by Loretta Hill
She hugged him. ‘It’s good to see you –’ She cut herself off awkwardly as she realised what she’d just said. ‘I mean –’
‘There’s no need to walk on eggshells with me,’ he grunted. ‘I’ve got a thick skin. Too thick, according to my wife. So, how’s life been treating you, anyway?’ He seemed to visibly buoy himself to ask. ‘Still in the fast lane?’
‘Er … sort of.’
Where do I start?
Lydia waggled a finger and then said to Chris, ‘This girl always had a terrible poker face.’
‘Tell me about it.’ He grinned. ‘What’s going on, Numbat? You promised me an explanation at some point.’
Bronwyn shifted from one foot to the other. ‘It’s about Claudia.’
Lydia’s smile disappeared. ‘I hope nothing bad has happened? Is she okay? She hasn’t hurt herself, has she?’
‘She’s fine,’ Bronwyn hastily reassured her. ‘In perfect health, actually.’
‘But …’ Chris prompted.
Come on, girl. Just rip it off like a band aid.
‘She’s not coming home.’
There was a moment of silence.
‘As in, she’s not coming home today?’ Lydia suggested tentatively.
‘As in, she’s not coming home … indefinitely.’
Lydia gasped.
‘What does that mean?’ Horace demanded. ‘It means,’ Chris chuckled, ‘that she’s finally had enough and she’s jumped ship. Wish I had her gumption and the legs to do it with.’
‘Oh no,’ Lydia shook her head, ‘Claudia wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t leave us high and dry.’
‘That’s right –’ Bronwyn tried to seize the opportunity to explain further but Horace wouldn’t let her.
‘Yes, she would. You know she’s been dying to get out of here for years. Wants to live in the city.’
Lydia’s mouth pulled. ‘Yes, to practice law, of course.’ She turned back to Bronwyn. ‘Is that what she’s doing?’
Bronwyn nodded apologetically. ‘She’s trying to get a job with my family as we speak.’
Lydia sank back into her desk chair, her voice wistful. ‘She’s pursuing her dream. I guess it’s about time.’
‘About time?’ Horace snapped. ‘Just after I’ve retired and can no longer work? Surely she’s got more responsibility than that.’
Lydia sighed. ‘You honestly can’t blame her, can you? She trained for all those years at university and we’ve been holding her back. Keeping her here against her will …’
‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic!’ Horace cried. ‘We did no such thing. She knew what she owed to her family.’
‘It was wrong of us to put that on her,’ Lydia protested.
‘But we can’t run Oak Hills without her,’ Chris spoke up. ‘What’ll happen to the business? The least she could have done was arranged for someone else to take her place. Though how we would pay them, I have absolutely no idea.’
‘Actually,’ Bronwyn managed to stem the flow of conversation at last, ‘she did arrange for someone to take her place.’
All eyes swung to her.
‘Who?’ Lydia enquired.
Damn! Can I really do this?
‘Well, don’t leave us in suspense, Numbat,’ Chris protested. ‘Spit it out.’
‘Well, it’s,’ her gaze shot from one to the other before she spread her hands hopefully, ‘it’s, er … me.’
For a moment they all just stared at her in stunned silence and then Horace let loose a roar of laughter.
‘You’re going to run Oak Hills Winery! No bloody way!’
‘I … I beg your pardon?’ Bronwyn stammered.
‘As much as I like you, Bronwyn, we are not packaging up our business and handing it over into your untried hands. Why would we? It’s too risky, not to mention ridiculous.’
‘Ignore him.’ Lydia came forward, clasping both Bronwyn’s hands between hers. ‘He’s being rude.’
‘So you think I could do it?’ Bronwyn eagerly pounced on this.
It was Lydia’s turn to stall. ‘You’re a wonderful girl, sweetie. Smart too, with all those degrees behind you. But … this is our … everything.’
‘I totally get that.’ Bronwyn squeezed Lydia’s hands. ‘And I would fight for it with my … everything, and not ask for payment except food and a roof over my head. I would replace Claudia exactly.’
Just like I was your daughter.
She groaned inwardly at her teenage fantasy that was unexpectedly coming to life.
Lydia’s expression became rather bewildered. ‘But don’t you have commitments back in Perth, Bronwyn?’
‘Not really.’ Bronwyn winced. ‘I kinda got fired and I can’t stay in my apartment anymore because of Elsa.’
‘Her new dog,’ Chris informed his mother, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the wheels of his chair. ‘Big bullmastiff, the size of a small pony. Can’t say I would have picked her as your type, Numbat. But I guess you’re full of surprises today, aren’t you?’
Bronwyn stuck out her tongue at him as he grinned at her.
Horace, however, was not to be distracted.
‘And we’re supposed hand over our livelihood to someone who has no experience of managing a winery, who just got fired from their job and encouraged my daughter to flake out on her responsibilities?’
‘Come now, Horace,’ Lydia scolded him, ‘that’s not fair.’
‘No,’ he declared, ‘it’s just the truth.’ Closing his eyes, he rubbed his fingers over his temple. ‘Why do the people I count on the most always let me down?’
It was this gesture of true despair, more than his words, that hurt Bronwyn.
She licked her lips. ‘I got fired because I refused to give Elsa up to be put down, not because I was incompetent. The whole situation made me realise that I don’t want to practice law anymore. In fact,’ she glanced at their faces earnestly, ‘I actually think I hate my old job. I don’t want to ever go back.’
She braced herself for the protests her mother would no doubt have voiced … had she given her the opportunity to do so.
Why?
What happened?
You were so good at it!
Why quit now when you’re at the top of your game?
Don’t be silly. You love what you do!
As for her father, Robert Eddings hadn’t ever taken that much of an interest in her life, so why on earth would he start now?
‘Well,’ Lydia nodded contemplatively, ‘I guess one can’t do the same thing forever, but are you sure this is what you want to do instead?’
‘Absolutely,’ Bronwyn replied firmly, both relieved and grateful for Lydia’s response. ‘Claud told me you guys were having problems here. All I want to do is help you get your reputation and sales back on line. I love this place. I want to restore Oak Hills to its former glory as much as you do.’
‘Okay,’ Horace nodded. ‘So you’ve got passion and ambition. I admire that, but winemaking is not corporate law. This business is as much art as it is science. It requires a delicate balancing act, a love of the land and an intuitiveness that Claudia doesn’t have and neither do you.’
‘Then who does?’
To Bronwyn’s surprise it was Chris who had jumped in. She had never seen him so affected. His face was pale, his voice rough with anger. He’d always approached life with an air of whatever will be, will be. When he’d lost the use of his legs, his easygoing attitude had remained. She’d always admired him for that and his willingness to give anything a go. Even today, for most of the conversation he’d sat quietly in his chair contemplating everything that was said without a shred of the panic his parents were clearly feeling. And it wasn’t to say that he too shouldn’t feel some sort of upheaval. Chris was by no means the family freeloader. He managed the cellar door, organised tastings and sometimes gave tours in the summer, explaining to wide-eyed tourists and winemaking experts alike their process from harvest to fermentation. He was good at it too. Chris kne
w how to play up the romance of it all, and his cheeky good humour had always been an asset to the family.
However, there was none of that in play now. ‘Is it Jack you have in mind, Dad?’ he asked sarcastically. ‘What a pity you drove him away.’
‘Jack!’ Horace spat out the name like a mandarine pip. ‘That boy had ability but no discipline, apart from being a downright disgrace to this family.’
‘A disgrace because of what he did to me?’ Chris demanded. ‘Or how he disappointed you?’
‘I don’t see how that has any relevance.’
‘Of course it has relevance.’
Horace glared at him. ‘I don’t want your opinion. Didn’t ask for it.’
‘That’s right. Doesn’t count, does it? Never did.’ Chris lifted his chin. ‘And that’s what’s so ironic about this whole mess. You got rid of the one guy who could bring this place back to life because of me, the son you never loved as much.’
His words were like hot oil spitting from a pot, leaving everyone scalded.
Bronwyn’s gaze flew to Chris. He was clearly just as shocked by his outburst as everyone else. He probably hadn’t meant for it to come out but now that it had, he couldn’t snatch it back.
Oh dear.
It was in this moment that Bronwyn realised she might have been blindsided by her own need. She had been so determined to get out of law, she’d jumped headfirst into this escape plan. The Franklins were no longer the happy family from her uni days. There was a reason Claudia had been so miserable at Oak Hills, and now she was about to discover firsthand why.
‘I think it’s time I took a walk,’ Horace remarked and, with an unsteady gait, left the room, shutting the door behind him firmly.
‘Sorry about that,’ Chris remarked with a humourless smile. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
‘No, it’s my fault,’ Bronwyn tried to patch things over. ‘I didn’t realise this plan Claudia and I have hatched would open old wounds.’
Chris snorted. ‘Who said they were shut?’
Lydia laid a hand on Chris’s arm, her face a picture of concern. ‘Perhaps it is time we sorted through our dirty laundry. We’ve let this all fester for too long. I’m just sad that it’s taken Claudia leaving for us to realise it.’ She looked up and met Bronwyn’s eyes. ‘On reflection, Bronwyn, I think you have come at an excellent time. We are definitely going to need you around here. In fact, you’re the perfect distraction for the storm about to break.’
Alarm bells began to ring in her head. ‘What storm?’
Lydia spread her hands. ‘Oak Hills can’t sustain my husband’s dissatisfaction for much longer.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Honey, it’s not just you or Claudia or me or Chris he doesn’t trust to run Oak Hills.’
Chris groaned. ‘He doesn’t trust anyone.’
Lydia pursed her lips. ‘My husband is finding the concept of retirement rather difficult to process.’ She sighed. ‘Winemaking has been his life for so many years now, it’s hard to just chuck it in and let someone else take over. Especially a stranger. He won’t admit it but he always thought Jack would take the reins when he retired, and in truth he doesn’t really want anyone else. His pride is standing in the way. As for me, I never thought this feud between them would last so long.’ She tapped her fingers restlessly against her arm.
‘Well,’ Chris pointed out, ‘he can’t keep firing every winemaker we take on just because he doesn’t like his way of doing things.’
‘Is that what’s been happening?’ Bronwyn’s eyes rounded.
Chris nodded. ‘Can you imagine what kind of wine we’re getting with three different winemakers having a hand in the one vintage? That’s why our reputation is gone.’
‘Too many cooks spoiling the broth?’
‘Exactly. Claud and I have told Dad again and again to lay low but he won’t listen. Even the fact that he’s nearly blind now doesn’t stop him. We’re basically at our wits’ end.’
‘Well, I’m not,’ Lydia responded firmly.
Chris glanced at her in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You were right about Jack. He is the one person who can save Oak Hills. He’s every bit as talented as your father was.’
‘That doesn’t mean I want him to come home,’ Chris added. ‘He’s been shunning us for years, Mum. He has no incentive to help. It won’t work.’
Bronwyn went still. ‘What won’t work?’
Lydia reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘Bronwyn, we’ll need you here to keep the peace, you’d do a much better job than Claud ever could. She’s as bitter about Jack abandoning us as your father is.’
Her heart sank. ‘Lydia, what are you going to do?’
‘Something I should have done a long time ago.’ Lydia nodded. ‘I’m going to ask Jack to come home.’
Chapter 6
Sebastian Rowlands was both busy and frustrated.
He had court appointments booked to his eyeballs, at least half a dozen affidavits to finalise and ten witnesses to interview. His junior lawyer, Nelson, was already fully loaded with work and his secretary, Juliet Nesbitt, had taken a personal day. Not that she didn’t deserve it. Of all the secretaries he had known, she was definitely the best. Honest, trustworthy and methodical to a fault. Juliet ate through his paperwork like termites in a timber roof. He couldn’t ask for better. Of all the women who had guest-starred in his life, his relationship with Juliet was singularly the most longstanding and meaningful.
Did he find that sad?
No.
He’d much rather have a good secretary than be married. Low maintenance, high rewards.
No bullshit.
Nelson, on the other hand, required a lot of attention. The young lawyer did try his best but his efficiency was low because he was still learning. In turn, being a mentor to him was a time-consuming process that took longer than if he actually did the work himself.
He tutted as he flicked though the brief in front of him written by Nelson, which was full of errors. He was going to have to sit down with the boy again, putting them both further behind. Not that there wasn’t something to be said for having another human being look at you with envy, respect and doe-eyed wonder.
That he liked.
Not because he saw himself in Nelson, but because he didn’t.
Nelson had grown up in a stable family environment, well supported by his parents, and still lived at home. He had no notion of independence because there had always been someone there to pick him up should he fall. He had moved smoothly from high school to university without a care in the world.
No, he liked Nelson because he was earnest.
He was good and he was kind, untouched by the jaded cynicism that years of getting to know the frailty of man’s honour brought to your life. He loved shocking him with the hard advice and ‘war’ stories; startling him when Seb pointed out Nelson’s mistakes just in time to pull him back from the brink of liability and disbarment. Unfortunately for Nelson, this seemed to occur on rather a regular basis.
Seb chuckled to himself as he flicked through more of the young man’s work, seeing a number of flashing danger lights in his phrasing. He circled these with red pen.
And so you’ve adopted him.
Much like an old man takes in a stray puppy.
Wasn’t that what you were when Cyril gave you a leg up?
He shook his head at the thought. He always knew when he was stressed because he started reminiscing about the past. When he was seventeen, already supporting himself because the discontinuous nature of foster homes had started grating on him, he hadn’t dreamt of becoming a lawyer. Honestly, he had just wanted to get by, pay his rent and maybe buy an old bomb that someone was trying to flog so he could get away to the coast for the weekends. He was a loner. Still was. There was no one in this world he trusted more than himself.
Until he met Cyril.
The phone on his desk buzzed, rousing him from his musings. He h
oped it was Juliet, calling to say she was coming in after all.
It wasn’t.
‘Morning, Seb.’
‘Cyril.’ Genuine pleasure coloured his voice. ‘Don’t tell me you have another case for me.’
‘Something better than that, son. Get over here, will you?’
‘Right now?’
‘Right now.’
Seb put the phone down. Standing up, he threw on his jacket and walked out of his fish-tank style office and straight into a pool of cubicles, mainly occupied by graduates and paralegals. They kept their heads down as he strode past, hoping not be flicked another one of his files, no doubt. The thing was, he needed more help. He was going to have to get it somewhere.
He reached the main foyer of Hanks and Eddings. The receptionist there fielded all calls, but particularly Cyril’s. His office was directly behind her desk, a double-doored entrance with stark silver handles. It looked ostentatious, just as it was meant to.
‘Morning, Seb,’ smiled the receptionist. ‘I was just about to put Mrs Matheson through to your office.’
‘Tell her I’ll call her back,’ he nodded. That was likely to be a very long phone call. Mrs Matheson tended to cry a lot whenever they went over the facts of her case, which he supposed was understandable. She stood to lose her home, her beach house and the ability to pay her children’s private school fees because her husband had dared to avoid paying taxes. Ah, the benefits of spousal dishonesty. Yet another reason he had no intention of getting married anytime soon.
He strode on and the receptionist didn’t stop him. She was used to him coming and going from Cyril’s office as he pleased. It was a privilege not enjoyed by many. When he walked in, the old man was already seated on the couch in the alcove off to one side, a mug of coffee resting on his knee.
‘Help yourself.’
Seb definitely didn’t have time for a break. But he’d learned very early in his career that you refused the founding partner of your firm nothing if you could help it. He filled himself a mug from the Nespresso machine on the bar behind the couch and then walked around to sit next to the man whom he regarded more as a father than a boss.