Lethal Vintage Read Free

her own restaurant without undue strain,” he said, giving Anna a mirthless smile. “Besides, we haven’t met yet. Oliver Seth.”
    Sunny stood up to shake his hand, a gesture that always seemed a bit stiff to her and felt utterly ridiculous in a bikini. Oliver checked his Rolex and looked at Anna. “Is lunch late? Aren’t you hungry?”
    “Cynthia’s setting it up now.”
    “Good. So, your restaurant.”
    “It’s called Wildside and it’s in St. Helena. We serve lunch Monday through Friday in an elegant yet intimate setting. Intimate being euphemistic for very small. The food is California-style Mediterranean. Tuscan, Provençal, with Basque and North African influences.”
    “What about dinner?”
    “No dinner.”
    “And weekends?”
    “No weekends.”
    “What is that, a joke? How do you survive?”
    “Modestly. I keep my overhead low.”
    “Meaning you do everything yourself.”
    “I have some good people helping me.”
    “Do we always have to talk business?” said Anna. “It’s Saturday.”
    “I bet McCoskey enjoys talking business. Entrepreneurs are obsessed with their work or they wouldn’t do it. Am I right?”
    “You’re both right,” said Sunny, in an effort to defuse the tension. “I love my work, and I love not thinking about it for a few hours each week.”
    Oliver’s cell phone buzzed and he excused himself to answer it. A man walked up from behind them wearing trim black trunks of the sort seen more in Europe than California.
    “Did someone just say something intelligent?” he said. “I thought I caught a whiff of distinctly un-American moderation in the air. But I could have been dreaming.”
    “Sunny McCoskey, the Italian accent is Franco Bertinotti, winemaker and eavesdropper,” said Anna.
    “Sicilian, my dear. From the belly. Italians talk way up here like their shoes are too tight.”
    He lifted his sunglasses, revealing blue eyes so pale and bright they gave Sunny a jolt. She waited while he cast them over her from her eyes to her toes and back again, taking everything in. Apparently satisfied, he nodded to himself and lay down on a chaise, running his fingers through his short white hair and over the tanned skin of his chest and stomach. He wore a gold chain around his neck, which skimmed the top of a patch of white chest hair. The skin of his abdomen was tanned the color makers of fine leather goods call whiskey or cognac. When he was situated, he closed his eyes, idly grazing the upturned pads of Jordan’s fingertips next to him. Cynthia arrived with a bottle of chilled white wine and glasses.
    “Charming man,” said Anna, abandoning her Campari and lifting a glass from the tray in front of her. “I wouldn’t invite him if Oliver didn’t insist. He is apparently indispensable at the winery. Can you hear me, Franco?”
    “Every word, darling. I am charming and indispensable.”
    Sunny decided she would leave as soon as lunch was over.

2
    They dined under the wisteria. Cynthia served roast beef, garden greens, and couscous, all expertly presented.
    “We’re casual today. Serve yourselves,” she said cheerfully, setting down pitchers of ice water filled with branches of mint and slices of lemon and cucumber. “There’s more of everything inside, so don’t be timid. We also have a chocolate torte with raspberries for dessert. Let me know when you’re ready.”
    “Thank you, Cynthia. Everything looks beautiful,” said Anna, looking up at her from under a white straw hat. Midday sun shot through the vines overhead. Anna’s cheeks were pink from the heat and her eyes were green like bottle glass held up to light. It was this Mediterranean light that changed everything in the Napa Valley from mundane to extraordinary, particularly in summer. A slice of lemon glowed. A floppy straw hat transformed a girl from beautiful to breathtaking.
    Franco the Sicilian sat down next to Sunny in his swim trunks and gold chain. He had on a linen shirt, open. All three of the