‘Charles certainly wouldn’t have done it, and neither would the twins. It’s not in their nature,’ said Kate firmly. She looked around the room. ‘Where are they, by the way?’
‘I tried contacting them, but they’re both away from the vineyard and can’t be reached,’ rumbled Edward.
‘Uncle Edward is definitely above suspicion, and Mum and Sophie were out of state when the story broke. To suggest Mum would do something like this is ludicrous, and Sophie isn’t spiteful enough.’ Kate took a breath. ‘I know it wasn’t me, and I hardly think Daisy would do such a thing.’
She smiled at Daisy and turned to Mary. ‘Which leaves you,’ she said coldly.
Mary threw her hands in the air. ‘Typical!’ she spat. ‘When in doubt, blame me. But haven’t you forgotten just one or two tiny details? I’m not the only one with an axe to grind. What about Jane?’
Everyone turned to look at the woman who wouldn’t normally have been in the boardroom – but these were exceptional circumstances. ‘I have no axe to grind,’ said Jane calmly. ‘Cordelia’s been good to me, and I certainly wouldn’t repay her by trying to destroy her family.’
‘Pretty words,’ sneered Mary. ‘But you don’t get off with this so lightly, Jane. You’ve been leaching off this family for years. First Dad, now Mother. What hold have you got over her, Jane? Why has she given you a home when it was you who broke up her marriage?’
Daisy could see Jane was struggling to maintain her composure. But she was ever the consummate actress. When she spoke, her voice was calm. ‘I have no hold over your mother,’ she said quietly. ‘As for your parents’ marriage, that was over long before I was on the scene.’
‘Was the piece about the baby true? Is there some bastard running loose out there who could claim a piece of our inheritance?’
Daisy held her breath as she saw how Mary’s eyes gleamed. Then she noticed how Jane almost cringed from that venomous glare, and was shocked by how much Mary appeared to hate the older woman. She sat very still as she watched them, and for the first time she wondered if that animosity was merely the fear of Mary’s losing part of her inheritance – or something far deeper.
‘If it was, do you think I’d have told a cheap reporter after all these years? And if it wasn’t, then why cause so much pain to Cordelia? Your argument doesn’t stand up, Mary.’ Jane’s composure was still in place, but only just – Daisy could see the white of her knuckles as she bunched her fists in her lap.
‘She’s got a point, Mary,’ Kate said firmly. ‘I think you should drop it.’
‘No way,’ said her sister vehemently as she stood up. ‘There’s no smoke without fire, and I think we should know the truth once and for all.’ She turned back to Jane. ‘What did you do? Get rid of it? Have it adopted? Give it away? Was your career more important than your bastard – or did Dad know what a scheming cow you were and refuse to be blackmailed into paying you off?’
Jane stared fixedly at the table. ‘I have already given you my answer,’ she said quietly. ‘I did not speak to that reporter, nor would I ever do so.’ Her eyes were bruised with weariness as she finally looked up at Mary. ‘If anyone at this table is capable of such vicious character assassination then it’s you. You always were spiteful and grasping. How many pieces of silver did she pay you to betray your family, Mary?’
‘I’m not staying around to be insulted like this,’ Mary hissed.
‘Then rack off,’ drawled Philip. ‘I’m sure you’ll find plenty of other places where the insults are of a higher grade.’
Mary threw him a glare of pure malice. ‘You can sit here and tell each other lies all night long, but you’ll never get to the bottom of it because you’re all too scared of the truth. Dad was right. You’re nothing but a bunch of losers!’ She grabbed her handbag and stormed out of the door, banging it with such ferocity that it resounded through the building.
They sat in stunned silence, each with their own thoughts. Daisy chewed her lip. That was a flawless performance by Mary but she had just noticed something she had never seen before, and as the truth dawned knew with absolute certainty that it couldn’t have been Jane who’d talked to Sharon Sterling.
*
Cordelia had assured Sophie she was merely feeling tired rather than unwell after the shock of the article. Now the lights were out and she listened to her granddaughter’s restless sleep, she could finally give rein to her own troubled thoughts and memories.
The article had painted Jock accurately, but there was a side to her late husband that no one else had seen. It was this knowledge that had sustained her through the bad times, and would sustain her now. For although their marriage had crumbled, and Jock had become impossible to live with, they had still shared an intimacy that nothing and no one had managed to break.
The first few years of marriage had been happy and fulfilling for Cordelia, their lives filled with work and plans for the future for their twin boys. With Jock’s financial input, Jacaranda Vines was once again a success. The two vineyards had been combined, and as the workload increased they had taken on more men. The planting of new and stronger vines, and the five successive seasons of just enough rain and sun, had guaranteed good harvests with a promise of excellent vintage.
Each year’s vintage saw the arrival of the pickers, women and boys mostly, with nimble fingers and strong backs, who trawled the thousands of acres of terraces from dawn to dusk. The heat was intense, the sky blue, the grapes black with a dusty silver bloom. Yet the back-breaking work was helped along by snatches of song and much laughter as the story-telling became more whimsical and preposterous, and Cordelia had never felt more at one with the earth than she did in those few short, hectic weeks.
It would take over a month to strip the vines, press the grapes and fill the casks before vintage was over, and during that time, although she was out in the terraces each day, she would only catch a glimpse of Jock in the distance as he observed, monitored and admonished the workers.
He would rise before first light and not return to the homestead until long after the sun had set. Yet he never seemed to tire, for the excitement of vintage filled each waking hour as he waited for the fermentation of the must in the scoured dark vats. After the first day’s picking, it would be at least another twenty-four hours before fermentation began, but on the second day they would stand in the cool wine cellars and breathe in the wonderful sour aroma of new wine.
‘It’s a miracle, Cordy. A blessed miracle,’ he breathed.
She felt his arm slip around her waist, and leaned into him. She too thought of it as a miracle, and the sight of those sweating red-faced men working the presses over the vats was something she would always hold precious. For fermentation had begun. The juice of the pressed grapes was seething, hissing and bubbling like a black porridge, the mat of the grape skins twisting constantly as gas bubbles broke through. It was as if it were alive.
‘The secret, of course, is to know when to run the wine off into casks. For a Sauternes we have to keep the sugar content, so the fermenting period has to be brief. For the dry reds the process must be much longer.’ Jock seemed to have forgotten that Cordelia had been born with the smell of new wine all around her, and knew as much about the fermentation and bottling process as he did, but she indulged him. This was the time she loved him the best, for he was young again, almost carefree once the picking was over and the casks were being filled.
She looked up at him. The sun had burned his skin to a deep mahogany, enhancing the colour of his eyes and bleaching fair streaks into his hair. He was very handsome, and she felt the lurch of passion he always aroused in her. ‘Will this be a good vintage?’
He nodded and squeezed her waist. ‘It will be an excellent vintage, Cordy. You and Jacaranda Vines have brought me luck.’
She sighed in the darkness. That had been the best year of their marriage, but it had also been the last time she’d been truly happy. She had clung to the memories of those first five years, hoping they
would sustain her through the bad times that followed, yet the knowledge that Jock had had a succession of affairs throughout the following years was something that cast a deep shadow over that short episode of happiness.
That she hadn’t known, hadn’t guessed that her husband was unfaithful was not too surprising. Love was certainly blind, and although in hindsight she’d realised what a fool she’d been to trust him, she also admitted that her blindness might have come from not wanting to see the truth.
Their lives were entwined with the vines and ruled by the elements, and although her own journeys to Adelaide were rare, Jock would frequently leave her and the twins alone at the homestead to go to the city to sell their vintage and make contacts amongst the tradesmen.
He’d explained carefully that they needed to make room in their cellars for the new vintage, and the wine he sold to hotels and gentlemen’s clubs, and various acquaintances who regarded themselves as wine experts, would go towards the upkeep of the property and wages for the men. Jock had even sent some of their five-year-old vintage to London in the hope of establishing Jacaranda as one of the leading wineries of the world. They were exciting times, those early years, and she’d been swept along in the wake of his enthusiasm.
Her marriage to Jock soured on one of her rare visits to the city, and from that day on they had only the vines and their children in common. She’d gone with him to celebrate their sixth successful vintage and had been looking forward to wearing some of the fine clothes she’d had made for the special occasion. The fashions had changed since the Great War and the dresses she’d packed for her trip were heavily beaded with handkerchief hems that danced just above the knee. They were very daring, but Jock had assured her she would be in the height of fashion, and although she doubted that a man so taken up with the vineyard would notice things like that, she had to believe him.
‘But promise me you won’t cut your hair, Cordy,’ he’d whispered before kissing her neck as she prepared for the journey. ‘I love it when you let it hang free. The new bob is all very well but I find it rather masculine.’
The ball at the Governor’s house was a grand affair. Cordelia had been awed by the crystal chandeliers that hung from the highly decorated ceilings and by the jewels of the richly dressed women. But Jock had been right. Her dress was perfect, even if her hair hung right down to her waist.
Although she was a stranger amongst these people, Jock seemed familiar with many of them and before introducing her quietly told her that this man bought his wine, that man was on the board of the Australian Wine Commission, the other man and his wife were part of the social elite and had professed a liking for Jacaranda’s wine. She had smiled and made polite conversation, even learned to dance the newfangled Charleston to the band the Governor had so thoughtfully supplied, but she was soon hot and out of breath and after making her excuses had looked around for Jock.
He was dancing vigorously with an animated dark-haired woman who looked up at him with the directness that came only from a long-established intimacy. Cordelia watched them for a moment, the joy of the evening crushed by the sudden knowledge that Jock and that woman were more than friends.
Although she felt sick, she took a glass of lemonade from a circling waiter and went out on to the balcony. She had to have some fresh air, time to think and put what she’d seen into perspective. Jock was a handsome man. Women were always flirting with him. It didn’t mean it went any further, she insisted silently, refusing to listen to that still small voice that warned her it wasn’t so.
The evening was blessedly cool after the heat of the ballroom, the breeze coming up from the ocean with a tang of salt to stir the damp hair that clung to her neck. Cordelia sank on to one of the stone seats that was almost hidden in an arbour and closed her eyes. The breeze was cooling her neck and shoulders like a caress, but nothing could quell the shock of her discovery or the ache that had settled deep within.
The light tap of heels on the terrace was accompanied by the rustle of beads against silk and a plummy English voice.
‘My dear, he’s the talk of Adelaide!’ The statement was conspiratorial, uttered with a degree of malicious relish. ‘But he’s playing with fire this time. I don’t know how he dared bring his wife along, knowing Leonora would be here.’
Cordelia wasn’t really listening. She hated gossip and wished they’d go away so she could have time to herself to think about Jock. But the women had settled themselves on the steps leading down to the garden and seemed reluctant to leave. Although they hadn’t seen her in the darkness, she had no wish to be discovered eavesdropping. She was about to reveal her presence by standing up and walking away when their voices stilled her.
‘I pity Cordelia,’ said the second Pommy voice. ‘Poor woman.’
‘Nonsense! With a handsome man like Jock as a husband, it’s only to be expected he’ll stray. Leonora certainly isn’t the first, and I very much doubt she’ll be the last.’
Cordelia sat bolt upright, her pulse racing, her hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She had to get out of here. Had to escape before she heard any more. And yet something held her there in that rose-scented arbour, and it had little to do with being caught eavesdropping. For she was transfixed by the need to know just how long her husband’s affair with the mysterious Leonora had been going on.
‘These colonial women have different standards from us, my dear. She’s probably living over the brush with some dashing vintner up in the Barossa Valley. It’s all that space and outdoor living, you know. I’ve heard it gives one a lust for nature. You only have to see all the hair to know she’s quite wild.’
There were stifled giggles and Cordelia wanted to rush out and bang their stupid heads together. She could feel her temper rising, the heat burning in her face, yet she remained still. She would not give these simpering, ignorant women the pleasure of seeing her out of control. She would wait – regardless of how devastating their gossip was – regardless of the need to give vent to the bitterness and pain that lay heavy within.
‘Mind you, I wouldn’t mind getting closer to Jock Witney. They say that one day he’ll be very rich indeed, and coupled with his looks, that can’t be a bad bargain.’
‘That’s all very well, my dear. But I understand he’s only making his fortune because he managed to get hold of half his wife’s vineyard. It’s even been suggested he married her for her inheritance. He was almost bankrupt when he came back from the war, you know, and although he was doing quite well at Bundoran, the land isn’t half as rich as Jacaranda’s. He might be a handsome rogue but I wouldn’t trust him. He’s too ambitious, too demanding.’
The women carried on chattering for another few moments then drifted back to the ballroom. Cordelia was suddenly cold, almost frozen to the narrow stone bench as she digested the full impact of the women’s gossip. Jock had saved Jacaranda Vines. If it hadn’t been for him they would have foundered and been no more. Surely that hadn’t been his plan? His reason for marrying her? Had it?
Cordelia turned on her side now, face buried in the pillow as she remembered that awful night and the scene that had followed.
Jock had thrown off his coat before striding into the bedroom of their hotel suite. ‘That all went splendidly, Cordy. The Wine Commission is going to review our first two vintages, and if all goes well, we’ll earn our first seal of approval.’ He smiled at her. ‘You did well. It’s nice to see you dressed up for a change. We should do it more often.’
Cordelia could barely suppress her anger. She didn’t care about the bloody Wine Commission. ‘Who is Leonora?’ she asked bluntly.
Jock seemed unconcerned by the question but Cordelia noticed he couldn’t quite look her in the eyes as he replied, ‘The widow of a friend.’
‘Wouldn’t it be nearer the truth to say she’s your mistress?’ There, it was out, never to be taken back. She looked hopefully into his face, willing him to deny it, to prove the gossip she’d overheard wasn’t true.
‘So what if
she is?’ he said carelessly as he released his collar studs and eased off his shirt. ‘Leonora is a very rich woman, and because of her late husband, she has all the right contacts in the wine industry. She’ll help us to make our fortune, Cordelia, so don’t rock the boat by getting prissy.’
Cordelia had to sit down. His audacity was stunning. ‘So you don’t deny it?’ she gasped.
He looked at her for a long moment. ‘Why should I, Cordelia? Would you prefer I lie to you?’
She shook her head. ‘Of course not. But you seem so … so cold and matter-of-fact about it all. I thought you loved me?’ She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes for it to be so, but what she saw made her shiver. There was no gentleness in his smile, no attempt by him to reach out and comfort her.
‘Of course I love you, Cordelia,’ he said wearily as he undressed for bed. ‘You are my wife. But a man has needs, and I see no reason why my being married should make any difference. I have always been discreet, have never wanted to hurt you in any way. Why can’t you just be satisfied with what you have?’
The tears were streaming down her face. Who was this cold stranger? Surely not the husband who’d made love to her only the night before? ‘Leonora isn’t your first, is she?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘And I doubt she’ll be the last. Now come to bed. I’m exhausted and need my sleep before the meeting at the Vintners’ Club in the morning.’
Cordelia stood up, rage tearing through her with such ferocity she could barely control her trembling. ‘Go to hell!’ she yelled. ‘I’m not getting in that bed with you after this.’
He paused in the act of turning down the sheet. ‘The hotel is full, Cordelia,’ he said smoothly. ‘There is nowhere else for you to sleep.’
She began to throw her clothes into a trunk. ‘Oh, yes there is,’ she panted. ‘I’m going back to Jacaranda, and you’ll be getting a letter from my solicitor. I’m leaving you, Jock, and taking my sons and my vineyard with me.’
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