Tangled Vines (13 page)

“Of course.” Clay nodded, but she caught the flicker of regret in his expression, and understood it because she felt the same.

During the cab ride back to the hotel, Clay bided his time, occasionally filling the silence with banalities and waiting until they were a block from the hotel before saying, “I don't know if your husband discusses business with you, but my father and he are talking about forming a partnership to build a winery in California. Both sides bring a lot to the table. The Cloisters not only makes award-winning wines, but we also have a sales base, market skills, and an organization that can't be equaled. As for Chateau Noir, I hardly need to tell you about it.”

He was careful to keep his tone casual. He glanced at her and smiled, observing that she listened with mild interest. “Naturally a partnership will, of necessity, mean frequent trips across the Atlantic by both parties.” Clay paused, letting the smile fade and his gaze become intent on her face. “I find I'm looking forward to that a great deal.”

The taxi pulled up at the Park Avenue entrance. She had no chance to respond directly as the doorman swung the rear passenger door open on her side. But Clay had already gotten all the response he wanted when her gaze had first clung to him, then moved abruptly away.

He paid the fare and followed Natalie out of the cab. On the sidewalk, she turned to him. “Thank you for the tour of New York. It was most enjoyable.” She was careful not to use his name, and that very care was telling.

“It was my pleasure.” His smile was properly polite as he again showed her a demeanor of severe restraint. “My regards to your husband.”

Clay deliberately didn't mention the gala auction tonight, aware she would be there, and equally aware that she knew he would be attending it as well.

With a small, polite smile, she moved away from him and entered the hotel. He lingered outside and stared thoughtfully after her, considering whether he would speak to her at all that evening or merely let their eyes meet, keeping the room between them.

Either method would be effective, depending on how soon his father planned to meet with the baron again after this weekend. Clay needed to find that out before he settled on his approach. After all, timing was critical in such things.

He wandered into the hotel, pleased with his morning's work and certain the evening's event would prove to be most interesting.

A hush gripped the black-tie-only crowd in the Waldorf's palatial Grand Ballroom as the price on the case of Rutledge Estate ‘73 cabernet sauvignon Private Reserve continued to rise in spirited bidding. Sam sat next to Katherine, one leg crossed, a hand resting lightly on his thigh and the other arm lying across it in a pose of calm nonchalance.

Katherine appeared equally composed and unmoved by the bidding that had already taken the price well above the anticipated figure. But the tension was there, as noticeable to Sam as the avid glow in her eyes.

When the gavel came down, the winning bid was a history-making sixty-five thousand dollars, the most ever paid for any lot of wine made in the United States. There was an instant of silence in the room as the significance of the final bid registered.

Katherine's pose of dignified calm never changed, but out of the corner of his eye, Sam caught the subtle shift in her expression. A cat with telltale traces of rich cream on its whiskers couldn't have looked more satisfied.

Someone started to applaud. A few chairs away, Hugh Townsend stood up and turned to direct his applause to Katherine. As others came to their feet, Sam rose to add his tribute to theirs. Katherine acknowledged the ovation with a slow and graceful nod of her head. But the applause didn't stop until she was escorted to the front.

She waved aside the microphone that was offered to her, her voice in its pure tones lifting to address the gathering. “Thank you. Thank you all.” She paused briefly, waiting for silence to fall, then continued. “My late husband, Clayton Rutledge, was long an admirer of Thomas Jefferson, one of America's first Renaissance men and a connoisseur of fine wines. Like Jefferson, Clayton believed that one day America would make wines that were the equal of the great chateaux of Europe. It was his dream that the wines of Rutledge Estate would be among them, a dream I have carried on alone these many years. Tonight you have bestowed a great honor on the house of Rutledge Estate. And a very worthy cause will receive the benefit of it. Clayton would be very proud of that, as I am. Thank you.”

More applause broke out when she finished. As several of the guests pressed forward to extend their personal congratulations, the auctioneer wisely announced a short break in the proceedings while they prepared for the next lot.

Sam wasn't surprised to see Baron Fougere and his wife among the first to approach Katherine. In a business where image and prestige were all-important, that of Rutledge Estate had risen sharply. The baron was impressed and it showed in his deferential manner, a stark contrast to the brusque, slightly overbearing attitude he'd displayed at this morning's meeting. It had irritated Sam a few times, but Katherine had dealt with him smoothly, and a partnership between them seemed to be only a matter of time. At least, in Katherine's opinion. Sam, on the other hand, knew his uncle was still fighting to stay in the race.

And there stood Gil, all charm and smile as he faced Katherine. “A stunning price, Katherine. Congratulations.” He sounded exactly like a son, happy for her, but something told Sam that the bright gleam in his uncle's eye came from jealousy rather than pride.

“Thank you, Gil.” As usual, she was gracious yet reserved with her estranged son. “I am certain your lot will acquit itself very well when it's offered. The Cloisters ‘eighty-seven cabernet is quite good for a young wine.

Gil stiffened slightly at the condescending compliment. “Perhaps one day you will agree to submit your ‘eighty-seven vintage in a blind tasting with mine, and we'll see which one comes out on top.”

Katherine drew her head back. “I would never do that to you, Gil.”

Color stained Gil's cheeks. Katherine had not only parried his challenge but delivered a killing thrust in the process. She had sounded sincere in her desire not to engage in a head-on confrontation with her son, and thus spare him the humiliation of losing to her, but Sam didn't even try to guess whether that was really her motivation.

Gil managed to choke back his anger and force a smile. “No one wins all the time, Katherine. Not even you.” With commendable aplomb, he moved off, toward the bar.

Sam joined her. “I don't think that was very wise.”

“Perhaps not, but it was necessary,” she replied coolly, then beamed a smile at Hugh Townsend. “Mr. Townsend, you are the one to blame for this embarrassment of attention.”

“Richly deserved attention, Madam.” He took her hand and bowed over it. “'Like the best wine that goeth down sweetly,' if the auction ended at this moment, it would be a huge success – thanks to you.”

She didn't dispute his extravagant claim, nor did she acknowledge it. Instead, she asked, “Is your young friend Miss Douglas here this evening? I remembered a Zachary Douglas owns a vineyard in the valley's Carneros district and I wondered if she might be related to him.

“I don't think Kelly has any relatives in California. I'm sorry you won't have the opportunity to ask her. She had a broadcast to do tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact, she's probably still at the studio, wrapping things up before heading home.”

“Six days a week. I hadn't realized she had such a grueling schedule,” Katherine remarked, an eyebrow arching in faint surprise.

“The glamour of television,” Hugh replied dryly.

“I do hope all that glamour doesn't extend to Sunday,” Katherine responded, matching the dryness of his humor and tone. “Everyone needs an opportunity to rest.”

In Sam's opinion, that was a strange remark coming from her. He'd never known her to have time for anything but the vineyards and winery. True, she had slowed down some in recent years. But rest still wasn't a word he could associate with her.

After chatting a few more minutes, Townsend excused himself and moved on. Sam let his gaze scan the throng of guests – elegant people in elegant clothes having elegant conversations. He had been raised in this environment, moving as freely through it as he did the vineyards. But tonight he was bored, and edgy.

He spotted Gil near the bar, talking with the baron and his wife. Clay was with him. As usual, the whole of Clay's attention was directed at Natalie Fougere. Sam watched, his mouth twisting in a smile. Last night Clay had made a play for Kelly Douglas; tonight he was using his wiles on the baroness, with more success, judging by the pleased glow in her expression.

“What do women see in him?” Sam didn't realize he had voiced the question until Katherine answered.

“What they want to see.” The hint of bitterness, of anger in her voice, the impression that she was speaking from experience, drew his glance. “A man who could end the loneliness, someone to fill the emptiness of their existence with all the richness of those feelings for which the human spirit was created. When the color goes out of a woman's life and the romance shrivels, she hungers to be important to someone again. Hungry, she dreams.” Her gaze was fixed on the couple across the room, but Sam wasn't sure it was the baroness and Clay she was seeing. “When a man comes along and pays attention to her, feeding that hunger, she believes – because she wants to believe, because she wants her dream to be real. She refuses to consider that his only desire may be to take advantage of her, that to him it is a cheap thing, because that would destroy her dream.”

Katherine gave him a half-startled look, then her expression smoothed, leaving only a glint of bitterness in her eyes. “My mother was such a woman,” she said briskly. “After my father's death, she went from man to man. Long ago I lost count of how many stepfathers I had and how many lovers she took. Men like your cousin prey on such women. They are chameleons, changing color to be what the woman dreams. Ultimately, the delusion on both sides becomes the only thing that is real.”

Never in his life, not even when he was a boy, had there ever been a whisper of talk in the valley that Katherine had been seen in public in the company of another man after the death of her husband. On the contrary, the locals had marveled over the fact she hadn't.

Yet, for a brief moment there, Sam had almost been convinced that she had been secretly involved with some man, one who had used her and left her with the bitterness of regret. Obviously he'd been wrong. Her knowledge of men like Clay could just as easily come from her mother, as she'd said. Still, he had never looked at her as a woman before. She had always been Katherine, too strong and self-sufficient to ever need anyone. But had she wanted someone?

He almost asked, then caught himself. What the hell did he care? Suddenly impatient, whether with himself or Katherine he didn't know, Sam swung a glance over the crowded room, that restless, edgy feeling returning with a rush.

“I'm going out for some air before they resume the auction,” he told Katherine and headed for the nearest exit. Someone laughed, a soft, musical sound, but Sam didn't bother to identify the source of it.

“Mr. Rutledge,” Natalie greeted Clay in the softest of voices.

He nodded to her, not smiling, but letting his gaze travel warmly over her face. Her glance fell beneath it, then came back to him, a soft glow radiating from the depths of her eyes.

Clay waited until his father had engaged the baron in conversation before saying to her, “This morning, after I left you, I thought I had only imagined how beautiful you are. I didn't.”

She smiled suddenly, brilliantly, then cast a quick glance at her husband, but he was too engrossed in his discussion to notice. Deliberately, it seemed to Clay, she let her smile blossom into soft laughter and placed a hand on the baron's arm.

“Emile, you should know this handsome gentleman has paid me the most extravagant compliment,” she declared and flashed Clay a flirtatious look.

Clay wasn't fooled. He heard the silent cry within her words that pleaded for her husband to look at her. But when Emile glanced at her in his faintly surprised, courteous manner, he didn't see what she so desperately wanted him to see – that she was a beautiful woman who would soon sour for lack of being wanted.

Instead Emile patted her hand, as one would a child's, and gave her an absent smile. “Naturellement.”

There was not a flicker of jealousy or concern in his expression. The fool took her completely for granted. Clay gave Natalie credit for covering her hurt well. No doubt she'd had considerable experience at being ignored. Which was so much the better for him.

“May I bring you a drink?” Clay offered. “A glass of champagne, perhaps?”

“Yes, thank you.” Natalie watched Clay as he made his way to the bar.

In the last two days, she had overheard comments made by other women about Clay Rutledge, comments that suggested he was something of a philanderer who had caused his wife no small amount of grief. Perhaps it was true; she didn't know. Even if it was, she found it difficult to feel sorry for his wife. At moments like this, she thought she would prefer a husband who possessed an excess of passion over one who was scarcely aware of her much of the time.

In truth, she envied Clay's wife. More damning than that, she wasn't shocked by the discovery.

Still, she turned back to her husband and tried to give her attention to his conversation with Clay's father.

“. . . a remarkable woman,” Emile concluded.

“Katherine is a very remarkable woman,” Gil Rutledge asserted, then lifted his shoulders. “But what will Rutledge Estate be when she leaves this life? A shadow of its former self, I'm afraid.”

Emile frowned. “But her grandson-“