And the good news was that our hard work was paying off. The first two days of harvest couldn’t have gone any better. The winery was working at full throttle, pressing grapes virtually round the clock. By midnight on Sunday, there were forty thousand litres of juice already pumped into the tanks, most of the red grapes were harvested and the first load of Chardonnay grapes had been pressed too. And when I eventually fell into bed in the early hours of Monday morning, I’d actually begun to believe we could do this. All we needed was the next day’s picking to go as well as the last day and then Storm Sandra could do what she liked; Butterworth Wines 2018 vintage would be safe.
On Monday morning I was woken up early by a persistent noise. I threw back the covers and dashed to the door, thinking I had a visitor, but there was nobody there. Instead, a vicious wind was blowing through the yard, rattling at window frames, stealing under gaps around doors, scooping up all the fallen leaves and sending them spinning in ever tighter circles. The sky looked ominous: huge grey clouds scudded by so fast it was like watching a time-lapse film. I was almost glad I’d rearranged my scan; I really didn’t fancy driving in this weather. I took one last look and shut the door.
Storm Sandra was on the way.
At least it was dry. Although how long it would remain that way was anybody’s guess.
We decided to start picking as soon as we could. It would be hard going amongst the vines today; we’d lost most of the remaining leaves overnight and if we weren’t careful we were going to lose the grapes too. I’d been worried that support would have dropped off by day three, but I needn’t have been: there were more pickers than ever when they assembled at the top of the vineyard ready to receive the day’s instructions. Retired couples mostly, I noticed. Roger had had to go into school but Pippa had booked the day off from the library to help out. Godfrey was here but the poor dear was aching all over and we’d given him a sit-down job in the winery for a few hours. Clare had got blisters on her feet so she was driving the quadbike for a change and Matt was being team leader along with Pippa. Everyone on the team was suffering to a certain degree. I wasn’t too bad because no one had allowed me to do anything strenuous; even so my ankles were swollen and I was tired from having been on the go so much over the last forty-eight hours.
‘Okay, guys, listen up.’ I was on the bottom step today, starting the day with my usual pep talk. The wind was stealing my words and I had to shout to make myself heard. ‘Thank you so much for being here, we couldn’t manage without you.’
‘Louder please!’ Evie raised a hand and I laughed and stuck my tongue out. My sister was glowing, there was no other word for it. She was blaming it on the fresh air thanks to walking the dogs, but she wasn’t fooling me. She and Darren were more in love than ever and it showed in her face. I looked across at Dad who was tucking a strand of white hair behind Agnes’s ear and I felt infused with warmth that my family were so happily loved up. I sent the baby a mental message: And I love you too, little one; we’ve got each other.
I raised my voice a bit more. ‘It’s Chardonnay picking time. So far the rain has held off. Fingers crossed we get lucky today too but time is of the essence,’ I stressed. ‘I don’t have to tell you it’s very windy and vine branches can be very painful if they whip you in the eye. Any injuries, come to the winery, we have a full first-aid box. Please stay safe.’
‘That includes you,’ said Agnes, stepping forward and zipping up my jacket over my bump. She touched my cheek. ‘I have not seen you rest since I have been here.’
I dredged up a smile. ‘I’ll rest as soon as these grapes are in, I promise.’
Just then a strong gust of wind lifted my hood up and over my face and we both laughed.
‘I just hope we’ve got enough time,’ I added.
I left Pippa and Matt to divide the group into two teams and headed back to report in to Betsy and Marjorie. I didn’t get far; they were crossing the garden and coming towards me, heads bowed, protecting themselves from the wind.
‘Right hand down, Parker,’ bellowed Marjorie, one hand clasping her chest and the other gripping the handrail of her wheelchair. ‘You nearly upended me in the potato patch.’
‘Oh, these damn eyes,’ said Betsy testily. ‘They’re even worse in this dreadful gust. I could have sworn I was on the path, I was just rushing to see who’d come to help. Who’s Parker anyway?’
‘Lady Penelope’s servant in Thunderbirds.’
‘Servant? I’m nothing like him. Thin beaky fellow, nicknamed Nosey.’
‘Exactly, if the cap fits,’ Marjorie drawled, tucking her chin into a thick fleece I distinctly remembered being consigned to the pile marked ‘rubbish’ when we’d had that clear-out. She looked more fragile than usual; the wind was making furrows in her grey hair and I could see her pale scalp.
‘Cheek.’ Betsy halted in her tracks to tuck the ends of her pink headscarf into the collar of her bright yellow raincoat and squinted as I approached. ‘Pippa, is that you?’
‘It’s Lottie,’ Marjorie chuckled. ‘You can tell because she’s not mooning about like a lovesick puppy but she does huff and puff when she walks.’
‘I do not,’ I said, pausing to catch my breath.
Marjorie and Betsy exchanged know-it-all looks.
‘Anyway,’ said Betsy, wiping her watery eyes with the back of her hand, ‘we’re reporting for duty. What shall we do?’
‘Take it easy and watch from the window,’ I said simply. ‘Enjoy being inside while the rest of us feel like we’re in the black-and-white bit of The Wizard of Oz when the hurricane hits Kansas.’
‘How tedious,’ said Marjorie.
‘I will not be written off just because I’m mature,’ said Betsy crossly. ‘You’re being ageist.’
‘I’m being practical,’ I said, touching her arm. ‘Look at me – I’d love to be out there getting stuck in but I can’t. My back’s already aching and it’s only ten o’clock.’
‘She’s right, Bets.’ Marjorie sighed. ‘It’s just such a great Dunkirk spirit out there. We’re missing out on all the fun.’
They looked dejected and I felt a pang of guilt for dismissing their efforts so swiftly.
‘Look,’ I said, thinking that no one had said I’d need the skills of a UN peacekeeper to do this job, ‘there’s a gang of people down there who are going to be freezing to death if we don’t look after them. What about making some soup and sandwiches for them?’
‘Consider it done,’ said Betsy, brightening instantly. ‘Tell everyone we’ll eat in my dining room. It’ll be a squash but we can just about manage it.’
Marjorie pouted. ‘I hate cooking.’
I thought on my feet, making up the teeniest lie. ‘I’ve been expecting a letter from the hospital about some blood tests and it hasn’t arrived. It might have got mixed up in the post for the house. Could you have a quick scan through the office for me?’
‘No problem,’ said Marjorie. ‘I might do a bit of tweeting while I’m at it. Pick up where Olivia left off. Hashtag English wine, hashtag harvest 2018.’
Olivia had taken Sazzle home last night, but not before Marjorie had cornered her and asked her to explain social media. Unfortunately, Marjorie had pressed something while Olivia’s back was turned and Marjorie’s entire camera roll had uploaded to Facebook. Olivia had been a nervous wreck when she left.
‘Go for it,’ I grinned as Betsy span the wheelchair back round.
‘Oi, that’s the potato patch again!’ Marjorie yelped.
‘Hashtag you don’t say,’ said Betsy gleefully. ‘Pull up a plant or two while we’re here, Mar, we’ll have vichyssoise.’
‘Urgh. Isn’t that cold soup?’
Betsy snorted. ‘Not when I make it.’
It was almost lunchtime and Evie and I were working together near the centre of the vineyard in one of the most exposed spots.
‘Up until today, my image of picking the grape harvest was all “du pain, du vin, du Boursin”, basking under a hot Me
diterranean sky,’ she said through chattering teeth.
‘It was nice last week, unfortunately Storm Sandra had other ideas.’ I snipped a perfect bunch of grapes and dropped them in our crate.
‘Ooh.’ Evie paused to circle her shoulders. ‘Perhaps you could get a job somewhere warmer next year.’
I wrinkled my nose. ‘Nah. I like it here. For as long as it lasts. Mind you, I’d like it even more if a certain person hadn’t gone incommunicado on me.’
She smiled sympathetically, before bumping the crate along the ground to the next vine. ‘I know this is clichéd coming from me, but things have a way of working out. Don’t give up hope. You never know: he might turn up out of the blue.’
I sighed, trudging after her. ‘The only blue he’s interested in at the moment is the wide blue sky over Table Mountain.’
‘So go to him.’ She blinked at me as if it was the obvious answer. I had actually googled flights to Cape Town, but there was too much work for me to do here at the moment and by the time it calmed down, my pregnancy would probably be too advanced for me to get permission to fly. Also, I was too scared he’d send me away.
I shook my head. ‘He’s ignored all my attempts to communicate. I’ve tried telling him that there’s nothing going on between Harvey and me, but I think seeing us together coupled with the fact that I insisted he take this new job has hurt his feelings beyond repair.’
‘Hmm.’ Evie’s eyes glittered.
‘No way,’ I said, recognizing the signs. ‘Don’t interfere.’
She raised her eyebrows innocently. ‘Like you didn’t interfere with Darren?’
‘That was different,’ I said quietly. ‘I knew Darren loved you. No one loves me.’
Evie dropped her secateurs to the ground and flung her arms around me. ‘I do. Dad does.’
Moments later we heard Agnes’s strident shout from the top of the vineyard telling us that lunch was ready. Evie went on ahead and I caught up with Matt in the winery who was unloading full crates of grapes from the back of the trailer.
He pulled off his black beanie and ruffled his hair. ‘You look wiped out,’ he said, frowning with concern. ‘Sit down before you fall down. Godfrey’s inside.’
My legs did feel a bit wobbly and although I was hungry and ready for lunch, it was a relief to be out of the wind for a moment so I headed for the desk where Godfrey was sitting and flopped down on the spare chair just as my stomach gave a loud rumble. The radio was on low thankfully: Godfrey was into jazz music, which to me always sounded like the musicians couldn’t agree on which tune to play so they all played something different.
‘It’s a mixed blessing having such a good harvest,’ said Godfrey, taking the lid off his lunchbox and offering me a sandwich. ‘Five years ago if we’d worked this hard with a team this large we’d have our feet up by now. But this year we’ve got such a big yield.’
‘I dream of putting my feet up.’ I helped myself to a ham and pickle sandwich. There was frilly lettuce hanging out of it and the bread was thick, soft and crumbly. ‘Oh Godfrey, this is heavenly.’
‘Home-made bread,’ he beamed.
‘And I know it’s hard work, but it’ll be worth it when we’re bottling lots of lovely wine next year.’
Godfrey’s eyes flicked briefly to my stomach and I felt my face heat up; I knew what he was thinking: that I’d be more concerned with baby bottles than wine bottles by then. But I couldn’t think that far ahead at the moment.
‘The lunch break will have to be short and sweet,’ Matt said grimly, joining us. ‘We haven’t got enough grapes to fill the press yet. And I want to get another load in and pressed before I go to bed tonight.’
The pile of plastic crates overflowing with juicy green grapes looked huge, but even I could tell we were working at a slower rate than yesterday.
‘It’s this wind,’ I said, looking out at the sky. Still no sign of rain, thank heavens. ‘It’s slowing us all down. Walking back uphill was such an effort.’
‘Then you shouldn’t be doing it.’ Matt frowned so deeply that his black eyebrows met in the middle.
I held up a hand to silence him and whacked up the volume on the radio just in time for a weather report. ‘Shush and listen.’
Storm Sandra is tightening its grip on the UK as it wreaks havoc on the road and rail system in the north-east of England. Thousands of homes are without power and two deaths have already been reported in storm-related accidents. Winds of up to seventy miles per hour have been recorded in Northumberland and the hurricane-force gusts are showing no signs of abating. The Met Office is warning people to stay off the roads as Storm Sandra heads south through Yorkshire, Derbyshire and the Midlands …
My heart pounded and I jumped up. ‘It’s heading our way. Come on, we’ll have to crack on. I’ll go and tell the others.’
Matt caught my arm. ‘They need a break or they won’t have the strength to carry on this afternoon.’
I took a breath. ‘You’re right. How about more volunteers? That would help, wouldn’t it?’
Godfrey swallowed his sandwich. ‘I’ll call Roger, see if he can rope in any of the staff at school.’
Matt was already pulling out his phone. ‘I should be able to get hold of a few pub regulars.’
‘And I’ll ask the volunteers who are already here if they can all invite their friends.’
I jogged out of the winery and across the yard, glad to be doing something positive. We’d all put so much into the vineyard; I couldn’t let us fall at the last hurdle. Betsy’s dining room was packed with hungry workers and they’d spilled out into the kitchen. In the centre was the lady of the house herself, regaling anyone who’d listen with tales of previous harvests. Marjorie was sitting with Agnes swapping motorbike stories. Pippa and Ben were feeding each other crisps and most of the retired couples were standing around, glass in hand, chatting. It was such a convivial, sociable scene but for a moment I stood at the edge of it, observing and feeling completely isolated and alone.
‘Lottie,’ cried Evie, spotting me and patting the chair next to her. ‘You need food, come and sit here.’
Everyone turned and I used the opportunity to attract their attention.
‘Sorry to interrupt your lunch,’ I shouted above the chatter and clatter, ‘but the weather is worsening and we could do with more help with the harvest. Please call anyone and everyone you can to come and help. And remember there’s a bottle of wine in it for everyone who turns up.’
Immediately I finished, the conversation roared into action and everyone began throwing out suggestions of suitable grape-pickers. Pippa was on her phone first, calling the radio station to let them know about our dilemma.
‘I do not have anyone to call,’ said Agnes, sidling up to me and wrapping an arm around my waist, ‘but there is something I can do.’
‘Oh?’ I blinked at her tiredly.
‘I can make you go to bed and take a nap. Ah, ah, ah!’ She held up a finger as I started to protest and steered me to the door. ‘I am very bossy and also used to dealing with your father. You Allbrights are all stubborn. Come.’
Suddenly the thought of my bed was so appealing that I didn’t have the energy to fight. I let Agnes guide me back to The Stables. She took my jacket from me and tugged off my shoes.
‘I will make you some tea.’ She pulled back the covers. ‘And then you will sleep.’
I opened the alarm clock on my phone. ‘Fine, but only for thirty minutes. Because if new volunteers arrive—’
‘If they arrive, someone else can deal with them.’
‘Okay then, forty minutes.’ My eyelids were already drooping; this was a great idea.
I heard Agnes slide a mug on to my bedside cupboard and then the front door closed as she let herself out. I was in that delicious state – almost asleep – when I suddenly thought about Jensen and wondered where he was. Had he landed in Cape Town ready to start his new job, or was he flying today and hoping his flight wouldn’t be affected b
y the storm? I reached a hand out from under the covers and opened my bedside cupboard. My fingers felt around until they found what I was looking for. I slid his ring on to the third finger of my left hand and closed my eyes again.
Safe travels wherever you are …
Chapter 33
Sometime later, a knock at the door woke me up. I glanced at my phone as I blinked myself awake. An hour had gone by. A whole hour! Damn, I’d slept through my alarm.
The person at the door knocked again.
‘Lottie? Are you in there?’ It was Marjorie’s voice, although I could hardly hear her over the wind.
‘Coming.’ I opened the door. ‘Gosh, look at all those cars.’
While I’d been asleep, our cry for help had obviously been heeded.
‘You should see the vineyard,’ said Marjorie, pulling her hood back up. ‘There are so many bodies down there it looks like we’ve been invaded by locusts.’
Just then Clare sailed by on the quadbike, head down against the wind. It was so blowy that loose grapes were blowing off the back of the trailer and on to the ground. Starsky was running behind her, barking into the turbulent air and snapping at the falling fruit. He seemed to be the only one enjoying this weather.
‘Are you going to leave me here to freeze?’ Marjorie yelled.
I shook myself. ‘Sorry. I’m not used to seeing you without Betsy pushing you.’
‘Don’t look so shocked.’ She wheeled herself over the threshold and came in. ‘I can manoeuvre myself, you know. I’ve lived alone since Ron died.’
‘Of course.’ I closed the door after her and breathed a sigh of relief at shutting out the bad weather. I automatically walked to the kettle. ‘I hope I’ve got time for a cup of tea, I’m desperate. Do you want one?’
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