“I love what Claudine did with your hair,” Portia said.
“Thank you. So do I. She had a lot to repair,” I added, looking to Mrs. Brittany. If something I said pleased her, I saw it in her eyes first, and sometimes only there. Right now, she was keeping back any reactions to anything. What self-control, I thought. What power. Suddenly, I wanted to be just like her.
Randy came over to me with the opened bottle of wine. Apparently, Mr. Whitehouse wanted to show off my wine-tasting skills and had already arranged for me to be the one served first to do the tasting. He was probably taking credit for it, but I didn’t care.
“Go on,” Mrs. Brittany said when I hesitated.
Mr. Farmingham folded his arms across his chest and sat back to watch. I went through it just as I had done with Mr. Whitehouse at lunch. And then I surprised them all.
“I think this is a bit too woody,” I said.
Mr. Whitehouse looked shocked. Portia glanced quickly at Mrs. Brittany for her reaction, but Mr. Farmingham sat forward and lifted his glass for Randy.
He tasted it, thought a moment, and nodded. “She’s right,” he said. “Bring another bottle, Randy, from another case, please.”
“Right away, Mr. Farmingham.”
“It happens sometimes,” Mr. Farmingham said.
I looked at Mrs. Brittany, too. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t seem angry. She looked more thoughtful now. Then she turned sharply to Mr. Whitehouse.
He raised his hands. “I can’t take full credit. She knew a lot more about wine than most girls I’ve tutored,” he confessed. “Her mother . . .”
“I’m not criticizing her, Nigel. I wanted to hear your reaction. That’s all.”
“Oh. Well, so far, quite impressed has been my reaction,” he said, looking at me.
“Thank you, Mr. Whitehouse,” I said.
“Well, now,” Mr. Farmingham said, turning to me. “You should know that I own a few vineyards in France.”
“Really? Où sont-ils?”
“Two in Bordeaux and one in Bergerac. Have you been to those regions?”
“No, only to Paris when I was much younger.”
“Perhaps one day I’ll give you a personal guided tour.”
“I’ve been to your vineyard in Bergerac,” Portia said.
He looked at her and smiled. “I heard. I was told after the fact, or I might have joined you and your company. Since I knew him, I should have—”
Mrs. Brittany cleared her throat specifically to end that discussion. Decker looked at her and sat back. I was impressed with the great care taken to hide the names of any client and any other details.
Randy hurried in with a new bottle of white wine. Everyone waited as he uncorked it and poured it into a new glass for me.
I tasted it the proper way, deliberately taking my time, and then nodded. “Much better, merci.”
He poured Mr. Farmingham a new glass, and he had the same reaction.
“Well, with such a display of beauty and talent, I’d say you were on your way to becoming a Brittany girl.”
“On her way,” Mrs. Brittany said, fixing her eyes on me, “but not yet there.”
“Of course. You can lose someone potentially very valuable by putting her out too soon. The same is true for a good racehorse, Roxy.”
“Well, I’ve been compared to lots of things, Mr. Farmingham, but this is the first time I’ve been compared to a horse.”