You Said Forever

by Susan Lewis

  (She had looked funny, but Charlotte and Anthony hadn’t dared to let Chloe know they thought so or she’d be sure to do it again – and no doubt worse.)

  ‘We’re going to pick up Chloe from school,’ Rowan reminded Elodie.

  Elodie turned to her mother, and as though suddenly tired she dropped her head on Charlotte’s shoulder.

  Wishing she could keep Elodie with her, Charlotte said to Rowan, ‘Does Chloe have ballet today?’

  ‘Swim club,’ Rowan corrected. ‘I’ll drop her there then take these two for ice cream in the village while we wait. Do you need anything while we’re out?’

  ‘You could pick up a few things at Bellatino’s,’ Charlotte replied, reaching for her purse. Thank goodness the retreats were providing an income, albeit small; if it weren’t for them they really would be struggling to put food on the table.

  Grabbing her mobile as it rang, she saw it was Anthony and clicked on.

  ‘Hi, it’s me,’ he told her.

  ‘No kidding,’ she responded wryly.

  He wasn’t listening, something was already taking his attention, and a moment later he said, ‘I’ll call back.’

  As the line went dead Charlotte handed Elodie to Rowan. ‘Why don’t you stay and watch Chloe until she’s finished at swim club,’ she said, preparing a list for the deli, ‘then take all three of them for ice cream?’ Chloe liked ice cream and surely wouldn’t want to miss out.

  Perhaps Chloe didn’t like ice cream today. For all Charlotte knew it could be the new poison. Or maybe there had been an incident at the ice-cream shop that Rowan hadn’t mentioned for fear of getting Chloe into yet more trouble.

  ‘I would if Chloe wanted us to stay,’ Rowan was saying, ‘but this morning she said she didn’t. I’ll see if she’s changed her mind when we collect her, but I was hoping to get them home, fed and in bed by eight so I can meet the girls at Pipi’s for a glass of wine and dessert.’

  Knowing this was what many of Havelock North’s young mothers did once or twice a month – eat with the kids, put them to bed, then leave the husbands or nannies in charge while they met up with friends – Charlotte tried not to mind that she wasn’t a part of it. She’d do better simply to feel thankful that Rowan’s devotion to the children allowed her, Charlotte, to work late when she needed to, which was just about every night and a big part of the weekends.

  Almost before Rowan had driven off Charlotte was back at her computer, about to log into the Wineworks portal, when a call came from Francis, the cellar-door manager at the Black Barn Vineyard. ‘We’ve just sent a tour bus your way,’ he told her. ‘About forty on board, from one of the cruise ships, so brace yourself. If you need a hand shout and I’ll send someone over.’

  Knowing she’d never cope with so many alone, Charlotte said, ‘I’ll find out if Rick and Hamish can come. If not you’ll hear back from me.’

  Eternally grateful for how supportive everyone was at Black Barn, Charlotte was about to call Rick when she spotted him heading her way. With his tight, wiry frame, close-cropped hair and electric-blue eyes he was as handsome as he was plucky, kind and intuitive – and she couldn’t have loved him more if she’d known him her entire life.

  ‘Just the person,’ she smiled as he stopped to straighten up one of her tablecloths and brush away a fallen jacaranda pod. It was a pity the vibrant lavender-blue flowers were starting to fade now, for with their dense and exotic fern-like foliage they provided the most beautiful and romantic canopy for the cellar-door courtyard. That alone should have made people want to come, especially in the evenings when the candles were lit and soft music was playing.

  Sadly it had yet to happen, at least in a significant way.

  ‘It’s my turn to ask a favour,’ Rick reminded her, tidying up the tasting notes she’d left awry on the counter. ‘Heidi’s just called in sick, so we’re short of a server tonight. Any chance?’

  Not in a million years, however what Charlotte said was, ‘I’ve got a group of forty on the way for a tasting. You come help me with that, and I’m all yours between eight and ten thirty.’ That should give her half an hour after finishing here to spend with the children while wolfing down a sandwich and sorting out whatever needed doing at home. Half an hour, was she kidding? Please just let Chloe be in a good mood or she really would have to let Rick down.

  Anthony, who still hadn’t rung back, was in Wellington putting on a tasting for an Australian distributor and wouldn’t be home until sometime tomorrow.

  Sinking at the thought of that and all it entailed – later, Charlotte, don’t think about it now – she merrily high-fived Rick to seal the deal.

  ‘How are things here?’ he asked, starting to set out glasses ready for the tasting at which almost no wine would be sold, because cruise-ship tourists rarely bought more than a bottle per couple, if that.

  ‘Still waiting for the big order,’ she admitted. ‘If it doesn’t come soon …’

  ‘Think positively,’ he admonished.

  ‘Or practically,’ she corrected. ‘We have to know what we’re going to do if we can’t shift the 2014 stock before the 2015 vintage is bottled and this year’s fruit is harvested, or it’ll be like trying to stuff ten thousand gallons into ten pint pots. We don’t have the space, or the wherewithal to buy more storage.’

  ‘There’s still plenty of time.’

  Irritably, she said, ‘It’s February, Rick. That gives us a couple of months, max, to sell the twenty thousand bottles of wine we’ve failed to shift in a year.’

  Stopping what he was doing, he came to give her a brotherly hug. ‘It’ll work out,’ he said softly. ‘Zoe’s got everything in hand. You need to put your trust in her.’

  Only wishing she could get past the unease she felt around their new publicity and marketing adviser, Charlotte said, ‘Zoe Reynolds has been working with us for over three months now and we’ve yet to see any results.’

  ‘You will, but these things take time, and half of that three months was taken up by the Christmas break. No, listen, just look what she did for the bistro. She put us on the map, and I promise, she’ll do the same for you.’

  ‘PR is one thing; sales are another.’

  ‘They go hand in hand, and she has some serious contacts in the gourmet world. Isn’t she with Anthony in Wellington now, introducing him to the Australian guy?’

  Hoping that was all Zoe was doing with Anthony, Charlotte said, ‘Do you seriously think this man is going to buy our entire stock?’

  ‘I don’t know who he is, so I can’t answer that, but if he’s a major Aussie distributor there’s a chance. And let’s not forget that you’ve got some good vintages, the Reserve Chardonnay in particular, it just hasn’t been marketed right. And that’s what Zoe will take care of. I wouldn’t have recommended her if I didn’t have so much faith in her, not at the rate she charges. It’ll be worth it in the end, you’ll see. Now tell me, have you spoken to your mother recently?’

  Frowning as she thought, Charlotte said, ‘Why?’

  ‘She’s worried about you.’

  ‘Which means you’ve spoken to her.’

  ‘Actually, I had a call from Dad and inevitably the subject of you came up.’

  ‘I hope you told him there’s nothing to get worked up about. Mum’s got enough on her plate with your sister going through chemo and your dad’s foot still in plaster.’

  ‘That’s what I told him, because I knew you’d want me to, but I have to admit I worry about you, Charlotte. You need to ease up a bit, take some time off … OK, OK, I know you’re going to start shouting at me about cashflow and not being able to afford extra staff and never having enough time to brush your hair never mind have a bath …’

  ‘I never said that. I shower every day.’

  Laughing, he said, ‘You need to take some time with the kids. It’s what you want, so do they. They need you, especially Chloe …’

  ‘Don’t,’ she protested, putting up a hand to stop him. ‘You’re not tellin
g me anything I don’t already know, so let’s leave it there and talk about how many you’ve got booked in for this evening.’

  Regarding her darkly, he seemed on the verge of saying more, until finally he took out his mobile and began sending a message. ‘I’ll have Hamish email over the menu so you can get early answers to anything you don’t understand.’

  ‘Is anyone else working the tables?’

  ‘Yours truly.’

  ‘I’m not washing up,’ she told him forcefully.

  Laughing as he connected to his partner, he wandered back across the courtyard, appearing as relaxed as a multimillionaire enjoying his favourite hobby. Since this was exactly what he was, thanks to the sale of his and Hamish’s Auckland-based advertising agency to a multinational company headquartered in New York, Charlotte could only feel pleased for him that things were turning out so well with the new venture, namely Rick’s Bistro. Envious too, of course, in fact madly so, since Anthony’s several millions acquired from the sale of his house in London’s Holland Park, and various other investments, had been sunk in their entirety into buying and regenerating the vineyard. And she shouldn’t forget the sensational home on the hill that they’d designed and had built when they’d truly believed they couldn’t fail; nor the renovation and expansion of the holiday retreats, which, it had to be said, were always booked out. Sadly, though, they didn’t provide anywhere near enough income to make even a noticeable contribution to the two hundred thousand dollars a year they needed simply for vineyard overheads.

  Watching miserably as a glossy red tour bus full of Oriental cruisers pulled into the car park, she tried raising her spirits with a reminder of how much she’d loved it all at the beginning. It could be like that again, she kept telling herself. Something would happen to prevent them having to go to the bank for a loan they might never be able to repay. They weren’t going to lose their home and everything they’d worked so hard for. Something would come good before the harvest, because it had to. And as soon as it did she would bring someone in to help run the cellar door, accounts, online orders, special offers, holiday retreats and staff rostering, so she could spend more time with her children.

  Her husband too, of course, presuming he wanted to spend time with her.

  Chapter Two

  It was just after seven by the time Charlotte finally closed up the cellar door, having sold twenty-two bottles of mostly Pinot Gris to the Orientals and three more to a local who often dropped in, as much for a chat as to stock up his chiller.

  With no cars available – Anthony had the Volvo in Wellington, Rowan was using the old Range Rover and Will had the pickup – she began the fifteen-minute uphill trek through the vines, her mobile in one hand and laptop in the other. Although her mind was swimming with worries, and her heart longing for something so big, so out of reach it seemed that she couldn’t even put it into words, the feel of the evening sun on her skin, the peachy light it was casting over the ripening fruit and tangled foliage, the sense of being hidden in the heart of nature, was as soothing as allowing herself to believe that everything was right with the world. Even now Anthony was shaking hands on a deal with the Australian distributor that would see Tuki River wines in half the supermarkets throughout the land. They’d raise a glass to celebrate the occasion, and as soon as he was able Anthony would call to give her the good news.

  Keep telling yourself that, Charlotte, and somehow you might will it into reality.

  In truth, she’d be satisfied with a call from Anthony whatever he had to say, but since the brief connection earlier she’d heard no more and if she rang him she knew she’d very probably be told it was a bad time.

  She’d fallen into a habit, it seemed, of picking bad times.

  Over the past year she’d come close on several occasions to asking him if he still loved her, if he regretted marrying her, wished he’d never come to New Zealand, but in the end she always shied away. After all, what the heck was she going to do if he confirmed her worst fears? Where would that leave them? How could they possibly go forward knowing that they had somehow got themselves into a mess, and they had no idea how to begin getting out of it?

  For the children’s sake it was best to continue the way they were, at least until some decisions had been taken about the vineyard and whether it was going to survive. It was hard to imagine Anthony accepting defeat – in part it was what she loved about him, his confidence and tenacity – but he had no more money to sink into the business, and what little she’d once had had been used up long ago. It was no wonder they’d lost the spark between them, the breathless, insatiable passion that had once made it impossible not to believe in the future. Back then they’d found it so easy to laugh, and dream and make love every day, because back then there had been no pressures and everything, just everything, had seemed possible.

  More than two months had passed since the last time they’d been intimate, and with the way things were she was afraid it wasn’t going to change any time soon. Maybe it was her fault. Having Zoe Reynolds around was gradually eroding her confidence. With Zoe’s supermodel looks and glamour-girl figure, not to mention the razor-sharp business brain and easy charm, she made Charlotte feel diminished and incapable. Charlotte just couldn’t feel comfortable around her, in spite of how friendly Zoe was towards her, while Anthony clearly had no problem with her at all. In fact he appeared to enjoy her company far more than anyone else’s. He was impressed by the woman, and willing to put his trust in her, as Rick had advised. Added to this, she provided Anthony with an escape from the house, from Chloe.

  Don’t go there! It’s wrong to blame Chloe; she’s a child with problems – oh god does she have problems – but she has nothing to do with the fact that Zoe Reynolds is Anthony’s type.

  Charlotte had thought that from the moment she’d set eyes on Zoe. The dynamic bombshell from Sydney didn’t only have beauty and brains – and one of the sexiest figures nature had ever created – she came from the kind of world that Anthony knew well. Her family had money, land and influence in places Charlotte only ever read about in magazines or saw on TV. According to Rick she had a husband, but since Charlotte had never seen him, or heard any mention of him, chances were they were no longer together. This meant Zoe could be on the lookout for a replacement, and who, in their right mind, wouldn’t want Anthony? They even looked good together, being of a similar height and colouring, and the only time Charlotte saw Anthony laugh these days was when Zoe gave one of her wicked twinkles.

  Yes, she could definitely see them together, because before giving up everything in Britain to fulfil a dream to own a vineyard Anthony had been a prominent QC who’d moved in all the right circles, with contacts right up to Number 10. He’d never been married, but only because his fiancée, a successful businesswoman who’d hailed from an aristocratic family, had been killed in an air crash at the age of thirty-five – two years before Charlotte and Anthony had met.

  Charlotte was convinced now that Anthony had still been grieving at the time his sister, Maggie, had introduced them. The only reason Charlotte had known Maggie was because Maggie was a foster carer, so Charlotte, in her then capacity of social worker, was occasionally at Maggie’s home. She’d happened to be there one day when Anthony came in and all but took her breath away. He might have looked fierce (still did), with his intense dark eyes and firmly set mouth, but the instant he’d smiled it was as though he was lighting up every last part of her. Even now his smile was able to turn her heart into fluttery chaos. In fact she only had to think of it for its effect to work its magic, and make her long with all her being for everything to be right between them again.

  Why didn’t he ring?

  He’d been gone all day, surely he wasn’t going to let the sun set on the argument they’d had this morning over how long he was going to be in Wellington.

  ‘Why do you have to be away overnight?’ she’d demanded, stuffing Cooper’s feet into his jellies.

  ‘I don’t want to wear these,�
�� Cooper protested, kicking them off again.

  ‘I told you,’ Anthony said, ‘the meeting’s not until five. If it goes well we’ll want to take him for dinner, so it’ll be too late to make the three-hour drive back.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘At the Bolton.’

  ‘We can afford that?’

  Sighing, he grabbed Cooper as he made to escape, sat him down and put his shoes back on. ‘Here’s my girl,’ he smiled, holding out an arm as Elodie toddled happily towards him.

  From there he’d taken over the morning ritual, had even, as far as Charlotte was aware, taken Chloe to school (after Chloe had punched Charlotte for trying to pull a brush through her hair) and Cooper to kindi. Charlotte, still furious with Chloe, had gone to check some guests out of one of the retreats.

  Now, Charlotte looked up ahead and felt an unsteadying wash of emotions coasting over her heart. The house was in view, the beautiful, architectural sprawl of a home that she and Anthony had created together and that she loved almost as though it were a living part of their world. It had started life as an abandoned wooden fruit siding that they’d found beside the railway station in Hastings. Apparently for many years it had been the main dispatch area for all Hawkes Bay apples. Now, having been transported here in pieces, it had been radically recut and restyled to enjoy its new incarnation as a family home. The wood was all stained black, the door and window frames were white and the original corrugated roof had been transformed into a series of dramatically elegant structures resembling shade sails.