Arthur Waldberg sat across the polished table from Max in the tasting room’s private dining room and sipped from each of five glasses. “Do you mind if I take notes?”
“Please do.”
Arthur pulled a small leather notebook out of his shirt pocket, removed the miniature stainless steel pen from the loop that held it closed and meticulously marked 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 on the sheet.
Max watched in amusement and some relief. If this man had the slightest knowledge of wines, and his résumé claimed that he did, he was their new wine room manager. They needed someone who was organized, precise and who understood how to hire and supervise the personnel necessary to run a busy and successful winery tasting room. Max had been handling everything since their last manager had been lured away by the rival Whistling Winds Winery, and it had eaten into the time Max needed to be spending with Kellen and Rae.
If he could somehow figure out how to bring those two together, he knew they would relate as mother and daughter. He saw the similarities between them every day and saw, too, that fear Kellen so carefully hid; to fall in love with a man, with him, would leave her vulnerable, but to fall in love with her own child... Nothing could hurt so much.
Arthur tasted again, clearing his palate between each sip with a sliver of bread, finished his notes and said, “This glass—” he pointed “—is a classic Italian blend. Sangiovese, cabernet sauvignon and cabernet franc. This glass is, not surprisingly, pinot noir. This wine has cork taint.” He pushed it away. “The white is Arneis, a wine I haven’t tasted since my last visit to Northern Italy. And this last is a quite insipid rosé.”
Max met his eyes steadily, sternly. “What if I told you I blended the rosé?”
“Then I would tell you to keep to the organizational part of the winery.”
“That’s what my vintner says, too.” Max sighed. It took a special knack to blend wines, and he had proved time and again that he didn’t have it. For a man who was used to being good at everything, it was a lowering experience. “Your references are impeccable—” for a relative unknown in the wine world “—but at this moment, I can safely say I’d like to discuss the conditions of your employment.”
“I’m not worried about salary. You have a reputation for being openhanded with your employees. Insurance is important, of course. But my only real condition is that as the positions open, I’d like the opportunity to bring in some of my people.”
Max was taken aback. “Are you saying you’d run off the current employees to bring in your friends?”
“Not at all! I have the greatest empathy for those who are gainfully employed and are willing to work to stay that way. But inevitably in this business, there is a turnover. Young people go back to school, better job offers come along, the chance to travel becomes irresistible.”
“Is that why you’re here? You wished to travel beyond European wineries?”
“I wish to take a good winery to a great winery. I wish to grow a label from regional renown to world dominance. It takes the right wine for that kind of success, and the Oregon Di Luca wines are capable of making the transition.” Arthur preached like an old-fashioned evangelist who had found his audience. “Are you interested, Mr. Di Luca, in that opportunity?”
“Hmm. Sure.” Max scratched his cheek. “How?”
“You’ll see. You’ll be the person interviewing my friends, so of course the final decision to hire permanently or not would be yours. But I can safely promise that if you’re on board with the idea of expanding Di Luca wines into a greater market, you will be satisfied with my suggestions.”
Max stared at the prissy, exacting man across the table. Max knew he was good—anyone employed by top-end wineries in Germany, Spain and France had to be good. He’d proved his expertise with the wine tasting. But the man was frankly odd and something struck him as not quite right...
The door opened, and his mother stuck her head in the door. In an impatient voice, she asked, “Max, where is Rae? I’ve been waiting in the car. She’s going to be late for camp.”
Max looked up without surprise.
Arthur got to his feet and bowed formally from the waist.
“Mother, this is Arthur Waldberg. He’s interviewing as winery manager.”
Verona looked at Arthur in disbelief. “Are you?”
Max knew why she was surprised. Most wine room managers were younger, disheveled in a trendy way and very aware of themselves. Arthur Waldberg looked as if he was sixty, thin, clean-shaven, wore an expensive tailored black suit, white shirt and discreet blue tie with a diamond tie pin. To Max, he was as fussy with his dress as he was with his tasting, totally uncaring of what was trendy, and those were more points in his favor.
Verona came forward to shake Arthur’s hand. “Where have you previously worked?”
“Mostly Europe.” He cradled her hand.
“Dove sei vissuto in Europa?” A test; she spoke Italian fluently.
“In Francia, Germania, Spagna. Ovunque creano vino.” His dark eyes glinted as he answered just as fluently.
“Bene.” She looked at her hand, smiled, then disengaged from his grip. “Max? About Rae?”
“Did you check her room? She probably got distracted sneaking Princess Gigi into her new princess bag.”
“I did, and her room is a mess. Max, you’ve got to get tough on that girl or she’s going to spend her life thinking everyone else is going to pick up after her.” Verona’s voice dropped into ominous disapproval mode. “You can’t say you feel bad because she hasn’t got a mother. She has one now.”
Verona was a handsome woman, tall, spare, stern and protective of her family, and when Rae was born, she had been their savior. She had showed him how to care for an infant, tended Rae when he went to the hospital to visit Kellen or to work at the office and never made him feel guilty for intruding on what should have been her retirement from teaching. When Kellen disappeared, Verona had been his support, had moved with him from Pennsylvania to Oregon, understanding his need to go someplace away from the trauma of his tortured romance. She hadn’t exactly intruded on his relationship with Rae; he would never say that. But she had been the final word on scheduling and discipline.
So while he loved his mother, Kellen’s return had not gone well, and it was mostly Verona’s fault. Verona could not quite believe Kellen had forgotten Max, couldn’t conceive that a woman didn’t remember giving birth and resented Kellen’s invasion into the smooth tenor of their lives.
Yet Kellen hadn’t really attempted to intrude; Max wished she cared enough about Rae to do so. But every time Rae observed Kellen’s actions and mannerisms, then imitated her behavior, Verona bristled.
Arthur Waldberg cleared his throat. “Should I...go out and wait?”
Max made his decision. “No. Stay.” He scribbled a salary on his sheet, inserted it into the employment package folder, and pushed it across the table. “If that amount and the conditions of employment are agreeable to you, go out to the tasting room and take up the management reins.”
“And?” Arthur raised his brows.
“Sure. Expand the operation as you see fit. Bring in your people as needed; I won’t interfere unless I see a problem. I’ll check in occasionally to see how it’s going.” Max wasn’t too worried; he kept pretty close tabs on all operations. “The old manager took three of my best employees with him. Bring in your friends for an interview.”
Arthur smiled, an amused crooked smile. “Eventually, when you trust me, I’ll be allowed to hire my own employees?”
“Yes. When I know and trust you. Now excuse me, I have to go find my daughter.” Max held the door for his mother to precede him.
“Maybe she turned into LightningBug and flew away,” Verona said.
“LightningBug?” Max headed out the back door toward the house.
“That superhero name she made up for herself.”
“LightningBlast.”
“No, it’s definitely morphed into LightningBug.”
Max laughed shortly and ran up the stairs to Rae’s room. He half expected to find her there, dressing her princess dolls in superheroine clothes, oblivious to the time. But she didn’t respond to his calls, and the floor was suspiciously clean of dolls or clothes or tiny high heels, and her pink princess bag was nowhere to be found.
That wasn’t right.
In fact, that was very wrong.
He toured the second floor, calling Rae’s name.
His mother yelled, “Max!”
He ran down to the main level.
“Max!” Verona’s broken voice lured him into the master bedroom. Verona stood by the bedside, holding a crinkled page of lined notebook paper in her shaking hands.
His heartbeat picked up, going from slightly concerned to something-is-really-wrong in a second. He took the paper, saw the drawing of two caped females, one big and one little, and read Rae’s childish scrawl:
Daddy, I’m with Mommy on ad vencher...
He gave a roar of horror and grabbed for his phone.