‘What on earth is this…?’
Arcadia Farm, located in Coombsville in Napa Valley, was a vineyard Warren personally owned. But its location was actually removed from Oakville, where the famed To-Kalon was, lying to the southeast. In terms of location, it was not exactly a place that attracted attention.
Even so, there was one reason Mark had his eye on it. It was because the vineyard had been created by none other than Warren Winiarski, who had spent more than ten years pouring his effort into it.
Mark Harrington operated one of the three largest wineries in Sonoma, but even so, he had a desire to rise higher, and the direction he aspired toward was Napa Valley. No matter how well he made his wines, Napa’s Cabernet-centered cult wines commanded prices he could not hope to touch.
At present, quite a few good deals and good properties were said to be on the market in Napa Valley, but from Mark’s perspective, the best property could only be the vineyard Warren had created. And when he heard the rumor that Warren had taken his hands off it, he had moved aggressively.
But if he was making a wine better than the one before his eyes, Warren would hand over the vineyard?
It was a statement that could not help but make his heart tremble.
“Go on… What are you shaking for?”
Warren chuckled, took a sip of wine, smiled in satisfaction, and brought a piece of fine cheese to his mouth.
At that, Mark also brought the glass to the tip of his nose and took in the aroma. Startled, he took a sip with trembling eyes. Warren watched him with great interest.
“……”
Mark Harrington remained frozen for a while, unable to take the glass from his lips. Even after the wine had disappeared from his mouth, the sensation lingering between his tongue and gums did not easily settle.
“…It doesn’t feel like Sylphid.”
When he murmured in a low voice, Warren picked up another piece of cheese and said,
“Your sense hasn’t completely died.”
Without realizing it, Mark swirled the glass once more and drank.
“Usually, a Pinot Noir with this level of density grabs people from the first aroma… but this is the opposite. It doesn’t unfold in the nose, but in the mouth.”
“So? What do you think?”
Mark frowned slightly, took a breath as if choosing his words, and answered.
“It’s uncomfortable.”
At that answer, Warren nodded as if he found it rather interesting.
“Uncomfortable, is it… That’s quite a good evaluation.”
“Yes. It isn’t an easy wine. Nor is it friendly. But… strangely, I keep drinking it. I can see more in the second glass than in the first.”
He looked down at the glass and continued.
“The acidity doesn’t jump out, and the tannins don’t come to the forefront, but the structure is clear. On top of that, how should I put it… several new aromas keep tapping at the inside of my mouth. Judging by the quality of the Pinot Noir, it has to be from Russian River, but I’ve never seen Pinot Noir handled like this.”
“It’s not the first time. You simply didn’t know.”
“…I see.”
“So, your conclusion?”
Mark bit his lip and asked,
“I’m supposed to send you the Pinot Noir from my winery, aren’t I?”
“That’s right. Send me a wine you’re confident in.”
“……”
“You don’t have one.”
“Embarrassingly, no.”
Wine was something with many layers of preference, where one could not easily say what the right answer was, but even so, there were certainly differences in quality. And if the person judging was Warren Winiarski, one could not dare insist by force that one’s own was better.
“That’s a shame.”
Of course, the person for whom it was a shame was Mark Harrington, and Warren watched his slightly distorted face as if amused. No matter how successful a winery owner Mark was in Sonoma, to Warren, he was no different from a child.
That was why, just by looking at his face, Warren could see right through what he was thinking, and that made it entertaining.
“This must be Redwood’s new brand for this year.”
“That’s right. It’ll be released in about a month.”
“……”
“Do you know where the grapes are from?”
He had already guessed. He knew which farm in Russian River Valley Redwood had received grapes from.
“They’re Grendel Hill grapes.”
“Oh, so you knew. I heard the farmer there is a stubborn man, and you can feel that stubbornness from the grapes themselves. Once it’s released, if you take your time feeling this wine and compare it with the wines from your winery, you’ll gain a great deal of inspiration.”
“Thank you. I feel I’ve learned a great deal from visiting your home today, sir.”
“It’s no trouble to give this much advice for a junior.”
“Then I’ll be going now. If I take any more of your wine, I feel I’ll earn your displeasure.”
“Hahaha! You’re quick on the uptake. Do that.”
As Mark left the study, regret lingering behind him, Warren’s smile deepened.
“Greedy fellow…”
Warren knew there were many people eyeing his vineyard. But that vineyard was merely something he was not touching at the moment, a place like an attic where he had hidden away a toy. How could he sell that to anyone?
From the beginning, Warren had never intended to give it away.
“Still, he can see himself objectively.”
That much, he acknowledged.
---
Mark Harrington maintained perfect control over his expression all the way until he passed through the front gate, a faint smile hanging at the corners of his mouth. But the moment he got into the car and shut the door, Mark sat for a long while gripping the steering wheel without saying a word.
After closing his eyes in silence for a long time, he quietly started the engine and pulled away.
“Damn it…”
A curse slipped out from the devastation he felt. The afterimage of the wine he had just drunk would not leave his mind. It had no label, no brand, no vintage, no explanation, yet its presence was more powerful than anything.
After driving for about an hour and arriving home, Mark Harrington parked in front of his house and still could not get out for some time. The aroma he had smelled in Warren’s study, and the layered sensations of that Pinot, still remained in his mouth.
But he could not stay like that forever, so he composed his expression as if nothing had happened and entered the house.
“Dad!”
“What brings you home at this hour?”
To his wife’s question, Mark answered, “Just because…” Then, seeing Sienna’s smiling face, he asked,
“Why are you here instead of going to work?”
After graduating, Sienna had begun working at Harrington Winery. It was less a matter of applying what she had learned in school and closer to conducting deeper research at the winery based on her studies.
After all, the technical capabilities of a winery that had already reached a certain level of quality and scale were, at least when it came to its main wines, superior in some respects to those of any university.
“I came to report that we selected the name today.”
“Hm? Ah…”
For an instant, Mark’s face stiffened. The wine Harrington Winery had spent nearly two years researching and poured all its strength into creating. The wine he had thought would be responsible for the next ten years of Harrington Winery’s future…
They had selected only twelve premier barrels, held the yield down to 1.2 tons per acre, balanced it with 40% new French oak and the rest second-use barrels… even the acidity had been set perfectly at 3.55, and he had prided himself that everything was flawless.
“SOVEREIGN NOIR. What do you think? It means the highest authority of Pinot Noir… It carries the strongest message a Pinot Noir can have right from the name, so it won by an overwhelming vote. Doesn’t it suit it perfectly?”
If he had not gone to Warren’s house today, Mark would have thought so too. In truth, if one examined it closely, the difference was not enormous. Some people would surely judge them to be wines capable of competing on equal footing.
But he knew. Though the difference was subtle enough to be difficult to distinguish, there was clearly a difference in their value as wines.
“Let’s change the name.”
At Mark’s firm words, Sienna froze.
“Why?”
“Instead of SOVEREIGN NOIR, let’s go with something that feels a little more normal.”
After a brief silence, the smile disappeared from Sienna’s face.
“Dad, don’t joke around. We already decided the label concept, price positioning, and distribution presentation based on this name. You know the market only responds when you show confidence.”
Mark took off his coat, hung it over a chair, and shook his head.
“It’s not that I don’t know. If it’s for immediate sales, what you’re saying is right, but…”
“Why on earth are you being like this?”
Looking at his daughter as she raised her voice, Mark lowered his own, his gaze sinking heavily.
“This isn’t enough.”
“What?”
“It’s still not enough. We have to make a better Pinot Noir. Only then…”
“……?”
“Only then can we preserve our winery’s honor.”
How humiliating would it be to release it under a name like that and then lose to a wine with an ordinary name? And if, of all people, the opponent was that old man from Grendel Hill? Just thinking about it already drained the strength from his hands and feet. That was why Mark decided to take the force out of the name.
But that was Mark’s thinking. His daughter Sienna had no way of understanding why her father was acting like this.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. Harrington Estate Pinot Noir. Or something clean and understated like Riverbend. And let’s revisit the harvest timing. This year, we focused on stabilizing acidity, but there’s still room when it comes to seed maturity. For 10% of the total lots, experiment with whole-cluster fermentation, and divide the extraction more precisely. Split the fermentation tanks by size too.”
Seeing her father’s face, which somehow looked both pressed and heavy, Sienna realized there was a reason he could not speak of.
“Haa… Fine. You’re saying we should make a better Pinot, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’ll change the name. But the next brand…”
Mark smiled.
“When that time comes, you name it.”
Father and daughter looked at each other in silence.
That night, the lights at Harrington Winery did not go out until late.
---
The next day.
On a morning when the fog unique to Russian River Valley lay low, I drove in along the narrow access road that ran between the vineyards. Far from flashy, this place, perhaps because of its mysterious and beautiful natural surroundings, brought peace to a person’s heart.
After arriving in front of the farm and getting out of the car, the old man standing by the doorway slowly lifted his head, leaning on his cane.
Elias Grendel, the farmer who had grown grapes on this hill for more than half a century.
“You’re here.”
A short, calm greeting. I bowed my head in return, then carefully took out a long wooden box.
“I’ve come to harvest the grapes. I’m a bit late, aren’t I?”
“The weather was a little chilly this year, so it’s no surprise the harvest is a bit late. Besides, it’s your call. What would I have to say about it?”
“Let’s go inside for now.”
When we entered the office, which was like a storage shed on Grendel Hill Farm, cozy yet musty air greeted us.
“What’s that?”
“It’s wine made from the grapes you gave me, sir.”
For an instant, Elias’s eyes wavered. Then he stared intently at the wooden box that must have contained the wine and asked,
“The release is sooner than I expected.”
“One year is enough for Pinot Noir.”
“Is that Redwood’s technology?”
“Yes.”
Elias slowly sat in an old chair and instructed an employee to bring wineglasses and an opener. I placed the box on the table and opened the lid. A single bottle revealed itself inside.
On the label was a name written in a clean, unadorned typeface.
QUIET HILL
The label, with its warm ivory tone and a very faint silhouette of a hill, showed a restrained design. He looked at it with a faint smile at the corners of his mouth.
As if he were reading not letters, but the story contained within them.
“…It’s a good name. This hill has always been quiet.”
“I’m glad you like it. I hope the wine is the same. Please, have a taste. For reference, in case it wouldn’t stabilize after bottling, I bottled this one three weeks ago in advance.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“The label application has only just been submitted, so it’ll probably take close to a month before the approval comes through and it can be released.”
“You didn’t want to go through the trouble of coming twice, so you planned to take care of everything this time, didn’t you?”
“I’m far too busy, you see.”
“Hahaha, yes. A man who ought to be busy at his age should make good use of his time.”
Laughing as he nodded, he held the wine I poured for him up once to the sunlight. After examining the transparent ruby color and taking in the aroma, he closed his eyes, then took a sip.
“Mm…”
After quietly savoring the wine and fully feeling its lingering finish, he looked me straight in the eyes with calm composure. Then he said softly,
“Thank you.”
“……”
“Thank you very much.”
Before long, his eyes had reddened slightly.