A Taste of the Untamed

She turned at the sound of Clark Mayhew’s voice as he poked his head around the door. Clark was the club pianist she so loved to hear.

‘Come on, Grace,’ Clark prompted. ‘Shut that computer down and get out here. You’ve got a real talent.’

‘Not like you,’ she said, smiling.

Clark shrugged. ‘The only difference between you and me is that I have more confidence.’

‘I wish!’ Grace exclaimed, laughing as she walked across the club, sat down and adjusted the piano stool. ‘I can’t even play without music like you. I only wish I could.’

‘But you can,’ Clark insisted. ‘Close your eyes and let the melody flow through your fingers …’

A bolt of panic hit her as Grace realised she had no option but to close her eyes. The moment she tried to focus her eyes on the music notes and lines began to wheel and collide on the page.

‘Close your eyes, Grace,’ Clark encouraged, oblivious to what was happening. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’ he said when she managed a few bars.

She would definitely have to cut down her screentime, Grace realised when she opened her eyes again. The flashing lights plaguing her vision hadn’t gone away. If anything, they were getting worse.

Two years later

The girl had been eyeing him up since he’d entered the ballroom. It was a magnificent room, currently set out for a formal dinner with small tables laid for eight. An armada of glass and silverware glittered beneath huge Venetian chandeliers, which proved the perfect spotlight for the girl trying to attract his attention. Her figure alone was enough to scramble any man’s head, and the heated invitation in her eyes promised only one conclusion—if he were interested.

He’d pass. He was restless tonight, and bored by the round of engagements his PA had set up for him in London.

Tonight was a so-called power dinner, for movers and shakers in the wine industry. Nacho was better known for playing polo at an international level and running an estancia in Argentina the size of a small country, but his decision to restore the family vineyards was something he had been forced to do in order to protect his siblings’ inheritance. Nothing else would have persuaded him to return to that particular family home in Argentina …

‘Nacho.’

He turned to see the dapper figure of Don Fernando Gonzales, the chairman of the event, approaching. ‘Don Fernando.’ He inclined his head politely, noting the sultry beauty was now standing at the chairman’s side.

‘Nacho Acosta—I would like to present my daughter, Annalisa Gonzales …’

As Don Fernando stepped back an all too familiar sensation came over him as he briefly clasped the woman’s carefully manicured hand. He’d heard Don Fernando was in financial trouble, and the portly chairman wouldn’t be the first father to parade his pretty daughter in front of Nacho. Everyone knew Nacho held the reins to the family fortune, though they seemed unaware that Nacho was wise to schemes born out of desperation, or that he could do more damage to those he cared about than those misguided parents could possibly imagine.

It was almost a relief when he was distracted by the glimpse of a shining blonde head. He stared across the room, trying to work out if he had met the blonde before. His sixth sense said yes, but with only the back of her head to go on it was hard to be sure …

‘Am I keeping you, Señor Acosta?’ Annalisa Gonzales asked him with a knowing look.

Her father had peeled away, Nacho noticed, giving them the chance to get to know each other better. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, forcing himself to concentrate on what was undeniably a beautifully designed face.

‘Are you really as bad as they say you are?’ Annalisa asked, as if she hoped it were true.

‘Worse,’ he assured her.

They were both distracted by the sound of a dog barking, and Annalisa laughed as she turned to look for the culprit. ‘If I had known dogs were permitted at this dinner I would have brought Monkey, my Chihuahua—’

‘Who would have provided a tasty snack for Cormac, my Irish Wolfhound,’ he countered. ‘If you will excuse me, Señorita Gonzales, I believe the MC is about to call us to our tables …’

Grace sat down, relieved to have the woman sitting next to her introduce herself right away. Elias, Grace’s elderly employer and mentor, was sitting on Grace’s other side, but he had been immediately swept into greeting old friends and colleagues, and Grace was keen to prove that she could do this by herself. This annual event in celebration of the wine industry was Grace’s first major outing since becoming blind. It was also the first big outing for her guide dog, Buddy, and Grace was as nervous for Buddy as she was for herself. She hoped they would both get through the evening without making too many blunders.

While Grace was chatting easily to the lady at her side she took the chance to discreetly map the tablecloth and all the various hazards confronting her. A battalion of glasses was waiting to be knocked over—and then there was the cutlery she had to get right. And the napkin she had to unfold without knocking anything over. There were a lot of different-sized plates, along with groups of condiments and sugar bowls. The potential for sugar in her soup and salt in her coffee loomed large.

‘Here’s the pepper, if you want it,’ the lady next to her remarked, flagging up the arrival of the soup. ‘I like pepper on everything,’ she added, ‘though you may want to taste first. It might need salt—’

Grace felt a rush of emotion as the woman placed a second container close to her hand, where Grace could feel it. Small kindnesses counted for a lot now she was blind. They meant she could leave the house and do things like this. Elias was right. All she had to do was buckle on her courage each morning along with Buddy’s harness. It was harder doing that sometimes than talking about it, but it helped to know there were some really nice people in the world—and thank goodness for them.

‘You work for one of the great men in our industry,’ the older woman commented, obviously impressed when Grace explained that Elias had trained her to be a sommelier.

‘I guess Elias is the closest thing I’ve got to a father figure,’ Grace admitted. It wasn’t enough to describe Elias as her employer when he’d done so much for her.

‘You lost your father?’ the elderly lady prompted gently.

‘Yes,’ Grace murmured, growing sombre as she thought back.

‘I lost my father when I was very young. You’re lucky to have Elias on your side. He’s a kind man and a good man, and there aren’t many of those around—though I’m sure you’ll meet a good man of your own one day and get married.’

‘Oh, no!’ Grace exclaimed. ‘I could never do that.’

‘Why ever not?’ Grace’s companion demanded as Buddy barked at the change in Grace’s voice.

‘I wouldn’t want to be a burden,’ Grace explained.

‘A burden?’ her new friend exclaimed. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

Grace would run a mile rather than be a burden to anyone. She’d felt the same way when her mother had found happiness again after her father’s death and had wanted to marry a man with children of his own. Grace hadn’t wanted to get in the way of her mother’s happiness, and had taken the marriage as her cue to leave home for good. Then, when her sight had deteriorated, she had become doubly determined not to be a trouble to anyone.

But she wasn’t about to spoil this evening with dark thoughts. ‘I’ve still got a lot to learn and a lot to get used to,’ Grace said lightly, ‘so I think perhaps I’d better get myself sorted out before I go looking for love,’ She laughed, realizing what she’d said. ‘Perhaps it would be better if I let love come looking for me.’ She stilled, feeling a warm, papery hand covering hers.

‘You’re a brave girl, Grace. You deserve the best,’ Grace’s new friend insisted. ‘And don’t you dare settle for anything less.’

Nacho was growing increasingly impatient—although as Annalisa shrugged her slender shoulders and walked away he was forced to ask himself when the chance to accept a free gift in such attractive packaging had become so meaningless.

The past had made him hard and cynical, Nacho concluded. Most of the women he encountered seemed so obvious and shallow, and they all wanted the same thing: someone—anyone—to take care of them, financially and emotionally. And, having spent his teens and twenties caring for his siblings, he found his emotional bank was drained.

His married brothers often talked of how lucky they were to have found a soul mate. He always laughed and asked what chance they thought he stood. If they answered him he never listened. He didn’t believe in fate or luck. Hard work brought results, and he didn’t have time to waste searching for a woman. The only woman who could possibly stir his interest now would have to be strong and independent.

He cast one last look around the room, searching for the blonde again, but she seemed to have gone. He could be doing better things with his time, and as soon as politeness allowed he made his excuses and left.

On the drive back to the family penthouse in London he couldn’t shake the feeling that something of significance had happened at the dinner, though what that might have been eluded him.

Working in a vast wine warehouse was easy for Grace now she had Buddy to guide her. The big Golden Retriever could happily steer Grace across London, and navigating the now familiar maze of passages at the warehouse was a breeze for him, so Grace was curious when he started to growl.

‘What’s the matter, boy?’ she said, bending low to give him a pat. The strange thing was she could feel something too. It was the same sense of foreboding she got when there was thunder in the air.

Since her sight had failed Grace had come to rely on her other senses, and they had quickly become more developed. But apart from the thundering of her heart she could hear nothing now. ‘We’ve only got one more section to check,’ she reassured her guide dog. ‘Take me to Argentina, Buddy …’

Hearing one of his command words, Buddy led Grace unerringly to the section in the warehouse where wines from Argentina were stored. If Grace had said Spain, or France, or New World, the highly trained guide dog would have known exactly where to take her. To make doubly sure there could never be a mistake each section was labelled in Braille as well as in script.

Grace had had to learn a lot of new things since losing her sight to a rare virus. At first numbness and denial at the bleakness of her prognosis had swept over her, keeping her chained to the bed, to the house, but then anger and frustration had taken over, and they had demanded action. She’d decided that didn’t want to spend the rest of her life blundering around and falling over things, and had finally determined she would learn to trust the hated stick.