in a southerly direction across a fragrant rose garden with a stone fountain in the center. On the far side of the garden, they walked up a set of ancient stone steps to a higher terrace, where they looked up at a steep slope containing straight, narrow rows of young vines. The top of the field was nearly two hundred feet higher than the spot on which they stood.
“The vineyard where you start the tour,” Mr. Clark said, “was planted by the Maurizio family. It produces quality Sangiovese grapes. No question. But this one is all mine. It’s new, and it’s a merlot.”
Lillian considered this with confusion. “Merlot . . . isn’t that a French wine?”
“Yes. And I have cabernet sauvignon planted on the southwest-facing field over there.” He pointed. “But what does it matter if it tastes like nothing you’ve ever experienced? And this was the perfect spot for it, with good soil, plenty of minerals, and cool breezes in the afternoons. It was a risk, I admit, but I wanted to try something new.”
He knelt and scooped up a handful of dirt, rubbed it into his open palm, then sniffed it. He stood up again and held it out to Lillian. She sniffed it as well.
“There’s a lot of clay here,” he said, “which is why the family ignored this plot. But we’ll see what we can do. It’ll be an interesting harvest this year. The workers are placing bets about it.”
Lillian chuckled. “Can I get in on that?”
He smiled in return. “If you like.”
The sun touched the horizon in the distance. An evening mist was beginning to roll into the valley.
“You keep referring to the Maurizio family,” Lillian said, “and every day I show their private collection to the tourists, but you’re obviously British. I know that you own this winery, so if you don’t mind my asking, what is your relationship to the Maurizios?”
She and Mr. Clark started back toward the rose garden. “Nothing, really,” he said, “except that I purchased the winery from the last living relative five years ago, after the owner passed away. Sadly, he outlived all his children, so there was no one to take over, except for the employees who had been managing the operation for years. They were happy to have a new buyer on the scene, to keep the business running.”
“You’re not tempted to change the name to Clark Wines?” she asked. “Or to put your own stamp on it somehow?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing with that new vineyard I just showed you. So I will put my own stamp on it, but I won’t change the name. This winery is an important part of Italy’s history.”
They returned to the main parking lot and continued walking up the hill toward the chapel.
“What about your family?” she asked. “Do you have children to help you run things?”
“I do have children,” he replied, “but they’re too young to help out. They’re only two and four years old.”
“Oh. That’s wonderful. They must love living here.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know yet. They’re in California with my wife. She’s American, and she prefers LA over Tuscany. I can’t seem to convince her to stay here more than a few weeks at a time.”
Lillian considered this and watched his expression as they walked slowly up the hill. “But you prefer it here? Even though you’re from the UK?”
He gazed up at the sky. “That’s another story altogether, and it requires wine. We should go and get a couple of bottles out of the cellar. I want you to taste something outside of the current inventory. I want you to have a better understanding.”
“A better understanding of what?” she asked, wondering if he was going to share more about what had brought him to Italy.
“Wine,” he replied, as if she had missed something.
She followed him through the pinkish glow of the setting sun toward the wine cellars across from the chapel. Together, they descended the circular staircase to the cavernous gloom belowground. Mr. Clark switched on the lights. The air smelled of oak and wine.
“What do you think?” he asked. “We could try something from a decade ago or go back even further, maybe to the 1950s. It’s risky, though. About twenty-five percent of those old bottles are no good. We’ll be taking our chances.”
He inspected a few different sections of the wine library and selected two bottles. Then he moved deeper into another area and stopped outside a medieval-looking arched door.
“The tour groups don’t come