by Fiona Lowe
His words slowed and he shuddered. ‘My rage had me picking up my towel to leave and then Christina arrived. I couldn’t speak to her so I strode past her and, as I did, I heard a terrifying crack. Christina screamed and I turned around to see a huge tree limb crash into the billabong, taking Dom down with it. I remember shouting his name, running into the water, diving under, but you can’t see a thing in that freaking muddy water. I ripped myself on snags but I kept diving. On the third attempt my hands touched his legs and I pulled but he was wedged tight under the tree. I couldn’t move him.’ His eyes darkened into bleak black discs. ‘I let him down, I let him die.’
Abbie’s stomach rolled and acid burned her throat. Shocked by his words, she gripped his arm hard. ‘Leo, it was a tragic accident. You didn’t let him die. The red gum limb probably killed him before he went under the water.’
He wouldn’t meet her gaze. ‘Dom was under that tree because I drove him away instead of helping him. I let him die.’
Her palm pressed his cheek, gently pulling his face to meet hers, needing him to understand. ‘Leo, I’m sorry the last words you had with your brother were harsh but you know gums just drop limbs without warning in extreme heat. This was bad timing but it wasn’t your fault.’
He shrugged, his jaw tense and his cheeks hollow. She knew her words hadn’t touched him, hadn’t even grazed what he believed and she blinked back the urge to cry.
In an emotionless tone Leo continued. ‘He died on February the twenty-seventh and you’re right, that’s why Nonna wants to be home. She visits the billabong every year on that day.’
The Costas had lost their child, Leo had lost his brother and a young woman had lost her first love. Abbie’s thoughts went to her, pregnant and grieving in a foreign country. She did a quick calculation and worked out the baby would now be almost the same age as his father was when he died. ‘Does Christina visit?’
He shuddered. ‘No. When we got divorced she went back to Italy.’
‘You married Christina?’ Her shocked voice sounded unsteady to her own ears.
A steely rigidity entered his body. ‘I had to. I had to make it right. Dom would have married her and because of me he died. I took her to Melbourne and married her quietly there. She miscarried soon after and I lost the last part of Dom I had.’
She could hardly take it all in. Duty, honour and heart-wrenching pain lay deeply hidden inside this complex man.
‘And what about you?’ Abbie asked the question but she had a strong idea she already knew the answer.
He ploughed his hand through his hair. ‘I haven’t been back to the waterhole since the accident. At least not until today and God knows why I went—I sure as hell wasn’t planning to. Hell, I hardly visit Bandarra unless I have to. This trip is the longest I’ve stayed in years.’
‘Perhaps it was time.’
He gave her a look that seared her. ‘I didn’t take you for a New Age guru.’
He was picking a fight but she refused to give him one. She’d seen past the image he wanted the world to see—the successful surgeon and charming man. She now knew how much it was costing him to stay in Bandarra, to spend time with his beloved grandmother. With his family. With the memories that plagued him.
She realised with startling clarity why he’d pursued her so relentlessly. Why he’d been as desperate as her this afternoon out at the billabong. Why they’d literally self-combusted with need, but for very different reasons.
Her heart cramped and she crossly ignored it. So what that he wanted to use her to forget. She was using him for fun, sex, good times and then goodbye.
You had sex with him because you saw a hurting man who needed you.
She slammed the voice out of her head. No. She had sex with him so she could get this bubbling desire out of her system and then find her even keel again. The one that had served her well for three years. Neither of them wanted a relationship. They could both use each other for a month and then walk away. Safe in that knowledge, she gently pushed him onto his back, slid her body over his and kissed him.
‘Good wines are made in the vineyard and nothing can be rushed. A bit like life, eh?’
Leo felt his father’s hand grip his shoulder and knew the part of his father who was the backyard philosopher had finally caught up with him. They were walking through the vines with the rich irrigated soil sticking to their feet. Stefano had caught Leo alone in the house and had insisted he inspect the grapes with him.
‘So how is your life, Leo? It’s been a long time that you’ve been on your own. I think you’re too much like the winery right now—busy holding your breath.’
The last few weeks before harvest was like a long-held breath. A breath of hoping and waiting. Hoping the weather would conspire to provide ideal conditions for the fruit to flourish to perfection. Waiting for the moment the grapes reached idyllic ripeness. Once that happened, the winery inhaled like a long-distance sprinter ramping up for the final assault, embracing the fast pace that the harvest dictated. The harvest took weeks because the moment one varietal of grape was harvested and crushed, another variety would ripen and the process would start again. But right now the winery held its breath.
Leo shrugged and tried not to feel ruffled by his father’s question. ‘Papà, my life is fine and filled with work and friends.’
‘And beautiful women who fill your bed but not your soul.’
Stunned, Leo stared at his father. Not since his divorce from Christina had his father ever passed comment on his personal life and, as Leo lived in Melbourne, it was easy to hide the parade of women who marched through his life. ‘I’m happy, OK. I’m a respected surgeon at the top of my profession and that’s enough for me.’ But his voice sounded overly defensive and the need to silence his father shot through him. ‘Most parents would be proud of that.’
‘Being proud is not the issue.’ His father’s mouth flattened into disapproval. ‘You might just be surprised at what you find if you looked at women with your heart instead of your mi—’
‘Papà!’ He stopped his father, knowing full well what he was about to say. ‘I’m thirty-five, not—’ The chime of his phone interrupted him. ‘I have to take this.’
‘Of course you do.’ Stefano nodded sagely and walked away.
Leo barked down the phone as irritation and exasperation with his father churned inside him. ‘Leo Costa.’
‘Oh, you sound like that scary Mr Costa, the surgeon. I was after the Leo Costa who enjoys kicking back over a complex red wine, loves a really good argument about the pros and cons of federal funding for the state’s public hospital system, and who might just be up for a night-time picnic in the moonlight out by Cameron’s junction?’
The sound of Abbie’s voice instantly drained away his frustration. The last few weeks had been amazing. They’d argued long and hard about all sorts of things, ranging from politics and town-planning to films and books, and she’d challenged him on just about everything. Half the time he wasn’t certain if she really disagreed with him or if she was just taking the contrary view to stir him up, but either way he thrived on the intellectual stimulation. And then there was the sex.
‘A picnic?’ Knowing her appalling lack of culinary talents, he teased her. ‘What’s on the menu?’
‘Me.’
Her husky voice had him hard in a heartbeat. ‘I’m on my way.’
Abbie smiled. She’d been smiling a lot over the last few weeks. Spontaneous grinning was probably a more apt description. Work filled her days but Leo filled her nights. He was an inventive and considerate lover and the sex was amazing but, as much as she craved his body, she craved his mind. He made her laugh until her sides ached and tears poured down her cheeks. He argued passionately for what he believed in and, even if their ideas didn’t coincide, he didn’t freeze her out or put her down. That was a completely new experience and it frequently disconcerted her.
‘Dottore, you are happy today. This is good. Like Leo, you need to smile more.�
�� Maria sat in her chair, her hand on her stick and her suitcase by her side.
Abbie laughed as she signed and wrote ‘February twenty-sixth’ on the discharge papers, which were clipped to the chart. ‘Maria, Leo smiles all the time, especially at pretty women.’
The grandmother tilted her head and gave her a hard stare. ‘But it is not the smile of real happiness.’
The old woman’s insight slugged her but, before Abbie could form a reply, Maria was on her feet. ‘So I beat the calendar, yes, and today I go home.’
‘You’re one determined woman, Maria, but don’t get too tired or you risk falling.’
‘Pfft.’ Maria kept walking, heading towards the exit. ‘I will sit when I need to. And you—’ she pointed a gnarled finger at Abbie ‘—I will see you in my kitchen soon.’
A flushed and running Rosa met them at the entrance, her car parked under the canopy. ‘We’ll do our best to make sure she takes it easy.’ She opened the car door and settled Maria into the front seat before closing the door and turning back to Abbie. ‘Sorry I’m late, but finally Stefano has declared the vintage starts tonight in the cool of the evening. Leo did tell you, we’d very much like it if you could come to La Bella for the pre-vintage picnic and blessing of the grapes.’
‘I’d love to, Rosa, thank you.’ For the last week or so Abbie had experienced this niggling urge to see Leo in the heart of his family. She’d tried to ignore it because the idea was just crazy. They’d agreed to casual and fun, nothing more and nothing less. But he sprinkled his conversations with stories of his sisters, and being an only child made her want to experience—even if only vicariously—family life.
The older woman smiled and squeezed her hand. ‘We’re thanking you for all you’ve done for Nonna and for putting up with Leo’s antics when he first arrived.’ She sighed. ‘He finds it hard to be home.’
Abbie bit her lip and made a split-second decision. ‘Especially at this time of year. He told me about Dom.’
Rosa closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them, her gaze clear. ‘My boy was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I miss the man he would have been.’ Her face clouded. ‘Each year I light a candle and give thanks for the vintage that keeps us all busy.’
Abbie wasn’t sure keeping busy was helping Leo. ‘I think Leo blames himself.’
Rosa’s mouth flattened and her words became clipped. ‘He is the only one who does.’ She jangled her keys and rounded the car. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’
Abbie waved absently, deep in thought.
Abbie pulled into the vineyard and both she and Murphy jumped down from the four-wheel drive. Kids were charging around, kicking a soccer ball, and right in the middle of the melee was Leo, holding a squealing five-year-old girl on his shoulders and taking a shot at the ball.
He’d make a great father. She bit her lip hard to jolt away the errant and unwanted thought. Connecting Leo with children was madness. He’d been totally up front about what he wanted and so had she. The plan didn’t involve anything beyond a few weeks.
Murphy barked. Alec emerged from the pack and ran towards the dog. Leo turned, a long, slow, potent smile weaving across his face.
A tingle of desire shot through her, draining her brain of every coherent thought, just like it did every time she saw him.
‘Abbie, can Murphy come and play soccer too?’
She pulled her concentration back and saw that Alec had his hand buried in the dog’s thick black and white coat. Three days ago Leo and Chiara had flown Alec to Melbourne for a day to see Penny, who remained in ICU but was now thankfully breathing on her own. She had a long road of recovery ahead of her and, as soon as she was more stable, she’d be transferred to Bandarra, which would be much better for Alec. Since the trip, he’d lost the pinched and worried look that had understandably tagged him as he dealt with the fact that his mother was desperately ill.
Abbie smiled at him, knowing how much he loved the dog and how much Murphy was helping him get through all the upheaval in his life. ‘Sure, but he’ll probably just want to charge around the outside trying to round you all up.’
‘That’s OK.’ Alec ran back to the game with Murphy bounding after him.
Leo jogged over, the little girl still on his shoulders, giggling joyfully. ‘Giddy up, horsey.’ The child slapped her hand against Leo’s dark hair.
‘Cara, this horse needs a break.’ He lowered the girl down. ‘Adriana, this is my friend, Abbie.’
The little girl yelled, ‘Hello,’ and then raced back towards the soccer game.
Leo grinned. ‘So much energy.’
Abbie laughed. ‘You poor old thing.’
‘Hey, who are you calling old?’ He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her close, his lips grazing her cheek. ‘You’re looking gorgeous.’
I expect you to dress well, Abbie, because what you wear reflects on me. She tried to shut down Greg’s voice, but still unwanted embarrassment knocked against years of not caring how she dressed. She dressed for herself these days and never for a man. Being with Leo didn’t change that but, despite knowing it, her hand moved on its own accord, brushing the red dust from her khaki shorts.
She tilted her chin, a combination of crossness at herself and defiance on the rise. ‘So I’m a bit untidy but I got held up at the Aboriginal clinic. I’m sorry I missed the blessing of the grapes but if I’d changed I would have been even later.’
A light frown creased his brow and concern flickered in his eyes as he stroked a curl behind her ear. ‘Abbie, I’m not being facetious; you look just like you always do, which is beautiful.’
She searched his voice for a hint of hypocrisy, for the tinge of emotional blackmail she associated with Greg, but all she could hear was sincerity. Her heart rolled over. No, no, no. She breathed out a long slow breath, determined to let the compliment wash over her without leaving a mark, but just as the final caress was receding, part of her hooked into it, holding it tight, like an addict clutching at their drug of choice. Don’t be so weak; you don’t need any man’s approval.
‘Come on, let’s eat.’ Leo grabbed her hand and they followed the sound of a concertina, laughing and chattering voices. Italian and English intermingled seamlessly, floating on the warm air and creating a sound full of joy and anticipation.
Excitement at being part of this event bubbled in Abbie’s stomach. She walked through the gate into a large courtyard bordered by the smoky grey-green foliage of olive trees which were strung with tiny white bud-lights. Between the trees, citronella flares burned, giving off their pleasant aroma and keeping the mosquitoes away, and a large sail overhead cast much-needed shade from the low evening sun. About fifty people crowded into the area, all dressed in heavy-duty work clothes. Abbie felt right at home.
‘Dottore, buona sera, com sta?’ Maria enveloped her in an out-of-character hug and kissed both her cheeks.
‘Grazie, va bene.’ Abbie’s tongue clumsily wound its way around the Italian response of ‘good, thanks,’ much to the amused laughter of Maria, who kissed her a second time.
Leo’s parents greeted her warmly, as did his sisters and brothers-in-law, as well as many other people she barely knew. Her own family had been so tiny, she was almost overwhelmed by the enthusiastic greetings and she found herself gripping Leo’s hand overly hard.
Leo was kissed by everyone, and with remarkable good nature he accepted his sisters’ teasing, unsolicited opinions and instructions until they breached his tolerance. He silenced them with a gruff, ‘Abbie’s been flat out all day and needs food.’
It was like the parting of the Red Sea. They fell back, full of apologies, and urged her forward to eat.
‘Sorry about that; they mean well, but…’ His voice trailed off for a moment before he swept an arm out. ‘So what takes your fancy?’
Five long tables groaned with more food than Abbie had ever seen in her life. The centrepiece of each table was a large bunch of plump green grapes—the reason for the gat
hering—but they fought hard for space with huge platters of salami, prosciutto and mortadella which sat beside Maria’s delicious bread.
Bowls of glossy black marinated olives, fire-engine-red sundried tomatoes and roasted capsicum and eggplant all called to be stuffed into bread. Dazzling green asparagus nestled with egg and fine slices of parmesan and that was just the first table. Salads of tomato, basil and red onion tangoed with balsamic vinegar, deep bowls of peppery rocket waited to be matched with freshly cooked yabbies, and tangy pesto dip harmonised perfectly with a large dish of schnitzels.
‘What’s inside those simmering pots?’
‘Bolognese.’ His black eyes twinkled as he gave her a wink. ‘You didn’t think we could feast without pasta?’
She smiled up at him. ‘What about pizza? I’m still dreaming about that quattro formaggi that Sofia made for us.’
His voice dropped low and stroked her like velvet. ‘I’m still dreaming about what happened afterwards.’
Her cheeks burned at the memory and Leo roared laughing. ‘Tesoro, don’t even think of being embarrassed. You’re an incredibly sexual woman so be proud of that.’
Proud? She felt her brows pull down and she glanced at him for the second time in a short period to see if he was being ironic but the sincerity in his voice and eyes was unmistakable. She urged her heart to stay aloof from this complex man who didn’t often behave the way she expected, but it rolled anyway, adding to the mix of confusion and uncertainty that churned inside her. Frantic to change the topic, she asked for a drink.
His expression turned serious. ‘I’m sorry, but wine and pizza are served at the post-harvest picnic when the grapes are all in. This meal is really for the workers—a sign of our faith in them to bring in the crop quickly and carefully so the grapes are in perfect condition for Papà to turn them into more prize-winning wine.’