The Villa

warmth into her smile, she rose. "If you'll excuse me."
    She slipped out of the room, plucking the beeper from her pocket to check the number. She detoured to the ladies' lounge, glancing at her watch and pulling the phone from her bag. With the number punched in, she settled on one of the sofas and laid her notebook and her electronic organizer on her lap.
    After a long and demanding week in New York, she was still revved and, glancing through her appointments, pleased to have time to squeeze in a little shopping before she needed to change for her dinner date.
    Jeremy DeMorney, she mused. That meant an elegant, sophisticated evening. French restaurant, discussion of food, travel and theater. And, of course, of wine. As he was descended from the La Coeur winery DeMorneys, and a top account exec there, and she sprang from Giambelli stock, there would be some playful attempts to pry corporate secrets from each other.
    And there would be champagne. Good, she was in the mood for it.
    All followed by an outrageously romantic attempt to lure her into bed. She wondered if she'd be in the mood for that as well.
    He was attractive, she considered, and could be amusing. Perhaps if they both hadn't been aware that her father had once slept with his wife, the idea of a little romance between them wouldn't seem so awkward, and somehow incestuous.
    Still, several years had passed…
    "Maria." Sophia neatly tucked Jerry and the evening to come away, when the Giambelli housekeeper answered. "I've a call from my mother's line. Is she available?"
    "Oh, yes, Miss Sophia. She hoped you would call. Just one moment."
    Sophia imagined the woman hurrying through the wing, scanning the rooms for something to tidy when Pilar Giambelli Avano would have already tidied everything herself.
    Mama, Sophia thought, would have been content in a little rose-covered cottage where she could bake bread, do her needlework and tend her garden. She should have had a half dozen children, Sophia thought with a sigh. And had to settle for me.
    "Sophie, I was just heading out to the greenhouse. Wait. Catch my breath. I didn't expect you to get back to me so quickly. I thought you'd be in the middle of the auction."
    "End of it. And I think we can say it's been an unqualified success. I'll fax a memo of the particulars this evening, or first thing in the morning. Now, I really should go back and tie up the loose ends. Is everything all right there?"
    "More or less. Your grandmother's ordered a summit meeting."
    "Oh, Mama, she's not dying again. We went through that six months ago."
    "Eight," Pilar corrected. "But who's counting? I'm sorry, baby, but she insists. I don't think she plans to die this time, but she's planning something. She's called the lawyers for another revamp of the will. And she gave me her mother's cameo brooch, which means she's thinking ahead."
    "I thought she gave you that last time."
    "No, it was the amber beads last time. She's sending for everyone. You need to come back."
    "All right, all right." Sophia glanced down at her organizer and blew a mental kiss goodbye to Jerry DeMorney. "I'll finish up here and be on my way. But really, Mama, this new habit of hers of dying or revamping every few months is very inconvenient."
    "You're a good girl, Sophie. I'm going to leave you my amber beads."
    "Thanks a bunch." With a laugh, Sophia disconnected.
    Two hours later, she was flying west and speculating whether in another forty years she would have the power to crook her finger and have everyone scrambling.
    Just the idea of it made her smile as she settled back with a glass of champagne and Verdi playing on the headphones.
    * * * * *
    Not everyone scrambled. Tyler MacMillan might have been minutes away from Villa Giambelli rather than hours, but he considered the vines a great deal more urgent than a summons from La Signora.
    And he said so.
    "Now, Ty. You can take a few hours."
    "Not now." Ty paced his office, anxious to get back into the fields. "I'm sorry, Granddad. You know how vital the winter pruning is, and so does Tereza." He shifted the portable phone to his other ear. He hated the portables. He was always losing them. "MacMillan's vines need every bit as much care as Giambelli's."
    "Ty—"
    "You put me in charge here. I'm doing my job."
    "Ty," Eli repeated. With his grandson, he knew, matters must be put on a very basic level. 'Tereza and I are as dedicated to MacMillan wines as we are to those under the Giambelli label, and have