by Loretta Hill
Many of her letters were borderline accusatory.
It was why he never told her anything of his plan to return, because he wasn’t sure how she’d react. Maybe if he had he would have known more on the Bronwyn front, because it seemed Claudia had a plan too: escape to the city and install her best friend in her stead. It was the craziest thing he’d ever heard. Though, he had to admit, pretty ballsy.
The Bronwyn he’d seen today was a lot different to the one he’d known way back when. She still had that fragile quality that suggested if you were too rough with her, she’d break. One conversation, however, had showed him that she was far stronger than she looked.
His first week at Oak Hills was a testament to that. His mother was the only one who welcomed him with open arms. That first night at dinner, both his father and brother were absent from the table.
Chris, apparently, was on a date.
What the?
His father’s absence was a little more mysterious and a lot more insulting.
It was just him, Bronwyn and Lydia sitting around a gorgeous lamb roast – his favourite dish as a child – accompanied by a selection of chargrilled vegetables and a bottle of gutsy shiraz.
‘Try not to take their absence too much to heart,’ Lydia said. ‘After all, I did spring you on them. They are still trying to get over the shock.’
‘So who is this woman my brother is dating?’ he asked, with a quick glance in Bronwyn’s direction for any signs of jealousy.
However, she only appeared to be half listening as she forked a piece of broccoli and put it in her mouth. How on earth did she make that look sexy? He averted his gaze to take in his mother’s reply.
Lydia was tapping her chin thoughtfully. ‘I’m really not sure. He takes out a lot of different women, I’ve stopped keeping track.’
Jack started. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yes. Though it never goes anywhere,’ Lydia complained. ‘I think he sabotages himself on purpose.’
‘Yes,’ Bronwyn piped up with a smile, ‘he likes to keep his options open.’
‘Strange.’ His throat tightened. ‘I always thought he was a one woman kind of guy. Are you sure he’s not just running interference?’
‘Running interference how?’ Bronwyn’s nose wrinkled.
Lydia smiled shrewdly. ‘I think what Jack is trying to say is that perhaps Chris is trying to make you jealous.’
Bronwyn turned a delicious shade of pink that had his heart rate jump a notch.
‘Chris pays me no more attention than he does your sous chef or her apprentice. He’s a flirt. He doesn’t mean anything by it.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ He smirked.
Bronwyn tossed her head. ‘I’d think I’d know if a man really liked me or not.’
Jack laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘You.’ His lips continued to twitch. ‘Can you pass the pepper please?’
She laid her hand on it, her eyes sparkling crossly. ‘Not until you tell me what you mean by that statement.’
He shrugged. ‘Only that Chris has liked you since the day he met you and you friend-zoned him.’
‘I what?’
‘You know,’ Jack explained, ‘that place women put the nice guys in their life so they can turn to the bad boys.’
‘And by that are you referring to yourself?’ she demanded, clearly fuming.
‘Hey,’ he raised both palms, ‘you jumped there, not me.’
Lydia cleared her throat to break up the fight. ‘In case either of you are interested, Chris likes Maria.’
‘Maria?’ Bronwyn repeated.
Jack blinked. ‘Who is Maria?’
‘She started working here after you left.’
‘She’s a cellar hand,’ Bronwyn said thoughtfully. ‘Really quiet and shy. She’s the only female around here Chris doesn’t flirt with.’
‘Exactly.’ Lydia smiled.
Bronwyn nodded, understanding. ‘Oh, I totally get it now.’
Jack did not get it at all. ‘I’m not following.’
‘There’s something you need to understand about Chris, my love.’ Lydia turned to him. ‘Ever since the accident he’s been so determined not to let it best him, not to be given any special treatment, that he thinks that anyone who does must be pitying him.’
Jack thought guiltily of Bronwyn and his naive notion that Chris would somehow find a way for them to be together with him out of the picture. His brother had so much to deal with that year. Romance was probably the last thing on his mind. And now …
‘He thinks of himself as a faulty package,’ he said.
His mother nodded. ‘He doesn’t go for long-term relationships because he doesn’t think he has the right to one.’
Jack felt his gut twist into a knot and he suddenly wasn’t that hungry anymore.
You did this.
You did this to your brother.
‘So what about you?’ His mother broke into his thoughts. ‘I hear French women are very beautiful.’
‘They are.’ He shrugged.
Bronwyn drained her glass in one gulp. ‘Could someone pass the wine please?’
Lydia handed her the shiraz. ‘Why didn’t I get any emails about all the fancy foreign ladies in your life? You can still tell your mother those things, you know. I won’t judge.’
He choked.
Bronwyn splashed wine beside her glass as she was trying to pour it. ‘Er … can I get a napkin?’
Gratefully, he reached towards the silver holder and got one to her.
‘So,’ Lydia rested her hand in her chin, ‘keep talking.’
‘Yeah,’ Bronwyn agreed, taking huge gulps from her fresh glass. ‘Why not give us more details?’
‘I hadn’t realised I’d given you any,’ he protested, not wanting to reveal his true identity as the ‘Monk of Aquitaine’ at this point, particularly after witnessing firsthand Bronwyn’s confidence with her body.
It was funny how France, reputably one of the most romantic places on earth, had turned Jack Franklin from playboy to workaholic. Or maybe it was his state of mind that did that. Maturity, he supposed with a slight smile, had to arrive sometime.
His mother misinterpreted his expression.
‘I see. Well, don’t tell me then.’ She paused. ‘Have you spoken to your brother yet?’
‘Very briefly.’ He nodded. ‘It didn’t go well.’
‘You have been gone for five years,’ his mother pointed out.
His top priority was to reconcile with his brother, though he wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to do this. Especially with the added pressure of keeping on top of the vintage as well. Earlier that same afternoon he’d done an inspection of the vines and noticed they hadn’t taken the chardonnay off yet. In his opinion, it was at least a day overdue. The block wasn’t Oak Hill’s star crop but that didn’t mean they should give it any less consideration. Horace Franklin, however, was nowhere to be found. He couldn’t believe his father was being this irresponsible out of spite.
‘What about Dad?’ he enquired of his mother. ‘Where was he today? We need to harvest the chardonnay as soon as possible before the grapes get too sweet.’
Bronwyn cleared her throat. ‘He, er … was with me. We had a few things we needed to discuss.’
His eyes narrowed on her in exasperation. ‘Look, I know you mean well, but this year’s chardonnay is going to be in some serious trouble if we don’t get those grapes off the vine in the next day or so.’
‘Way ahead of you.’ She patted his hand, sending goosebumps flying up his arm. ‘I’ve organised a harvesting machine after talking to the vineyard manager. It’s all going down, two am tonight.’
He had to, begrudgingly, give her this win. ‘Good, but do we have everyone organised for tomorrow?’
The day after harvest was always a mad rush. It required everyone on the property to muck in for the huge task of crushing, de-stemming and pressing the grapes – basically the extraction of
the juice so it could be placed in the tanks or barrels for fermentation.
‘Everybody is on standby,’ Bronwyn assured him, ‘so make sure you get to bed early tonight.’
It was a pretty cheeky order from her, given she was sleeping in his bed; in his nice mind-clearing room, sparsely furnished and comfortably neat. By contrast, he had to sleep beneath a floral pink doona he’d picked up off the floor, next to a mountain of clothes and a desk overflowing with books, half of which he was sure Claudia had never read. After all, who would want to sit through such titles as Custody Battles Gone Wrong, and Issues Facing Tax Law: Cases and Commentary, just for fun? Certainly not him. Just looking at her leisure pile was enough to give him a headache.
He shovelled the last of his food into his mouth. ‘What about the actual harvest? Won’t I be needed –’
‘No, you won’t,’ Bronwyn said quickly. ‘Your dad is going to supervise that. He’s out talking to the guys now.’
He ground his teeth as she started collecting their plates. The harvesting tractor was actually very efficient and he was confident that his father would not have to do much. The machine enabled only two men to harvest a complete block of vineyard in just a few hours. The tractor was built high so that it straddled the wine trestle. It basically shook the vine as it drove over it so that the fruit fell on a conveyor belt that could sort grapes from leaves and twigs, before dropping them into the tractor’s storage unit. It wasn’t that he felt the need to be present. It was more that he had been told in no uncertain terms not to be.
He barely slept that night. The floodlights in the field made sure Claudia’s bedroom never completely settled into darkness. Combined with the noise of the harvester, most people unused to the situation would not have blamed him. However, if he was honest, it was neither of these things that kept him up. Generally, he was one of those sleepers who, if he was tired enough, could sleep through anything. In this instance, unfortunately, his brain just would not switch off. Bronwyn had definitely disrupted the balance of power and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Eventually, he gave up on trying to sleep and decided to go for a walk. He flung off Claudia’s pink doona with satisfaction and pulled on a pair of jeans hanging over the back of her desk chair. A T-shirt over the head and he was ready to leave the room.
The house was dark and he didn’t turn on any lights as he crept down the stairs. They creaked the whole way, just as he remembered. He smiled wryly to himself. Good thing the harvester was in action or he might have woken the others.
He swung open the door to the front of the house and walked out onto the porch. Stretching his arms to open up his lungs, he breathed in deep the flavours of crop. It was a warm and balmy February night, perfect for a harvest and a good walk. The harvest lights glowed brightly in the distance, making the sky seem black by comparison. On any other night he wouldn’t have been able to count the stars.
‘All right,’ a resigned tone came out of the darkness, ‘I give up. Why are you really here?’
Jack turned around quickly, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw his brother sitting in the shadows of the house. The first thing to catch his eye was the glint of moonlight against silver wheels as Chris rolled out so that he could see him better.
A pang tore at his heart when he laid eyes on him, and also a sense of pride. His brother held his head high, his back straight, his powerful biceps on display because of the T-shirt he was wearing. There was nothing weak about Chris. He had conquered his disability.
‘It’s good to see you,’ he said to his brother.
‘I wish I could say the same.’ Chris’s face was hard like stone, his mouth a flat line.
‘I was hoping that time might have mellowed your anger towards me.’
‘Without an apology,’ Chris snapped, ‘there can be no forgiveness.’
Jack frowned. He’d told Chris about the kangaroo but his brother, it seemed, still clung to his own truth. ‘What do you want me to say, Chris? I’m sorry I fell in love with her. I’m sorry that I wanted her as much as you did.’
Chris’s face contorted as he turned away. ‘If it were only that –’
‘It was only that!’ Jack threw at him. ‘Oh, I admit in the beginning it was a competition. A fight to the last man standing and I was all in, but I didn’t cross the line that you think I did.’
‘I only have your word.’
‘Yeah, you do,’ Jack responded bitterly. ‘And you’ve chosen not to believe it. God only knows why. I’m your brother, damn it! Why would I ever set out to deliberately hurt you?’
Chris’s jaw set. ‘The thing is, Jack, you never set out to deliberately hurt me but you always did.’
‘With Bronwyn?’
‘No, with everything!’ Chris’s voice rose a notch and he had to take a breath or two to calm himself down. ‘You were the favourite son.’
‘What?’
Chris gritted his teeth. ‘Don’t play dumb, Jack. You know what I’m talking about.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘You were the one who inherited all Dad’s talent. His knack with wine. His passion for making it. You were good-looking, sought after by the ladies, admired by your peers. Dad gave you every opportunity he could and you took it like it was your due,’ Chris remarked bitterly. ‘Did you ever pause to think about what I was doing during all that?’
Jack looked at him stunned, so guilt-ridden that he actually had nothing to say. He’d been far too self-absorbed back then to think about Chris’s endgame. He knew his brother hadn’t been into the actual winemaking process. He was more business oriented and had done a degree in marketing and management at university. Jack had naturally assumed Chris was planning to use those skills in the winery.
‘You’ve always been interested in doing the marketing for Oak Hills,’ he began uncertainly. ‘Haven’t you?’
‘No,’ Chris retorted. ‘I’ve always been interested in getting the hell out of here. Out from under your shadow and making my own way. While you were establishing yourself as the heir apparent, I was planning my exit strategy.’
‘Where were you going to go?’
‘I don’t know,’ Chris shrugged. ‘The sky was the limit … back then. After you left, everything fell apart. I got stuck.’
Jack pushed his hands roughly into the pockets of his jeans. ‘That’s not true. Look at you, Chris. You didn’t let your disability beat you. I have nothing but admiration for the way you’ve handled it.’
‘It’s not just that.’ Chris’s mouth twisted. ‘Dad needed us. Me and Claud. When you ran off to France he was devastated.’
‘Hardly,’ Jack scoffed.
‘You weren’t here,’ Chris threw at him bitterly. ‘If I thought being the second son with no gift for wine was bad, the disabled one he’d passed you over for was even worse.’
It was Jack’s turn to get angry. He stabbed a finger at his brother. ‘That’s utter bullshit.’
‘I’ll tell you what’s bullshit.’ Chris rolled forward. ‘Your fucked-up attitude. You keep saying you’re my brother. That you’d never do anything to deliberately hurt me, and look what you did, Jack. You put me in hospital, and even if that wasn’t your fault as you claim, afterwards you just left. Do you have any idea what I was going through? Any idea at all? I needed you back then, Jack. You were my best friend and where were you? Living it up in France, that’s where!’
Jack rolled on the balls of his feet in fury. ‘Living it up? Ha! Hardly. I was there because you sent me there. You and Dad!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Chris protested.
‘How can you get angry at my lack of consideration when you never wanted it?’ Jack threw up his hands. ‘Do you have any idea how hurt I was when you both conspired to kick me out of the frickin’ country?’
‘What?’ Chris paled.
‘You keep going on about how Dad loves me more,’ Jack spat. ‘What a joke! After how he treated me.’
‘I have no id
ea what you’re talking about.’
‘How many times did I come to visit you at the hospital before I left? How many times did you turn me away?’
‘I don’t remember,’ Chris shrugged. ‘You may recall I was going through a lot at the time. Can you blame me if I didn’t have time to think about your sensitive feelings?’
‘All right then,’ Jack threw at him, ‘what about when I did manage to break through security? You told me that you never wanted to see me again.’
Chris lifted his chin. ‘And I didn’t, not then.’
‘Right.’ Jack nodded in satisfaction. ‘Which is why it came as no surprise to me when Dad sent me a note explaining how you all wanted me to go. It also included a job offer in Bordeaux and a plane ticket to get me there just in case I was too busy begging to stay to organise one myself.’
‘You’re mistaken,’ Chris responded weakly. ‘Dad would never go that far.’
‘Well, he did. So don’t go on to me about how I abandoned you, when you told me to drop off the face of the earth and then had Dad send me a ticket to do so.’
‘Jack –’
‘Look, I’m sorry about your legs, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t here when you were trying to get used to that blasted chair, but that wasn’t from a lack of wanting to be. France was fuckin’ lonely until I got myself a sense of purpose.’
Chris’s jaw seemed to set. ‘And what purpose was that, Jack? Wait till we’re down and out and swoop in to gloat?’
‘No.’ Jack glared back. ‘I just want to be part of what you and Claudia are starting to take for granted. This family, this vineyard and this lifestyle. Oak Hills is in my blood and this time you guys can’t turn me away because, like it or not, you need me.’
Chris gave a mocking laugh. ‘We’ve always needed you, Jack. It was just never in your best interest to notice before.’
On these words, he wheeled himself back into the house.
Chapter 23
She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on the conversation. It had just sort of happened when she slipped downstairs to make herself a cup of tea. With the harvester at full steam outside and the small victory she’d won over Jack that evening still buzzing in her brain, she’d found it impossible to sleep. She was filling the kettle with water when she’d heard the faint sound of voices coming from outside. Plugging the kettle in, she’d left the kitchen to see who it was by walking into the living room.