‘That you could even think such a thing tells everyone here the kind of mind you have, Aunt Lisel,’ Carla responded angrily. ‘I’m not interested in inheritance. I’m here because, in spite of Grandfather’s stance towards me, I have feelings for him and want him to survive and get better.’
‘I’ll bet you do,’ Lisel said, her upper lip curling derisively, ‘so you can weasel your way into his good opinion. Well, if I have anything to do with it, that won’t be happening.’
‘Lisel. Enough!’ Luke growled in a tone reminiscent of his grandfather. ‘Sit down and behave. If you can’t do that, go for a walk or something. You will not make a scene here. Understand?’
‘B-but Luke, she’s…’
Luke’s father came forward and put his hand under Lisel’s elbow. ‘I know you’re worried, love, we all are. Come on, we’ll go and find some coffee to calm you down. I could do with one myself.’ And disguising his amazement at her acquiescence John Michaels masterfully steered Lisel out of the room.
Luke smiled at Carla. ‘I’m glad you came.’
‘Me too,’ Greta said approvingly. She hugged Carla, and then playfully ruffled Sam’s spiky hair. ‘Hi, Sam.’ She nodded at the tall man behind Sam. ‘Paul.’
Dismissing Lisel’s bitchiness from her mind, Carla’s blue eyes searched Luke’s. ‘Any news?’
‘They’re doing a raft of tests. We should know the severity of his attack soon though.’ Luke sighed and shook his head; his features unusually solemn. ‘It’s been hours.’
Carla and Paul sat in the hard-backed chairs while Sam amused himself by playing on the carpeted floor with several Matchbox cars he’d brought with him. The four adults did their best to make small talk but it was clear that their thoughts were distracted by what had happened to the family’s patriarch. An hour ticked by with what seemed agonising slowness. Lisel and John returned with liquid refreshments for the Stenmark family, and Lisel, more in control now, studiously ignored her niece and Sam, and talked exclusively to Paul about the project he was working on in the Clare Valley.
Conversation stopped when two white-coated doctors came into the waiting room. Legally, Greta was the closest next of kin so their comments were directed to her.
Introducing himself as Dr Leifmann, the taller of the two said, ‘We’ve managed to stabilise Mr Stenmark’s condition. He’s resting comfortably.’
‘He’s conscious?’ Greta asked.
‘For short periods of time,’ the stouter doctor, Dr Verrone advised. ‘He’s been sedated and it’s imperative that he remain calm for the next twenty-four hours. As you requested, a specialist nurse will remain at his bedside to monitor his condition.’
‘May we see him?’ Lisel asked, biting her lower lip to stop its trembling.
Dr Leifmann looked from Lisel to Greta. ‘Just the two of you, for a few minutes. But remember, your father is a very sick man so…no pressure.’ He gave them a stern look. ‘Understand?’
Greta nodded that she did as her gaze meaningfully sought out her sister. ‘Of course.’
Then, silently, Greta and Lisel accompanied the doctors into the intensive care ward.
‘I doubt there’ll be much change in Grandfather’s condition over the next twenty-four hours,’ Luke said to Carla. ‘We’ve booked accommodation at the Hilton International but you and Sam should go home. I have your number and I’ll keep you informed of his progress.’
Paul, who’d been quiet apart from his conversation with Lisel, looked at Carla. ‘What Luke says makes sense. It would be better to come back in a few days when Carl’s further up the recovery road.’
‘You’ll tell him that Sam and I were here?’ she requested of Luke who nodded that he would. It was important to her that her grandfather should know that she’d been worried enough to come to the hospital on hearing about his situation. Though, God alone knew what venomous lies Lisel would whisper in his ear when he was well enough! As she organised Sam to leave, her thoughts harked back to when she had been friendly with Josh Aldrich and the several odd things he’d said about Lisel. Why did the woman hate her so much? She wasn’t a threat to her position in her father’s heart or at Rhein Schloss yet it was clear to her that Lisel felt somehow threatened by her continuing presence in the Valley. She had come to believe that the problem had something to do with Luke.
But why? At that moment a thought out of left field struck her. Could Lisel be in love with Luke? It was possible. She was only seven years older, they worked together, lived in the same house, and obviously had many things in common. If she was emotionally involved, no matter whether he responded or not, Lisel might think that she and Sam were a threat to Luke’s inheritance, should Grandfather relent and welcome them into the fold.
And not only that, the fact that he was showing a personal interest in Carla could be arousing Lisel’s sense of jealousy or possessiveness. It was common knowledge in the Valley that Luke had been groomed to take Grandfather’s place at the helm when he retired and, depending on how well he recovered from the heart attack, retirement could come sooner than expected. And who knows, somehow Lisel might have the distorted and thoroughly erroneous idea that she might want a role in the running of Rhein Schloss should her grandfather become more amenable towards her. All were very interesting suppositions but, unfortunately they brought her no closer to understanding why her aunt loathed her.
It was late afternoon in the Barossa. Carla, Angie and Sam were in Adelaide visiting Carl Stenmark who was convalescing. Clutching Tran’s shirt, Kim perched gingerly on the back of his motorbike as he gunned the accelerator and they flew down the road towards Paul van Leeson’s property. Her brother had come home from work in Tanunda—he had a part-time job in the kitchen of a restaurant there now—with some interesting information that she was certain Paul would want to know.
Rebel barked a welcome at the front porch, wagging her tail as she recognised the visitors. Hearing the commotion Paul came down the stairs from his attic study to open the front door. ‘Hello, this is a surprise, and a pleasant one too.’ He grinned hopefully at Kim. ‘Have you come to cook dinner for a poor, lonely bachelor?’
Shaking her head as she got off the bike, Kim came up to Paul. ‘What I have is better. Tran has information. You will find it good.’
Intrigued, Paul lifted an eyebrow at her. ‘Come in then,’ and held the door open for brother and sister to enter, motioning for them to make themselves comfortable on the country-style sofas positioned around the open fireplace made from blue stone that had been quarried on his property.
‘Tea, coffee?’ Paul inquired politely. Kim and Tran both refused with equal politeness. ‘So, what can I do for you?’
Kim, sensing Tran’s hesitancy, began. ‘You been looking into Walt Conrad’s handling of Carla’s vintage and the accident. To what happened to wine. My brother,’ she nudged Tran encouragingly in the ribs, ‘works in Tanunda. He hear something today, two men talking while eating lunch. They near kitchen and drank two bottles of wine. Tran tell you what he hear.’
Tran rubbed his jawline tentatively before he began to speak. ‘I see these men talking to Conrad by supermarket. Seemed to know each other well. Maybe one time work for Conrad.’
‘Tell Paul what the men said, Tran.’
Tran nodded. ‘They laugh as if one make good joke. They brag about job done, that they fool certain winemaker. Talked about a road accident in Victoria, how they make it look like everything smashed.’ He stopped and nodded. ‘Truth is, bottles spill out of truck full of water not wine. Photos from local newspaper make it look real, like broken wine bottles.’
Paul, giving Tran his full attention, leant forward in the armchair. ‘That is interesting. Anything else?’
‘Hear men say vintage stored in a place in Adelaide where it stay till needed.’
‘Needed? I wonder what they meant by that?’ Paul said in a wondering tone. Then, ‘Did the men mention Conrad by name?’
‘Once,’ Tran advised solemn-fac
ed. ‘Fat man say he clever fellow and will make much money on wine, because Conrad going to re-label bottles then send to Perth.’
Paul took a deep breath and a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. ‘Did he now? Well, that definitely ties Walt into the scam. The man’s audacity is breathtaking, more than I expected, even of him.’
‘It good news, yes?’ Kim asked. She patted Tran’s knee to imply that she was proud of him for having told Paul what he knew.
‘It is, but only if we can find where the wine is being stored and prove that it’s the Sundown Crossing vintage,’ Paul was nothing if not honest. ‘Without the bottles we have no proof that Conrad has perpetrated a fraud. Locating the vintage would prove it to the insurance company and the police.’
Kim nodded gravely. ‘You right. How we find out?’
Paul was silent for several moments, thinking the problem through. ‘I know a man in Elizabeth, a retired police inspector who does the occasional unofficial investigating job. If anyone can find the warehouse storing the vintage, Gary Sweeney can.’
‘That be good, and do soon. Carla’s loan application not okayed by bank. Soon she and Angie run out of funds. If bank refuses loan, she may have to accept Mr Conrad’s offer. Then we all be at his mercy,’ Kim told him, her usual serene expression absent which showed how worried she was about that possibility.
Paul put out his right hand towards Tran and in response it was grasped by the Vietnamese. They shook hands. ‘I can’t thank you enough; you’ve been a great help. This information is the breakthrough I needed.’ He gave them both a conspiratorial wink. ‘However, it’s important to keep what we know to ourselves. Tell no one, not even Carla and Angie. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ Kim and Tran said in unison.
A few minutes later the two members of the Loong family were on the motorbike and going up Paul’s long drive towards the road. Kim smiled as the wind blew her hair this way and that. She was proud of her brother because he had done the right thing and told Paul. Earlier that day it had taken some cajoling on her part to get him to agree to talk to Paul—he hadn’t wanted to get involved in a potentially messy business—but, finally, he had shown the courage to do what was right. Him doing so gave her hope that he was beginning to mature and she was doubly pleased because, lately, she was seeing signs that he was trying to curb his penchant for gambling. That happening was something she prayed to Buddha for…every day.
Carl Stenmark sat beside his bed in the comfortable armchair which was provided by the exclusive convalescent home. His blue eyes stared at the curtains as they wafted gently in the afternoon breeze that whispered through the open window. He was enduring a salutary lesson, doing something alien to his nature—virtually nothing, day in, day out. That’s what the doctors said he needed to do to get better and trying though it might be, he was, grudgingly, following their instructions to the letter.
The one activity he found plenty of time for was…thinking! About Anna Louise and how much he still longed for her company, after more than thirty years of not having her with him. About Rhein Schloss: the company had, since his youth, given him a sense of purpose and pride in his achievements because he’d taken it to being close to the best winery in the Barossa. And also about Kurt and Marta and Rolfe and that turned his thoughts to Rolfe’s passionate, stubborn daughter and Sam, his great-grandson.
Carla, who resembled his long-dead wife so much. Looking at Rolfe’s daughter caused his heart to swell, and made memories of Anna Louise return with a sharp clarity—the pain of losing her and the pleasure of having loved her. He shook his mane of white hair and forcibly moved his thoughts elsewhere. What a stupid old man you are, to wallow in such melancholy. It will get you nowhere. But then came the question, was that true? Perhaps he needed to remember the problems with his firstborn son and Rolfe, even though it was so long ago. All he had to show for all the years and work was…Luke and yes, he couldn’t continue to deny it, Carla and Sam. Rolfe’s daughter and grandson were related to him, that was an undeniable fact. Neither, and this was quite a concession, could he ignore their relationship in his heart, no matter what his youngest daughter said so spitefully, that Carla was interested in the Stenmarks for the prestige and financial gain it might bring her.
Somehow, and possibly because he wanted to…a little desperately…he couldn’t bring himself to believe that Carla was so calculating. Shaking his head, he gave a deep sigh. Not like Lisel. Of all his children, and Luke, she was the coolest, the most analytical and the most cynical. For many years Lisel’s behaviour had puzzled and frustrated him. Deep down he thought her a very unhappy, dissatisfied woman who, in his opinion, had very little to be dissatisfied about. Two failed marriages and a succession of brief affairs in and outside the Valley seemed to have exacerbated Lisel’s attitude. The family thought they successfully hid things from him, that he didn’t notice, but he was aware that his calm, serene Greta had in the past bowed to Lisel’s stronger will but with regard to Carla no longer did so, and that Luke, loyal nephew that he was, protected his aunt as much as he could. But he knew. Oh, yes, he knew the type of woman Lisel was.
And now there was another complication in the family, Luke espousing to have feelings for Carla! If it were so and not just a passing attraction, he knew that such a situation could force him to make certain mental adjustments. Frankly, at his age and in his situation he had to be practical. He could not afford to lose or alienate his grandson, whom he had groomed to take over Rhein Schloss, and if that meant he had to forget about acquiring the Krugerhoff land and welcome Carla into the family, then he would put aside his pride, cast off the past and do so.
Besides, he queried, would doing so be such a hardship? Apart from Lisel, everyone in the family liked Carla and even he admitted that she had earned his respect. In fact, he held a grudging fondness towards his feisty red-headed granddaughter and her son. He made a growling sound in his throat. What an admission that was, and something he could not have countenanced making twelve months ago.
Having gone through as many ruminations as he felt comfortable with, Carl hauled himself out of the chair and slipped into his casual shoes preparatory to taking a walk around the convalescent home’s expansive, manicured gardens.
A month after Carl’s heart attack he was back at his job as Rhein Schloss’s CEO, but working reduced hours, from 10 am until 3.30 in the afternoon.
On one afternoon at home as he sat in his study, reading the mail, Greta came in with a book, not a very big book, tucked under her arm. ‘How are you feeling, Papa?’
He looked up at her. ‘One hundred per cent okay, my dear. I’m fitter than I’ve been for years.’
‘That’s good because…’ Greta bit her lip and then hesitated.
‘What is it, Greta?’
She took a deep breath and garnered her courage. ‘There’s something I think you should read.’
‘You know I don’t like fiction.’ He scowled at her.
‘It’s a journal, Papa. Rolfe’s journal, written before he left Stenhaus all those years ago.’
Carl’s scowl deepened. ‘Why would I want to read that?’ he said curtly. He threw the letter opener down on the desk blotter in annoyance. ‘I do not want to dredge up the past, again. There is no point in doing so.’
‘I believe the journal will put the happenings of the past into the right perspective,’ she went on doggedly. ‘And in fairness to Rolfe, Carla and Sam you should read it.’
‘How did you come by it?’
‘From Carla, Papa.’
He gave her a quelling look designed to make her back off but in doing so was surprised by her determination not to. ‘Loyalty is one of the things I admire and, Greta, you have an abundance of it. Very well, leave the journal with me. I will read it when I get a spare moment.’
Obviously relieved, Greta passed the timeworn journal to him. ‘I will bring you your afternoon coffee, Papa.’ She suggested as a peace offering, then left the study as quickly as she co
uld, before he changed his mind.
Carl placed the musty-smelling journal on the right side of the desk. Later, he thought to put off the inevitable. He would read it later.
Carl read the journal with its faded handwriting twice. And then, after dinner and with daylight diminishing he took a turn around the garden, stopping near the swimming pool. His mind was a jumble of thoughts and memories—what he had said to Rolfe, his younger son’s answers and how he had brushed them away, preferring to believe Kurt and the not-so-innocent Marta.
Dear God, what an injustice he had perpetrated by letting anger overtake common sense and reasoning. There was no excuse for it, not then, not now! He took no pleasure in being brutally honest with himself, admitting that his decision had, at the time, been influenced to a large extent by his younger son’s rebellious nature and an irrational need to discipline him for being an independent thinker. Why? The question pounded through his brain. Why had he felt such alienation from Rolfe? Even now, after all the years of thinking and analysing the event, he could not find an answer other than that being the type of man he was, and had been brought up to be, rebellion of any kind within the family did not sit well with him.
All the empty years…things could have, should have been so different.
Guilt raced through him like a tidal wave. Mea culpa, mea culpa. Carl sat there until it was almost pitch black apart from the glow coming from the house, until the insects stopped their murmurings and the birds quietened. When he got up he knew what he had to do. He had to begin to make amends for all those lost years.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Carla, nervous about her first official visit to Stenhaus and having dinner there, gripped the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles began to turn white.
‘Watch out, Mum, you’ll hit those tins of paint,’ Sam warned, his voice pitched higher than normal as they took a corner of the yard a little too quickly when she steered in the direction of the driveway that took them to the vineyard’s entrance.
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