Two days before Vinnie’s twenty-sixth birthday he decided to do something spontaneous and take a holiday. It was time to get away, far, far away, and cool his heels somewhere exotic. The brush with Marcus and his operation had left him badly shaken. The Finn never came back to claim his packing case, and the fake Prada, Gucci and Chanel handbags and shoes were too good an opportunity to miss. They were brilliantly made, and he sold them for £90 each.
At the same time he was offered two dozen bottles of fine wine in exchange for a bathroom lot of Italian marble tiles literally off the back of a truck. The wine proved to be a superb drinking experience, so, on the spur of the moment, with a full glass in hand, he decided on a crash course in wine appreciation.
That same day he flew to Paris and hired a car. He drove slowly through France to Italy, stopping at vineyards and châteaux, sampling at wine shops and cellar doors, and questioning anyone who spoke enough English. When he posed as a rep for an importing business, he found the owners were more than happy to talk and ply him with samples.
After three weeks on the road, he arrived in Tuscany and found a local pensione. The delightful hosts recommended an isolated family restaurant in the hills behind the villa, so he drove up there and ordered an evening meal. The view over vineyards and olive groves was rustic and peaceful, a long way from the sterile concrete of the city. He settled back and surveyed the scene as he sipped his Prosecco and nibbled on a plate of antipasto. There was something about wine, food, the setting sun …
‘Swap you half this tart for what’s left of your pasta.’
The accent was American. He turned to his left to observe them, two women in their early to mid-twenties. One was blonde; the other, taller, a brunette.
After he finished his antipasto, he got up and walked over to them. ‘Excuse me for interrupting, but, as the only other English-speaking person here, I thought I would introduce myself. I’m Vinnie Whitney-Ross.’
The brunette looked up and smiled. ‘You’re excused. I’m Anna, Anna Adams, and this is Belinda Miles.’ Her accent was English.
The blonde gave him a small smile.
‘Are you here on holiday?’ he asked.
Anna nodded. ‘We’ve rented a villa down the road for a few days. We’ve just finished a cookery course in Rome. Would you like to join us?’
He saw the slight irritation cross Belinda’s face, but his interest was elsewhere so he chose to ignore it. ‘I’d love to. Will you criticise the food I’ve chosen?’
She laughed. ‘Only the dessert. I’m a chocolatier and Belinda’s a pastry chef’.’
He waved to the waiter then fetched his chair. The man brought him new cutlery and his half-bottle of Prosecco.
‘Dessert is probably the hardest course to match. I’m on a wine trip, and food matching has been a fascinating part of the journey,’ he said.
Belinda waved a forkful of pasta in his direction. ‘Depends on the dessert,’ she said.
‘White chocolate crème brûlée with raspberries – love brûlée, chocoholic. You do know that chocolate absorbs alcohol in the bloodstream?’
Belinda looked at him as if he were an idiot. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Every chocoholic in the world knows it for a fact. And chocolate biscuits leak calories if you break them. Two of the world’s most necessary food groups – wine and chocolate.’
Anna shot him a stunning smile, and he felt his stomach give a slight heave, as though a trough full of butterflies had suddenly been released.
‘I was very tempted by that dessert myself,’ she said, ‘but I’ve ordered the mousse.’
‘An aged Tokaji or a Muscat,’ Belinda said, ‘with white chocolate.’
There was a pause.
‘So, what prompted a wine trip?’ Anna asked.
He settled back in his chair and sipped the wine. ‘As W C Fields said: “What contemptible scoundrel stole the cork from my lunch?”’
Anna gave a bark of laughter, while Belinda looked as though she had heard the quotation a hundred times before. ‘So you’re a wine buff?’ There was an edge of sarcasm in her question.
‘No. I think I’d have to say I’m a wine bluff. But I intend to learn as much as I can, as quickly as I can.’
Suddenly Anna looked up and pointed at him. ‘Actually, we’re going to Castello Banfi tomorrow. There’s a museum in the castle and a taverna for lunch, with some truly exceptional wines. Why don’t you come with us?’
Belinda was about to open her mouth, when Vinnie leaned across the table and shook the hand that was still pointing in his direction. He smiled into her eyes. Result.
‘Miss Adams, I’d be delighted to accept your invitation. You are too, too, kind.’