Vineyard in a Valley

by Gloria Bevan

  They swept along the winding path and out to the metalled road where there seemed nothing but the dark trees and surrounding hills.

  ‘Penny for them?’

  Tracy jumped. ‘Oh, nothing really. Just... the vineyards ... Auckland ... A centenary month, you said?’

  ‘That’s right. But don’t get the idea that going all gay and lighthearted and dancing in the streets is one of the things that Kiwis do. It’s quite a change! There should be crowds there tonight, bands, jazz groups, the lot!’

  She decided that he was right when a little later they left the car in a closely-packed parking area and made their way through the crowds of young people thronging the main street now closed to traffic. Tracy’s gaze went to the Maori men and girls with their smooth bronze skins and attractive features.

  A party of laughing Samoan Islanders strolled past, the girls wearing the dignified pulatasi, black hair elaborately coiled, the men in their brightly patterned shirts. Stephen pointed out various groups from other Pacific islands, the girls in gay loose shifts, rubber thongs on bare brown feet, a flaring hibiscus blossom tucked in flowing dark hair. The men wore cotton shirts vividly patterned in motifs of palm trees and native canoes. Everywhere was sound and music and laughter. For a moment a noisy group sweeping past separated them and Stephen caught her hand. ‘Come on, I can’t afford.to lose you already!’ Just a clasp of his hand, and yet... As her fingers curled around his she felt a tingle of excitement. Then all at once music was surging around them and she felt her spirits lift on an unexpected wave of happiness. ‘When the Saints Come Marching In,’ thundered the crowd, as the party wove their way through various groups in a street bordered with tufted cabbage trees beneath a sky so brilliant that it seemed to Tracy the stars hung like spangles in the soft dark blue above.

  The swinging beat of pop band and trad jazz provided an intoxicating beat for the crowds that had already entered into the spirit of the carnival. Stephen’s gaze searched the milling throng and suddenly a pixie-faced girl with swinging black hair and a bearded fair young man were at their side. ‘This is Diane, Tracy.’ Stephen was forced to raise his voice above the throbbing of guitars. ‘The big guy’s her husband, Lawrence.’ A radio van with a group of commentators on board paused nearby and the small party made its way up the street towards a guitar band playing from a stationary truck.

  Soon Tracy was dancing too, caught up in the rhythmic beat, laughing and chatting with the two strangers. Stephen didn’t dance but seemed content to smoke and watch and listen to the various bands. Tracy was surprised when the chimes of the Town Hall clock rang out the strokes of midnight. Before long the crowds thinned out and at length she moved with the others back towards the parking lot.

  ‘You’re Alison’s cousin, aren’t you?’ Diane’s candid gaze swept over Tracy’s flushed face and shining, excited eyes. ‘You don’t seem a bit like her!’

  ‘Don’t I? How do you mean?’

  Before the other girl could make a reply Stephen came towards them, car keys rattling in his hand. He grinned towards Lawrence. ‘Be seeing you two.’

  ‘Why don’t you come over for dinner one night next week?’ Diane suggested warmly, ‘and don’t forget to bring your aunt and Tracy with you. Okay?’

  ‘I’ll let you know,’ Stephen said, and a little of Tracy’s light-hearted enjoyment in the gala evening died away.

  ‘We’ll hold you to that!’ With farewells and laughter, the other two turned away and Tracy went with Stephen towards the waiting car.

  She sank down on the upholstery, pulling a face. ‘My feet ... I think practically everyone in Auckland has jumped on them, though I didn’t feel a thing at the time!’

  He was guiding the vehicle down a steep winding incline of the parking lot, then they were threading their way through a stream of lighted traffic and moving out in the direction of the western suburbs. He was very quiet, she thought sleepily as huddled in the seat she leaned back content to watch the blur of hills pricked by faint lights, slide by. It was late when at length they turned into the bush track leading to the vineyards, but as they came in sight of the house Tracy noticed that a light still burned on the terrace.

  Stephen slid to a stop in the shadows of an overhanging tree near the house and as he swung around to face her once again she was struck by his dark good looks. Something else struck her at the same moment, an inexplicable sensation of nervousness. ‘Thanks for taking me in tonight,’ she said in a quick, high tone. ‘It was something I would never have seen otherwise. Quite an experience!’ She reached towards the door handle, but before she could turn the catch he had laid a detaining hand over her fingers. ‘Wait! There’s something I want to ask you about.’

  She turned eagerly back to face him. At least, she thought, he’s going to talk to me, get things sorted out. Now I’ll understand something of what’s been puzzling me all day. Why Alison ...

  ‘Yes?’ She glanced up at him, but something in the glint in the grey eyes made her swiftly drop her gaze. It was very still, the only sound the fluting note of the cicadas piping their summer song far into the night.

  ‘Just—this!’ Raising a hand, he touched her dark hair where behind her ear, a pink hibiscus nestled among the black tresses.

  ‘Oh, that,’ she laughed lightly. ‘Someone stuck it in my hair when we were dancing. Don’t ask me who it was. There was such a crowd around at the time.’

  ‘I just wondered,’ his tones were deceptively careless, ‘if you knew what it means? No, don’t touch it, Tracy,’ for her hand had flown to her hair, ‘leave it where it is or you’ll spoil everything. The Pacific Island girls don’t wear flowers in their hair for nothing, you know.’

  ‘Don’t they?’ There was something in his low tone that faintly alerted her, yet she hadn’t an idea of what he was getting at. How could a pink hibiscus blossom have any special significance?

  ‘Like me to put you in the picture?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Well...’ There was something about the deepening of his glance that was doing strange things to her. Her heart was behaving oddly.

  ‘Now if you’d worn that flower tucked behind the other ear,’ his voice was softly teasing, ‘that would have meant that you’ve already found someone you’re fond of, like a guy back home in England. True, Tracy?’

  She was so taken by surprise she found herself answering without thinking. ‘Of course not—’

  ‘But when a Pacific island girl wears a hibiscus flower tucked behind her left ear, like you, Tracy—’ His low laugh sent her senses spinning in a wild confusion. Somewhere a dim recollection struggled in her mind, but before she could pinpoint it his hand was cupping her small rounded chin and he was turning her face towards him. ‘You’ve asked for it, Tracy! Just for your information,’ he said softly, ‘it’s as good a way as any for a girl to say she’s looking for a lover!’ Warm and strong, his lips were on her own and for a second she clung to him, swept by a heady excitement. The next moment she wrenched herself free. Now she wanted only escape. He’d made such a fool of her! Or was it that she had made a fool of herself? As if he cared whether or not she was emotionally involved with anyone back in England! Wildly she fumbled for the door catch, but he was too quick for her. Swiftly he had leaped from the vehicle and was holding the door open.

  ‘Good-night.’ She was out of the car and running up the steps, away from the influence of that mocking, soft, disturbing voice.

  Tracy was so afraid that she might oversleep the next day that she tossed and turned restlessly throughout the night. As a precaution against net waking in time to be ready when the other pickers began their day’s work, she had left the blinds undrawn and it was a relief when daylight flooded the room. A glance towards her wrist watch assured her that she would have ample time in which to prepare herself for applying to Stephen Crane for a picking job in his vineyards. Somehow all at once it seemed awfully important to prove one or two things to him. He had been at some pains to point out to her her ignoran
ce in certain matters last night. Last night! But she had no wish to dwell on that; hurriedly she wrenched her thoughts aside. Now it would be her turn to show him a thing or two! The house was very quiet as she stole into the bathroom and took a quick shower. In the bedroom once again she caught her long hair back with both hands, drawing it severely back from a centre parting and securing it with a black ribbon. Today she aimed at presenting a workmanlike appearance. A cool dark shift, light comfortable rubber thongs on her feet.

  As she moved past the kitchen she glanced inside, noticing dishes piled in the sink. So the two men had already left the house! She hurried down the steps then paused on the pathway below, conscious of the invigorating freshness of the air. In the breathless stillness of early morning the hills were etched sharply against a translucent blue. Moving along the path, she felt a surge of confidence. It was ridiculous of her to have felt so nervous simply because she was applying for temporary employment with Stephen Crane.

  Running lightly down the steps, she made her way to the cellars and peered inside, but there was no one there. Probably Stephen had already gone out to the vines to superintend the pickers at their work. The winding path she had taken with him last night was now damp with dew and drops of moisture from overhanging trees brushed against her as she made her way between the greenery on either side. As she came in sight of the sunken garden with its low ornamental hedges she caught sight of Stephen approaching her and sought wildly in her mind for all her carefully prepared speeches. If he dared to say one word to her concerning the love customs of Pacific island females ... Swiftly she took herself in hand. The thing was to make herself feel as though that scene last night had never taken place. That way she could act her way successfully through this encounter.

  As he neared her, however, his look of amazement was obvious. It was a look, she congratulated herself gleefully, that compensated for an early rising, for it was clear that the last person he expected to meet in his vineyard at six-thirty in the morning was his anything-but-welcome feminine guest.

  A little of her newly-found confidence oozed away as he paused, facing her with that quietly inquiring glance, but she made her tone light, tried out her gayest smile. ‘It’s me! your new employee in the grape-picking department! Remember?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ his deep tones were guarded, considering, ‘I remember.’

  Before he could make any reference to the previous night she said quickly, ‘Only you didn’t really think I’d turn up?’

  A lurking amusement touched the corners of his lips. ‘No, I didn’t!’

  ‘I’m serious about this—’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ the thick black eyebrow’s rose sardonically, ‘that you need the money?’

  ‘Well, I could do with it!’ Not that he’d believe her and yet it happened to be the simple truth.

  ‘Look here, I don’t think you know just what you’re taking on—’

  ‘Please!’ She put all her charm into her winning smile and pleading look. Not that it would cut much ice with him, not with that suspicious look in his eyes, but it was worth a try. This wasn’t at all the way in which she had planned the interview would go. Indeed, it was only the approaching voices of a group of middle-aged women that helped her. He could scarcely stand on the narrow path arguing with a strange girl at this hour of the morning, in full view of the pickers. As she had hoped, the advancing party appeared to make up his mind for him.

  ‘Okay,’ he said reluctantly, ‘you can give it a go. Guess it’ll be something for you to do.’

  Something to do! So that was his opinion of her. Once again he was judging her by Alison’s standards of living, darn him! Furious though she was with him there was nothing she could do about it but stand meekly at his side and pretend she hadn’t heard that last devastating remark.

  ‘This is Miss Cadell, girls,’ he was saying. ‘Tracy! She’s new to the game, so give her a hand for a start, will you? Fill her in with the main points?’

  ‘Glad to!’

  ‘You bet!’

  ‘Too right!’

  Nods and smiling friendly glances were all around her, then the party of middle-aged women continued along the winding path in the direction of the terraced vineyards.

  Very clearly and distinctly she said: ‘May I have a box, please? Like the others?’

  ‘You are an eager beaver!’ The germ of amusement in his eyes deepened and she burst out:

  ‘It isn’t all that funny, my wanting a job!’

  ‘Isn’t it? Sorry, Tracy, we always use Christian names on the job, of course you can have a go at it, if that’s what you want?’ He sent her a searching glance. ‘You wouldn’t be writing a book, would you? Jobs I have tackled around the world? That sort of stuff?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t! I just want a box and some instructions. What do I do? I mean, what happens when my box is filled? Do I tip it out somewhere or—’

  ‘Here you are, Tracy.’ He strode towards a stack of crates a short distance away. ‘Secateurs?’ Taking a pair from a pocket in his drill shorts, he extended them towards her. ‘I’ll be along with the grape-bin behind the tractor to collect the grapes when you’re ready. That is,’ he added with his maddening slow grin, ‘if you’re still around by then.’

  Tracy made a mental vow to last out the week’s picking even if it killed her. Aloud she said evenly, ‘I’ll be there. Well,’ she was aware that he was still eyeing her with that expression of amused indulgence, Td better catch up with the others and get started.’

  His sardonic voice made her turn back. ‘Don’t you want to know your wages?’

  ‘Oh yes, I do!’ It had been a mistake, she realized now, not to have mentioned the matter of payment before.

  ‘Seventy-nine cents an hour, and you earn every cent of it!’ He was cross again. She could see it in the hardening of his smile, the chilly expression in the grey eyes. ‘But of course that wouldn’t mean a thing to you, would it?’

  ‘Yes, it would!’ she snapped. ‘It means a lot—excuse me please!’ She hurried past him on the narrow path and continued along the winding path.

  In a few minutes she had reached the other pickers moving along the dew-encrusted grass between the long rows of vines. ‘Hello!’ Tracy smiled her wide and friendly smile. ‘I’ve come to fill in for Katie, or try to! I only hope I can do as well, but all this—’ she waved a hand towards the long avenues where grapes hung heavy, fat and luscious on the vines, ‘is something new to me! Come to that, just about everything in the country is new to me.’

  ‘You’re from England?’ A buxom fair-haired woman with muscular, deeply tanned arms, regarded Tracy consideringly. ‘Your accent—’

  ‘That’s right. I only arrived here yesterday on the Oriana.’ There was a silence and all at once Tracy realized why the pleasant sun-tanned faces around her wore a puzzled expression. Although they were too polite to mention the matter, they were no doubt wondering why a new arrival in the country wasn’t away sight-seeing, shopping in the city or at the very least, enjoying a lie-in, instead of rushing into employment. Why was she doing it? Might as well admit that she was going to a lot of trouble merely to get even with a certain aggravating male! But that was a matter between herself and the owner of the vineyards.

  ‘What did Stephen say your name was?’ a small, sharp-featured dark woman inquired.

  ‘Tracy. Tracy Cadell.’

  ‘Cadell!’ The eyes of the big fair woman were frankly curious. ‘Arc you the other Miss Cadell’s sister? The one who used to stay at the house?’

  ‘No. Just a cousin. You’ll have to show me how to go about all this. I haven’t a clue.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll pick it up in no time. There’s nothing to it. You’ll have aching arms by tonight, though.’ The fair woman nodded towards the masses of white grapes. ‘It looks like being a vintage year for the Palominos. Ifs a lot easier picking before the sun gets too hot, though. You just snip each bunch with the secateurs—like so...’

  The women
grouped themselves at intervals between the long rows and Tracy watched them closely, then with great care she snipped a great bunch of fat grapes, bursting with juice. ‘There! Is that the way you do it?’

  ‘You’ve got the idea!’ In the friendly chorus of voices the strapping blonde woman’s tones were the most carrying. ‘Hey, girls, we forgot to tell her the main thing! You’ve got to make absolutely sure that the bunches you pick are just the best. They have to be glistening and clean and without a single blemish. You know?’

  Tracy nodded. Doubtfully she fingered a heavy hanging cluster of black grapes. ‘How about these? I’d better leave them, they’ve got white dust all over them—unless I brush it off?’

  Peals of good-natured merriment echoed around her. ‘You do that and Stephen won’t just send you packing, he’ll kill you! It’s on all the grapes—’

  ‘But you weren’t to know!’ A serious-looking older woman took pity on Tracy’s bewilderment. ‘It’s really a sort of natural yeast,’ she explained, ‘actually a built-in fermenting agent. It acts as a preserver too. Brush off that white dust and you’ll ruin the grape for wine-making—’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Carefully Tracy snipped off the heavy white bunch.