The Maxwell Sisters

by Loretta Hill

  ‘Good morning, Anita,’ he said warmly as Tash poured hot water over instant coffee powder.

  ‘Good morning, Heath,’ her mother said cheerfully. ‘Tash says you slept well.’

  Her senses on high alert, Tash heard rather than saw him walk behind the counter to stand next to her. ‘We did. Thanks.’

  She’d pulled all her hair up into a neat ponytail so her neck was exposed. He put his hand there ever so casually, his thumb caressing the base like he had done so many times in the past. Her legs nearly buckled.

  ‘What’s for breakfast?’ he murmured, peering over her shoulder at the condiments and boxes on the bench.

  It was a good thing her mother answered because speech evaded her.

  ‘Nothing but toast or cereal, I’m afraid,’ Anita replied. ‘But we’ll have a big lunch. I’ve stocked the restaurant with heaps of goodies.’

  Tash finally found her wits and moved out of Heath’s reach, taking her mug of hot coffee with her. ‘Speaking of the restaurant, I’ll meet you guys there. I need to find Dad.’

  ‘Okay, sweetheart,’ said Heath.

  ‘Bye, darl,’ her mother added.

  She waved a hand awkwardly over her shoulder. She wasn’t comfortable with being called ‘sweetheart’ again and really had no idea how to respond. Heath was clearly taking advantage of their situation. And she was a little nervous about exactly what game he was playing. He’d said he was trapped by circumstance, that he was here for Phoebe and Spider’s wedding. But at the back of her mind she knew it had to be more than that. She knew him too well.

  He was an intelligent and tenacious man. Combined, these qualities made him lethal. Generally, he got what he wanted, no matter how long it took. If he had been a knight in the Middle Ages, sieges would have been his speciality. There was nothing Heath set his mind to that he didn’t get.

  But what does he want this time?

  Natasha put the question out of her mind as she hurried down the hall, checking first the sitting room and then the study for her father. They were both empty, though she did pause on the threshold of the latter. Her father’s study brought back so many memories from childhood, it was impossible not to feel nostalgic. Even the musty smell of the room was familiar. As she gazed upon his old leather chair she could see him sitting there, talking animatedly with some of his distributers about renewing their orders. A blue velvet box on the desk caught her eye just before she moved to close the door, and she went over to look at it. It was a strange thing for him to have in his study because it looked like a jewellery case. She wasn’t wrong. Upon opening the lid, she gasped at the sight of a delicate gold bracelet studded with sapphires.

  She quickly snapped the box shut, wondering if it was a present for Mum. With a smile, she placed the box back on his desk and left the room to head outside, the only other place her father could be.

  She walked out the front door. The sunshine momentarily blinded her as she headed down the gravel driveway. It was a gorgeous, February morning. Warm, but not too hot. Dressed in jeans and a red t-shirt, she had no issue with walking straight into the crop. She knew her father’s usual route. He’d been taking this walk up to their grand gazebo since she was a kid.

  First, she had to go through a block of sauvignon. The vines were taller than her now, so entering one of the rows was like going into a roofless green tunnel that chirped with insects. The vine was heavy on its crown, the cane leaden with grape bunches, dark and bulky – barely hidden by the foliage. The grapes were ripe enough now to be very attractive to birds – in particular, the notorious silvereye, the biggest culprit for stealing fruit in the South-West. The vine was covered by nets for protection. The nets would be kept on until just before harvest. Adam would decide when this was. From what she had seen of the man, he seemed to be passionate enough. She hoped he wasn’t going to let her father down.

  It was a pleasant walk along this row and then through another down a block of merlot. The air was heavy with the sweet scent of fruit warmed by the sun and it lightened her mood.

  Her mind had been so crammed lately with dark thoughts of the past.

  Sophia. The grief she had not been able to share with her husband. The blame he put on her and the belief that he had no fault in doing so.

  So many times she had wondered how he could have been so cold, so callous. But seeing him now, after so many months, left her unsettled. Because right now he was not cold. He was not vacant. God help her. He was anything but.

  More like a simmering furnace. She couldn’t stand far enough away from him without feeling the heat.

  It made her wonder. Could it be that in her grief she had not been able to see his pain? Or that perhaps he had deliberately kept it from her. Her loss had coloured everything. For the first time, new possibilities were entering her head.

  I complained that he was never there for me, but was I there for him?

  The crunch of her feet on the gravel scared two fairy-wrens pecking on the path. They flicked their bright blue tail feathers at her before fluttering away.

  Heath had never been big on talking about feelings. He was more physical than chatty – a black and white sort of man with a practical streak through him that had always been very matter of fact. He was sincere, quiet and … determined.

  A smile tickled her lips as she remembered the first day they’d met.

  It was at a bus stop in the city of all places. She was waiting for her ride home and he was working on the construction site for a new shopping mall right behind the bus shelter. The large lot had a high steel fence around it and warning signs to pedestrians – ‘Danger, Do Not Enter,’ and ‘Authorised Personnel Only’. As she stood there in her professional black dress, shiny heels with a briefcase in hand, he was sitting on the kerb eating an apple. Dressed in khaki pants, a short-sleeve shirt and an orange high-visibility vest, he seemed to blend in with his backdrop – a kind of lone cowboy, definitely not the slick shiny type she was used to dating. She had felt his eyes on her but pointedly did not make eye contact.

  Then her phone had started ringing and she’d forgotten all about him. By the time she’d fielded two calls from her assistant, one from her mother and the last one from a celebrity spokesperson who was threatening to pull out of her upcoming campaign, she had missed two buses.

  At least, however, she’d saved six months of work by persuading the celebrity not to quit and allayed her mother’s fears that she hadn’t had the flu shot that year. She collapsed on the now vacant bench under the bus shelter both in relief and exhaustion. She barely noticed someone sitting down beside her.

  ‘So, I know this is going to sound forward but I was wondering if I could have your phone number?’

  She jumped and her gaze swung left to find the construction worker, who was really quite attractive at close quarters, now sitting beside her. She pulled her legs in and sat up straighter.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I think I could use someone like you in my corner.’ His eyes crinkled and his mouth stretched into a crooked grin.

  ‘Er …’ she began uncertainly, ‘I don’t know you.’

  He smiled. ‘Would you like to go out some time then? And get to know me?’

  ‘Oh well, er …’ She licked her lips. He had very strong masculine features that were easy on the eye. And if you looked past the smudge of dirt on his face and the film of white dust covering his entire outfit, his dark irises were unbelievably sensual. But, quite frankly, he could be anyone. And with the way he had been watching her just now …

  ‘Thanks for the offer,’ she smiled politely. ‘It’s very flattering. And I’m sure you’re a nice man, but I don’t generally go on dates or give my phone number to strangers.’

  ‘Or serial killers?’ he murmured, lacing his fingers together in a restful manner that was very attractive.

  ‘Exactly.’ She nodded and then quickly corrected herself. ‘I mean, not that I think you’re a serial killer, it’s just that I don’t know you. You’r
e a complete stranger and –’

  ‘And better to be safe than sorry.’ He nodded back. ‘I get that. You need to have all your bases covered.’ He winked at her.

  She blushed.

  ‘What if,’ he continued, ‘we got to know each other before your bus arrives so I’m not a stranger any more. Then you can decide whether or not you should go out with me.’

  ‘Would that be enough time?’

  He shrugged. ‘We’ll make sure it is.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘You sure are determined.’

  ‘There, you see,’ he nodded encouragingly. ‘You seem to know me already.’

  She laughed.

  ‘I’m Heath Roberts.’ He held out his hand to her and she shook it. His fingers were warm, strong and all encompassing.

  ‘Natasha Maxwell,’ she replied, strangely shaken by the instant zing that shot straight up her arm.

  He flexed his wrists. ‘So let’s start at the top. What’s your favourite place in the world?’

  ‘That’s the top?’ She smiled in amusement.

  ‘It’s as good a place as any.’ He flicked his eyes at his watch. ‘But you have to be quick. We have a very limited time.’

  ‘Okay then, the beach.’

  His eyes widened. ‘Same here. Do you swim, picnic or sunbathe?’

  ‘All three.’

  ‘Me too,’ he said again, marvelling at the coincidences.

  She raised a dubious eyebrow and his lips twitched.

  ‘Okay, next question. What’s your favourite food?’

  ‘My mum’s moussaka.’

  ‘Mine is Chinese. There, you see, we have some interesting differences already. What’s your favourite colour?’

  ‘Green.’

  ‘Yellow. Star sign?’

  ‘Gemini.’

  ‘Leo. First kiss?’

  She choked. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘You haven’t had one yet?’ he enquired politely, keeping his expression completely neutral.

  She groaned. ‘Behind the sports shed at school with Bradley Pierce.’

  ‘In a car with Rebecca McCarthy.’

  Her bus was pulling up at the traffic lights two hundred metres away. When the lights went green it would soon be at her stop and, despite herself, she was actually feeling rather sorry about never seeing this man again.

  His eyes flicked from the bus to her. ‘So have you made up your mind yet? Or do I need a police clearance? If you give me your email I can have it forwarded to you by the end of the week.’

  She laughed as they both stood up. Looking up into those incredible big brown eyes, saying ‘no’ now seemed churlish.

  ‘Okay, you’ve won me over.’

  ‘Great. What’s your number?’ He whipped his phone out of his pocket and she recited the digits. The bus pulled up just as they finished, choking the sidewalk with hot air and exhaust fumes. Her hair whipped about her face. ‘Bye.’

  ‘I’ll call you,’ he said as she turned to go.

  She boarded the bus and took the first vacant seat. A smile played on her lips as she gazed out the window. The bus rolled forward, trees and buildings began to fly past. Suddenly her phone rang and she fished it out of her briefcase. It was an unknown caller.

  ‘Hello?’ she said cautiously.

  ‘Hi, Natasha, it’s Heath. Remember me? We met at the bus stop. Are you free for a drink this weekend?’

  She laughed. ‘That was fast.’

  ‘I’m not good with waiting. But if you like I can call you back in a couple of days.’

  ‘No, that’s okay. I’m not good with waiting either.’

  As their relationship started, so it continued. Fast and furiously – a whirlwind romance and quick engagement. They clicked right from the start and had seen no reason to ever press pause. All of a sudden, they were buying a house and trying to have kids. They didn’t stop until it all started to go terribly wrong.

  Perhaps if she had just taken a step back at some point, really taken a look at their marriage, she would have seen some warning signs before it was all too late. Like the fact that they had very separate lives because of their demanding jobs even before they had lived in different cities. Whenever they did come together, it was always so explosive and physical because of the limited time. She always thought that she and Heath were just too busy to sit around talking about nothing for no good reason – that it was a waste of time. They were always doing, rather than relaxing. Workaholics to the core, both of them. As a result, when crisis struck, she had to face how little they knew about dealing with each other emotionally.

  This disturbing insight faded as the gazebo came into view and she saw her father sitting on a bench inside. It was a fairly large structure – the perfect stage to hold a wedding, which was exactly Phoebe’s intention. Its hexagonal shape was about three metres wide, large enough for the celebrant and bridal party to gather on the pale timber deck. The guests’ chairs would have to be arranged outside on the grass. But they would be able to see everything, including the magnificent view below.

  ‘Hey, Dad.’

  John Maxwell didn’t turn around or even look up when she came and sat down beside him. ‘I wondered how long it would take you to seek me out.’

  From this vantage point they could see everything. The entire vineyard and the winery hovering on the edge – a cluster of brick and concrete buildings beside tall steel fermentation tanks winking in the sunlight. It wouldn’t be long before those tanks would be full of the grape juice known as must.

  ‘Really?’ Tash raised her eyebrows. ‘Did you want to talk to me about something? Mum reckons you’ve been acting strangely of late.’

  ‘I’m enjoying my retirement,’ he said shortly. ‘I don’t see what the harm is in that. You only live once. You should make the most of every moment.’

  ‘Dad, is something bothering you?’ Tash reached over and squeezed his hand. ‘Where do you keep disappearing to?’

  ‘Nowhere in particular.’ Then his mouth curved into a grin. ‘Last week I got a tattoo.’

  ‘A what?’ Tash gasped.

  ‘Why is that so shocking?’ he demanded. ‘Aren’t old men allowed to get tattoos? I’ve always wanted one.’ He pulled up his pants and she looked down in astonishment to see a large bunch of grapes etched into his leg. Three of the grapes had names inscribed in them – Phoebe, Natasha and Eve. ‘You can’t take life for granted, Tash. You can sit in the same place you’ve always been and wonder why you’re not having any fun any more.’

  ‘It’s, er … lovely.’

  He chuckled, dropping his trouser leg back down. ‘What’s troubling you, Tash? You’re not the same girl I saw a year ago. Nor is Heath the same man.’

  Her breath caught, startled at his insight. She was reluctant to lie but the full truth was out of the question. Finally, she said, ‘I lost my job, Dad. It’s just been getting me down, that’s all. I’ll get over it sooner or later.’

  ‘You’ve always been such a resourceful person. But of all my daughters you are the one who puts the most pressure on herself.’

  She laughed. ‘You reckon?’

  ‘Of course.’ He patted her leg. ‘You don’t have goals, my darling, you have missions. But I’m afraid that sometimes life is not always within your control, no matter how much you expect it to be.’

  Wasn’t that the truth!

  ‘You know, Tash, when I first bought Tawny Brooks back in the eighties, I knew I had enough land to plant eight varieties of grapes.’

  ‘I know, Dad, I think you’ve told me this story before.’

  He ignored her and his voice took on a wistful note. ‘I was very careful with my choices. In some ways, I was like you, my dear. I weighed up the pros and cons of every variety, researched the market potential, the likelihood of success before making my choices. I chose the varieties that were robust and that had been trialled in the South-West before. I started with chardonnay and then cabernet and then semillon and so on and so on. But when it came t
o that eighth and final variety, I was at a loss. I had no idea what to choose. So I thought to myself, this could be my experiment. This could be where I take my risk and just plant something that had never been tried here before and just see what happens. And it wouldn’t matter if it failed because of all my contingency plans. And so I put in chenin blanc.’ He gave her a long look at that point. ‘Do you know what happened?’

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘We had very bad weather.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The chardonnay was thin, the cabernet was sour and my other varieties and blends did not live up to either my hopes or my goals. Every strategy in my arsenal was foiled by God. The chenin blanc, which I had forsaken in the mad rush to save the others, came out just fine. Of course, not my best. But definitely not the worst of my portfolio that season. Do you think this was all my fault?’

  ‘Of course not, Dad. You can’t control the weather.’

  He nodded solemnly. ‘Neither, my dear, can you.’

  A wave of helplessness and discomfort rolled through her. She didn’t know what to say but felt how closely his words pulled at the heaviness in her heart.

  ‘But you shouldn’t worry,’ he nodded, ‘for in every storm there is always chenin blanc.’

  She laughed. ‘Oh, Dad, you really are crazy, you know that?’

  A toothy grin crinkled his eyes in the corners and lifted his wrinkly cheeks. ‘I have my moments. But what did you come to talk to me about?’

  Her gaze stretched across the vineyard to the horizon. Here, over the treetops, she could just make out a patch of dark blue sea. The enormity of the ocean sent a shiver through her. Looking out like this was like sitting on the edge of the world. And right then she felt like everything she knew was going to change. ‘Dad, I want to ask you about the fire in the restaurant. The one that made Eve and Spider shut up shop and leave. Did you know that it was lit by kerosene?’