More than ever she knew this dinner meant something of importance, and she was glad she would be wearing a dress he liked. She gathered her other clothes and they went out to the car.
“Where is the dinner being held?”
“Over at the five-star Grand Hôtel la Cloche. It’s been classified as an historic monument overlooking the capital of Burgundy.”
In a few minutes, he pointed out the nearby famous Place Darcy. They drove to the private parking before walking inside the hotel to the sumptuous hall with flower-laden banquet tables. At the front of the hall she spotted a rostrum.
Two of the forty or so men and women assembled turned out to be his uncles. Everyone looked elegantly dressed. No wonder Raoul had offered to buy her something special to wear. The seated guests nodded to Raoul while they stared at Abby in what she could only describe as astonishment. After attending the funeral, she ought to be used to it.
“It’s already full,” she whispered. “Are we late?”
He put his arm around her waist. “It doesn’t matter. Now we won’t have to wait so long for me to get my part over with. Our place is up in front at the head table.”
In seconds, she found herself seated in the middle on Raoul’s left. The food had been served and people were starting to drink their wine. He introduced her to a distinguished middle-aged man with a trace of silver in his dark hair on her left. The man couldn’t take his eyes off her, but she knew instantly it wasn’t because he found her attractive.
“Mademoiselle Grant? I’d like you to meet Monsieur Raimund Godard, owner of the prestigious Pascal Godard Domaine here in Burgundy,” Raoul spoke in English. “And on his left, his daughter Solange.”
Abby smiled. “How do you do, Monsieur, Mademoiselle?” She assumed his daughter wasn’t married since Raoul hadn’t attached a different last name to her.
“Mademoiselle Grant,” the man murmured.
The other woman leaned forward to see around her father. Abby had heard the expression “staring daggers” at someone. She now saw it for herself. Solange de la Croix Godard, a real beauty with copper-red hair sweeping her shoulders, came close to impaling Abby with the dark brown eyes she’d inherited from her father.
By now Raoul had gotten involved in a conversation with an older man seated on his right. Abby ate in silence until another man, seated at the end of the table, walked up to the rostrum. He tapped his wineglass with a fork to get everyone’s attention and introduced himself. After a welcoming speech in French, he asked Raoul to come up.
“I won’t be long,” he whispered against her ear before he made his way to the podium. She was still reacting to the contact when he started speaking. Throughout the five-minute speech she didn’t understand, she sensed Solange’s eyes on her, but Abby refused to let her know she was aware of her.
There was a burst of applause before Raoul returned to the table. Two other men gave speeches and dessert was served. Raoul put an arm around the back of her chair. “If you’re ready, we’ll leave now.”
That was fine with Abby, who didn’t like being the center of attention. He held her chair while she got up, and then the two of them left the banquet hall, aware every eye had followed them out of the room.
“There. That wasn’t so bad.”
She gave an ironic chuckle, but didn’t say anything as he helped her into the car. When he got behind the wheel, Abby turned to him. “What was your speech about? You got a resounding ovation.”
“Remember when I told you that France’s grape harvest was among the smallest in thirty years, down ten percent from the year before?” She nodded. “I passed on some thoughts my grandfather and I discussed recently. It’s still too early to draw a conclusion about the quality of the wine this year. In truth, the future weather conditions haven’t been predicted by the experts to be all that bad even if the quantity of the wine will be economically tight.
“That’s why it’s advisable for some vineyards that have a system of reserves to hold back selling a part of the production year to year. That practice serves as insurance to help ride out those times when there is a poor grape harvest.”
“That’s what you’ve been doing on your estate?”
“And will continue to do. My grandfather and I are in lockstep on that score, even if some of the family have a hard time wanting to conserve,” he emphasized.
“I’m sure that’s why you’re in charge.”
“Many of my family members would like to replace me if it weren’t Decorvet tradition that the eldest son becomes head of the estate if the present owner dies or is unable to function.”
“What about the eldest female if she’s the oldest sibling?”
“Not in my archaic family, even if she’s the most qualified.”
“That leaves your sister out. How does she feel about it?”
“I’ll leave that to your imagination.”
“For what it’s worth, I think your family is lucky with you at the helm. Thanks to you they still have their legacy and have survived, even after passing through such a terrible harvest.”
He flicked her a burning glance. “I can’t wait to get you home.”
The impact of those words sent a thrill through her body. “Raoul—the daughter of the man I sat next to tonight, Solange, kept staring at me with hostile eyes. I’m not making it up.”
“I know you’re not.”
Abby struggled to find the right words. “I can only assume she wished she’d been with you tonight.”
They left the hotel for home. “One of these days she’ll find the right man.”
But Solange wanted Raoul.
“What’s going on in your mind?”
“Nothing specific.” Which wasn’t true.
“That’s the first lie you’ve told me. Tell me what’s bothering you.
“Was it accidental that we sat right next to the Godard family?”
“No. The Wine Association plans these regional dinners and they always place the head domaine owners
