by Loretta Hill
So what are your strengths?
She grabbed another muffin, deciding already that she was going to eat three of them at least.
Well, you’re reasonably intelligent.
Otherwise, she wouldn’t have got through law and graduated in the top ten per cent of her class as her parents duly expected.
You’re also stealthy.
She’d been hiding who she really was from Bianca Hanks, Robert Eddings and the legal profession for years.
And … you’re so desperate.
She sighed. Yes, she was absolutely desperate to be somebody else – to be good at something else.
There was certainly enough to cut her baby teeth on here, if only somebody would let her. Perhaps her first mistake had been asking. One did not ask for trust, one earned it. Clearly, her first and most obvious method of attack was to start performing, which was far easier said than done. After eating her third muffin, she dusted off her fingers and ran back up the stairs to her room to have a shower. Donning jeans and a T-shirt, she pulled her hair back into a no-nonsense ponytail and motored out the front door.
The landscape stretched out before her, the ocean on the horizon. The heady smell of ripe, sun-warmed fruit hit her senses before she saw the swollen globes peeping from beneath large tri-pointed leaves. Bronwyn shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun as she crossed the top of one block of vines. The plantation was so neat, laid in stripes of green and brown – rich and vibrant. Insects and birds chirped and tweeted harmoniously from the vine. A golden whistler seemed to be the lead singer. He perched on top of one of the nearby trestles singing his little heart out, his bright yellow chest like a waistcoat for his stately olive-green back and wings. As soon as her shadow crossed his perch, he flew away. Bronwyn was sorry to see him go.
She knew from past visits that the bird was male. The female ones were so boring by comparison. Their feathers were a dull greyish brown and they were much shyer. For some reason, the thought made her think of her and Jack. He’d always been the golden whistler to her dorky insecurity. She did not want him back at Oak Hills. He’d just make things incredibly tense. The mere mention of his name had thrown Horace and Chris into such a dark argument the day before. And the awkwardness she still felt ran so deeply between him and her. She shuddered. Jack had not given a stuff about any of them for years. Having him stroll back into their lives now would just add insult to injury and toss this sinking ship right into the storm.
She had a niggling worry that Lydia had already sent the email she’d threatened to yesterday, and it had reached its destination. Jack had always been such an enigma. Hard to read, even more difficult to predict, though he always seemed to have her number. She remembered the day they met with a cringing embarrassment. She’d only been eighteen at the time, next to his twenty-three. He was the skilled winemaker while she was very much the shy, dull-coloured bird, hopeful to blend into the background. It had been her first night away from the family home in the city. She’d had no self-esteem to speak of and was totally in awe of her best friend’s life, which seemed like Neverland. Everything at Oak Hills was magical – the surrounds, the house. And there was certainly one male resident who had never grown up.
Claudia had been out when she’d arrived, so Mrs Franklin had advised her to go exploring and get acquainted with the estate. It was late in the day and the sun had begun to sink. A warm orange glow had spread fingers of light through the leafy vines on the path beside her. At the time the grapes had been plump and purple, ripe for the picking. The clusters were so heavy the vine drooped under their weight. The pose was almost seductive, like biblical temptation. That day a younger, more innocent hand had reached towards the vine. Curiosity and the sudden rush of the forbidden had made her brave.
I wonder if they just taste like ordinary grapes.
No one will miss it if I just try one.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
She’d nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the voice. Quickly, she’d composed herself and spun around to register dancing green eyes and the flash of white teeth. At the time, Bronwyn didn’t have much experience with men, let alone ones this good-looking. In blue jeans, a collared shirt rolled up to the elbows and broad-brimmed hat on his head, he looked much like a cowboy who had lost his horse and gun holster. Mischief was written all over his face. But then wasn’t it always with Jack?
She’d pressed a hand to the middle of her chest. ‘You scared me half to death.’
‘Did I?’ He raised innocent eyebrows. ‘You looked so devious, I couldn’t resist calling you out.’
She glared at him. ‘I didn’t mean any harm. I was just –’
‘I know what you were doing,’ he chuckled. ‘Go on. Have as many as you like. They’re good.’
Bronwyn put her hands behind her back, unwilling to let him patronise her. ‘No, that’s okay. I was only looking.’
‘Come on.’ He sauntered over to the vine, plucked a few, and before she knew what was happening had popped two in her mouth, his fingertips brushing longer than necessary against her lips. She jumped back, startled at the familiarity of his touch before he gave her a rather unsettling grin and put the rest of the grapes in his hand into his own mouth. She forced herself to eat, if only to free up her lips to speak. The skin puckered and burst between her teeth, filling her mouth with sweet, hot juice.
‘This is shiraz,’ he informed her. ‘Our best crop yet.’
Her voice responded at last. ‘It’s good.’
‘I know.’ He hooked his hands in his pants. ‘They’re mine, after all. I’m Jack.’ He tilted his head to look more closely at her. ‘Who the hell are you?’
She shoved both hands awkwardly into the pockets of her jeans. ‘Er … Bronwyn, Claudia’s friend.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m her older brother. She’s never mentioned you.’
‘Oh,’ she responded, telling herself the uncharacteristic hurt she felt was an overreaction. As he continued to stare at her expectantly, she shuffled from one foot to the other, wondering whether she was supposed to somehow prove that she really did know Claudia.
Suddenly he lost his seriousness. ‘Just teasing.’
It was the first of many times he used that phrase on her. She didn’t know why he thought announcing it made it okay. If possible, it took it to the next level of irritating. However, just as a mixture of relief and annoyance enveloped her, someone else burst through the vines. A tall, leggy blonde with way too much hair and not enough skirt. She launched herself at Jack, throwing both arms around his neck.
‘Found you!’ Her voice was sing-song, high-pitched and definitely unaware that there was anyone else about.
What was this that she’d stumbled upon?
An adult game of hide and seek?
‘Oh –’ The newcomer belatedly seemed to register Bronwyn standing there. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Bronwyn Eddings.’
To her surprise, Jack gave her full name without even blinking. ‘My sister Claudia is forever going on about her and her family. Eddings this and Eddings that.’ His lips quirked at her. ‘You come from some real fancy digs, don’t you?’
‘Oh, I –’ Bronwyn didn’t know which was worse, to be completely anonymous or have her city reputation to live up to in the one place she thought she was free of it.
The blonde’s hand seemed to tighten around Jack’s neck as she gave Bronwyn a thorough once over. ‘You don’t look very fancy.’
Bronwyn felt her cheeks redden. She didn’t. Skinny as a stick, no sense of fashion and glasses as thick as telescopes. She was the worst class of dork.
‘Claws in, Becky.’ Jack tickled the woman hanging off him, who giggled girlishly. ‘She’s our guest, after all,’ he nodded to her. ‘I’ll see you at the house.’
The embarrassment she felt then jolted Bronwyn out of the past. She’d been nothing but a joke to Jack back then. She couldn’t see how six years of no communication could have
changed that much. As the flashback faded from her mind, the grapes in front of her came sharply back into focus. They were as heavy as the ones in her memory.
Vintage was almost upon them. It wouldn’t be long before these succulent bulbs turned purple. Oak Hills needed a winemaker, and soon. Her first port of call would be to find out what they were doing about that … besides sending Jack emails, of course.
The gravel path she was on widened and the Oak Hills cellar door and restaurant came into view. It was an attractive building and clearly much better kept than the Franklins’ residence. It was mostly stone and surrounded by an array of native trees that did much to emphasise the rustic style of the building. A cobbled path led up to the double doors, which opened into a large room accommodating floor-to-ceiling glass windows on one side. These looked out across the vineyard, giving the space an air of tranquillity. Polished dark timber floorboards supported a few burgundy-coloured couches and armchairs, set apart from the cellar door bar itself, which was a long ‘S’ shape. Stainless-steel spittoons sat in the curl at each end of the polished, chestnut-coloured counter.
She had expected to see a short Italian man called Marco, whom she had known since her university days. However, it was two strangers who stood behind the bar in black Oak Hills shirts. A young woman of slim build and perhaps Italian origin, and a tall gangly man with long fingers and dancing blue eyes. He was definitely the more charismatic of the two, and the first to capture her attention. He had one of those faces that was so alive it drew your focus immediately … that is, if his strong French accent and tendency towards theatrics failed to arouse your interest first.
‘What light through yonder window breaks?’ he quoted, stretching out his hand to her with all the drama of the Shakespearean tragedy from which he quoted.
It was so over the top that she couldn’t help but giggle.
‘Hi, I’m Bronwyn.’
‘An angel come to relieve me of my boredom,’ he corrected her. ‘My name is Antoine.’
‘And I’m Maria,’ the girl beside him said. She had a shy smile and seemed uncommonly nervous at Bronwyn’s arrival. ‘I’ve heard so much about you from Chris.’
Bronwyn raised her eyebrows. ‘All good, I hope.’
Maria’s expression grew wistful. ‘You’re one of his oldest friends.’
‘I guess I am.’
‘Are you here for zee tasting?’ Antoine drew her attention back to himself.
‘Er, no,’ she smiled. ‘I’m here to work if someone will let me.’
‘For shame!’ he exclaimed. ‘One does not beg for work. One avoids it. Look at me, I flirt for a living!’
She laughed.
‘Come and sample ze wine. I’m sure I can teach you a few things you didn’t know.’
‘He is rather good,’ Maria nodded, and stood back to let him do his thing.
‘I’m better zan good,’ Antoine rolled his eyes. ‘I am French.’
He turned to grab four wine bottles off the shelf behind him, twining their necks between his fingers so he could carry them all in one go. When his back was turned she could see that his straight brown hair was tied elegantly at the nape of his neck with a black velvet ribbon. Her lips twitched. She didn’t know when she’d last seen that hairstyle on a man but it certainly suited him.
Antoine spun back, placing the bottles on the counter. ‘What shall I get you, mademoiselle? A fruity sauvignon blanc, a peppery shiraz, a full-bodied cabernet merlot or a woody chardonnay?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she shook her head, ‘I’ve got to find one of the Franklins. I’m supposed to be taking on Claudia’s workload.’
Antoine gasped. ‘But you intrigue me. I was not aware Claudia was away. Lydia did not mention it, or you for zat matter, when she came in this morning.’
‘Didn’t she?’ Bronwyn asked tentatively. It was very telling that Lydia hadn’t said a word to the staff. It looked like her misgivings were not unfounded.
‘No,’ Antoine’s eyes twinkled. ‘Tell me, do you share Claudia’s vision for the business?’
Bronwyn shrugged. ‘I assume Claudia wants this business to be the best it can be and that’s exactly what I want too.’
Antoine’s mouth twisted. ‘Ze best it can be in new markets – less prestigious ones.’
Bronwyn’s heart sank. ‘Oh no. We can’t have that.’
Claudia hadn’t mentioned this plan to her, and she wasn’t surprised. She’d have known Bronwyn would be against it. If Claudia wanted Oak Hills to downgrade its reputation to survive then she was as bad as the rest of her family.
‘Well, mademoiselle,’ Antoine spread his hands, ‘I’m afraid neither of us has a say.’
‘I might if only Lydia and Chris would stop avoiding me.’
‘Ah!’ His eyes flicked wider. ‘Zis explains why Lydia was ’ere at the crack of dawn. She never arrives before eight, unless she is avoiding something at home. Usually it is Horace but, surprise of all surprises, he came wiz her.’
‘Great,’ Bronwyn’s shoulders slumped. ‘They’re teaming up against me.’
‘I see, I see. Freezing you out, no?’ He rested an elbow on the bench, leaning towards her. ‘You are feeling zee pinch of her rejection, chéri? No matter.’ He flicked away the offence with this hand. ‘You must do what I do in crisis – turn to ze bottle.’ He lifted one in front of him. ‘Sauvignon blanc?’
Bronwyn chuckled. ‘Isn’t it a little early for wine?’
‘Mademoiselle,’ Antoine touched a hand to his heart again as though fatally wounded, ‘it is never too early for sauvignon blanc. In fact, morning is ze best for fruity aromatic flavours, so crisp, so fresh. I dare you to give your day a lift.’
‘I see you’ve met our resident backpacker.’ A voice sounded behind them, startling Bronwyn with its unexpected sternness. She spun around.
‘Chris?’ she began uncertainly. He was eyeing them in irritation from the threshold. ‘Hi, Bronwyn.’
She hadn’t heard him come in, his wheels silent on the floorboards. ‘Hi, Maria.’ He turned his head to greet the woman Bronwyn had all but forgotten at the other side of the bar.
She looked up. ‘Hi.’
At that point, Bronwyn expected Chris to make some outrageous comment, perhaps about taking them both out to dinner. He’d been a non-stop flirt since she’d arrived, and his cheekiness wasn’t just limited to her. Instead he said, ‘How are you?’ to Maria.
‘I’m good, thanks.’ She nodded politely and said nothing more.
Something was off.
Antoine clearly thought so.
‘Mademoiselle,’ he protested. ‘I would never put anything as uncouth as a backpack upon my person. I have a proper house. I have stayed there almost a year now.’
‘My mistake.’ Chris turned back to him and then said to Bronwyn, ‘There are too many traditionalists in these parts trying to get some new world experience.’ Then he smiled, some of his cheekiness returning. ‘You’re up early, Numbat. I thought you’d be sleeping in.’
‘Not when there’s so much to do.’
‘You worry too much.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Take your massive hound for a walk. Hell, take me for a walk. Clear your head. You’ll feel so much better.’
It sounded like another brush-off to her. ‘So much better about what?’
‘Everything,’ he said with emphasis.
‘I was actually hoping someone might get me into Claudia’s office –’
‘There’s no way I’m letting you see how messy I am,’ interrupted Chris. ‘But maybe we can go for that walk after lunch.’
‘But –’
‘In the meantime, have a drink. Maria has just brought in some of our older reds, aged to perfection. Ant,’ he said to the Frenchman brusquely, ‘weren’t you going to do a stocktake this morning?’
‘Later, M’sieur.’
‘Later would be now.’
He manoeuvred his chair into the storeroom after that, leaving Bronwyn startled by the complete chang
e in his demeanour. ‘I don’t get it. He wasn’t annoyed with me being here yesterday. I don’t know what’s come over him.’
‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ Maria said quickly.
‘Do not let him bother you, chéri,’ Antoine assured her. ‘It is not you he dislikes but me.’
‘Well, that doesn’t make sense. Chris likes everybody. He’s the easiest-going guy around.’
‘Not when it comes to his brother.’
‘Jack?’ Bronwyn repeated. ‘What do you know about Jack?’
‘But everything, of course.’ Antoine spread his hands. ‘He was my friend in Bordeaux before he moved on to Carcassonne. When I came to Australia, Lydia hired me because I knew him. My friendship with his brother has always been a great trial to Chris, though he shuns it himself.’ Antoine sighed. ‘He thinks I am the guy Jack replaced him with.’
Jealousy.
She could believe that and even sympathise with it a little.
‘Antoine, is Lydia still in the restaurant?’
‘Oh yes. She is trying to sort out this week’s menu.’
‘Thanks.’
The restaurant was on the right hand side of the bar, after you passed through an area featuring a stack of wine giftware and souvenirs. Bronwyn trotted past these and through the double glass doors leading inside. She noticed that it had not changed much over the years. There was still a large flower arrangement by the door and no more than seven white-linen-dressed tables inside. The windows were wide with giant wooden shutters, which were currently open to let in as much light as possible and provide the subtle ambience of the view, which was no less than spectacular. The restaurant was and had always been Lydia’s domain. While an excellent cook, she wasn’t a chef herself. She mainly coordinated the staff, organised the functions and worked there in the evenings as the house’s maître d’. Due to the fact that it had only just gone nine in the morning, the dining room was deserted. Bronwyn paused awkwardly on the threshold just in time, as there seemed to be an argument going on inside.