“Stiff?”
“Stuffy.”
“Stuffy?”
“I know you take your wine seriously, and for good reason. But if you ever do want to sell your wine to the U.S. market... Well, I know a little about marketing. Most customers in the U.S. don’t know much about the different regional characteristics of wine, that sort of thing—though at least with champagne they understand the designation better than usual. But in the end, a lot of people buy wine because of the label.”
“A nonstuffy label.”
She nodded.
“So you can put a candle in it,” he continued around a bite of tart.
She nodded. “I mean, you said you’re not interested in branching out to the U.S. market, and you might not even be here for much longer, so maybe I’m just wasting my breath. But if you ever change your mind, I suggest you invest in some original art for your labels, like you did for this house. It could still be classic and elegant, but with a pop of something new. Personally, I’ve never understood why every French winemaker doesn’t have a beautiful Art Nouveau–style label, since that’s such an iconic style and itnevergoes out of fashion.”
He pushed the crumbs of his tart away, leaned back in his chair, and fixed her with a gaze. “Fascinating.”
“Also, you might include your personal story.”
He frowned, and she was beginning to understand where those worry lines came from between his brows. “What about my personal story?”
“For the back of the label. In California, anyway, more and more wineries are owned by big corporations out to turn a profit.”
“We make a profit as well. At least, that’s the dream.”
“Of course it is, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I’m talking about how to sell the wine so you can make that profit. A family winery, handed down through the generations—from a marketing perspective, that’s pure gold.”
“It’s not gold of any sort. My father, I’m sorry to say, drove this place on the ground. He cared more about his bloody museum than the business. Didn’t notice when the American ‘champagnes’ started gaining a foothold in the market, displacing the French wines.”
“Yeah, sorry about the encroachment on the champagne designation.”
“The only thing worse than inheriting a family winery youdon’t want is inheriting a family winery you don’t want and then running it on the ground.”
“Intothe ground.”
“Pardon?”
“The expression is ‘running itintothe ground,’ notonthe ground.”
“Thank you. You see, it has been a while. I am losing my English.”
“Your English is remarkable. Prepositions are always tricky.”
They lapsed into silence for a moment. Chopin played softly in the background; the candle burned down. Flames crackled in the giant fireplace, keeping the living room warm and cozy.
“You mentioned you spent time in the U.S.?” Rosalyn said.
“I taught at NYU for a semester on a faculty exchange, and spent a summer touring California a little. But I did most of my studies in England.”
“If you study English literature, it’s the place to be.”
“There’s nothing quite like walking the moors, following in the path of Heathcliff or Jane Eyre.”
She smiled. “So you’re a romantic, underneath it all.”
He stuck out his chin and gave a little Gallic shrug. “I do enjoy the Romantics. But I would say I’m more of a modernist.”
“I don’t know much about literature.”
