that the sample cases are on their way here now, Saskia, but I thought you might like to try something special. A late harvest dessert wine from a single estate in Alsace which is turning out to be one of my favourite discoveries. Are you willing to give it a try?’

‘Of course,’ Saskia replied, slightly irritated that he thought it appropriate to choose the wine for her. But, as Angie went round 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?’