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“Yes. I take care of Fiona in the afternoons.”
He nods, wiping down a bottle of Cabernet Franc, which wasn’t on the menu he showed me yesterday. “How is it going? She’s the test case, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s the first grandchild of Kingston Corbett, the first child to be raised on the grounds here. Surely, others will follow, and soon there will be a passel of kids running around.” He’s more relaxed when he’s not around Beatrix, and his eyes flash with mischief. “That’ll change the tenor of the place, don’t you think?”
Unsure what he’s implying, I tilt my head to the side. “I…guess?”
“Shenanigans. Kids are always good for some shenanigans.” He grins and roots through a large wall of refrigerated bottles and comes back with three whites, which he places on a table. Turning, he bends down to the cases along the wall, pulls a few more reds, and begins polishing the bottles with a white cloth.
I shrug. “Change is good.”
Victor wipes the condensation from the white wine bottles and arranges them in a line on the table. “You don’t like to gossip, I see,” he observes.
“I like my job.”
“Fair enough.” When the bottles are shiny enough to see Victor’s reflection, he pushes them toward me and hands me a corkscrew. “You may do the honors.”
“All of them?”
“Yes. They’re just peaking, so I’ve added them to the tasting menu. None of our guests will have tried them. I want to get your take.”
He sits back and waits, arms crossed. It suddenly feels less like a training session and more like a test. I know how to score wines on the Parker scale, and I know what I like. I just hope my knowledge is enough to hold my own with a professional sommelier.
“Sure.” I set about opening the first bottle, careful to insert the corkscrew at an angle so it goes in smoothly and doesn’t break the cork. My cheeks heat under the pressure of his attentive assessment. “I’ve been learning as much as I can and tasting the vintages from as many years as I can.”
He nods. “Smart.”
The cork slides from the bottle, and I hand it to Victor. While he taps the wet end, I surreptitiously wipe the beads of sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, reminding myself that I know what I’m doing. I’ve been studying wines for years now.
By the time I’ve opened the third bottle, I start to relax. A minute later, all the open bottles sit in a line on the table.
Victor extends a hand, indicating that I should pour. I twist each bottle to catch the drip after about an ounce has hit the bottom of each crystal clear glass.
“Do you mind if I make notes on these?” I ask. “I’ve been keeping a log.” If these will be on the tasting menu eventually, it would be good to start a new page for each one and add my thoughts.
“Not at all.”
Slipping my iPad from my purse, I type up new columns for each of the new vintages. Then we taste them.
“Plum, maybe even a little pepper,” I note on the first one. Victor sips his and nods.
“Pepper for sure, but I’m getting more of a jammy taste, red fruit like a berry,” he says, holding a glass of red up to the light. It’s so dark and full-bodied that almost no light shines through. Unusual for a younger wine.
“What is this one?” I reach for the bottle and turn it to see the label.
“It’s a blend. The vintners are doing more of those this year, supposedly.” Victor shrugs like it’s not of concern, but I’m curious.
“Are they experimenting with flavors, or is there some reason they’re shifting that direction?”
Victor doesn’t answer immediately, and I wonder if he didn’t hear me. He bends down to retrieve a bottle from a case near the table where we’re sitting. I’m about to repeat my question when he responds, “I don’t know, but I’ll admit it’s a little bit strange. This vineyard has the terroir to grow some of the best grapes in the country. Blending them is a contradiction.”
Which is exactly what I was thinking. I start to wonder whether it’s related to Jackson’s stress about the family business.
And what he plans to do about it.
ChapterTwenty-One
