Damn. Being here always makes me sentimental. One more reason I need to sell this place. I’m still ruminating when I catch sight of Ivy. She’s sitting on the grass, probably tired from walking.
She hasn’t stopped smiling since the moment we climbed up the hill. She squeals from time to time whenever she’s delighted by the scenery. “This is beautiful!”
Paul and Louis praise frequently, too, even though I’m sure their family vineyard in France is no less spectacular than mine.
I walk toward Ivy, intending to rest beside her. But I’m a step too late. Louis drops onto the spot next to her and bumps his shoulder against hers.
The intimacy between the two irks me, although I’m hardly surprised by the young man’s obvious interest in Ivy.
“C’est parfait,” Paul comes back after taking a thorough survey. I very much like the lakes and the river. They provide extra moisture.”
A red trolley carrying wine tourists passes by the fields, heading toward the visitor center. The driver waves at me through the window. I wave back.
“How often do you have tourists?” Paul asks.
“Depends on the season,” I say. “More during the holidays and weekends. A lot more in the summer.”
“Agritourism is part of the vineyard business,” Paul nods. “We’ve got many international tourists visiting our vineyard every day from China, Japan, the U.S., all over the world. Louis is in charge of it. He’s a good tour guide.”
I can see that. I glance at Louis, who looks a bit smug at his uncle’s compliment.
Ivy smiles at the young man. “Sounds fun!”
An idea strikes my mind. I can hire Ivy to do just that. I’ve never hired a tour guide before even though we receive tour groups frequently. Sometimes when it was necessary, I’d take visitors around in the golf cart. Ivy would be perfect for the job. She loves the vineyard as much as I do. I picture her speaking enthusiastically to the visitors as she guides them through my property… Shit. I snap out of my imagination when I see Paul’s face. I’m being ridiculous. The guy comes all the way from France to see the vineyard, and he likes what he sees. I can’t change my mind now.
After lunch at the tasting room, we sit in my office to go over my business operations details. Paul is a meticulous, shrewd businessman. He checks everything from soil quality, crop disease to storage and treatment facilities. He asks for details about the prices of the grapes, marketing strategies, and staff salaries. He examines all the paperwork I have, including permits, licenses, insurance, and copyright certificates.
I provide him with answers the best I can, respectful of his need for information before making his decision. But at the same time, I’m annoyed, even resentful at his demand. I feel as if I’m exposing a sacred part of myself to someone I barely know. The vineyard is dear to me. It’s been my home and my life. I can’t stand it being under the scrutiny of a stranger.
I nearly lose my patience when he isn’t satisfied with the soil survey report, saying it’s too old and insists on seeing a copy of the most recent analysis, which I don’t have. It’s not an unreasonable request, but I feel like I’ve had enough and want to tell him to fuck off. I must be clenching my jaw and displaying my irritation because Ivy senses my agitation and chimes in, telling Paul we’d be glad to conduct a soil survey for him once he made an offer.
Her diplomatic skill softens my edges. I glance at her gratefully, glad I have her here instead of handling the situation alone.
I almost leave an audible sigh of relief when Paul finally stops questioning and says he’ll need time to draft his offer. I give him a copy of Offer to Purchase before we leave my office.
He lets Louis hold the document and asks me. “Is the price negotiable?”
Ah. I was wondering whether he would ever ask. “Yes,” I say. “Although I believe eighteen million is a reasonable price.”
“Very well,” Paul says, standing up from his chair. “We’ll make an offer by tomorrow morning.”
“No problem. If you need help with translating the document, Ivy can offer her expertise to assist you,” I say, nodding toward the girl who’s sitting eagerly and patiently on my side.
“Très Bien,” Paul says as we step into the tasting room.
A group of tourists is laughing merrily around. I greet each one of them, thanking them for their visit. Serving customers isn’t my strong point, but it gives me a sense of accomplishment merely having visitors. They are what all the hard work is for, after all.
Before Paul and Louis go upstairs, I say to them, “Did you guys bring your swimwear? If you did, please join me at the pool. It’s a nice day to take a dip.”
Chapter 11
Ivy
I sit down in the armchair in my room and rub my feet as I relax. I feel relief because as far as I’m concerned, I completed another day of work without making a blunder. I was able to help out at the meeting with the translation of some technical terms. At least my degree in French isn’t a joke. I’m pleased with myself, but I also worry about Gavin. He didn’t seem himself earlier. During the tour, he was lost in thoughts whenever he wasn’t speaking, and he was tense when Paul asked him questions during the meeting after lunch. I have a feeling he isn’t ready to part with his vineyard yet. It’s still important to him.
I feel sad, too. I love this place a lot. I liked it when I was here before, but this time I like it even more, perhaps it’s because Gavin’s selling it. This morning I had the wish I could live here for the rest of my life. Although I told him I would apply for a job even he sold it, I wasn’t serious about it. It feels like home because Gavin owns it, but if Paul or someone else owns it, then it’ll be just a vineyard.
Maybe I should speak to Gavin and convince him not to sell it? My heartbeat quickens at the thought. I could promise him I would move here and work for him… No, I can’t do that. It’s not my business. Besides, being here reminds him of Diana and their painful divorce. I can’t stand the fact either.
I sigh and stand up, reaching for my suitcase to find my bikini. The pool was my second favorite spot in the vineyard during my previous visits. Swimming is the only sport I enjoy. I’ve brought a bikini because I didn’t think my one-piece Speedo swimwear was right for the occasion. The bikini is pretty conservative and covers all my feminine parts, but still, I feel a bit shy at my exposed belly.
I wrap myself in a towel and quickly walk to the pool from the back of the chateau to avoid any tourist. It’s empty at the moment. I throw my towel on a lounge chair and jump into the water, screaming a bit since the water feels cool.
I swim breaststroke quickly to generate heat. When I rest after a few laps, I notice a beautiful male body stepping out of the pool house. My God! My body warms up instantly, and now I’m feeling hot.
The man with his beautiful tanned muscles reminds me of those bronze statues of Greek gods. As he gets closer, I gasp— he is none other than Gavin!
My mouth hangs open, and I’m practically drooling. My eyes are glued to him when he approaches the pool.
“Hi Ivy, how’s the water? I hope it isn’t too cold?” he asks as he raises his arms to stretch, his pecs rippling in the afternoon sunshine.