Wayward Heart

by Cathryn Hein

  On a Friday morning, after spending an hour sitting with Felicity talking about what this development might mean for him, the future he might be able to build, Digby rang the agent and made an offer. After another week’s toing and froing, the parties reached an agreement.

  ‘I hear,’ said his grandmother during Tuesday-evening family dinner at Camrick, less than a week post-settlement, ‘that a certain member of the family has purchased a farm. Care to enlighten us, Digby?’

  The entire table stared at him in astonishment.

  Digby sighed and set his cutlery down. He’d hoped to savour his secret a while longer without the pressure of his family nagging him about his plans. Given Granny B’s spy network, he should have known better. ‘I bought Tyndale, John Ashton’s place on Foxvale Road.’

  He went on to describe it, skipping over most of the detail about the wine-making facilities. As a pharmacist, John Ashton had found that side of the process fascinating and become an enthusiastic hobbyist. The sale had included his very basic but immaculately kept crushing plant, vats, barrels, bottling apparatus and lab. The small young vineyard didn’t produce enough tonnage for more equipment. Digby aspired to change that, in time.

  Adrienne was ecstatic. ‘But that’s wonderful, Digby. James would be so proud.’

  ‘There’s no house out there, is there?’ asked Em, frowning as she tried to recall what she knew of the property.

  ‘No.’ That was something else for the future. Maybe.

  He caught Josh’s eye. His friend hadn’t said much but there was no mistaking his approval. After dinner, while the girls and Samuel lingered over coffee, and Granny B disappeared to smoke, Digby and Josh took their beers outside to enjoy the warm evening.

  ‘You kept that quiet,’ said Josh. ‘Bit like you and Jas.’

  ‘Thought it was better that way.’ Digby took a mouthful of beer. ‘Have you seen her?’

  Josh nodded but didn’t elaborate. He was going to force him to ask.

  Digby sighed. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Good. You could find out for yourself if you bothered to visit her.’

  Digby picked at his beer label. ‘I don’t think she wants to see me.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Josh, then he bent to inspect the mossy leg of a timber garden bench.

  Digby waited, but Josh set down his beer and lifted the bench, peering beneath.

  ‘All right. I’ll bite. What’s so interesting?’

  ‘Bit of rot. I’ll take it into the workshop and fit a new leg.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’

  Josh dropped the bench and retrieved his beer, grinning as he swigged. ‘Why should you care whether Jas wants to see you or not? From what Em told me, you’re the one who pulled the plug.’

  ‘Just want to make sure she’s doing okay.’

  ‘I bet. Nothing to do with you missing her or anything.’

  ‘Piss off.’

  But as with his grandmother, the encounter started Digby thinking, and with his first vintage approaching he had plenty of hours alone on the farm to do it in.

  The year began to drift towards autumn. Digby spent every day at Tyndale, falling exhausted into bed at night, tired and pleased with each challenge he faced and conquered. Though his first crush was tiny compared to the more established locals, it still enveloped him in excitement and he began to understand how easily people could become obsessed. There was so much at play—from the weather, to the natural flora on the grapes, to balancing fermentation.

  Digby’s first wine wasn’t great. In fact it was pretty damn ordinary, but it didn’t matter. He’d get better.

  As April arrived, and he stood at the tip of a row of vines, mentally contemplating the winter prune ahead, Digby felt a creeping sensation. One he hadn’t expected. It was almost happiness. Almost but not quite, but a far cry from the grief-weakened man he’d once been.

  There was strength inside him. Ambition.

  He gazed at the gently tumbling hills, at the rows of verdant vines beginning their autumn fade, at the paddocks he’d stocked with Simmental cattle. In the distance rose the monolith of Rocking Horse Hill, and for once the sight of it didn’t give rise to sharp emotion. No irrational hatred, no fear, no regret. Only the dull poignancy of dimming sorrow.

  It had been more than a week since he’d visited Felicity’s grave. Digby had been so distracted it hadn’t occurred to him. When inconsistency of supply and the heat of summer had resigned him to cancel his standing order for tulips, he’d continued to take her roses from Camrick. This week, though, he’d somehow forgotten.

  The knowledge brought on a surge of guilt but beneath it, like the discovery of his creeping inner happiness, lurked something akin to relief. If he was right, this development signalled the coming of the end of his grieving process, the very process Digby had dismissed as bullshit when his counsellor explained it. No one had ever suffered as he did. Felicity’s death had destroyed his soul so thoroughly it would never heal.

  Yet it appeared it had, or was at least coming close.

  And maybe, just maybe, that meant there was more love out there for him. All he had to do was embrace it.

  CHAPTER

  26

  Jas was pulling clothes off the line in the rapidly darkening evening when she heard the sound of a vehicle crunching its way along her drive. Not that long ago her heart would have soared at the sound, but the days of Digby visiting were well past. She dropped the pegs into their bucket and skirted the deck to check out her visitor.

  A white taxi was pulling up at the front of the house. She frowned at it. A taxi? Here? Port Andrews was too tiny to have its own service, which meant it could only have come from Levenham. But who would pay the fare for that?

  Not Mike, surely. Jas hadn’t had anything to do with him since the ring incident in the park. And it wasn’t likely to be anyone else Jas knew. It was nearing winter—the days were short, the weather unpredictable. Antarctic winds whipped across Admella Beach bringing late autumn rains and chilly air. This was the time of year when people began their annual hibernation, venturing out only for necessities and winter sport. After a week of rain, this was the first dry day they’d experienced in a week, but the cold still bit. Jasmine’s fingers were tingling from the exposure.

  Tucking her hands under her armpits for warmth, she walked towards the idling car, watching the movement behind the windscreen. The driver was turned to whoever was in the back seat, blocking any view of the passenger. Finally the door opened and an extravagant fox-fur hat appeared, followed by a pair haughty eyes.

  ‘Jasmine,’ said Granny B, ‘I take it you’ll be free to return me to Camrick?’

  ‘Um, yes. I suppose.’

  ‘Good.’ Granny B’s head disappeared back inside the taxi for a moment before she extracted herself fully and shut the door. With a quick salute to Jas the driver put the car in reverse, performed a rapid turn and disappeared back up the drive.

  Tossing a length of fox-fur-trimmed wool cape over her shoulder, Granny B dug into the pocket of her leather trousers, pulled out a cigar and lighter and proceeded to light up. When the tip was glowing she took a moment to peer around, before lasering in on Jas and looking her up and down. ‘Well, are you going to fetch me a drink?’

  So much for niceties.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ asked Jas.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s after five.’

  ‘I have some white wine in the fridge. Sauvignon Blanc.’

  Granny B sniffed. ‘Probably from New Zealand.’

  It wasn’t but Jas didn’t feel up to correcting her. ‘It’s all I have.’

  ‘I suppose that will have to do then. Honestly, you young folk have no idea about hospitality.’

  Jas crossed her arms, tone dripping with false solicitude. Granny B wasn’t the only one who could be rude. ‘Perhaps if I’d known you were coming I might have had a chance to be prepared.’

  ‘Ah, but where would be the fun in th
at?’ Granny B puffed out a fragrant balloon of smoke and flicked a gloved hand as though addressing a servant. ‘Off you go. You and I have matters to discuss and I can’t stay all evening. It’s far too cold for a woman of my age to be out, does unfortunate things to one’s bladder.’

  At least she wasn’t planning to linger. Jas usually enjoyed Granny B’s company but when the old duck was in one of her meddling moods she could test the most patient of people. Much more of the Queen Wallace act and, elderly grandmother or not, Jas would be likely to throttle her.

  ‘There’s an outdoor setting on the back deck,’ said Jas, deciding Granny B would be far safer outside, where there was less to pry into. ‘You can finish your cigar there.’

  With the gas heaters she’d bought the area could be quite cosy, and the dry day had prompted Jas to set herself up to study outside for a while, perhaps even eat dinner if the wind remained favourable. Night air tended to sharpen her brain, which was just as well. No matter what Granny B pretended, this wasn’t a social visit. This was about Digby. Jas would need every wit about her.

  It was, of course, too much to ask for the old lady not to snoop. Jas used her hip to push open the rear screen door and muttered a quiet curse when she saw what Granny B had discovered. Jas had forgotten about Digby’s plans. Despite what had happened, they were precious to her and she always had them near. It had become Jasmine’s habit to daydream over them whenever she needed a study break.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Granny B, accepting the glass and taking a hefty swig before setting her cigar between her teeth. She lifted the plans closer to her good eye and then lowered them again, blinking in surprise. ‘This is Digby’s work.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She scanned the yard then looked back at the drawing a few times, and nodded in approval. ‘It’s very good.’

  ‘Which is why I’m building it.’ Jas took a small sip from her own glass to stop herself from snatching the plans from Granny B’s grip. ‘Well, sort of. I can’t afford a lot of it yet. The deck and this outdoor setting was expensive enough but I have to admit they’ve been worth every cent. It’s like having an extra living room. The pergola and barbecue area will have to wait. I was making some progress on the garden beds but last week’s weather put an end to that.’

  ‘A labour of love,’ said Granny B, folding the plans and securing them back under the colourful mosaic pot Jas had been using as a paperweight.

  Jas narrowed her eyes. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Walk me around. I want to see what you’ve achieved so far, and what you’re going to work on next.’

  Jas sighed. ‘It’s too dark, and you didn’t come here to inspect my garden.’

  ‘No, I did not. However, that was before I knew Digby designed this one. Come along. Show me. There’s still enough light.’

  There wasn’t. Nor was there a lot to see. Progress had been slow, fitted in between study, Ox, pony club and work, and Jas didn’t have the confidence in what she was doing to operate any faster. All she’d achieved so far was a small ornamental garden bed along the end of the deck, the laying out of stones to indicate future paths, and a clean-up of the rubbish she’d let accumulate near the garage. The next project would be planting out the herb garden. Raised boxes—built under Josh’s supervision—were ready for filling with garden mix from the nursery in Levenham, and Em was propagating cuttings in her greenhouse for when Jas was ready to plant out.

  Jas stopped by the clothesline to pull the remaining washing off, while Granny B pontificated on plant cultivars and the merits of grafted versus natural rootstocks.

  Suddenly she paused. ‘You haven’t the faintest idea what I’m talking about, do you?’

  ‘Nope.’

  The old lady pursed her lips. ‘Sounds to me like you need the advice of a horticulturalist.’

  ‘You’re not being very subtle,’ said Jas, hoisting the basket onto her hip.

  ‘It wasn’t my intention to be subtle.’ Granny B stared seaward, puffing the last of her cigar. ‘Strange taste in men you have, Jasmine.’

  Jas laughed. ‘Nice way to talk about your grandson.’

  ‘It wasn’t Digby I was referring to, actually.’ She tossed the stub to the earth and ground it under her heel with gusto. ‘Michael Boland.’

  The shock had Jas bulging her eyes and almost dropping the basket. ‘How …’ Heat flooded her cheeks. She lowered the washing to the ground and hugged herself, shame sitting like a sickness in her stomach and chest. So the old duck knew. The risk of discovery had always existed, Jas had known that for a long time, but the last six months had given hope she was safe. Now she had to face her disgrace head on. At least Granny B was up-front. No poison-pen letters, rotting fish or dog crap for her.

  Jas took a couple of fortifying breaths and lifted her chin. ‘How did you find out?’

  Granny B waved her off. ‘Accident mostly. I happened to run into Brenda Morrison a few weeks ago.’ She curled her lip in distaste. ‘Never liked that woman. Bitter sort. But she’s on the hospital auxiliary with Adrienne and one must be polite. We got to talking, as sometimes happens, and the subject of the Bolands came up. Tania is her niece.’

  Puzzle pieces began to fall into place.

  ‘Brenda lives here,’ whispered Jas, ‘in the village.’ A few streets back from the esplanade and an easy walk to the beach and across the dunes to Jasmine’s house. The sick feeling worsened and Jas hugged herself closer. It must have been her.

  ‘Indeed she does.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Jas, shaking out of her shock and frowning. ‘She told you Mike was having an affair with me?’

  ‘Of course not. Brenda’s far too proud for that. She did, however, make mention of discord in the Boland household, the fault of which, reading between the lines, she clearly laid at Michael’s feet. Not news I like to hear about my financial adviser, in particular after Digby’s warning.’

  ‘Digby’s warning?’

  ‘Perhaps not an overt warning but I took it as such. A grandson would not ask his grandmother how she’d feel about transferring our business elsewhere without reason—in particular when that would mean breaking a financial relationship of many years’ standing. When Adrienne mentioned he’d floated the idea with her as well I knew something was up. Unfortunately, other than going over my statements with extra care, I was too distracted with Emily’s wedding to investigate.’

  ‘Until you met with Brenda.’

  ‘Quite.’

  Jas shivered. She picked up her basket of washing and carried it to the deck, forcing Granny B to follow. ‘So how did you make the connection?’

  ‘It seemed to me that Digby’s about-turn coincided rather conveniently with the time you and he began sleeping together. Then I remembered that you’d once had ambitions to study financial planning. A sly word here and there and I had plenty of evidence of your paths crossing. Couple that with your lack of romantic ties over the years and it all began to fall into place. All I needed was confirmation, so I made an appointment with the bank.’ Her nose screwed up. ‘Honestly, Jasmine, how could you? I appreciate he possesses a degree of handsomeness but the arrogance alone should be enough to put any smart woman off. Really, you have appalling taste.’

  ‘Something,’ Jas said faintly, ‘I’m already very aware of.’

  ‘He talked down at me, of course. I let him carry on for while, then interrupted mid sentence, asking straight out if he was having an affair with you.’

  Jas made a strangled noise. ‘Of course you did.’

  ‘As expected, he spluttered and dithered, but the truth was evident in his pallor. He’d turned such a startling shade of grey at the mention of your name I thought I might have to call for assistance.’ Granny B picked up her wineglass and drank, wincing at the taste and declaring it hideous, although that didn’t prevent her from taking another sip.

  ‘Did you want water?’ God knows Jas needed some. Anything to wash the sourness from her mouth.

  ‘
Not at present.’

  ‘So what did Mike do?’

  ‘Threatened me with defamation and some other nonsense. At which point I told him to go right ahead. The Wallace coffers are deep, as he is well aware, and I’m sure his wife would appreciate being dragged into a court case regarding her husband’s infidelity. I let him bluster for a while then suggested that perhaps it was best if he considered a transfer back to Adelaide. If he so wished, I would be generous enough to put a good word in for him with my friend Alistair Greschke, who just so happens to be on the board. Imagine my pleasure to discover last week that Michael had acted on my suggestion.’

  ‘Mike’s gone?’

  She cast Jasmine a triumphant look. ‘Of course. What other choice did he have?’

  None at all. Between Digby and Granny B, Mike would have known his end had come. He might be scum of the highest order, but he wasn’t a complete fool.

  Unlike her.

  Jas slumped into a chair and put her head in her hands, wishing her visitor away so she could tend the wounds of her heart in privacy. Admittedly, the chance of Jas and Digby getting back together had been remote, but with Granny B’s revelation even that was gone. While the truth was far more complex, Jas had shown herself to be deeply morally flawed—not someone Granny B would like to see with her grandson, especially after Felicity, and the scheming old lady had an excellent track record of getting her way.

  Granny B continued to speak as if Jas was still involved in the conversation. ‘The new chap’s rather dishy. Refrains from all the salesman’s jargon Michael was so fond of. A bit academic. More an accountant type. Lovely partner. A shame he’s gay but one doesn’t judge these things. Not when one’s own son was homosexual. Which leads me back to Digby, who is, as you are well aware, not homosexual.’