As a survivor, Josh reckoned it would be smart to initiate some kind of action to prevent the romance from deepening. Before Lisel went on a business trip to Melbourne tomorrow, he’d have a deep and meaningful with her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Spring, 1995
Carla sat on a park bench near the lake in Coulthard’s Reserve, her face raised towards the warming rays of the sun. Sam and Su Lee were riding their bikes around the park, returning only when they wanted a drink or a snack. They liked to ride here because the route was interesting, and this early in the day there were only a few people walking the path on which they rode. She checked her watch. 10.30. The church service at Holy Trinity Lutheran Church would end soon and Greta had intimated that if she could, she would join her for a chat. Carla looked forward to their sporadic meetings very much. Her aunt was a charming, warmhearted person and now that she and Luke had become more congenial, she believed she was really getting to know the family, other than her grandfather and Lisel, of course.
Once, during winter, she had spied Carl in the crowd at one of Sam’s football games but she had been wise enough not to approach him. Sadly, he appeared older, his shoulders a little more hunched than when they’d met in the restaurant, his features set and serious. He’d stayed to see Sam score a try then, the next time she looked in his direction, he was gone.
The more she thought about her grandfather the greater her degree of compassion became. While there were always people around him, she believed that most of his life had been fraught with loneliness because of his beliefs and the rigid code he lived by. Losing his wife when she was only forty-eight, then banishing Rolfe, followed by Kurt’s and Marta’s deaths, it was little wonder that he now pinned his family’s future hopes on Luke. She didn’t envy her cousin the burden of running Rhein Schloss. Not that they were blood cousins, she reminded herself as she gazed at the view.
Rains over winter had filled the North Para River and the lake now had several different varieties of wild ducks and a pair of black swans and two downy cygnets. Spring, her third in the Barossa, was a pretty time. For her, understanding the cycle of the vines was a continuing learning experience. She and Angie had inspected the vines which were already experiencing their first bud burst, and at Sundown Crossing, they’d made sure that the soil around the trunks had been weeded to limit damage from any late, unseasonal frosts.
She knew the basics of what happened to the vines in spring and that soon after bud burst tender shoots would appear. Then, within five to eight weeks of that, flowering would occur and the grape flowers would self-pollinate and set fruit. But there was still so much to learn, a whole lifetime of learning, she didn’t mind admitting and, fortunately, she had Angie, to instruct her.
Sam and Su Lee came back for a top up of fruit and cordial then sped off again on their bikes, joining several other young riders on the path, after which Carla returned to her mental meanderings. The relationship between herself and Luke was becoming interesting, surprisingly so, though she had more than an inkling that Angie didn’t approve. Angie still held fast to the belief, though she no longer came out and said so, that Paul was the right man for her. Not that she was looking for a mate, she wasn’t. Still, she would be deluding herself if she didn’t admit that she and Luke were…compatible, and that they’d found they had many common interests.
Whereas with Paul, his feelings were as easy to fathom as a book written in Arabic. At times she caught him watching her as she worked, an intense, inscrutable expression on his face but, apart from their working arrangement, the occasional dinner and reciprocal visits to each other’s homes, she hadn’t any real idea whether he might have any romantic inclinations towards her. And then, how did she feel? Well…she sighed as she threw more pieces of bread to the gathering of ducks near her feet. Too often for her complete peace of mind she found herself thinking and dreaming about him.
Annoyed by her train of thought she shook her hair and ordered herself to think about something else—like the first time Greta came to the vineyard for afternoon tea. Angie, still suspicious of anyone with Stenmark blood running through their veins, had been formal and remote, while her own emotions had been a mixture of optimism fraught with tension, and concern that all would go well. Really though, she needn’t have worried. Greta had been…Greta! Friendly, outgoing, sincere. So much so that later, when she had analysed her aunt’s visit, she found it hard to believe that Greta and Lisel were sisters because the two women were so different.
She rationalised that their differing personalities could be because of the age gap between them, and she believed that Greta’s friendship with her was helping to soften Luke’s stance towards her. She’d discovered none of the Teutonic coldness in him which resided in their mutual grandfather. If Carl Stenmark had once had an ounce of warmth and humanity in him disappointment and grief had suffocated it. Carla was sufficiently mature to understand that, even if she couldn’t agree with it. Which made his interest in her son perplexing other than to view it as a way of him, through Sam, reliving the good times he had shared with the long-dead Kurt.
She glanced to her right, saw Greta walking at a brisk pace along the path towards her and waved a greeting. Her aunt, still reasonably slim and straight-backed, was up with the latest fashion, wearing a tailored three-piece bone suit and an emerald green blouse to give a lift to the neutral colour.
‘Good morning. Isn’t it lovely to feel the sun again? My ageing bones don’t like winter so much anymore,’ Greta confessed, and asked in the next breath, ‘Where’s Sam?’
‘Riding around the park with Su Lee. They should be back for a food-and-drink refill any minute now,’ Carla said as Greta sat beside her.
‘So, how are you?’ Greta asked, her light coloured grey-blue eyes studying her niece.
‘Very well. Sam and I, we’re both fine. Look, here they come…’ Carla pointed to the two racing along the path. Sam, always competitive, was edging ahead of Su Lee. Kim’s sister was four years older than Sam but wasn’t as well-coordinated or as daring. He almost came a cropper as he went over a bump in the bitumen but managed to right himself before he came off his bike.
‘He’s a real boy,’ Greta said with a chuckle. ‘Luke used to ride like a maniac when he was a youngster. Broke his arm twice before he made it to his teens.’ She gave Carla a sideways glance and, her tone casual, said, ‘He said you two had a nice day last Sunday, driving up to Waikerie, and having a pub lunch there.’
It wasn’t so much the comment as the glance and tone that made Carla smile. Instinct told her that Aunt Greta was fishing for information about herself and Luke. She remembered that Sam hadn’t been fussed about going with them, preferring a trip and the treat of taking in a movie in Gawler, the closest large town southwest of the Barossa Valley, with Angie. ‘We had a great day. Luke says I ought to know my way around this neck of the woods, see places outside the Valley.’
‘He’d know about that, what with his golf tournaments and such. Luke thinks nothing of driving a hundred or more kilometres for a tournament, a trait that mystifies Papa.’
‘Of course. All Grandfather knows is work.’
Greta shrugged. ‘The wine business is his life because he’s made it so.’
Carla didn’t inquire further but her aunt’s comment, her tone slightly critical, was a surprise. After months of snatched and at other times leisurely conversations with Greta she knew when to go forward on a topic and when to retreat. It was time for the latter. ‘I thought we might drive to Angaston for lunch. Would you care to come?’
‘How lovely, but I can’t. John and I have been invited to a formal luncheon at Chateau Tanunda. It’s business, and we’re expected to attend.’
Carla smiled away her disappointment. ‘That’s okay. Another time then.’
‘With pleasure.’
Greta’s reply, given with a regretful smile told Carla that she knew where she preferred to be. It gave her the impetus to broach something sh
e had been thinking about for some time. Reaching into her canvas carry-all she pulled out a package wrapped in plastic. ‘I think it’s time you read this, Aunt Greta.’ She handed her aunt the package.
‘What is it?’
‘My father’s journal. He wrote it when he was a young man, still living at Stenhaus. It’s like a diary with day-to-day entries, his thoughts, his goals for Krugerhoff, that sort of thing. As well, he details his feelings and his romance with Marta, from his perspective. I believe you’ll find it interesting reading.’
Greta undid the package and took out the dog-eared journal. The ink on the first few pages was beginning to fade. She sighed and her expression set into sad lines. ‘He should have shown this to Papa. It might have made a difference.’
Carla shook her head and her own tone was reflective as she said, ‘We both know it wouldn’t have. Still, I’m sure Dad would like you to know the truth, albeit more than thirty years late.’
Greta rewrapped the journal. ‘I will take great care of it, Carla. I promise.’
She kissed her niece on the cheek. ‘Thank you for trusting me with it. And now,’ she checked her watch, ‘I’d better go. John hates to be late for functions.’ As she walked along the path towards the car park, she gave Sam a goodbye wave and soon moved out of sight.
Showing off with a wheelie skid as he stopped near the bench where his mother sat, Sam begged, ‘Mum, when are we going to have lunch? I’m starving.’
‘Sam Hunter, you’ve been eating all morning. How can you possibly be hungry?’
‘Well, I am.’ Sam, seeking confirmation, glanced at his companion. ‘We are, aren’t we, Su Lee?’
The quiet Su Lee responded with a serious nod.
Carla gave in, as she had fully intended to. Grinning, she feigned an amazed expression. ‘Okay. Let’s stow your bikes in the boot, then we’ll drive to Angaston.’
It was mid-afternoon by the time Carla, Sam and Su Lee returned to Sundown Crossing only to find Angie pacing the front verandah of the cottage, waiting for them. Carla, immediately sensed that something was wrong because ninetenths of the time Angie was the calmest of people. Right now her skin tone was pale, her lower lip was sucked in—a sure sign that she was worried—and her hand movements were jerky and agitated.
Carla waited until Sam and Su Lee raced off to play then asked straight out, ‘What’s up?’
‘Come inside, I’ve been waiting for you to come back. We’ve got trouble.’
They sat at the dining table and Carla waited expectantly, trying not to let Angie’s concern transfer itself to her until she knew the situation. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Just about everything,’ Angie began cryptically. ‘Walt Conrad called, close to two hours ago. It’s about the wine we consigned to him for retailing.’
‘The consignment went weeks ago,’ Carla uttered what they both knew to be fact.
‘Yes. It’s been sitting on pallets in a warehouse in Adelaide until Walt finalised his deal. Ten per cent of the shipment was to be distributed to Adelaide liquor outlets and the rest was consigned to the Eastern States, to Melbourne and Sydney. With the small amount of publicity we had about winning the gold label he was able to unload ninety per cent of the vintage into the most populated areas of the two cities. Finally, the truck was loaded with our wine and went off on Friday morning.’
Puzzled, Carla frowned. ‘So…where’s the problem?’
‘Walt rang to say there’d been a transport accident. The truck taking our wine is a writeoff, as is all the stock it carried—damaged beyond salvaging. A one hundred per cent writeoff, according to the driver.’
Carla blanched at the news. Ninetenths of their vintage destroyed. God, when was the good luck going to start coming their way? They’d been relying on the retailer’s cheque so much. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Yesterday afternoon, in country Victoria. Walt’s on his way there by car to assess the damage and learn exactly what happened.’ Angie gave Carla a moment or two to digest what she’d said. ‘There’s more, and it isn’t good! Walt admitted that he’d cut a few corners to get the Eastern States to take our product at a price that would net us a good return. He used a different contractor for delivery, a company he wasn’t familiar with, because they were cheap. The load wasn’t properly insured.’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘When the insurance paperwork is done he reckons we’ll only get about twenty per cent of costs back, and their cheque will probably take months to come through.’
Carla reacted, her hands banging down hard on the table-top as her features mirrored not only shock but her quick-to-ignite temper. ‘What! I don’t believe it. Why, how could Walt be so stupid? He knew we were relying on that money, that we needed it to fund the next vintage and to pay a chunk off the bank loan. God, what was the man thinking?’
Carla watched Angie shrug, the gesture was as eloquent as any words could be. In the next instant her brain went into overdrive. They had counted on a one hundred per cent sale of their first vintage. Everything—Sundown Crossing’s survival—depended on it. She rested her elbows on the table and cradled her head in her hands. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘I’ll make a pot of tea and we’ll brainstorm the problem. There has to be a way out of this mess,’ Angie threw the possibility back over her shoulder as she moved towards the kitchen. ‘And whether you like it or not, Carla, getting through this situation might come down to selling those uncultivated acres.’
Carla acknowledged that gloomy possibility with a nod of her head. As much as she didn’t want to sell an inch of land, it was now an option she couldn’t dismiss. ‘When is Walt going to call?’
‘After he gets to the accident site. He said to tell you how sorry he is about what’s happened and that somehow he’ll make it up to us.’
‘Oh, yeah!’ Carla’s lip curled derisively, her gaze rolling towards the ceiling. ‘How is he going to do that?’ She heard Angie’s heavy sigh from the kitchen.
‘He didn’t say.’
Damn! Frustration began to well inside her as mentally and emotionally Carla absorbed this catastrophe. The truck accident…it just wasn’t fair. She blinked back a flood of threatening tears. What good would they do? Crying about the accident wasn’t going to solve anything. Her jaw tightened as she fought to keep her anger under control. She and Angie had trusted Walt Conrad, believed the man knew what he was doing. He’d let her and the vineyard down. And he wasn’t going to be out of pocket because he had insisted on not charging a fee to be the middleman and she, more fool her, had been full of gratitude for his generosity. Then a thought lodged in her head. Had Luke and Josh been right about Walt? Was the man sly or inept as well as unprofessional? From where she sat at this moment, that’s how it looked.
For the rest of the afternoon Angie and Carla debated the possibilities of what they could and couldn’t do. The bottom line was that they didn’t have sufficient funds, especially now that a large packing shed had reneged on taking the table grapes they’d grown from the coming harvest. They worked out two plans: the first was that Carla would go to the bank manager and renegotiate their loan. If that was refused, the back-up plan was to sell their uncultivated acres and hope that one of the vineyards that bordered that part of the property would buy them.
Tuesday evening, after dinner, a knock on Sundown Crossing’s front door startled Carla, Angie and Sam.
‘Are we expecting anyone?’ Angie asked, looking at Carla. ‘Paul?’
‘Not that I know of. Paul’s in Adelaide till Friday,’ Carla advised as she went to answer the door. Walt and Frances Conrad, looking embarrassed, stood on the doorstep. Carla’s blue eyes turned glacial. Since the news of the ruined shipment she had found it hard to think pleasant thoughts about the Conrads. Walt’s ‘organising’ could cost them the vineyard if the bank rejected the new loan application or if an adjoining vineyard chose not to buy those acres.
‘Sorry to call so late. We’ve just driven back from Victoria,’ Walt s
aid in a rush. ‘I wanted to see you both, to explain…’
‘You did that on the phone, Walt. Angie and I understand the situation,’ Carla’s tone was laced with frost.
‘May we come in for a minute, Carla? Walt has, well, I think we might be able to help you with your financial problem.’
Carla looked at Angie, at how her blonde eyebrows rose questioningly. Personally, she doubted that anything the Conrads could do would help but what harm could there be in hearing them out? ‘Come in.’ She turned to her son. ‘Sam, it’s a school night. Time for bed.’
Sam, stretched out on the rug in the living area, bargained, ‘Aw, Mum, just another minute, please? The movie’s almost finished.’ He grinned with triumph as his mother, distracted by the Conrads’s arrival, acquiesced.
Walt was obviously good at reading body language so he knew better than to give Carla a hug and Angie a peck on the cheek. Instead, a guilty smile plastered itself across his face as he and Frances sat at the dining table and waited for Angie and Carla to join them.
‘I can’t tell you how bad Frances and I feel about what happened to the shipment,’ Walt began, his usual booming voice subdued. ‘I know you think badly of me because of that and I’d like to try to make things up to you.’
‘By paying us the full value of the shipment?’ Angie asked straight out, glancing meaningfully at Carla.
‘Well, no, that wasn’t my intention. Let’s face it, the wine’s gone and you’ll be financially out of pocket. Still, I have another proposal that, if acceptable will work in both our favours.’
‘And what might that be?’ a stony-faced Carla wanted to know.
‘Several years ago Frances inherited her mother’s house in Angaston. It’s an old place, not worth a fortune. For the time being it’s tenanted but if we sold it you could have enough of the proceeds to tide you over till the next vintage is ready to sell.’
Finding it hard to believe that he intended to give them the money, she asked, ‘You mean a personal loan?’ Was he completely stupid? Carla wondered. Didn’t he understand that they were running tight because they already had a loan that had to be repaid.
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