the three new members of his sales team.
‘They don’t have to be. The ten growers I’ve chosen are all part of a mentoring scheme I’ve created with well-established major winemakers who have been supplying Burgess Wine customers for years. My parents are happy to invest in the wines we select.’
‘Don’t you mean the wines you select?’ Saskia asked with a touch of surprise in her voice. From where he was standing, Rick could see that her gaze was locked onto the back cover of the brochure, which carried an impressive colour photograph of Rick in full climbing gear on a snowy mountain. ‘If I am reading this correctly,’ she whispered, ‘you already have a career as a professional sportsman, Mr Burgess. Does this new store mean that you have turned your back on adventure sports?’
And there it was. Just when he thought he might leave his past behind for a couple of hours and be taken seriously.
Rick pressed the fingers of one hand tight into his palm and fought back his anger. He had to stay frosty.
‘Let’s just say that I’m focusing on the less hazardous aspects. I haven’t broken anything important in years and I have every intention of staying around for a lot longer. So much wine, so little time!’
A ripple of laughter ran around the room but he could almost hear the unspoken question in the air which even his sales team were not prepared to ask out loud but were obviously thinking.
What would happen to this store if Rick Burgess jumped off some mountain with a parachute strapped to his back and the wind caught him and sent him crashing against the rocks before he could regain control?
It could happen. In fact it had already happened. One accident only a few months after Tom died.
How could he forget that day? It had been his first trip to the mountains since the funeral and he’d needed it as badly as any other addict needed that cigarette or fix of their choice.
The oppressive atmosphere of the family home and the overwhelming grief had finally become too much to bear and there was only one way he knew to try and get some balance and peace back into his life. Not trapped in a house all day staring at the four walls until he wanted to hit a wall. And go on hitting it until the pain subsided.
He needed to climb a high mountain with a specialised parachute strapped to his back. He needed to feel the rush of adrenalin as the wind caught in the parachute and he felt the power of the air lift him into the sky.
Free. Soaring like a bird. Released from the pain and trauma and grief of Tom’s death.
This was what he did. This was what had taken him to the awards podium of the European paragliding championships for three years in a row.
And for ten minutes of glorious tranquil flying in long winding curves he had been precisely where he wanted to be. Doing what he loved best.
Until one simple gust of wind in the wrong direction had ruined an otherwise perfect day.
But that was all it had taken to leave him with a broken collarbone and a badly sprained ankle.
His parents had been shocked and traumatised and full of complaints about how reckless and uncaring he had been. How very selfish and irresponsible. But that was nothing compared to the fall in the company credibility in the press.
The media loved to see a reclusive, obsessive sportsman with the golden touch take a fall. And this accident had given them the ammunition they needed to focus on one thing—his lifestyle.
Tom Burgess had been a strategic genius. But his brother Rick? What was he going to bring to the business? He might have taken Tom’s seat on the board but maybe the company was taking too much of a risk by bringing in their untrained and reckless second son.
Suddenly major wine producers who had supplied Burgess Wine for years were sucking in their cheeks and wincing about the management team at Burgess Wine.
Never mind the fact that he’d worked tirelessly to be a world-class paraglider and reach the top of this field. Never mind that he was prepared to give the same energy and determination to Burgess Wine and the family business that his brother Tom had transformed into an international company.
Never mind that he had spent the last two years since Tom’s death coming up to speed with the business to the point where his family were prepared to even listen to his ideas, despite their misgivings.
Time to make this deal swing his way. Time to take one of those risks he had become famous for. He needed buyers like Saskia Elwood to be interested and excited in this idea, not for himself but for his parents, who had taken a leap of faith. And for every one of the ten small businesses who trusted him with their future.
Rick strolled around the dining table in the sumptuous room towards the head of the table and caught Angie’s eye with a quick nod. She instantly slipped out of the room and returned a few minutes later with two silver ice buckets and gently placed them onto silver platters on the fine polished wood table.
‘Why don’t I let the wine do the talking for me?’ Rick smiled and nodded towards the slim wine bottles poking their heads out of the ice buckets. ‘Angie tells me that the sample cases are on their way here now, Saskia, but I thought you might like to try something special. A late harvest dessert wine from a single estate in Alsace which is turning out to be one of my favourite discoveries. Are you willing to give it a try?’
‘Of course,’ Saskia replied, slightly irritated that he thought it appropriate to choose the wine for her. But, as Angie went round the table, pouring the golden liquid into tiny green-tinted glasses, the genuine smiles of appreciation from the men and women in the Burgess sales team as they inhaled the aroma of the wine knocked her sideways.
They might be young but everyone around her table had one thing in common; a real and genuine passion for wine. But did that include the man himself? Her rescuer in denims and the leader of this merry band. Rick Burgess?
Rick sat back down and smiled in encouragement as Angie started a conversation about the Burgundy harvest at the other end of the table while they enjoyed the wine.
Saskia raised the glass of dessert wine to her nose, twirled the glass and inhaled the aroma, which made her eyes flutter in delight and astonishment. Then she sipped the wine ever so slowly.
It was rose petals, musk, vanilla and deep, warm spice. And on the tongue? An explosion of flavour and tingling acidity.
Saskia instantly put down her glass and reached for the bottle to read the label on the wine bottle. Twenty years old. Rare, exclusive and made by a tiny vineyard she had never heard of in Alsace. It was absolutely delicious. Unique. Expensive. But amazing.
It was so good that this wine could easily have come from the cellars of Elwood Brothers. Her mother and aunt’s family had been one of the oldest and most respected wine merchants in Britain, with traditions that went back hundreds of years. The Elwoods were famous around the world for having the finest collection of prestige wines and for employing the leading experts in their field.
Their reputation for quality and excellence had been built up over centuries. It had seemed like the end of a familiar institution when Elwood Brothers finally closed their doors a couple of years ago when the last of the brothers had decided to retire.
It was a shame that she couldn’t borrow some of that reputation for excellence to attract more clients
