Chapter 12 #2
He, as usual, dodged any questions about himself.
I realized that I’d learned more about him from Jin, Lucie, and even my grandmother than I had from the man himself.
He was like that mysterious bottle of wine I’d stumbled across in his cellar with just the winery’s name and a year scribbled in ink on a piece of scotch tape.
It just made me want to discover what was inside.
And I was determined to by the end of the trip.
When we reached Hermitage, I dug my wine atlas out of my suitcase to learn the composition and general character of the wine before we met with the producer.
I was glad I did because, to my absolute astonishment, Jake told the winemaker that he was recovering from a cold and suggested I do the tasting.
“Are you sure?” I asked as we followed the winemaker into his tasting room.
“Yeah, you have an excellent palate. I trust you.” The compliment was so unexpected that I nearly tripped over the stairs.
The added pressure made my hands shake as I went through the steps of tasting the six different vintages he’d set out: swirling (I still hadn’t mastered the freehand swirl), sniffing, sipping, and then spitting into a little silver bucket.
My initial self-consciousness subsided as I tasted each wine; some had notes of ripe blackberry and tobacco, others were more peppery and earthy.
Even I could tell these were big wines, and when I placed the final order with the winemaker’s wife, the price per bottle only confirmed it.
It wasn’t every day that I spent more than a year’s salary before noon.
Jake needed to sign the orders, so I went to look for him outside and found him in the vines with the winemaker, his tall, broad frame cut into striking relief against the slightly hazy white sky.
The conversation was agitated—they almost seemed to be arguing—but when he came back to approve the order he was as cool and collected as usual.
He didn’t even blink at the price of the order I’d placed.
On the way to Lyon though, he was quiet and unreadable. Then, once we’d reached the city limits, he seemed to shake off whatever dark cloud had been hanging over him and gave me a brief overview of the culinary history of the city. “I’ll take you on a quick tour after lunch,” he promised.
I’d already noticed that Jake didn’t drink much recreationally, and when he did, it was never wine.
That was the case at lunch with Louis, a local wine agent with a large, pockmarked face and meaty hands.
Louis ordered a bottle of wine to go with each of the endless plates of food he selected from the menu, but Jake never drank anything and barely touched the food.
I, on the other hand, more than made up for Jake’s lack of appetite.
As Jake and Louis discussed business in a mix of English and rapid-fire French, Louis kept scooping food onto my plate and refilling my glass.
Never once did I protest, inhaling a variety of peppery saucisson , followed by frisée salad with poached egg and something called cervelle des canuts —a soft farmer’s cheese speckled with fresh herbs.
By the time I got to the quenelles , dumplings in a rich lobster sauce, I was convinced I was in a fever dream.
Through my food-induced haze, I eavesdropped on their conversation, which had turned to a new festival that was taking place that week. “If you’re going to be in the area, we would love to have you judge the sommelier competition. Thomas will be there.”
Jake tensed, his hand gripping his fork tightly. “No, that doesn’t interest me.”
“Nothing interests you anymore.” Louis laughed, slapping his big hand on the red and white checked tablecloth. “Be careful, my friend!”
“Fine. I’ll do it,” Jake said curtly, taking a drink of water.
By the time we left the restaurant, I was so full of wine and food, I could barely walk. When I stumbled over a cobblestone, Jake caught me and smiled wryly. “So much for tours, you don’t seem to be in any condition to walk.”
“I can walk,” I objected as I steadied myself on his arm.
“Okay, mademoiselle. How much do you want to bet you’ll be fast asleep, drooling against the window, before we get back on the highway?” Jake teased. Wrapping an arm around me, he let me lean into him as we walked back to the car.
“I’m not tired and I don’t drool,” I argued as he helped me into my seat. My eyelids grew heavy, but I was determined to prove him wrong.
* * *
I had no idea how long I’d slept. When I woke up with my head against the car window (not drooling, thankfully), we’d left the highway and were surrounded by rolling hills covered with rows upon rows of verdant vines.
“Oh, wow, what is that?” I asked, pointing to what looked like a medieval castle in the distance, its pointed turrets peeking through a line of trees.
“The Chateau de Savigny.” Jake’s deep voice rumbled through me, straight to my core. I clenched my thighs together. “How long was I asleep?”
“You were unconscious for over an hour, sleeping beauty.”
“Oh no, I wanted to see the scenery! What did I miss?”
“Not much. Just lots of highway.”
“It was all the food and wine.” I yawned and tried to stretch discreetly. “I wasn’t even hungry at the end but just kept eating.”
Jake’s lip twitched. “Occupational hazard.”
“You didn’t drink anything,” I said finally, giving into my curiosity about why someone who’d made wine his whole career—his whole life really—didn’t seem to enjoy it. “Actually, I’ve noticed that you don’t drink much at all.”
He shook his head and turned onto a smaller road. “No.”
From the way his fingers tightened around the steering wheel and his voice took on a crisper edge, I knew that we’d reached the end of that discussion.
I’d drop the subject for now, but I was determined to get to the bottom of it before this trip was over because I was convinced it was a major piece of the Jake Vos puzzle.
At the end of road, we pulled up in front of a large two-story farmhouse where we were greeted by a frantic German Shepherd. He ran up to the car barking madly as I tried to peel myself from the leather seat.
“Whoa, King, assis !” A sharp woman’s voice came from the direction of the barn, followed shortly by the woman herself—a blonde in her mid-forties wearing jeans and a striped T-shirt.
Her short hair and mischievous grin gave her an impish appearance that contrasted with her raspy voice.
She was clearly overjoyed to see Jake, enfolding him in her tan arms and thumping him on the back as she kissed his cheeks.
Her eyes widened with surprise when she saw me, and she smiled, revealing a large gap in her front teeth. “My goodness, Jin. How you’ve changed!”
“Jin had to fly to Shanghai. It’s a long story,” Jake explained as he introduced us. “Clémence, this is Olivia. She’s helping us out this summer. Clémence and her sister, Claire, run the Domaine des Deux Collines.”
“Welcome, Olivia. I hope you had a nice trip.” Clémence embraced me warmly, placing two kisses on my cheeks. “My sister will be back shortly. Would you like coffee, tea?”
“Coffee would be wonderful,” I said as Jake gathered our bags from the trunk. “Oh, are we staying here?”
“Of course! Jake is like family. We wouldn’t hear of him staying anywhere else.
” Well, this certainly put a hitch in Operation Seduction.
So much for late nights and hot sex in roadside inns.
Yet, my temporary disappointment was tempered by my pleasure in staying at a working winery and getting to know Jake’s friends.
We followed Clémence into a wood-paneled kitchen.
It obviously hadn’t been redone since the 1980s, but with its low ceiling and terra-cotta floors it felt cozy and familiar, as if I had just walked into my grandmother’s kitchen.
The dog wound around Clémence’s feet as she put a kettle on the gas stove.
“Your English is incredible, Clémence,” I said. “You have hardly any accent.”
“That’s because I spent six years studying agronomy at University of Davis.
” Clémence placed a bowl of fresh cherries in front of me.
“I love California, but I don’t think I could live in the US now.
Like you, Jake.” She leaned over and pretended to whisper.
“He’s very happy not having a full-time home. ”
I wondered if that was true. He didn’t seem all that happy to me.
“Now, don’t take this the wrong way, Jake, but you look like you could use a rest. Go upstairs. I put you in your usual room,” ordered Clémence as Jake finished his coffee while absentmindedly caressing King’s head. The big German Shepherd had been practically glued to his side since we came in.
“Yeah, I think I will. I’m not used to driving so much anymore.” His chair grated across the floor as he rose from the table.
“Too used to your chauffeurs in Shanghai?” Clémence teased.
He smiled sheepishly and excused himself, leaving a forlorn King staring after him. I patted my knee, and he came over to my side, tail wagging. “I know the feeling, buddy,” I whispered in his ear.
“ Mais quelle pute, toi .” Clémence admonished the dog and slid into the chair next to me. “So, Olivia, tell me all about yourself.”