"I am, for my sins."
"Well, you must have sinned a lot to be doing this well at choosing drink," she said, raising her glass.
"Thank you, ma'am."
They ate the caviar, then the eggs and salmon.
"It all goes together so beautifully," she said.
"Thank you; it was meant to."
"Tell me something about your background," she said.
"Grew up in Weston, Connecticut, went to Exeter and Amherst, met my wife in college, got her pregnant, married her-in that order-produced a son. Advertising for a couple of years, then joined my father-in-law's liquor business and eventually started the wine division. He died six weeks ago and left me the wine division."
"When did your wife die?"
"Five weeks ago."
"How?"
"She was murdered."
Cara put down her glass. "Do you mind telling me about it?"
He related the events of that Saturday night.
"That's terrible," she said.
"Yes, it was."
"Were you devastated?"
"I was numb. I have, in fact, remained numb, until tonight."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that this dinner is the first pleasant social interaction I've had with another human being since it happened."
"Were you and your wife very close?"
"We had grown apart over a very long time."
"Do you miss her?"
"No, I do not. I'm glad to have my son, though; he's finishing up a residency in cardiology at Lenox Hill Hospital."
"You're a very direct man, Sandy."
"It's a waste of time to be any other way. Now you."
"I told you I grew up in San Francisco. Went to Berkeley, studied architecture, but discovered I was more interested in the inside of buildings than their structures. Joined my father's firm as a designer; when he died and the firm closed, I went to another."
"Ever married?"
"Once; for three years. A mistake."
"Whose?"
"Mine."
"You're pretty direct, too, Cara."
"We're in agreement on that point," she replied.
"Good. Cara, I'm very attracted to you. In fact, I'd be very pleased if you would come to bed with me right now."
She shook her head. "Too soon," she said. "But please don't think that's a flat turndown. You're a very attractive man."
"Thank you."
"I want your job, Sandy, but I won't sleep with you to get it."
"You've got it, on your qualifications and what you've suggested to me. As beautiful as you are, I wouldn't spend a million dollars just to get you into the sack. You can decide whether you want to sleep with me quite independently of the job."
She smiled, but said nothing.
"Would you like some coffee?"
She glanced at her watch. "Thank you, no. I've had a long day, as you have, and I could use some rest." She stood up. "Do you mind if I go now?"
"Yes, but I can live with it."
"I'll come back tomorrow when you're not here and make a floor plan and some rough sketches. Will you tell the doorman to let me in?"
"Yes, of course."
"I'll have something for you to look at in a week or so."
"I wouldn't like it to be that long before I see you again. How about dinner this weekend?"
"Saturday is good for me."
"And for me."
He retrieved her portfolio and walked her to the door.
"Good night," she said, offering her hand.
He took it. "Good night, and go safely. I'll look forward to Saturday," he said.
"So will I," she replied.
CHAPTER 18
Sandy sat in Sam Warren's office at Mayfair Trust and listened to the presentation prepared by a younger associate at the bank, on the acreage, buildings, equipment, replanting and stock at the Larsen Winery. When the young man had finished, Warren took over.
"Here's where we are," the banker said. "Larsen wants twelve million for the property."
"What's it worth, in your opinion?" Sandy asked.
"Like anything else, it's worth what somebody will pay for it. Fortunately for you, because of the costs and uncertainties involved in replanting with phyloxera-resistant vines, the industry is in a period of retrenchment, and there's not likely to be a lot of bidding on the property. Our research has uncovered what Larsen actually has invested in the property, and, of course, what he owes, and I think what we need to come up with is a maximum amount we're willing to offer that would get him out of the business without a loss on his investment; actually, a small profit."
"And what is that number?"
"Eight million eight; we think that's about right."
"I see."
"I'd suggest offering eight, then working your way up in negotiations. It's important for him to understand right off that you're not going to pay anything near his asking price."
"I agree."
"There's another important consideration," Warren said.
"What's that?"
"Larsen employs a man who is, by all reports, a very fine winemaker. His name is Bernini, Italian-American, forty-two, good track record. He and Larsen have not hit it off, Larsen being so technically oriented, and in order for the vineyard to be worth the eight million eight, you're going to have to be able to sign him to a long-term contract at very good money We feel that Bernini is very important to the operation."
"Has anyone talked to him?"
"Not yet. I think it would be best if you did that personally. We can structure an earnings and stock option package for him that would make it attractive for him to stay, if you can offer him a lot more freedom to pursue his own methods."
"Did you say stock options?"
"Yes. He's going to have to have the prospect of participation down the line somewhere. It's manageable, and we recommend such a course of action. The autocratic, one-hundred-percent owner is a thing of the past; if you want good people you're going to have to allow them to buy in."
"All right."
"My suggestion is that you contact Bernini, tell him you're interested in buying, then hand him off to us; we'll talk with his representative and structure an offer to the man, then we'll be in a position to negotiate seriously with Larsen." Warren handed him a slip of paper. "Here's his phone number; it's your call as to whether to go out there and see him, or just talk to him on the phone."
"Okay, I'll think about that," Sandy said. "If I pay eight million eight for the property, is that going to leave me enough capital to expand into San Francisco and operate the combined businesses?"
"We feel you can do it without incurring debt, but we think that we should set up a line of credit, just in case. We don't want you to feel pinched. Personally, my advice would be to acquire the vineyard, consolidate the operations and identity of the London and New York stores to the maximum extent possible, then establish good cash flow and operating profits before going into San Francisco. We're only talking about a period of a year, possibly two, before you make the San Francisco move."
"That sounds like good advice," Sandy said. "I'd want to devote some time to bringing the vineyard up to speed in terms of the quality of the output and reidentifying it with me and my company. Opening in San Francisco at the same time might be too much to bite off."
"That's our view," Warren said.
Sandy stood up. "Sam, thanks for your recommendations. I'll give all this some thought, contact Bernini, then get back to you in a few days." He shook hands with his bankers, then left.
He walked over to Fifth Avenue and took a taxi down to Fifty-seventh Street, then walked a few yards west to the Rizzoli bookstore. In the rear of the shop was a newsstand that handled foreign and out-of-town newspapers, and he picked up a San Francisco paper.
He went to a deli across the street, ordered a sandwich and iced tea, then opened the paper. The story was still on page three. It began:
GALLERY OWNER FOUND
Peter Martindale, owner of the Martindale Gallery, where a killing took place earlier this week, was located in Los Angeles by detectives from San Francisco Homicide. Mr. Martindale had left for Los Angeles on the day of the shooting to make a scheduled speech at UCLA on nineteenth-century English art, and the gallery owner was speaking at the university at the time the murder occurred in San Francisco.