Late Harvest

by Yvonne Whittal

  Late Harvest

  By

  Yvonne Whittal

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  LATE HARVEST

  Kate had intensely disliked Rhyno van der Bijl virtually ever since she had known him—so how could she possibly contemplate being married to him? Yet, if she did not want to lose the home that meant everything to her, that was what she had to do. And what was she going to do about Gavin Page, whom she had really wanted to marry?

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  First published 1982

  Australian copyright 1982

  Philippine copyright 1982

  This edition 1982

  © Yvonne Whittal 1982

  ISBN 0 263 73853 1

  For those fantastic wine farmers of the Cape who,

  through their magical skills,

  have produced the superb wines South Africa is noted for,

  and which my family and I enjoy so much.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The vines hung heavy with grapes in the merciless sun, the green berries swollen with the nectar of the gods. They were ready to harvest, but the old slave bell had not rung that morning to herald the start of that joyous, fruitful season. It had stood silent and motionless beneath the shade of the old oaks, and the workers, instead of filling the vineyards with their usual laughter and gaiety, were sombre-faced and dressed in their Sunday best as they filed along the path towards Solitaire's small cemetery.

  Kate Duval stood between her aunt, Edwina Duval, and Hubert Walton the attorney. Tall, slim, and with silvery fair hair that fell straight down to her shoulders, Kate's paleness was accentuated by the severe black dress which was devoid of trimmings, and she wore no other adornment apart from the pearl pendant which hung about her neck like a single tear. Sapphire blue eyes, lacking in their usual fire, stared fixedly at the coffin being slowly lowered into the newly dug grave. 'Ashes to ashes; dust to dust,' the parson's voice droned on to a halt, and pearly white teeth bit into a quivering lip to steady it. The breeze sighed through the tall cypress tress, and rose petals fluttered from Kate's fingers as a final tribute to find a resting place on the polished wooden box containing her father's body.

  Rock of ages, cleft for me,

  Let me hide myself in thee.

  The clear, melodious voices of the estate workers sang the age-old hymn through to its conclusion, the last notes fading to become one with the gentle breeze stirring the leaves in the trees.

  It was a silent procession of mourners that made their way back to Solitaire's homestead. After the elaborate funeral service in Stellenbosch, the burial out at Solitaire was a private affair with only the closest family present, but the latter was not strictly true. Hubert Walton, a tall, wiry man in his late fifties, attended the burial in his capacity as family friend and attorney, and the estate manager, Rhyno van der Bijl, was accompanied by his mother, a tall, well-proportioned woman who was greying attractively across the temples.

  Kate, with her arm linked through Aunt Edwina's, led the procession into the gabled house with its spacious, airy rooms where Jacques Duval's distinctive presence still lingered prominently, although his gravelly voice was forever silent.

  Lunch was served in the large dining hall, and Solitaire Estate wine was poured from crystal decanters into delicate stemmed glasses. The servants came and went silently from the room where the conversation was subdued. The atmosphere was tense, but there was also an undeniable hint of expectancy attached to it. Jacques Duval had been known for his wealth and generosity, and it was perhaps for this reason that everyone awaited the reading of his will with such mixed emotions; everyone, that was, except Kate, who was more concerned at that moment with her efforts to keep her tears at bay.

  Solitaire was a flourishing wine-producing estate, and the imposing, historical house dated back to 1694. The original owner was reputed to have been a close friend of one of the leaders of the revolt against the governor of the Cape during that impossible period when the wine farmers suffered crippling losses as a result of bribery and corruption. A rapid succession of owners had followed until Pierre Duval had bought Solitaire a century ago, but it was his grandson, Jacques Duval, who had over the past thirty-one years turned Solitaire into one of the most profitable wine estates in the Stellenbosch area.

  The conversation at the lunch table was beginning to curdle like over-heated custard, but Aunt Edwina's timing was perfect. An almost unnoticeable signal brought the house servants into the dining hall, and when they stood respectfully along the nearest wall Hubert Walton lifted his attaché case on to the table. There was a sudden hush, and everyone's eyes had became riveted to the important legal document which the attorney took out of his case, but Kate's glance somehow roamed the length of the table.

  Her father's younger brother, François, was there with his wife, Dixie, and their two sons, Peter and Cedric. The only time Kate could recall them paying a visit to Solitaire was when their financial status had dipped so low that her father had had to write out a substantial cheque to set them back on their feet, and that had occurred three times during the twenty-two years since Kate's birth. Farther down the table sat Wendy and Richard Brandt, the children of her father's youngest sister, Nancy, who had died some years ago. Their father had been an alcoholic who had battered his wife and children almost as regularly as one would wind a clock. What followed became an accepted ritual. Nancy would arrive on Solitaire with her children, and Jacques would support them until Ivan Brandt had managed to pull himself out of his alcoholic stupor again to take care of his family. Kate had been fond of her cousins, Wendy and Richard, but they had grown from bewildered, insecure children into unpleasant, demanding adults. They had both been in their late teens when their father had died under the wheels of a truck while in an inebriated condition, and their mother had died not many years later. Since then they had come to Solitaire often, demanding and usually getting the financial aid they were seeking:

  Kate turned her head slightly and her glance collided with Rhyno van der Bijl's. His dark eyes held hers boldly, almost challengingly, and the resentment which she had carried around within her these past eighteen months flared to the surface. She disliked this tall, lean man with his dark hair cropped close to his well-shaped head, and t
he aristocratic features which could have been chiselled out of bronze. As always his expression was stern and severe, and she had seldom seen him smile except in the company of her father. He always dressed well, but his choice of clothes was sober, and it left one with the impression that he was much older than his thirty years. With a degree in viticulture, and several years' experience in all the facets of wine farming, he was an asset to Solitaire, but Kate resented his presence for the simple reason that he was in the position for which she had prepared herself so rigorously since childhood.

  Naomi van der Bijl sat next to her son, and she looked ill at ease as if she considered herself an intruder. Kate had met her only once before, and then it had been very briefly, but she knew this woman's history a great deal better. Naomi had inherited La Reine, the farm lying adjacent to Solitaire. La Reine had been in the du Pré family for more years than Solitaire had been owned by the Duvals, but Naomi had made the mistake of marrying William van der Bijl, and he had remained with her only long enough to squander the du Pré fortune. Left destitute with a small son to take care of, Naomi had tried to raise La Reine to its former glory, but her husband's mismanagement had had far-reaching effects, and lack of funds had finally forced her to sell the farm she had loved so much. Jacques Duval had bought it, and La Reine had been incorporated into the Solitaire Estate twenty years ago. La Reine now took almost every available prize at the wine shows for its superb quality red wines, while Solitaire was noted for its white wines.

  It had taken barely a few seconds for these thoughts to flash through Kate's mind before Hubert Walton cleared his throat, and the reading of her father's will began.

  The legal language used in such documents made little sense to Kate at first, but gradually, as she observed the dark, angry clouds building up in the faces of her family, she began to realise what was happening. Jacques Duval had excluded his brother François from his will, and neither had he left anything to Nancy's children.

  'They had received more than their fair share from Solitaire funds during my lifetime,' her father had stated in his will.

  Pandemonium broke loose! Chairs toppled as irate members of the family leapt to their feet, nasty accusations were flung at the attorney and at Kate, and doors were slammed as they stormed out of the house, vowing never to set foot on Solitaire again.

  Hubert Walton smiled wryly. 'That, I think, is what your father hoped to achieve,' he informed Kate, whose delicate features had gone a shade paler. 'He didn't want you saddled with them during your lifetime as well.'

  Kate could not have answered him even if she had wanted to, her throat felt too tight, but his remark fortunately did not require a reply, and the reading of the will continued.

  Jacques Duval had left a considerable sum of money to each of his trustworthy servants, and Kate swallowed convulsively when the sound of muffled sobs reached her ears. They shuffled out of the room moments later, leaving only Rhyno, Naomi, Kate, and Aunt Edwina to hear the remainder of Jacques Duval's will.

  'To my dear sister Edwina,' Hubert's voice went on, 'I leave a yearly allowance of fifteen thousand rand, and express the wish that she will make Solitaire her home for as long as she lives.' While Aunt Edwina fumbled for her lace handkerchief, Hubert's glance travelled towards Rhyno's mother. 'Lastly, I bequeath the sum of thirty thousand rand to Naomi van der Bijl (née du Pré). She has always had my admiration and respect.'

  'But I can't accept it!' Naomi van der Bijl protested with a mixture of astonishment and indignation. 'I've never done anything to deserve it, and it wouldn't be right!'

  'It was Jacques' wish that you receive this legacy, and he was most adamant about it,' Hubert Walton assured her, and Naomi glanced helplessly from Edwina to her son before a peculiar look of forced resignation flitted across her face.

  'I presume there's more to this will,' Rhyno broke the strained silence, and Hubert Walton frowned heavily.

  'There is,' he said, glancing apologetically at Naomi who was seated a little distance from Kate. 'The rest of this will concerns only Miss Edwina Duval, your son, and Kate.'

  Naomi and Rhyno exchanged curious glances, then she nodded and rose to her feet. 'I'll wait in the living-room.'

  A peculiar tension spiralled through Kate when the door closed behind Rhyno's mother, and her hands tightened involuntarily in her lap. She had a distinct feeling that she was not going to like what she was about to hear, and when the attorney avoided her direct gaze she was alerted to something she was as yet unaware of.

  Hubert cleared his throat once more, and the hands that held the legal document shook slightly, but his voice was steady when he read out Jacques Duval's final wishes.

  'The Estate, as it stands, and with all further assets, liquid or otherwise, shall be dealt with as follows: My daughter, Katharine Duval, and my estate manager, Rhyno van der Bijl, shall jointly inherit the entire estate on condition that they are married within thirty days of my death. If, after a year, their marriage is not a success, then Rhyno van der Bijl shall take possession of his rightful heritage, La Reine, and my daughter Katharine shall inherit Solitaire.'

  'Just a minute!' Rhyno interrupted when Hubert paused for breath, and his deep, harsh voice scraped along Kate's raw nerves where she sat staring white-faced at the attorney. 'You surely don't expect us to either believe or accept what you've just read there?'

  'It's here in black and white, Rhyno.'

  'It's preposterous!' Kate choked out the words as she emerged from her stunned state, and she almost followed the example of her departed relatives by knocking over her chair as she leapt to her feet. 'I refuse to—to marry this man in order to inherit what's rightfully mine!'

  Hubert lowered his eyes to the papers before him, and said decisively, 'If you want Solitaire, Kate, then you'll have no option.'

  'What exactly does that mean?' Rhyno demanded, the skin stretching tautly across his lean, hard face.

  'It means, Rhyno, that if you and Kate refuse to marry each other, then Solitaire goes to Edwina. After her death it will be sold, and the money will be distributed amongst several charities which I have listed here.'

  'And La Reine?' Rhyno bit out the words.

  'La Reine will be sold at once, and several charitable organisations will benefit from its sale.'

  Rhyno paled visibly beneath his tanned complexion, and his sensual mouth thinned with a touch of ruthlessness. A tiny nerve pulsed against his temple, and when his eyes met Kate's it felt to her as if those dark eyes were boring right into her with something close to hatred.

  Shaken, she lowered herself, into her chair once more and turned to the woman seated beside her. 'Did you know about this, Aunt Edwina?'

  A scented lace handkerchief fluttered, and Edwina looked away uncomfortably. 'I knew about it, but—'

  'I told Edwina this morning so that it wouldn't be such a shock to her now,' Hubert Walton intervened calmly, and Kate felt like screaming. How dared he take this whole thing so calmly when her entire world had suddenly been turned upside down!

  'I'll buy Solitaire, if that's the only way I can get it without plunging myself into a marriage I don't want,' she almost hissed out the words.

  'How will you buy it, Kate?' Hubert asked, an expression closely resembling pity flitting across his lined face. 'With a five thousand rand a year legacy I can't see you doing that, can you?'

  Kate stared at him in stunned silence, her eyes wide, and the pupils dilated, then she asked incredulously, 'Is that all I'll get?'

  'If you don't carry out your father's wishes, yes,' Hubert nodded solemnly.

  'Oh, my God!' she cried hoarsely, burying her white face in her trembling hands, and wondering just how much more of this she could take.

  A chair scraped on the polished wooden floor, the sound jarring her nerves, then Rhyno's voice broke the strained silence. 'Is there anything else we ought to know?'

  Hubert shook his grey head. 'Not at the moment, no.'

  'In that case I hope you'll excuse
me,' Rhyno said abruptly, and without a second glance in their direction he strode out of the dining hall and closed the door quietly but decisively behind him.

  Kate watched him go with a coldness spreading through her insides, then her lifeless glance travelled down the length of the table towards the chair her father had always occupied. He would never sit there at the head of the long table again, but even in death he ruled her future as he had ruled over the estate during his lifetime. Her father had not been a harsh man, and he had showered her with love and affection since her mother's death so many years ago, but he had always been extremely firm with her. There had been times when he had been totally unbending, and on the subject of Rhyno van der Bijl he had been exactly that. When their previous estate manager had left to buy a place of his own, Kate had begged her father to allow her to take over the management of the estate, but a week later Rhyno had arrived, and Kate had resented him ever since. During the past eighteen months there had not been one thing they had agreed on, and when she had confronted her father on those matters he had merely stated bluntly that Rhyno knew what he was doing.

  Kate had quarrelled bitterly with her father on many occasions, but Rhyno van der Bijl had remained firmly instated as estate manager, and he had settled himself comfortably in La Reine's old homestead, the house where he had lived for the first ten years of his life. Kate had not known him then. She had been two years old when Naomi had been forced to sell La Reine and settle in Stellenbosch with her son, but Kate felt certain that she would have disliked him even then.

  'My father must have been out of his mind to make such a will!' Kate cried, breaking the tense silence which had settled in the room after Rhyno's abrupt departure, and there was something close to despair in the blue eyes that met Hubert's.