“What happens if I get a professional winemaker from Napa who knows more than I do?” she asked.
“All you can do is your best,” Matteo replied. “If you can’t answer a question, be honest and refer that person to me. But if he’s in the business, Mr. Clark will probably want to meet him anyway, so just pass him up the chain, and we’ll take it from there.”
“Got it.”
When Lillian finally began conducting daily tours on her own, Freddie established a habit of driving to Florence and Siena to visit churches and art museums, then write in different coffee shops. At night he sat at the desk in the upstairs bedroom, clicking away on his portable electric typewriter, working on revisions, until well past midnight. It was wonderful that he was so focused and inspired, and Lillian knew enough not to disturb him when the creative juices were flowing. She brought him meals on a tray, and she kept the volume low on the television.
She didn’t mind doing those things. She was pleased and proud of Freddie and wanted to support him, because all she’d ever wanted over the past few years was for him to finish his book so that they could start living a normal life. Now, at last, he was getting somewhere.
He slipped into bed one night and shook her awake. She had been up early that morning and realized she had fallen asleep with the lights on.
“Lillian,” he whispered, leaning over her. “You were right. Coming here was the best thing ever. It was exactly what I needed. The plot’s really coming together. There’s just something about this place. Don’t you think?”
She rubbed her eyes and fought her way out of sleep. “Yes. Definitely. I’m glad it’s working for you.”
“It is. Love you.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, then rolled to his side, facing away from her. “Could you shut off the light? I want to get an early start tomorrow.”
“Sure.” Lillian tugged the little chain on the lamp, and the room went dark.
After two weeks on the job at Maurizio Wines, Lillian had not seen or encountered the owner, Anton Clark, since the day he’d rescued her and Freddie from the wrecked car. Then one day, seemingly out of nowhere, he appeared in the vineyard and joined a tour group just as she was beginning her talk.
The sight of him caused her belly to burst into nervous flames because she wasn’t completely confident in her position yet. There was still so much she didn’t know about wine making. She wondered if she should introduce him to the group. She was about to do just that when he raised a finger to his lips and shook his head, as if to say, Shh .
“This particular vineyard,” Lillian said without missing a beat, “is thirty years old. The grapes are Sangiovese, which are used in many of the winery’s most popular blends.”
She continued her memorized speech about the time it took to grow and harvest the grapes, then answered questions and led the group out of the vineyard and up the steep gravel lane toward the chapel and cellars.
“If you’ll follow me this way,” she said, “we’ll step inside the ancient Maurizio wine cellars, which have been used for the aging of red and white wine in oak barrels since the medieval period, when the family acquired the estate.”
There was a murmur of anticipation from the group. As she continued along, a young man wearing a red leather jacket, with too much gel in his spiky hair, pushed his way to the front to ask a question. “How much wine do you sell in the US?”
“That’s an excellent question,” Lillian replied. “In total, the winery produces about five hundred thousand bottles each year, and most are sold in Europe and the UK. Only about ten thousand are shipped to America.”
“Cool,” he replied. “I’ve never heard of this wine before, but now that I’ve been here, I’ll look for it. My girlfriend likes red wine. Do you sell any in Arizona? That’s where I’m from.”
“I’m not sure about that,” she replied. “What’s your name?”
“Bobby.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Bobby. I can certainly find out for you after the tour is over. But when you get home, take a look around your local wine shops and request it if you don’t see it. It can easily be ordered from any reputable distributor. Or you can buy a bottle while you’re here and take it home with you on the plane. I’ll recommend something very nice for your girlfriend.”
“Cool,” he said.
Lillian remained focused on the tour group, even while she was unnerved by her boss following along, listening and watching, taking mental notes, judging her performance. She wanted to do well and prayed she wouldn’t receive any difficult questions she couldn’t answer.