by Sandra Field
‘Jason, on the other hand, is very much to blame. If he was more discerning and less licentious, he would save everyone, including himself, a great deal of trouble.’
Gray finished speaking and waited for Rebecca to say something. When she didn’t, he sighed. ‘I had hoped speaking out would clear the air, and that we could get back to where we were.’
She looked at him, her face stony. If he thought that an apology and a facile assurance that he didn’t include her in his condemnation would put everything right, he was very much mistaken.
‘But it seems I was wrong…’
When she still said nothing, his manner becoming coolly brisk and determined, he said, ‘So what if we go take a look at the winery?’
CHAPTER EIGHT
RISING to his feet, he held out his hand, an unmistakable challenge in his green eyes.
Unwilling to engage in open warfare, she reluctantly put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.
When she would have freed it, however, his grip tightened just enough to make it clear that he had no intention of letting it go.
Realising with a sinking heart that she was now facing a war of attrition, she gave in and, feeling rather like a prisoner, allowed herself to be escorted down the steps and into the garden.
The cloudless sky was the colour of lapis lazuli and the Californian sun poured down golden as honey. Beyond the circle of lawns and flowerbeds, as far as the eye could see, were row upon row of vines, green and lush, climbing the hillside in orderly ranks.
A crop-spraying helicopter clattered noisily along the valley, flying low over the vineyards, a trail of spray suspended behind it like fine mist.
Reaching the low wall that separated the garden from the rest of the property, they went down another flight of steps to the large stone building that housed the wine-making plant.
Ranged alongside were some enormous hoppers, and several enclosed conveyor belts. Noting her interest, Gray explained, ‘They would have been used to carry the grapes from the harvesting lorries into the winery itself.’
Ignoring the big main doors, with their rusting locks and peeling green paint, he led her around the building to a side-door.
‘This looks to be a better bet.’
Releasing her hand, he took a bunch of keys from his pocket and selected one.
It turned at the first attempt.
‘More by good luck than good management,’ he admitted with a grin as he pushed open the door to the accompaniment of creaking hinges.
Disused for a number of years, the winery stood empty apart from its existing plant, and the confines of the long, hangar-like building echoed to the sound of the heavy door swinging shut behind them, and their footsteps.
Not much light filtered through the high, dusty windows, and in the warm, musty dimness they walked until they reached a series of prefabricated buildings that Rebecca took to be offices.
A desk and chair, and a couple of old filing cabinets, proved her to be right on the first.
Opening the door of the second, Gray said, ‘This is obviously the computer room, where all the information about every single vintage will have been stored. It’s also where the machinery that controls the temperature of the fermentation vats is overseen.
‘Then next door, I think you’ll find, is the lab where, when we get into production, our chemist will do his stuff…’
Carrying on until they reached a flight of stone steps, they went down to the vaulted fermentation chambers that held the huge stainless-steel vats, with their various dials and levers.
Down here, Rebecca found, it was appreciably cooler, even dimmer, and oddly scary, like the setting for some horror movie.
‘It all seems very dead at present, even a touch sinister,’ Gray remarked, echoing her uneasy thought. ‘But it’ll come to life again when all these vats are full of wine and the dials are winking.’
She had no doubt he was correct, but right now, oppressed by the atmosphere, she couldn’t wait to be outside in the sun again.
Perhaps that sense of urgency came through, because without another word Gray began to lead the way back to the stairs.
Hurrying after him, in her haste she caught the toe of her sandal against the rough edge of a flagstone and tripped.
Quick as a flash he turned and fielded her, taking her weight against his chest.
The breath momentarily knocked out of her, she lay against him, while all the attraction she had told herself was gone for good came flooding back.
But she mustn’t allow herself to be attracted.
Regaining her balance, she attempted to pull free, but his arms closed around her, holding her there.
In a sudden panic, she braced her hands against his chest, and tried to push him away.
She might as well have tried to move a monolith.
Staring at the strong column of his throat, she ordered jerkily, ‘Let me go.’
‘Afraid to look at me?’
Lifting her chin, she met his eyes. ‘No, I’m not.’
‘Good.’
Before she could guess his intention, he bent his head to cover her mouth with his.
She began to struggle, but, pinning her arms to her sides, he held her easily while he kissed her long and leisurely.
When he finally drew back a little, she cried hoarsely, ‘You’re nothing but a brute. I hate you.’
His mouth swooped once more and, taking advantage of her parted lips, he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth with a kind of insolent enjoyment that set every nerve in her body quivering.
It was punishment, she knew, but even so, her senses reeling, she wanted to put her arms around his neck and kiss him back.
When he finally released her, dizzy and off balance, she staggered and he was forced to reach out and steady her.
‘All right?’ he queried after a moment.
Refusing to answer, she gathered the shreds of her dignity around her, and headed somewhat drunkenly for the stairs.
Walking beside her, he put a strong hand beneath her elbow.
She was mortified to find she was glad of it.
They were almost at the end of the winery, when Gray paused briefly to take a closer look at one of the pieces of equipment.
Anxious to get outside, Rebecca carried on and reached the door first. Noticing he had left the bunch of keys dangling in the lock, obeying a sudden wild impulse, she slammed the door and locked it.
Let him stew in his own juice for a while, she thought with a surge of heady triumph.
A moment later, the keys in her hand, she was hurrying away.
By the time she reached the house the feeling of triumph had started to fade, and apprehension was fast taking its place.
Her legs suddenly shaky and a hollow sensation in the pit of her stomach, she dropped the keys on the patio table, and sank into the nearest chair.
Why in heaven’s name had she been so idiotic? she berated herself. He would be furious.
Still, after the way he had treated her, he deserved all he got.
But two wrongs didn’t make a right, conscience pointed out, so it was no use attempting to justify her actions. It had been utterly stupid, and would do nothing to help the situation.
Already feeling bad, she felt even worse when she contemplated the fact that sooner or later she would have to let him out and face his wrath.
She had no doubt that the longer she was doing just that, the angrier he’d be. Perhaps if she went straight back now and apologised?
To hell with that! her fighting spirit answered. She might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. But, agitated and restless as she was, with nothing to do to pass the time, every minute was going to seem like an hour…
‘Cooee!’ a voice called. ‘Anyone at home?’
A second or two later Gloria Redford appeared round the side of the house. She was wearing blue cotton trousers, a tie-dyed top and the same old sneakers.
‘Hi!’ she said cheerfully. �
��I’m just off to Napa, so I thought I’d pop in to see if there was anything you needed. Mr Gallagher’s working, I suppose?’
Without waiting for an answer, she carried on, ‘You’re not looking too happy…If you’re feeling bored, do you want to have a run into town with me?’
To Rebecca the offer seemed to be the answer to her prayers. Carefully, she asked, ‘How long are you likely to be there?’
‘No more than an hour.’
‘Well, if you’re sure it’s no trouble?’
‘None at all. I’d appreciate the company.’
Rebecca hesitated for a moment, wrestling with her conscience. But Gray wouldn’t come to any harm, and she’d let him out the moment she got back…
‘In that case I’d love to come. I’ll just get my bag and lock the door.’
‘Do you need to lock up, if Mr Gallagher’s home?’
‘He’s in the winery,’ Rebecca said and, feeling her face grow hot, turned and hurried into the house to find her bag.
While the older woman did her shopping, Rebecca strolled around the pleasant town. Any other time she would have really enjoyed seeing Napa, but today it was simply a distraction, and her heart wasn’t in it.
When the best part of an hour had passed, having agreed on one of the coffee shops as a meeting place, Rebecca found a table and sipped a cappuccino while she waited.
Gloria arrived some twenty minutes later. Saying shopping always made her hungry, she ordered a large coffee and a plate of cookies.
A good-natured, garrulous woman, when she found Rebecca had little to say she launched into an account of her family while she worked her way through the cookies.
She had, she announced with no trace of self-pity, three young sons, a husband—who was a labourer in the wine industry—an arthritic mother and her elderly father-in-law to look after. All of whom lived under the same roof.
‘We could really do with a bigger house, but through no fault of his own Ben has just lost his job, so we’ll be lucky to keep this one.
‘Unless your Mr Gallagher would be willing to put in a good word for him? I mean, when the company starts restaffing the Santa Rosa winery?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that. But you could always try asking him,’ Rebecca suggested.
‘Thanks, I will. Ben’s very experienced—he’s done everything from picking to driving a lorry and working in the fermentation rooms.’
After a while, growing restive, Rebecca glanced furtively at her watch, and was horrified to see how quickly the time had flown by. ‘I really ought to be getting back,’ she said, and waved for the bill.
‘That’s fine by me,’ Gloria agreed accommodatingly. ‘Though I’ll have to stop for gas first.’
By the time Rebecca had climbed out of the battered pickup at the entrance to Santa Rosa, more than three hours had elapsed.
Gray was bound to be hot and thirsty, she thought anxiously, and no doubt he’d be absolutely livid. Her imagination provided her with a picture of him pacing like a caged tiger.
Oh, if only she’d had more sense. But it was much too late for regrets.
She thanked Gloria and, panic snapping at her heels, practically ran up the drive. By the time she reached the house she was hot and perspiring freely, and her hands were so unsteady it took several attempts before she could unlock the door.
Having finally managed to let herself in, she went straight through and opened the sliding glass panels that led onto the patio.
The bunch of keys had been lying in the sun, and the hot metal almost burnt her hand as she snatched them up and hurried towards the winery.
Her heart pounding, her breath coming uncomfortably fast, she found the right key after a couple of attempts, and, unlocking the door, pushed it open.
Apart from the creaking of the hinges, there wasn’t a sound. Holding the heavy door, she looked along the length of the building. There was no sign of movement, and not a soul to be seen.
Reluctant to venture any further, she stood in the doorway and called his name.
When there was no answer, she called again several times, as loudly as possible, and stood listening to the echoes.
Perhaps he was in the office, or the lab, or the computer room? Thinking about it, Gray wasn’t the sort of man to do nothing while he waited. He would almost certainly be using his enforced imprisonment to think and plan for when Santa Rosa became fully operational again.
She knew from her earlier visit that the door closed itself, but, unable to find a way to prop it open, she was forced to let it bang behind her.
Making her way down to the prefabricated buildings, she peered through each of their windows in turn.
All three were undoubtedly empty.
Her heart throwing itself against her ribcage, she thought, what if something had happened to him?
But what could possibly have happened to him?
Suppose he’d been going down to the fermentation chamber? He might have tripped on the stone steps and banged his head. He could be lying seriously injured, or even dead.
Oh, dear God, and it would be her fault.
Her footsteps loud in the silence, she forced herself to go to where she could see down the steps. There was no sprawling figure.
Well, he had to be somewhere.
The only place left where he could possibly be was the fermentation chamber itself. Advancing to the top of the steps, she called his name.
There wasn’t a sound.
But he must be there.
She called again, despairingly.
Only silence greeted her.
Gritting her teeth, she marched down the steps and peered into the gloom.
It seemed to be deserted.
Dreading the thought of going any further into that eerie place, she turned to go back.
Then, knowing she couldn’t just walk away without checking properly, she forced herself to walk the length of the chamber, peering to right and left as she went.
When she reached the end, she realised she’d been holding her breath and let it out in a long, shuddering sigh.
It just didn’t make sense.
Unless he was playing some cruel game of hide-and-seek to get his own back?
Suppose he was lurking behind one of the vats, waiting to spring out on her? Or maybe creep up silently behind her?
Fighting down her over-active imagination, she told herself sharply not to be a fool. Apart from anything else, in such a vast, empty, echoing space, the lightest brush of a foot against the stone floor would make a noise she was bound to hear.
All the same, she couldn’t prevent herself from hurrying and keeping glancing over her shoulder.
It was a great relief when she reached the stairs, and by the time she had climbed them her legs were starting to feel like chewed string.
She was almost at the end of the winery when a dark shape huddled beneath a wooden rack full of dusty bits and pieces caught her eye. The hairs prickling on the back of her neck, she forced herself to walk over and take a closer look.
It seemed to be a pile of old sacks. Stooping, she picked up the top one to make sure there was nothing underneath, and dropped it again hastily when a large spider ran out.
Backing away and straightening up unwarily, she found her hair was caught on a series of hooks that dangled from beneath the rack. In a sudden panic, she tried to pull free.
Realising it was only making matters worse, she forced herself to stand quietly for a few seconds before putting up her hands to feel for the hooks. By the time she managed to free the last strand, her hair had come unplaited, she was covered in dust, and half suffocated.
Hurrying to the door, she dragged it open and almost fell out into the fresh air and sunshine. Then, leaning against the wall, she took several deep breaths while the tension that had gripped her eased a little.
When she felt a bit better she re-locked the door and made her way back through the garden, wondering all the time where on earth Gray could h
ave got to.
But one thing was certain, he couldn’t have vanished into thin air, so somehow he must have found a way out of the place…
Busy with her thoughts, she had reached the pool before she realised that he was in the water, moving in a smooth, effortless crawl. His clothes had been tossed over one of the loungers.
She felt a rush of mingled emotions. Relief that he was quite safe, futile anger that she’d put herself through so much torment, and a mounting fear that soon she would have to answer for what she had done.
In the middle of a racing turn at the far end of the pool, he saw her. Levering himself out of the water in a single, lithe movement, he began to walk towards her.
Stark naked, with an all-over tan and the physique of an athlete, he looked superbly fit and virile, and she caught her breath.
His eyes never leaving her face, he advanced so purposefully that it took every ounce of courage not to turn and run.
It wasn’t until he got closer that she noticed his shoulder was bruised and he had a nasty-looking cut on his upper arm.
Taking the bunch of keys from her hand, he tossed them onto one of the pool-side loungers, and, surveying her dusty, dishevelled state, enquired silkily, ‘Enjoyed your second tour of the winery?’
His manner was quiet, almost pleasant, but beneath that calm veneer she could sense he was furious.
When apprehension kept her silent, he pursued, ‘You’ve been a long time.’
‘How do you…?’
‘I was on my way down the hillside, after taking a look at the vines, and I watched you go in.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘Why didn’t you call out to me?’
‘Why do you think?’
Watching her confusion, he said, ‘When you left the keys in the lock, I was sorely tempted to get a bit of my own back.’
She shuddered, and, her mouth dry, asked, ‘How did you get out?’
‘Through one of the windows.’
‘I thought they were too high.’
‘So did I, until I eventually managed to find the remains of an old metal ladder.’