Take Me Higher (6 page)

It was late afternoon the following day when Syrah awakened. Mr Wang brought her breakfast in bed of blueberry pancakes, sausages, scrambled eggs and a pot of hot black coffee. It surprised Syrah and Mr Wang how ravenous she was.

‘Are you all right? Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Syrah?’ asked the old retainer.

She answered, ‘Nothing will ever be the same for either of us, Mr Wang. I think we will both be lonely for my father forever. Are you all right?’

She seemed to Mr Wang to be coping but sadness and distress were plain on her face and the trembling of her hands. He answered that he was.

While eating her breakfast she did not think about Ethan but the fragility of life. How it can so quickly be snuffed out, changing in a moment as hers had. Overnight she’d lost her father, her greatest ally, the most important man in her life, for certain her income and her financial security, even Richebourg-Conti, for wouldn’t Caleb and Paula see to that? An overwhelming sense of isolation from all she had ever
loved and felt kinship to, with the exception of her son and Diana, washed over her. She felt adrift and alone in the world without a rudder. It was all too much to take in, too frightening even to think about.

Mr Wang sat with Syrah, watching her eat as he had done numerous times since she was a child. He had always been a friend to her as well as Ethan’s devoted Man Friday. He left only when Diana arrived with Keoki who immediately climbed into bed with his mother, to kiss her and eat off her plate.

For the five days before the funeral Syrah, Keoki and Diana had Château Richebourg-Conti more or less to themselves. Caleb and Paula arrived several times to share a meal with them and to discuss details of the funeral. They never brought their children to play with Keoki, never extended an invitation for the trio to dine at their house. Syrah was grateful for how civil they were being but was disturbed by how cordial rather than friendly they were. Still it was better than the indifference Caleb and Paula usually showed her when she returned for a visit. Was it possible Ethan’s death would bring them closer together?

Keoki, Diana and Syrah spent their time together touring the vineyards, cellars, winery, and talking to the many workers. They were making an effort but sadness was unavoidable. The three of them talked about Ethan, told stories to each other about him and the good times they had had, stories that reflected his charm and zest for life. He was still very much alive for them.

They received the odd visitor paying a condolence call and then one day James Whitehawk appeared. Syrah saw him walk through the front door into the hall and greet Mr Wang. The two men, who had known each other all James’s life, exchanged bear hugs. Sadness showed clearly in James’s eyes as he looked over Mr Wang’s shoulder and up the stairs where Syrah stood. He stepped away from Mr Wang and without a word Syrah walked down the stairs and into his arms. They kissed and James stroked her hair then they kissed again, an open and passionate kiss that warmed Syrah’s heart and stirred sensuous sensations. She knew at once that here he was, the man who could love her as she needed to be loved. And she had always loved him, only until now she had never known how much. Was it possible that until a few days ago she had never been receptive enough to accept such intense feelings of
love as he had always felt for her?

Syrah was overwhelmed with gratitude that he should return to her in her most dire moment of need. Her first love, the one she had left behind so very long ago. It quite shocked and yet thrilled her that he was here for her now. She felt a surge of life that she’d thought never to experience again. She’d feared it had been snuffed out with the last breath her father had taken.

James released her. Still holding her hands, he said, ‘I was away in Seattle – I came as soon as I heard. Just remember, I’m here for you.’

‘You always have been.’

James looked embarrassed as he answered, ‘Yes.’

Together they walked into what had been Ethan’s study. She could feel his sadness, deep and consuming. He had loved Ethan all his life, was near to tears now.

‘Ethan loved you James. He was there the day you were born. Remember how he used to tell us about it when we were children? You and your family and your vineyard were not just our next-door neighbours – he took pride in being close to you all and to Whitehawk Ridge. He was so delighted when you received your doctorate degree and return to Whitehawk Ridge to work the vineyard. And what about that party he gave for you! What fun we all had. He often talked to me about you and your feeling for wine. He said you genuinely loved the land and had an innate knowledge of how to get the best from it, just as your father did. Oh, yes, Ethan loved you.’

‘Syrah, what can I say? What can I do?’

‘Just what you are doing, be here for me.’

Choked with emotion, confused by the intense erotic attraction surfacing between them at a time when they’d least expected it, they fell silent. They felt the vital presence of Ethan still lingering in his room and let it envelop them. Syrah sensed warmth and love, and her mind wandered back to the days when James and she were children and inseparable.

She thought then of James’s father, Inabe Whitehawk, Ethan’s great friend, and how their fathers used to take her and James on excursions: to wine tastings or visiting the small growers for luncheon parties. She thought now of the innumerable times Ethan and she would walk from Ruy Blas, the smallest of the Richebourg-Conti vineyards that bordered
on to Inabe Whitehawk’s vineyard, Whitehawk Ridge, to share a bottle of wine and snack on deep fried American Indian delicacies for which James’s mother was famous.

Syrah tried to remember why she and James had drifted apart. One day they were inseparable and the next just good friends, then acquaintances. She had always put it down to growing up. How had it all gone so wrong for them? The idea that love and commitment could have meant so little to her was too much to think about now. She needed some time, some space. She rose from the settee where they were sitting.

Standing next to her, James sensed it was appropriate for him to leave. They had overwhelmed each other with feelings they’d thought would never happen for them again.

Ethan Richebourg’s funeral was attended by many people from all walks of life: friends, relatives, associates from the wine world who had come from several continents to pay their last respects to a man who had been a legend. The church was filled to capacity.

The graveside service completed, coffin resting under a covering woven of lily-of-the-valley, people already dispersing to the cars that would taken them back to Richebourg-Conti – the funeral ordeal was nearly over.

Caleb looked around at the many major and respected players at the high end of the wine trade who had given him their condolences with a new esteem now that Ethan had passed the mantle to his son. He considered the many beautiful women who, since Ethan had been widowed, had been a part of his father’s life and was astonished at the genuine grief that showed in their faces. His gaze fell on his sister. Syrah was looking beautiful even in her grief. She was standing proud with her half-breed son, her friend Diana behind her. He saw her as he imagined everyone did, the prodigal daughter returned. The bitter taste of resentment lingered in his mouth. His new sense of power goaded him on like a spur in his flesh.

He kept his anger under control until he, Paula and Syrah were alone and walking away from the grave towards the waiting limousine.

‘Well, it’s almost over. The reception at the house and the reading of the will, then there’ll be only the loss of a father to deal with. I dare say that’s going to be more difficult for you, Syrah, than for me. You were,
after all, closer to Father than I was. He saw to that with his blatant favouritism which you ruthlessly took advantage of. Have you any idea how painful that always was for Paula and me? How embarrassing? Never once did you work at earning the love he lavished on you as Paula and I have done.
And
, I might add, to no avail! I can never remember you, who had so much influence over him, even once interceding for us with Father for something
we
wanted, something that might have changed our lives, delivered us from his autocratic rule.’

Paula slipped her arm through her husband’s and told him, ‘That’s all over, Caleb. Ethan’s gone and you and I are in control now. There’s no need to upset yourself anymore about sibling rivalry, the unfairness of favouritism. It’s coloured our lives long enough.’

And to Syrah she added, ‘It’s true, you know, we’ve inherited everything. Ethan told us that years ago when you came of age and chose to take your share of the estate to finance your self-indulgent high life. The reading of the will this afternoon will make it official. That’s why you must be there to hear it and know we did not cheat you out of anything. You cheated yourself.’

Syrah, sunk deeply into her sorrow, felt every word like the sting of a whip on her bare flesh. There was nothing for her to do but rise above the pain. Puzzled by their insensitivity, she pointed out, ‘Father isn’t even in the ground yet, why are you talking about control of Richebourg-Conti?’

‘Because above or below the ground, Ethan is dead and has been for nearly a week. So I suggest, maybe for the first time in your life, you start thinking how
you
will support yourself and Keoki without him and Richebourg-Conti bankrolling your lifestyle.’

‘Paula, I can’t think about myself right now, never mind five minutes into the future. But rest assured, whatever my circumstances I will not impose myself or my needs on you and Caleb.’

‘I’m relieved to hear that,’ said her sister-in-law, who did indeed look relieved.

‘You astound me, Paula, you and my brother. The hostility you have for me, the bitterness. What have I ever done to warrant such extreme dislike? The love of a father for a daughter? That’s pathetic. That I lived my life as I wanted to? Well, so did you and I don’t hate you for
that. You now have Richebourg-Conti, control of one of the premier vineyards in the world, to do with as you please. You have all you have ever wanted, and still you feel nothing but anger and contempt for me. Why?’

Years of pent-up anger against Syrah prompted Paula to blurt out, ‘Because when you were living the life you wanted to live, it was at great cost to me and my family. What we wanted to make of our lives. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity came Caleb’s way. It was a chance for your brother and me to go independent and strike out on our own, get out from under Ethan’s control of Richebourg-Conti and working for him like lackeys for
his
vineyards,
his
wine.

‘More than ten years ago our neighbour, the Bandellero Creek vineyard and winery, badly neglected and in need of modernisation, was offered to Caleb. It had the potential to become another Richebourg-Conti and we wanted to take it on. Ethan refused to lend us the half a million dollars we needed to buy it – and all because of
you
and your irresponsible, frivolous lifestyle! You were living the high life, choosing a handsome gigolo for sex and surfing, and Ethan had to buy off your Hawaiian lover so you could gain sole custody of your half-caste bastard. He refused us because of
you
and Richebourg-Conti’s contractual obligation to pay you your share of the business. Oh, there was always
money
for Syrah, never for us.’

‘Paula!’ There was a note of anger in Caleb’s voice.

‘Your brother thinks I’ve gone too far. Don’t be a hypocrite, Caleb. You bear the same grudge as I do against Syrah. Admit it. Had she not systematically drained the coffers of Richebourg-Conti, allowed to by Ethan, we would have had Bandellero Creek and a whole different life,’ she chided her husband.

Caleb pulled her away by the arm and marched her to the waiting limousine. Husband and wife didn’t say another word to each other then. Paula’s eyes were brimming with tears, anger and bitterness plain on her face. He helped her into the car and closed the door on her.

‘Where are you going, Caleb?’ she asked finally.

‘To get Syrah. She’s riding back to the house with us, in case you’ve forgotten? And though all you said was true, I don’t want to hear another word. This is neither the time nor the place.’

‘Oh, my God! You’re going soft on her. You vowed to me that when
Richebourg-Conti was ours, she would be off the land and out of our lives. Well, you’d better make sure that’s exactly what happens.’

With Paula’s tirade still ringing in his ears, Caleb slammed the car door and walked towards Syrah who had not moved from where he had left her. His wife’s outburst was a reminder to him of the years of bickering between them, vis-à-vis the loss of Bandellero Creek, money for Syrah, how Ethan had favoured her rather than Caleb, Paula and their children. It had hardened his wife, caused many breaches in their marriage. Had she, after all, wanted so much? To have a winery of their own out from under the Richebourg-Conti umbrella. For Ethan to set Syrah aside, just once, in favour of his son. Ethan had been wrong not to lend them the money, to ruin Caleb’s and Paula’s chances of leaving Richebourg-Conti in favour of their own enterprise.

The wealth and power that he and Paula had in and out of the wine world, the life they led as heirs apparent to Richebourg-Conti, were compensations in part but never quite made up for losing their chance to create a marvellous label of their own, on their own, without Ethan. One that they could proudly have added to Richebourg-Conti once Caleb did inherit. That would have made them the premier vineyard and winery in the Valley. He was painfully aware that frustrated ambition and sibling rivalry had undermined his life. Such hatred in the soul did not die easily.

Chapter 4

On the ride back to the château, Syrah remained shocked by the degree of dislike her brother and sister-in-law had showed for her. It was true: She was spoiled, pampered, and had been loved by her father and many people, liked by even more. All her life she had danced to the tune of laughter, fun and adventure; played with love. She was devoid of guile and because she lacked any understanding of hatred and treachery, recognition of it in Caleb and Paula had been a long time coming. Now that she had been made to see them clearly, she hardly knew how to cope. All she wanted was to run away.

As she stepped from the limousine and saw the terraces and reception rooms of Château Richebourg-Conti, filled with people there to pay their last respects to her father, her strength returned. With every handshake and kind word for him, every warm kiss on her cheek from someone who had known what he stood for as a man, a father and a friend, she was able to lift herself above the shock Caleb and Paula had dealt her.

So many years away from the Valley and still friends and neighbours she had grown up with and left behind in her rage to live were there for her and behaving towards her as if she had never left. Syrah was moved by seeing them again. They mingled easily with her other friends and the aristocracy of the wine world who’d arrived from the far corners of the earth. Suddenly she was aware that this was her world too, a place where she belonged as Ethan had.

Looking across the room over a sea of people, Syrah and James’s eyes found each other. She was incredibly pleased to see him. They smiled and she started to make her way towards him.

James was standing among a group of other small vineyard owners. Like James and Ethan these were men dedicated to their vineyards and
the production of fine wine. Each of them had spent a lifetime trying to raise the standard of their wine to compete with Richebourg-Conti’s premier label, Ruy Blas. This had been Ethan’s pride and joy. It had brought him world-wide recognition and prizes galore. Richebourg-Conti’s Ruy Blas made Master of Wine Ethan Richebourg a legendary name in the high end of the wine market.

The men had been telling stories of how during bad times, as they were having now, Ethan had come to their rescue. How they had on occasion sided with him to save their valley from the predators who stalked it, not to produce wine but to grab land for commercial development. Not a man in the group believed they would have the support of Richebourg-Conti now that Caleb and Paula were in charge. They had in the past given the small growers good reason for thinking otherwise, notably their association with Ira Rudman who was ambitious where Napa Valley property and the smaller, more troubled vineyards were involved.

James was still looking across the room at Syrah, standing with a boy he presumed was her son, when one of the group he was with, said, ‘If the daughter had only inherited then we would have had a friend at Richebourg-Conti.’

Syrah’s heart lifted when on seeing James across the room she felt once again that sensual attraction, love emanating from him to her as their eyes met. She wanted to run into his arms. But this was happening too fast, at the wrong time and in the wrong place, she told herself. She distracted her feelings for him by placing an arm around Keoki and kissing the top of his head. She managed a faint smile for Diana who was trying to disengage herself from her admiring public.

Syrah marvelled at the way her friend always attracted a crowd of men and women around her. She was one of those rare screen goddesses who had about them an air of serene innocence and self-sufficiency. A fine actress before the cameras and on the stage, she never played the role of movie star for her own enjoyment. It was part of her charm, why her public loved her. She always made the man in the street feel she was approachable. Finally she was able to join Syrah and her godson.

‘Go downstairs to the kitchen, Keo. Cook has a meal prepared for you,’ Syrah told the boy.

‘I’m not hungry. I’ll wait until later and eat with you and Diana.’

‘No. Now, Keo. It will be hours before we do something about food. Please, make an effort. You’ve eaten nothing all day and precious little last night. We have to get past this, Keo.’

Mother and son knew what she meant and the boy reluctantly went below stairs. Several people stopped to say goodbye to her before she had a chance to take Diana aside and tell her that she should be ready to leave Richebourg-Conti before five o’clock when the will was due to be read in the library.

‘Is that wise?’ asked Diana, always the practical one.

‘And hear another tirade of abuse such as I just had to listen to at the graveside? I’ll not attend the reading of the will and give them the satisfaction of hearing they’re sole owners of Richebourg-Conti. They’ll only say something more to humiliate me, and do I need that?’

‘Listen, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always managed to sidestep their barbs. Ignore them like you always have and attend the reading of the will. Richebourg-Conti is theirs and you’ve always known that’s the way it was going to be. But Ethan would have wanted you to be there, Syrah. He loved Keoki and might have left him something to be remembered by.’

‘In his lifetime Ethan was always generous to Keoki with money and his personal possessions, things he wanted the boy and no one else to have. He was wise, knew how Paula and Caleb felt about having a half-caste bastard for a nephew. That they would give nothing to Keoki, will or no will. Ethan wanted there to be no problem about Keoki receiving the things so he handled that while he was alive. So no, Diana, there’ll be nothing in the will for Keoki and I’ll not watch Paula gloat over that!’

‘Instinct tells me you should be there for the reading, Syrah.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ she answered despondently.

‘Good,’ announced Diana.

‘What’s good?’

The two women turned around and came face to face with Ira Rudman. He said all the things everyone says at such a time. Diego Juarez was with him. He placed one arm around Syrah and kissed her. Diego had been to the church service and to the cemetery; it had been he who had offered the blanket of lily-of-the-valley for Ethan’s coffin.
It was similar to the one he had chosen for his own father’s funeral.

Syrah knew how sad Diego was about Ethan’s death but Ira … Ethan and he had not been close, Ethan having disliked several schemes Ira had approached Richebourg-Conti with through Caleb and Paula. So what was he doing there at all? she asked herself. She had not invited him to the cemetery or to the house, which had been by invitation only. She was certain Diana hadn’t been in contact with him either. But whatever one thought of Ira, he was not socially crass or pushy, he knew his manners. Caleb and Paula must have asked him. All that was going through her mind as they stood around drinking champagne and eating canapés off the many silver trays being passed around the room by family, staff and helpers.

Syrah excused herself to walk through the crowd towards James, drawn to him once again by his handsome looks, serenity, and at the same time the sensual promise that lingered in his eyes and around his mouth. His spirit she had always known to be honest and kind. His incredible strength as a human being, his passion for life, love and the earth, seemed to be reaching out to her now as they had never done before.

She thought of those times in the last ten years when she had seen him from a distance to wave to or to blow a kiss. Or briefly, close up, merely to say hello. At those times she had looked admiringly at his marvellous face: the high cheekbones, long straight nose, sexy lips and black, almond-shaped eyes that were slightly hooded. On those occasions James had usually been wearing jeans and a white shirt, and always his leather belt with an antique Navaho buckle adorned with a large chunk of turquoise. Once she had seen him in a leather jacket. She thought he looked so different now: smart and sophisticated in an Armani suit, and possibly even more sexy.

He was a full-blooded Native American of the Yurok tribe and the smoothness of his tawny-coloured skin and straight jet black hair worn to just above the collar of his jacket, the long, muscular body, had always been sensually interesting to Syrah in those brief moments when they had seen each other. But she had been too busy with her Malibu life to do anything about it. In the midst of her sadness and the family strife she was distracted by the thought that leaving James Whitehawk behind when she left the Valley might just have been a mistake.

She joined a group of men whom she did not know and offered her hands to James. He took them in his and held them while telling her, ‘Syrah, this is a sad day for us all. My deepest sympathy, I know what Ethan meant to you.’

He made lengthy introductions, explaining to Syrah as he went along who the men were and what vineyards they owned.

James and Syrah were cautious with one another, both sensing they wanted to know more about each other, where they were in their lives.
She
knew only the most rudimentary facts about him: that he was married, the father of two girls whom he adored, his vineyard small but prestigious.
He
knew that she was a single mother of a boy whose father was Hawaiian, and that she lived a jet-set lifestyle and flew her own plane. No more, in short, than anyone in the wine trade already knew.

In spite of working at playing down their attraction for one another, for a brief moment sexual sparks flew between them and something happened. Embarrassed by their feelings they broke the momentary spell when James reached out to a man passing by and took his arm, wanting Syrah to meet him. He continued introducing her to people there whom she had never met: small, struggling, not so successful growers, the less famous wine people of the Valley who nevertheless saw Ethan’s death as a great personal loss.

They had grown to quite a good-sized group before Syrah realised that they were her father’s kind of people: passionate about their industry and the betterment of it. Then a man she had seen before joined them.

James introduced Syrah to Sam Holbrook, owner of a cooperage famous as one of the best on either side of the Atlantic. His name was familiar to Syrah as a long-time business acquaintance and friend to Richebourg-Conti, and in particular Ethan. Her mind flashed back to her father who had often spoken to her of Sam. She imagined them together, vital and exciting men who enjoyed themselves in work and at play. And she thought, Oh, Ethan, such a blow to lose you for so many people.

It had been at the church, when Syrah had approached Caleb and Paula about the cars going to the cemetery, that she’d first seen Sam. The three of them were talking about the service. Neither her brother nor her sister-in-law bothered to introduce them. In spite of that, for a
second their eyes had met and one of those inexplicable instant attractions happened that can flare between strangers. That look declared they knew they would meet again and be friends. And, thought Syrah, here we are.

It had been obvious to Sam that the lack of an introduction had been deliberate, Paula and Caleb’s freezing indifference towards Syrah had been blatant. It had long ago registered with him that Paula Richebourg was an over-ambitious, self-promoting bitch. Now, with Ethan gone, she was wasting no time in wielding her power, cutting Ethan’s favourite down to size. It was remembering this incident that decided him to befriend Syrah. He sensed she would need every real friend she could get now her father was gone.

James and several other men shook hands with Sam, and James introduced him to Syrah.

‘We should have met before,’ he told her.

‘Well, we have now.’

‘Yes, and you must consider me your friend, for Ethan’s sake. Remember you can always, at any time, call on me.’ And he gallantly raised her hand to place a kiss upon it.

Syrah realised that Sam had picked up on the hostility that her brother and sister-in-law felt for her. She was relieved that someone had seen it, that it was not something she had over-reacted to when they’d expressed it so clearly at the cemetery.

The men were all talking wine and barrels, Sam being the supplier to most of them. Syrah listened but a wave of sadness overwhelmed her. Why Ethan? So fine and vital a human being, such an exciting and romantic figure in the wine world, why had he had to die and not be there among these men today, talking wine and barrels? And why couldn’t Caleb and Paula continue his dreams, follow the path he wanted Richebourg-Conti to travel? She felt quite sick to think that there was every chance they might not do that.

She gazed around the room and saw Diana, looking beautiful and elegant in her black crêpe dress. Several men were standing around her, she was pouring champagne into their glasses. But it didn’t look as if they were truly celebrating Ethan’s life, which was what he would have liked, there was no joy in their faces. She saw Ira standing with Caleb and Paula and half a dozen other people. They looked very pleased
with themselves, the cats who had swallowed the canary. There was something too smooth in the way they looked, both solicitous and scheming at the same time. Paula kept touching Ira’s arm, on occasion gazing flirtatiously into his eyes. The room seemed to be dividing itself into two camps. In one the friends and colleagues of Ethan Richebourg; in the other friends and associates of Caleb and Paula, the new owners of Richebourg-Conti.

Syrah felt as if she had stepped out of her own skin and was watching herself, observing everything. Was this all a bad dream or was she sleepwalking? She didn’t pinch herself, she didn’t have to because though she felt she could be doing either she knew that what was happening was all too real. She was awake but moving around zombielike, there but not there.

Unable to bear her sadness at losing so much of her life in one fell swoop – father, family, home, and all they have given her over the years – Syrah slipped unobtrusively away from the group to walk in the garden where she could be alone and collect her thoughts.

All the time she was walking through the house, down the stairs and into the garden, she kept telling herself she was letting herself and Ethan down. She should be able to rise above Caleb and Paula slapping her around emotionally. Enough was enough. It was as if something snapped in her head or Ethan whispered, ‘my own true girl’ in her ear. She was back and was herself. She had a life of her own to go back to in Malibu. She checked her watch. Not long before the reading of the will in the library. She was Syrah Richebourg and she belonged here. She could and would face Caleb and Paula’s moment of triumph and walk away from them with great dignity after she had said her final piece.