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“Ah, you’re here and right on time,” Henry said and motioned to the chair on his left. “Madame, you may begin serving.”
“Yes, monsieur,” the thin, older woman said and then hustled through a swinging door. Barney followed her after giving me one of his stinky fisheye looks.
“You look very…casual,” Henry said as he sat back down.
“Thanks. I wear this to work on occasion,” I said, plunking my ass down in the padded chair as bowls of soup were brought out. The smell of onion, garlic, and fish wafted up from the bowl placed in front of me. I took note of all the silverware laid out. Shit. Why did we need all of this for soup? All Ma handed out back home were soup spoons when we had soup. I mean soup and soup spoons. Seemed enough to me.
“Work being the hockey arena?” Henry asked, then whispered a soft thanks to the cook in French. She beamed at him, gave me a long look, and exited back to the kitchen, or so I assumed.
“Yeah, the barn. We can wear what we want to the rink, not like the pros. Although some teams are loosening up on the ties and suits on game days.” I shook out my napkin and put it on my thighs. See, I had fancy manners. “I remember the first time I got a suit. It was for my confirmation, and I was thirteen. Ma didn’t have a lot of money. Dad had been dead a few years by then, so she worked extra shifts at the factory where they made bird seed. I picked up a paper route, and we managed to get enough cash to buy me a new suit at Pomonok Paul’s Discount Suit Bazaar.” Picking up a spoon, I stirred a few round crackers into my fish soup as Henry sat next to me, sipping his soup without making any noise. I’d have to remember not to slurp. “Got the whole ensemble for forty-nine bucks, shirt and tie included. Dark blue it was and had these pink pinstripes. My shirt was pink too. Got a lot of guff about that from my cousins, but I didn’t care what they said about me being a sissy. By then I was hockey savvy enough to know that I could take all of them down with one well-placed shoulder check. They knew it too, so they teased from a distance. Anyways,” I paused to blow on the thick chowder on my spoon and then sipped it real delicately, “oh wow, this is good. Did Madame make this from scratch?”
“Oui,” Henry replied, dabbing his napkin at the corner of his mouth. That sexy mouth. The one that had French words flowing out of it like some of his sparkling wine. Shit. No, that mouth was not all that. Sure, it was pouty and pink, but it sat on a spoiled rich man’s face. Damn it. “I believe the fish is lake trout from Seneca Lake, brought to us by Penny, one of the tasting room attendants. Her husband caught it yesterday, several actually, and she knows I fancy a good soup.”
“Oh cool.” I didn’t really like fishing too much. Or the water. I think I drowned in a former life or something because anytime I get on a boat, I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. Of course I kept that to myself because what kind of hockey player is scared of water? Sure, I sailed on the paddleboat when required, but those trips were for folks who needed help but no other times because I have dreams of falling overboard. Ma says she thinks that in my previous life, I was one of the Titanic people who drowned. I lowered my spoon too and then reached for a bun all warm and cozy in a lined bread basket. “You think fish come back as people? Ma says that she bought a grouper from Vitali’s Meat Market once that looked just like Mario Lanza. Of course she had a flame for him, so she tended to see his face in most things. Clouds, sand on the beach, groupers.” I spooned up more soup. Barney coughed discreetly at the mild slurpy noise I made by mistake. “So, the suit from Pomonok Paul’s was—”
Henry looked puzzled. “Pardon me for being obtuse, and for sidelining your story about the suit, but I was led to believe that Catholics did not believe in reincarnation. You are Catholic, yes?” He nodded his blond head at the tattoo of the Blessed Virgin on my bicep.
“Well, Ma has wide-ranging thoughts on certain things that don’t fit real tight with a lot of the doctrine. Like how the church looks at queer people, for one thing.” I slathered some real butter on my slice of thick, dark rye as I talked. Lucky me, I could do just about anything while talking. It was a gift. “And how women are treated…damn this is good bread. Did Madame make this from scratch too?” Henry nodded, a small twinkle of pride in his sky blue eyes. “So, while she is pretty devout, she has differences. Also, she calls coming back from the dead resurrections and not reincarnations. Rewording keeps Father Baglioni happy.”
That made him smile. Like full on knock my socks off blinded me with perfection smile. Jesus and Mary sang the choir, and I lost all motor function. My slice of bread slipped from my grasp and fell into my soup. Chowder splashed onto the pristine white tablecloth as well as my shirt. I glanced away from those blue peepers to see Barney’s left eye twitch. He moved like a ninja, swooping in to dab at the soup on the linen while I did my best to sop up the chowder on my shirt with the napkin on my lap.
“Sorry, sorry, it was the butter,” I lied, sheepishly peeking from Henry to the butler at my side. “Slippery stuff. I remember one time me and this guy were getting into things and we—” Barney’s stormy eyes went round. All dabbing stopped. “You know what? It ain’t all that important. Sorry about the mess.”
“No worries, that is why they invented stain sticks. Barnaby, it will be fine. Please ask Madame to bring Mr. Greco a new bowl of soup.”
“Nope, hey, it’s good. I can eat this.” I leaned in and fished the soggy bread out of the bowl, folding the soaking wet slice in half and cramming it into my mouth. Smiling around the slice of bread in my cheeks, I saw that both men were appalled. Guess they never played watch how much food I can cram into my face with their cousins when they were kids. One time I managed to wedge eight deviled eggs into my maw over Easter dinner. My cousins were impressed as shit. Ma…well, not so much. Thinking back, I remember Aunt Mona slapped me upside the back of the head, which knocked a few eggs loose. They ended up in my mashed potatoes. Everyone laughed. Everyone other than the adults. The next holiday a kids’ table was set up. Like that was a punishment or something.
Barney and Henry swapped looks that made me feel like a mangy skunk that had wandered into the Ritz-Carlton tea room.
Talk about making a good impression.
Not that I cared what Henry thought, mind you…
Chapter Six
Henri
Four days.
It only took four days for Philip Greco to unravel the tidy threads of my life like a kitten turned loose in the tapestry gallery at Musée de Cluny.
How? How was it possible for one little man from Queens to upset the household so thoroughly? And why did I seem to be the only one disturbed by his unique form of upheaval? Surely everyone who lived or worked here had to be growing weary of Philip being everywhere and doing everything for everyone? From the tasting barns to the visitor center, from the new docks being built for a wine tour sailing vessel—as well as my own sailing yacht Fleurine—to the gardens, from the kitchen where he had somehow charmed Madame over cups of noisette and plates of raspberry eclairs to the vineyards themselves. No matter where I ventured Philip was there or had been there, spreading his Flushing charm around like a chatterbox fairy sprinkling dust over my property.
No, not charm. The man was many things—talkative, earthy, unsophisticated, brash, loud, rambunctious, and roguish—but not charming. Charm meant that I found him appealing in some manner, which was madness. What on earth would a man like me find interesting in a man like Philip? He ran about barefooted and drank Bud Light out of the can.
“Henri?”
I snapped out of my glower at a plump cluster of white Reisling grapes. We’d had a lot of rain early in the season and had some issue with some powdery mildew that we got under control quickly thanks to eagle-eyed workers such as Daniel Proctor, our vineyard manager and head viticulturist.
“Sorry, Daniel, I was woolgathering,” I replied, releasing the cluster of white grapes to push my sunglasses up my nose. Daniel smiled at me as he would his own son. He and Papa had been the closest of friends, as one should be with the man who was in charge of mostly all the viticulture from grape production all the way down to staff assignments. Daniel and Papa had built this vineyard from the rich ground up, so when Papa passed, there was only one man I wanted at my side, and that was Daniel. The lanky man with silver hair and sparkling hazel eyes pulled no punches. “Yes, I think we should look into finding a new sugar sampler as well as an assistant harvest intern since both positions are open. We’ll be harvesting in late September.” He nodded. “Not that I need to remind you of such things. I do apologize. My head is in the clouds of late.”
“It’s fine, Henri.” He gave me a light pat on the back. “This is why you pay me the big bucks.”
That made me smile. Yes, Daniel was paid incredibly well, and he earned every penny. With my vision problems, my time in the fields was limited.
“I’ll read over your choices for the positions and then make a decision before harvest,” I said, taking his hand to shake it. “Now, I should go back to the house and start on last month’s books before Papa’s ghost rises up to chide me.”
“Your dad was a stickler for paperwork,” Daniel said, walking at my side down the narrow rows of grapes, sweat beading on my brow despite the sun hat I wore, the soft soil sinking slightly under my feet. “I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your houseguest.” I stopped short at the end of the row of white grapes, just one row among hundreds, to scowl at Daniel from under my wide brim. “Now don’t get that look. He was just making the rounds getting to know folks, he said, and we spent an hour over in the tasting barn sampling some of last year’s Merlot. He’s quite a jabberer but funny. Holy shit, he had the entire staff and the guests roaring with some of his stories.”
