which they had framed in their oak-panelled tasting room), Eduardo had been left a modest inheritance and they bought a tiny vineyard in California.
Within three years they had done so well – particularly with their Syrah varietals –
that they were able to buy the neighbouring vineyard when it came up for sale.
Their winery was called the Buena Vista vineyard, situated in the foothills of the Santa Cruz Mountains,
and they had a child called Alejandro, who was at boarding school near Monterey Bay.
Much of their business came from wine-trail tourists. Coachloads of people arrived at hourly intervals.
It was quite easy to improvise, as the tourists were genuinely quite gullible.
It went like this: Eduardo would decide which wines to put out in the glasses before each coach load arrived, and hand Nora the bottles –
“Woah, Nora, despacio, un poco too much” he reprimanded in his good-humoured Spanglish, when she was a bit too liberal with the measures –
and then when the tourists came Nora would inhale the wines as they sipped and swilled them, and try to echo Eduardo and say the right things.
“There is a woodiness to the bouquet with this one” or “You’ll note the vegetal aromas here –
“the bright robust blackberries and fragrant nectarine, perfectly balanced with the echoes of charcoal.”
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