Free The Sauvignon Secret by Ellen Crosby

Charles didn’t strike me as so dumb he didn’t realize his wife still carried a torch for another man. It wouldn’t surprise me if Juliette married Charles just to get back at Pépé—then she had to live with her decision. The irony of it is that Charles has a reputation as a womanizer, though he’s discreet and they pretend to be a happy couple.”
    “My God, how complicated.”
    Was this what Charles wanted to talk to us about after dinner? Something personal? His marriage? The kitchen door opened and Jasmine’s head popped into view.
    “The lady of the house is asking for you. I told her you were in the bathroom.” She waved something at my cousin. “Breath mints. I figured you could use them.”
    Dominique and I exchanged glances. “Well,” she said, “here we go.”
    On our way inside I said, “I like your new chef.”
    “She’s amazing,” Dominique said. “I was lucky to get her.”
    “How’d you find her?”
    “She contacted me. She was born in France, spent a lot of time there, but grew up here. Her father was Iranian, a university professor. American mother, died last fall. Apparently she brought up Jasmine in a home that only ate organic produce, anything locally grown. They owned chickens, a goat, that sort of thing. Jasmine worked with Juliette on tonight’s menu, so all the fruit and vegetables could come from her garden.”
    “I’m impressed,” I said. “At least the food is going to be fabulous.”
    “It is. Which reminds me. We’ve been planning a dinner at the Inn where everything on the menu was grown or raised within a hundred miles of here. We’ve had so much interest that I was wondering if we could move it to the vineyard.”
    “Sure, no problem. Talk to Frankie and we’ll get it on the calendar.”
    “There won’t be time. It’s next Friday.” She saw my alarmedlook. “Don’t worry. Jasmine’s got it all organized. There’s nothing to worry about.”
    “You’re letting Jasmine run this?”
    “It was her idea,” Dominique said. “She’s very capable, Lucie. Besides, you know what they say—never let a gift horse in the house. How could I say no?”
    “When you put it like that,” I said, “I suppose you couldn’t.”
    Juliette seated Pépé at her table and exiled me to a remote corner of the living room with an elderly crowd who talked about the old days at their various foreign posts and the new days with their aches and pains, and the hassles of dealing with Social Security and Medicare. Mercifully everyone began leaving at eleven. By eleven thirty Pépé and I were the only guests remaining. Charles took me aside after Juliette excused herself to settle up with Dominique and her staff.
    “I explained to Luc where the lodge is located,” he said. “It’s only half a mile down our private road, easy enough to find. Make yourself at home and I’ll be along shortly.”
    “Charles.” Juliette returned from the kitchen, lightly touching his sleeve. “Do you have the check to pay the caterers? I thought I had it, but I don’t.”
    “It’s in the library,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”
    He disappeared, leaving the three of us alone. I waited, hoping the floor would open up so I could drop through, rather than witness the anguished looks that passed between Pépé and Juliette.
    “When will I see you again?” Juliette held out her hands to my grandfather, who clasped them without taking his eyes off her face.
    “I don’t know,” he said. “I leave for California on Sunday. After the trip, I’ll be returning to France.”
    “Can’t you stay a day or two longer?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Please try. We could see each other again.”
    Even now I don’t like to remember the look of loss and longing that passed between them. I cleared my throat and turned away, pretending to have a coughing fit. When I finished, Pépé was kissing both of Juliette’s hands.
    She blinked rapidly. “Good night, Luc.”
    “Good night,
ma