In Vino Veritas Read Online Free PDF Page B

afraid. It’s tied up in a developing business. It will be an excellent investment, in the long run.’
    Vanda felt now that she had always known this would be the outcome. She had put herself through a humiliation which was pointless. How could she ever have found this man desirable? ‘You know as well as I do that you gave me all sorts of assurances that I could have my money out whenever I wanted, given a couple of months’ notice.’
    â€˜I don’t remember any such promises. I’m afraid that verbal agreements have no standing unless both parties agree on what was said.’ He was enjoying the familiar feeling of exercising power over another being’s future, of knowing that he held all the cards in this particular game. ‘It wasn’t a large sum you invested, but I’m afraid it’s impossible to return it at this moment, much as I should like to.’
    â€˜And that’s your last word?’
    â€˜I’m afraid it has to be.’
    â€˜I shall take legal advice on this.’
    â€˜You’ll be wasting your money if you do. I’m sorry, but there it is.’ He didn’t look at all sorry as she flung back her chair and left his office.
    Vanda North’s hands were shaking as she gripped the wheel of her car. She had to force herself to concentrate on the simple business of driving as she turned out of the car park and on to the B road outside. She caught a glimpse of Beaumont’s face at the window of his office as she went. He still had that supercilious smile he had worn for most of their exchanges. She put a mile between herself and the vineyards, then drove into the parking lay-by she had been aiming for and stopped.
    Her face was in her hands for what seemed to her a long time. As far as she could see, there was no solution to this. Well, only one. And that surely wasn’t possible, was it?
    Jason Knight was used to working under pressure. It is a necessary skill for any chef in charge of a busy kitchen.
    This was a different sort of pressure and he wasn’t coping anything like as well. Playing golf against the club champion in the third round of the singles knockout competition was proving more testing of his temperament than he had expected. It was ridiculous to take the random bounces and rolls of a small white golf ball quite so seriously, he told himself, but the thought did not help him.
    Jason was thirty-eight and in his golfing prime, in his opinion. He had played the game intermittently since he was a boy, and regularly since he had come to this area and joined the Ross-on-Wye Golf Club. He had a handicap of eight, which he considered generous, whereas his opponent played off scratch. Jason was receiving eight shots in this match. When discussing his chances with other members beforehand, he had discounted his chances against the young man with what he hoped was a becoming modesty. Privately, he had thought his progress to the next round highly probable.
    Now, after eleven holes, he was one down and five of his shots were gone – squandered, for the most part, in his view. On the short twelfth, he was standing over a putt three feet above the hole for a half. It should have been a doddle, with his normal calm putting technique. He stood over the ball for what was probably a little too long, jerked his putter convulsively at it, and watched it shoot over the right edge of the hole.
    Two down.
    â€˜Bad luck!’ said his opponent sympathetically, before he moved away gratefully towards the thirteenth tee. Both of them knew that it was bad play rather than bad luck, but the polite golfing fiction was observed.
    The thirteenth at Ross is a shortish but very tight par four, where any errant tee shot will leave you baulked by trees from a second shot to the green. Most good players take a fairway wood or even an iron from the tee, to place the ball safely on the fairway; Jason was delighted to see his opponent reaching for his