“Do you know who she is?”
“You seem to think I don’t.”
“Quinn’s ex-wife.”
He spun a teaspoon on the table and watched the silver flash in the candlelight. “Does that disqualify her for some reason? I heard she was the best.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I said, “but I don’t trust her.”
“So far I have no reason not to,” he said. “But I’ll keep that in mind.”
I stood up. “I should go. Thank you for dinner.”
He reached out and caught my hand. “Please don’t.”
“Mick—” But he was already pulling me into his arms, whispering that I needed to stay and that he wanted me again.
The Greek poet Aeschylus once said that wine is the mirror of the heart. With all the wine we’d drunk surely I should have been able to see into Mick’s heart. But tonight I saw only shadows. Still I let him lead me back to his bedroom and the tangled sheets we’d left before dinner.
The last coherent thought I had before our lovemaking obliterated all other thoughts from my mind was that we were both doing this for the wrong reasons. When I looked into the mirror of my own heart I saw that in the not-too-distant future I would pay a price for my recklessness.
As for Mick, he wouldn’t find what he was looking for in me. He was a gambler and a risk-taker. The more audacious, the better. Now he was into the occasionally gray area of buying wine futures from Shane, not caring if he got burned. And Shane had introduced him to the ruthless Nicole Martin, a woman who was apparently as addictive as heroin.
No good would come of his relationship with her. I was sure of it.
Chapter 12
I got up at two and dressed in a shaft of moonlight shining in through the bedroom window. Mick didn’t stir. Mosby’s Highway was deserted and the drive home uneventful. Good thing, since I didn’t want to bet on passing a breathalyzer test.
I climbed the spiral staircase in the dark so the hall light wouldn’t disturb Pépé. But when I got to the second floor, his bedroom door stood open and the bed hadn’t been slept in. My octogenarian grandfather was still out carousing on the town. I took two ibuprophen to ward off the effects of the alcohol in the morning and fell asleep in my clothes.
When I woke, Pépé’s door was closed. What time had he come in? I scrawled a note and left it by the coffeepot, asking him to call me when he got up. On my way out the door to the villa, Kit called my cell. The display showed her office number in Leesburg.
“Someone’s at work early,” I said.
“Up getting the worm,” she said. “I’ve got business in Middleburg later. What if I make it around lunchtime and we grab a bite somewhere? I’ve got something to tell you.”
Had she already decided about the Moscow job?
“Good news or bad?” I said.
“Neither.”
“How can it be neither? What is it?”
“You’ll just have to wait until lunch.”
“You’re no fun. Meet me at the Red Fox. Noon. I’ll make reservations.”
“I’m loads of fun. See you at noon,” she said and hung up.
Shane Cunningham’s Porsche was parked next to Quinn’s car when I pulled into the vineyard parking lot. The villa was still locked which meant they were together in the barrel room. I walked through the courtyard. The early morning breeze was cool and the overcast sky obscured the Blue Ridge.
What business did Shane have with Quinn? The only thing they had in common right now was Nicole. One had her. The other wanted her.
But it was Nicole who was with Quinn, not Shane. I wondered if he’d loaned her the Porsche or if she’d borrowed it without asking. Shane was like Eli when it came to cars. If they had their way, they’d shrink-wrap passengers so they couldn’t touch the leather seats or leave a stray fingerprint on any surface.
Quinn and Nicole were together at the far end of the room, engrossed in conversation. Neither looked up when I closed the door, though the thrumming noise of the fans, like the engine on a small plane, would have drowned out the sound. They stood directly under a spotlight near the winemaker’s table, facing each other. The white concentrated light made them seem like heavenly apparitions.
I watched as Quinn leaned against one of the arches at the entrance to the bays and folded his arms across his chest. Nicole sat down in a chair so she faced Quinn. Her face was tilted toward his and her hands clasped together. She gestured as though she were praying—or pleading. He nodded as she talked. Reconciliation, maybe? An olive branch?
Whatever she said, he seemed to accept it and held out his hand. It was too late for me to leave or move or pretend I hadn’t been doing anything but watching them. Quinn’s eyes grew dark as they walked toward me.
“What are you doing here, Lucie?” In French there is an expression, c’est comme des cheveux sur la soupe, which means something is as welcome as hair on soup. He asked like I was the hair.
I decided against the obvious answer, that I owned the place and could be anywhere I damn well pleased. Nicole Martin watched me, sly amusement in her long-lashed dark eyes. For the first time, I had a chance to study her, too. Exotic-looking with high cheekbones and a heart-shaped face. Only her mouth, which, in an unguarded moment, settled into a sneer, ruined her beauty.
“The Porsche was in the parking lot so I thought Shane was visiting. I came by to talk to him.” I looked at Nicole. “What brings you here?”
Quinn answered for her. “Nic wanted to see the Washington bottle before the auction. I’m taking her on a tour of the vineyard. We’ll be back in a while.”
I could tell by the way his eyes held hers that I’d been right and they’d made some kind of peace with each other. She smiled at him and his eyes grew soft.
“Enjoy yourselves,” I said. They were still holding hands.
“I’m sure we will.” Nicole turned the smile to me but her eyes said to keep out of her business with Quinn. “Ready?” she asked him.
He nodded and I wished I hadn’t decided to come by here after all. “One thing before you go,” I said.
Her delicate eyebrows arched. “What’s that?”
“I’m surprised Shane didn’t tell you Jack withdrew the Washington bottle yesterday. He wants it returned to his private collection.”
I caught the flash of surprise in her eyes. “Of course he told me. The bottle’s still here, so where else would I go to look at it?”
She’d come up with that retort fast enough, but she was lying. Either Shane knew about the wine and kept it from her, or Jack hadn’t told Shane. I wondered which it was. So, probably, did she.
Quinn looked at both of us. His eyes were hard and I watched Nicole belatedly realize her error. “So how come neither of you ladies bothered to tell me?”
“Because Nicole didn’t know and I only found out late yesterday.” Maybe it was churlish to expose her, but it had been a dumb lie. Now maybe Quinn would think twice about believing what she’d just told him in the back of the barrel room. I said, “And you and I didn’t get much chance to talk yesterday.”
The shouting match in my office seemed like it had been a week ago, rather than less than twenty-four hours.
“No,” he said, “we didn’t, did we?” He looked at Nicole and hooked a thumb at me. “She right?”
She nodded like a child caught lying to a parent, but sure of forgiveness. “When are you returning the bottle?” she asked me.
“We’re trying to get Jack to reconsider, so it’s up in the air.” I had no intention of helping her plan her strategy for going straight to him so she could buy it.
“He won’t reconsider. Get real.” Nicole didn’t bother to hide her scorn.
I wondered how I’d ever thought of her as fragile. Maybe that mistake was part of the reason she was so successful. People underestimated her and figured she was spun sugar instead of battery acid.
“The money was supposed to go to charity,” I said.
Her shrug said who cared. “Things happen. That bottle is priceless.”