Sundown Crossing

by Lynne Wilding

  Architecturally, it was a mixture between a French chateau and a German manor house. The walls were rendered with the right angles of the two-storey building featuring large hand-cut blocks of grey stone. The slate roof was steep, there were leadlight windows and the timber trellises attached to the walls held a variety of vines. Surrounding the house was a manicured lawn and formal gardens featuring many different species of roses. At the end of the long drive, and before the house’s front steps, was a sweeping, circular, crushed gravel area edged with rose bushes and slender, dark green pencil pines. Very imposing. And further back, before the neverending rows of grape vines, she glimpsed what appeared to be a long, low set of garages. Aahh, yes, she remembered her father describing them in his journal.

  ‘Wow! Mum, what are we doing here?’ Sam, ever curious, wanted to know.

  Feeling overwhelmed by the reality of so much wealth, Carla didn’t answer straight away. She’d had no idea…

  ‘Mum…?’

  She almost turned the engine on again and went to drive away until her determination resurfaced. It was only a house, and inside the house were their flesh and blood relations. She glanced towards her son, saw his puzzlement. I’m doing this for you, Sam. For you. Gathering her resolve, she patted his knee. ‘Just have to make a quick call, son. Wait in the car for me, please.’ And before he could protest that he didn’t want to—Sam could be stroppy when the mood took him—she got out of the car and ran up the half dozen marble steps to the grand double front doors. She found and pressed the brass doorbell and waited, aware of her heart beating faster than normal, and making her slightly breathless. After a minute or so the leadlight-panelled front door opened and a tall, dark-haired woman, perfectly groomed and made-up, stared down her aristocratic nose at her.

  ‘When will you people learn? Deliveries are to be made to the back door, not the front door,’ Lisel Stenmark said, her tone disdainful and impatient. Dark eyes looked Carla up and down, taking in her dust-encrusted flatties, the casual slacks and lightweight sweater. Then she stared at the young face, and the red-gold hair and blue eyes. Her own eyes widened, her expression changed. She blinked rapidly several times and the mouth with its perfect application of lipstick, tightened.

  Instinct and some guesswork told Carla who the woman might be. Dressed in an expensive business suit, she wasn’t likely to be a servant. She was too young to be her father’s older sister, around fortyish she guessed. It had to be Lisel, her father’s younger sister. Trying to ignore the woman’s formidable and less than friendly demeanour, she made her tone sound confident, ‘You must be Lisel.’

  Lisel Stenmark took a half-step backwards, as if Carla had some disease that might be contagious.

  ‘People who don’t know me address me as Ms Stenmark,’ Lisel retorted frostily.

  Gritting her teeth against Lisel’s arrogance, Carla persevered. ‘We don’t know each other yet, but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t in the future. My name is Carla Hunter. I’m your niece—your brother Rolfe’s daughter.’

  ‘How dare you turn up at Stenhaus’s front door and announce yourself like this? You have been told, I believe, that you would not be made welcome here. Papa disowned Rolfe more than thirty years ago so any offspring of his will not be recognised by the Stenmarks.’ Lisel drew herself up to her full height which made her several centimetres taller than Carla. ‘Papa will not acknowledge you or your son and if you think you can come here and expect to be made part of the family, then think again.’

  ‘But…’ Carla felt as if she had been slapped in the face and the woman knew it from the cold smile she threw at her. ‘That was all a very long time ago. Surely…’

  ‘My father, my sister and I have long memories, Ms Hunter. Stenmark blood running through your veins means nothing to us. As I said, you are not and never will be welcome here. Therefore, the sooner you sell Krugerhoff and go back to where you belong the better we will like it.’ Having said that, Lisel took another half-step backwards, fumbled for and found the door handle and slammed the door in Carla’s face.

  Proud of herself, Lisel leant against the back of the front door. Until the doorbell rang again. Clucking her tongue in anger, she opened the door about twenty centimetres, to find Carla still there, hands on hips, cheeks flushed.

  ‘No one tells me where to go and what to do, Aunt Lisel. The Stenmark family not liking the idea of Rolfe’s offspring being in the Barossa Valley is too bad because, I just might stay…’ Having delivered her response Carla leant forward and pulled the door handle so that it closed before the older woman could reply.

  Angry beyond words, Carla tripped down the front steps, got in the car and slammed the driver’s door hard. Who did the Stenmarks think they were? And…what kind of people nurtured such hatred that it was still strong after thirty years? Not normal, she assured herself and then the thought came to her that perhaps her father had done the right thing in leaving Australia to start afresh elsewhere. Grinding her teeth in frustration, the thoughts rolled on. Who needed relatives such as them anyway?

  ‘You okay, Mum? You look kind of funny.’

  ‘Funny?’

  ‘Like—when you get mad at me!’

  Sam’s observation made Carla smile. She leant sideways and hugged him to her. ‘Oh, Sam, I’m not angry with you. With someone else.’ She turned the engine on and put the car into gear. ‘But I’ll get over it. Come on, we’ll find Angie.’

  All the way into Nuriootpa Carla steamed because of what her dear aunt had said. Not welcome here. Go back where you belong. Darn them. She was her father’s daughter and she had as much right to be here as any Stenmark. And…her chin squared stubbornly, she was going to do it, she decided. With Angie’s help she would turn Krugerhoff into a success and to hell with the Stenmarks and Rhein Schloss. Yes, indeed, to hell with all of them.

  Lisel still stood with her back against the front door and waited for her heartbeat to normalise. She relived the scene with Carla. The woman was uncannily like her mother, Anna Louise, which was unnerving. Fancy daring to come straight up to their front door with…expectations. But, almost fatalistically, she sensed something else even more worrying. Carla Hunter was a threat to Luke, to his inheritance, though Lisel was almost positive her father wouldn’t acknowledge the Kiwi upstart. She had nurtured and shared Luke’s dream of ascending to the CEO’s position for too long to let anyone stand in his way. Carla had to be encouraged to leave the Valley promptly. One way or another.

  Luke Michaels, after an agitated phone call from Lisel telling him of Carla’s appearance at Stenhaus’s front door, knew he couldn’t put off a face-to-face discussion with Rolfe’s daughter any longer. A feeling deep in his gut told him that it wasn’t going to be pleasant, especially after the way Lisel had spoken to Carla. Twilight encroached as he parked his expensive Mercedes sedan near the front gates of Krugerhoff. He sat there for a moment, studying the scene—he hadn’t been near Krugerhoff for years.

  The old gates were wide open and the scrub was already laid flat by the comings and goings of at least one vehicle. He noted a compact car, a hired one no doubt, parked near the side of the cottage. A fair, no, ginger-haired boy was kicking a football around, bouncing it against the wall, catching it, then doing drop kicks. He wasn’t bad for someone so young. Luke got out of the car and began to walk towards the cottage. The boy noticed him and ran over with the football tucked under one arm.

  ‘Hello, mister.’ Sam thought everyone was his friend. He propped and gave the man in the business suit a critical once-over. ‘You looking for my mum?’

  ‘I might be. Is your mum Carla Hunter?’ Luke asked though he was sure the boy was Carla’s son.

  ‘Yes.’ Sam pointed to the winery. ‘She and Angie are in there.’

  ‘And who might Angie be?’ Luke asked as he half-turned towards the winery.

  ‘Angie used to be Grandpa’s partner, she’s Mum’s friend and business partner now.’ Sam hesitated for a moment, then added in a q
uiet tone. ‘Grandpa died a little while ago. Angie’s a top–notch winemaker, you know.’

  ‘Is she really?’ Luke digested that information with increasing interest as he walked towards the open winery doors.

  ‘Wanna kick the ball around with me, mister?’

  He stopped and turned to the boy. ‘That depends on what you play. League, Aussie Rules or Union?’

  ‘Rugby, of course,’ Sam answered huffily, his tone implying any other code wasn’t worth playing.

  ‘Maybe later, after I’ve talked to your mum.’

  At that precise moment Carla came out of the winery and saw the man in his business suit talking to Sam. There was time for a quick, assessing once-over before he saw her. He was tall and well built. His suit was well-cut and expensive, as were his custom-made shoes. He had black hair, neatly trimmed, an olive complexion and nice, even features without being what she considered handsome. And he carried himself in a way that intimated that he knew he was important.

  Luke saw her. ‘Ms Hunter?’ He followed that up quickly with, ‘I’m Luke Michaels. We’ve corresponded regarding the sale of Krugerhoff.’

  Luke watched Carla’s gaze narrow. The smile on her face froze then disappeared. Gloom descended on him; this wasn’t going to be easy. His aunt’s manner had Rolfe’s daughter’s hackles up. Lisel, when she put her mind to it, was good at putting people offside. But then, as he studied Carla, he saw something his aunt hadn’t mentioned: that Carla Hunter was almost a mirror image, a more modern version of his, their, grandmother. Josh Aldrich had noted the similarity but Luke hadn’t believed it until he saw it for himself. The hair, the Stenmark blue eyes. God, yes, she was a younger, taller Anna Louise.

  ‘Yes?’ Carla, still out of sorts over her treatment at Stenhaus, had no intention of cutting anyone who worked for the Stenmarks any slack. ‘I believe I rejected your last offer, Mr Michaels.’

  ‘That was before you saw Krugerhoff. You’ve been here a couple of days, I believe. Time enough to see how difficult it will be to restart the vineyard—what it would cost. I’ve been authorised to increase my offer, another twenty-five thousand dollars.’

  ‘And who might the principal be, Mr Michaels? Carl Stenmark?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to divulge that.’ His answer was evasive and he knew she knew it. ‘I’m offering you a good deal of money, Ms Hunter, a small fortune. And, what’s more, I’ll top anyone else’s bid for Krugerhoff. That’s a promise.’

  ‘Aahh, yes. I imagine Stenmark’s funds are limitless,’ Carla responded with a derisive curl of her lips. ‘I haven’t decided to sell Krugerhoff. I’m not sure that’s what my father wanted me to do.’

  ‘With due respect, it’s well known that your father kept Krugerhoff to annoy Grandfather, to get back at him for being disinherited.’ He saw her eyebrows rise. ‘Yes, our mutual grandfather. I’m Greta’s son.’

  That made Carla’s anger rise another notch. ‘Neither you nor I can be certain of why my father kept the vineyard, Mr Michaels.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, call me Luke. After all, we are related.’

  ‘The fact of my blood tie to your family appeared to infuriate our mutual aunt,’ Carla slipped the remark in tongue-in-cheek. ‘She told me clearly what she thought of my relationship to the Stenmark family. Obviously she believes I’m trying to ingratiate myself into our grandfather’s good graces to improve my financial position. Believe me, nothing could be further from the truth.’

  For some reason, though he knew her financial situation wasn’t particularly healthy, Luke believed her. Damn Lisel and her sharp tongue! Her behaviour this afternoon was going to make it hellishly difficult for him to achieve what Grandfather expected of him—the speedy acquisition of Krugerhoff. He had been too young to remember when Rolfe had left Stenhaus, but over the years he had gleaned enough information about his uncle’s personality to know that he was an independent, determined man—much like his mother, Anna Louise. And if he wasn’t mistaken, Carla Hunter had inherited similar character traits that could make her difficult to deal with.

  ‘You and I, we’re not blood cousins, you know. I was adopted by my parents shortly after I was born.’ He watched her eyebrows rise again as she absorbed that news. Years of listening to his grandfather decry Rolfe’s behaviour and the untimely death of Kurt and Marta had bred an instinctive dislike of Rolfe in him, as he saw his grandfather’s pain. But in all fairness he was beginning to query why a similar attitude should apply to Carla Hunter.

  ‘That’s of little interest to me. You’re a Stenmark and you do Carl Stenmark’s bidding. I may decide to keep Krugerhoff and move here.’

  ‘That’d be foolish, Carla.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Two reasons. It’s my understanding that you don’t have the funds to resurrect the vineyard, and my grandfather wants this land. Before it became Krugerhoff it belonged to the Stenmarks, to my late grandmother who willed it to Rolfe. Grandfather wants it back and he’ll do anything in his power to get it.’

  ‘Anything, you say?’ Carla curled her lip at him. ‘Would he go as far as to welcome Sam and myself into the family? Would he set aside his stupid hatred for my father to get Krugerhoff?’

  Luke didn’t give her a direct answer because he knew it would make her angry. Instead, he said, ‘Pardon my saying, but I don’t think you have any idea of the power of Rhein Schloss. If you choose to stay here, life could be made,’ he paused, ‘difficult for you and your son.’

  Carla stared at him for a moment before responding. ‘That sounds very much like a threat, Luke Michaels. What is it with you Stenmarks?’ Her hands rose to her hips as she planted her feet more aggressively. ‘You think you can ride roughshod over everyone! That attitude doesn’t sit well with me so you can take yourself and your offer and,’ her blue eyes glinted in the rays of the setting sun, ‘I think you know where you can put it.’

  Luke stiffened. ‘Carla, you’re making a mistake if…’

  It gave her pleasure to interrupt him. ‘Then it will be my mistake not yours. As I told your henchman, Aldrich, earlier, get off my land, Luke Michaels and don’t come back unless you’re invited to, which I doubt you ever will be.’

  Kim Loong, invisible in the darkening shadows of the winery building, put her hand over her mouth to contain the giggle on hearing Krugerhoff’s owner tell Luke Michaels, a Stenmark, no less, to get off her land. Oh, she liked the red-haired woman’s spirit. Yes, indeed, very much. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the back of Carla Hunter. The woman was going to stay, so her intuition told her. Many times, when growing up Kim had had to be guided by her intuition. So far this sense had not failed her, and having it had saved her young life more than once.

  All day she had been mulling over what it would mean for the Loongs if the woman and her family decided to stay. She, Tran and Su Lee were comfortable in their make-do accommodation for now. Kim did not want to leave. She had become accustomed to their tiny abode, used to the privations of no running water, electricity, refrigeration. They…managed. She knew Tran was eager for more, that he looked with envious eyes upon what others in the Valley had. She looked too, but was content to bide her time, to wait until they had saved more money. Su Lee was happy just to be with them rather than being on the farm working like no child should and wondering if and when she was old enough she would be forced into a loveless marriage or domestic servitude.

  Her thoughts crystallised into a decision as she continued to observe the red-haired woman watching Luke Michaels’s retreat. Yes, she would do it, now, even though the woman might still have some residual anger in her. As she stepped out of the shadows she saw the blonde woman leading the boy into the cottage. Good, there would be no interruptions—

  ‘Miss…?’

  Carla Hunter spun around. Her face betrayed shock as she stared at the slim, small figure of Kim Loong. Blue eyes surveyed Kim and then the surrounding area to see if anyone else was with her. ‘Who are you, and what are you doing here?�
�� she asked in her no-nonsense voice.

  ‘My…name is Kim Loong. My brother and I are labourers. We work in Valley, in the vineyards. Anywhere we can get employment. I hear you talk to Mr Michaels. You going to stay, yes?’

  Carla’s lips thinned. Was everyone, even the labourers in the Valley, curious to know whether she was staying or going? ‘That’s my business, er, Kim. I haven’t decided yet.’ Which wasn’t exactly the truth but neither was it an outright lie. ‘Do you live around here?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kim smiled briefly. ‘Here.’

  It was getting dark, and Carla was tired. It had been a long day of ups and downs, disappointments and hopes. She tried to contain her impatience. ‘What do you mean by “here”?’

  ‘My family—Tran, Su Lee and me—we live in there,’ she pointed to the winery building. ‘We live here several months. Tran made a room for us.’

  ‘You’re not illegals, are you?’ When Kim shook her head, Carla then said, ‘You know you’re trespassing, don’t you?’

  Kim shrugged but it was not a casual gesture, it was more of an admission. ‘We genuine Vietnamese migrants. We knew no one ever came here so we thought it safe. We have seen no one until you and your family came the day before yesterday. We have done no damage, caused no harm…’

  Frowning but intrigued by the Asian woman and the fact that she’d been squatting unnoticed on Krugerhoff for months, Carla’s curiosity got the better of her. ‘Show me where.’

  Kim led Carla across the winery building’s floor to the area Tran had made into a home. She pulled the sheet of galvanised iron back and invited Krugerhoff’s owner inside.

  ‘This my sister, Su Lee,’ Kim introduced the child who was boiling water for rice on the single burner camp stove.

  The interior reminded Carla of photographs she had seen of Asian peasants’ huts. Neat, clean, a minimum of furniture and possessions. Two old push-bikes hung from hooks on the wall—obviously their mode of transport.