Page 7 of Vine

“Yep. ‘Fraid so.”

Emma took a more measured sip, swilling it around her mouth. “This wine is surprisingly okay. You should slow down. For a mid-priced rosé, it’s quite full-bodied. Woodsy. Base notes of strawberry and melon.”

She frowned over the rim of her glass as I downed another slug, savouring the warmth filtering through to my veins. Lots of calories; I could always vomit them up later, if a razorblade wasn’t handy.

A cheery landlord presented us with a complementary bowl of olives, throwing another log on the fire as he sauntered back to the counter. French chatter floated across the bar in a low soothing hum.

Another shaving of anxiety leeched away. Perhaps this vineyard malarkey might be tolerable after all. Fresh air and simple food, away from the hustle of city living. Time out of real life, an opportunity to collect my thoughts, wean myself off the pills. Wean myself off Leigh. Let my skin heal. Work out what I wanted in the future. Cultivating a vineyard should be straightforward enough, shouldn’t it? I mean, vineyards were basically school field trips for adults, weren’t they? And your ID got you into the gift shop afterwards.

“What do you think, Caspian?” Emma tapped on her glass. “Can you taste theterroir? Savour it properly. You’re part of the wine trade now.”

Humouring her, I took a more gentlemanly sip, making a show of swirling it in the glass and sniffing it first, before tossing it from cheek to cheek and pretending to chew. “Mmm, absolutely.Terroirall the way. Initially, the nose is very closed, but yes, it opens on the tongue to reveal the delicate aroma of beeswax. Can I detect wet lambswool in there too? And… yes… a subtle hint of absolute bullshit on the finish.”

Most of the time, Emma had the air of a woman exceedingly familiar with the rules of lacrosse, and probably a riding saddletoo. She totally nailed the disappointed head-girl vibe, helped by her fresh, make-up-free features and no-nonsense blonde bob.

“Come on,” I said. “Don’t look at me like that! It’s a ten-euro bottle of plonk, made from a mishmash of vineyards. How can you rate it as good?”

“Lesson number one. Drink the wine, not the label.” She took another sip. “Nor the price. Trust me. It’s value for money. Which means yourterroiris probably fairly decent. Slow down, give it a sniff, then taste it properly.”

I inhaled again and shrugged. “Smells like pink wine. You didn’t even bother sniffing yours.”

“I don’t need to.” She smiled, smugly. “And to be honest, Caspian, the only thing I can smell at the moments is sour grapes. Would you like to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”That some days it hurt to be alive?

She pretended to scratch her head. “Um… the fact that you and Jonas hate each other’s guts, that you are still in love with your ex-husband, and no one thought to clue me in on it?”

“I’m not still in love with him!”

“But you’d have him back, wouldn’t you? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

She raised her eyebrows, waiting for me to carry on. “We get a bonus payment at the end of our contract if we can get back up to three million viewers. And sued if we walk away. So we all agreed to sweat it out.”

Her voice softened. “Good. Only checking. It’s just that it’s obviously still hitting you really hard.” Shared road trips and two glasses of rosé fast-forwarded relationships. Emma was quickly becoming the confidante I’d lacked as my marriage fell apart. “You’re still excellent together in front of the cameras. So natural. I watched the last series, the dancing on Broadway one. I would never have guessed you weren’t a couple.”

Despite myself, I acknowledged the praise for a brief moment. The sole married gays fronting a mainstream telly show was certainly part of our appeal, but we were so much more than that, and the three of us knew it. Like all the best double acts, Leigh and I found the same things funny, read each other’s thoughts, anticipated the other’s next move. Had utter trust.

Hah!

“Nor does the rest of the viewing public. Our figures have slipped enough as it is, without announcing to the world the Leigh/Caspian love story is a total lie. It would be a ratings disaster. That’s why you and the rest of the crew signed a non-disclosure.”

Emma frowned. “I didn’t.”

“Didn’t you?” A little curl of anxiety crept up my spine.

“No. I don’t know about any of the crew, though. I joined the gang late, didn’t I? It’s probably an oversight. Trust me. I’m not about to spill your secrets on Twitter.”

I believed her; she was the most honest, straightforward person I’d met in the television industry in quite some time.

“Jonas says telling the world we’re divorced would pull more viewers in—he thinks it would spice up the on-set tension. I point-blank disagreed, and Leigh backed me up, thank God. Hence, the non-disclaimers.”

“Do you think you’re going to be able to pull it off? Hanging around a vineyard for nine months together? I imagine the day to day is a lot less intensive than rehearsing for the Broadway show, but in some ways it’s more intimate, isn’t it? Less action. From the way Jonas talks, the focus will rely more heavily on dialogue and self-discovery.The most satisfying journey is the one you take inwardwas the phrase he used.”

God, I really should have burned that desk calendar. And the priggish photo alongside it. “We’ll soon find out, won’t we?Hopefully, the urge to stab them both with a blunt scythe will pass as soon as the cameras roll.”

She grinned. “Aaah, and you’re such a sweet boy on the telly. No one would ever guess that in real life you were contemplating murder.”

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