Blackpeak Vines

by Holly Ford

  She waved Ella off the next morning with a sense of relief. It would do Ella the world of good to get out and see some friends instead of moping around here taking moody photographs of wet rocks and cloud. And, Lizzie admitted, it would do her good to have a day off from worrying about what her daughter might be thinking. Besides which, the sun was out at long last. As the Land Rover disappeared down the drive, Lizzie made herself another coffee and headed out to check on the vines.

  There was some heat in the sun — the grass was already dry. Carefully, Lizzie peered under a leaf. Was that the tiniest hint of a blush on that grape? Véraison? Was her pinot finally starting to noir? She walked on up the row. Guy, the winery’s viticulturist, was due tomorrow. If the grapes passed the test, he’d schedule the vines’ final trim. She smiled at how excited she felt at the prospect of learning how it was done: finally, a chance to make a mark of her own on this year’s vintage. Then, after they’d received their short-back-and-sides, the bird nets would go over the rows to protect the sweetened fruit, and she wouldn’t be able to walk the vineyard like this again until after the harvest. Another new thing to learn.

  Lizzie bit her lip. She hoped the pickers wouldn’t arrive at the same time as the documentary crew, though doubtless Jules would relish the extra drama. Reaching the top of the row, her thoughts turned, guiltily, to the one call she hadn’t yet made for Jules. She needed to book Carr. He was the only pilot she could trust to fly the crew into the Opal Lakes. There was no way around it. So why was she putting it off? Because … because a small part of her — the stupid part, she told it, cruelly — had hoped he might call her. Oh, grow up, she told herself. Of course he’s not going to call. Why would he? He didn’t want you there that morning, so why would he want to see you now? Get on with it. It’s business.

  But what if Carr didn’t understand that? What if he thought … Thought what, she demanded? That she was stalking him? That she was obsessed? That — oh, God — that the thought of his soap kept her up at nights … that any thought of him, the slightest thing, just hearing his name, made her—

  Lizzie froze. That was Carr’s ute. Right there, on the other side of the fence. Her eyes fell on a piece of broken china beside the last vine. This must be the very spot where they’d first — well, ‘met’ seemed a rather too genial term. Where they’d first encountered each other. Lizzie took a step backwards. Was it too late? Could she run? She couldn’t actually see him … Even as she thought it, Carr stepped into view.

  He stared at her wordlessly. While he didn’t have a shotgun over his shoulder this time, he looked every bit as disturbed to see her.

  ‘Hi,’ Lizzie managed. Determined to be a grown-up, she smiled.

  Striding forward, Carr vaulted the fence. Lizzie felt the upright of the vines against her back and his mouth on hers — not necessarily in that order.

  ‘Lizzie.’ He tore open her dressing gown. She had a split second to be glad she was wearing red silk and not flannelette with owls before her pyjamas were all but gone. God. His hands were rough and he smelled of leather and sweat as well as soap and his … Lizzie pulled his hips against her, hard … his urgency was contagious. She dug her fingers into the muscles of his back as he slid her up off her feet.

  Laying her down — rather more gently — sometime later, Carr fingered a torn button. ‘Sorry.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘Sometimes things just have to be done.’

  ‘Are you going to vanish back into the hills again now?’

  His dark eyes burned into hers. ‘Is that what you want?’

  Slowly, she shook her head.

  ‘Lizzie.’ He brushed the hair from her cheek. ‘What do you want?’

  Lizzie smiled. For a man who claimed not to know, he was awfully good at guessing. ‘Come back to the house with me.’ She straightened his shirt. ‘At least let me make you a coffee. Or lunch.’

  ‘I do have to leave sometime.’ Carr stroked her hip.

  ‘Now?’ Lizzie nestled a little closer into his shoulder.

  ‘If I don’t get home soon the boys will be calling out Mountain Rescue for me.’ Dropping a kiss on her neck, he rolled over out of her bed and pulled on his jeans.

  With a sigh, Lizzie stretched, drew up the sheet and watched him put his shirt on. ‘What was it you were you doing here anyway?’

  Carr looked down at her. ‘I had an overpowering need’ — he drew the sheet back down to her ankles again — ‘to check my northern boundary fence.’

  ‘How strange,’ Lizzie kept her voice light, ‘that the need should just have come on this morning.’

  ‘Actually, I’ve been carrying it around for a while.’ Not taking his eyes off her, he buttoned his shirt. ‘But I only got back yesterday. We mustered this week. Didn’t Ella tell you?’

  Oh, bloody hell. But then again, why would Ella tell her? Her daughter was hardly to know she had an interest in Carr’s movements.

  ‘Come back with me,’ he said, suddenly. ‘I’ve just got a couple of things I need to do on the way home. Then I’ll make you dinner.’

  If his dinners were anything like her lunch, this could be the best diet ever invented. ‘Ella’s on her way home — I’d better not go missing again.’

  ‘You can ring her from my place. Or leave her a note.’

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. She pulled the sheet back up. ‘I can’t do that.’

  Carr looked away. ‘There’s a party on at Glencairn in a couple of weeks,’ he said, after a while. ‘In the woolshed. An end-of-season thing. We have it every year.’

  Lizzie waited.

  ‘Will you come?’ He frowned. ‘I mean, I was going to invite you and Ella anyway …’

  ‘Oh well, in that case,’ she said, ‘I’ll check my diary.’

  Carr ran a hand over his face. ‘I’m not very good at this.’

  ‘So I see.’

  ‘I’d like it,’ he said, ‘if you were there.’

  Lizzie looked up at him. ‘Two weeks,’ she observed mildly, ‘is a very long time.’

  Carr smiled. ‘You know where to find me.’

  Pulling up at Glencairn two days later, Lizzie realised she had no idea where to find him at all. How many tens of thousands of hectares did he have again? She got out of the car and, standing alone in the empty driveway, took her first real look at the homestead.

  Under hot sunshine, and shrouded in honeysuckle rather than cloud, the old grey stone appeared more genteel than ghostly. The mullioned windows were pointed with Oamaru stone, and behind the turret a pretty two-storey wooden verandah enclosed the northern side of the house. All around it, green lawns swept down to meet the encircling gum trees, and beyond the trees the massive hills towered into the sky. She smiled to herself. What a place to grow up in. What a place to live. She itched to explore it.

  Lizzie smoothed her dress. It really was a sweltering day — the air was swimming with heat. Even as she thought it, she heard thunder roll around the hills, and a sudden waft of breeze brought the scent of honeysuckle towards her.

  Turning away from the grand stone entranceway, she walked across the gravel to the little porch Carr had shown her through the week before and rang the old brass doorbell. Somewhere deep in the house, she heard a low chime. As she waited for footsteps, her heart rose into her mouth. God, she really should have called. Surprises were all very well. Welcome surprises, that was. But how could you know if you were one or not?

  The house remained silent. There was nobody home. She should give up and go. Lizzie tried the doorknob. It was unlocked — the door swung open beneath her hand. Well, since she’d come all this way, she might as well wait for a bit, mightn’t she? He could be home any minute. Surely he wouldn’t mind if she just sat down in the kitchen.

  She listened to the clock tick. Somewhere, another began to strike the hour. Lizzie followed the sound. Outside, the thunder rolled again.

  Walking into the hall, she looked from the double doors of the formal entryway to the graceful curve of the stairca
se. Remembering her last visit to the top, Lizzie ran her hand over the banister. What was that timber? Rimu? Totara? She looked up towards Carr’s bedroom. When he’d carried her up there, it had been dark, but now shafts of sunlight were streaming down from the high window that ran the width of the half-landing.

  What a beautiful thing … Slowly, trailing her fingers up the polished wood, Lizzie walked up the stairs to look at the window’s fine stone pointing. Thunder cracked overhead. Lizzie jumped. As she stood and watched, the light through the window shuddered and dimmed and huge spots of rain began to pelt the glass.

  ‘Looking for someone?’

  She whirled. At the other end of the hall, Carr closed the double doors behind him.

  Unable to read his face in the faltering light, Lizzie hesitated.

  Carr walked up the hall to the foot of the stairs. Squaring her shoulders, she walked down to meet him. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I was.’

  ‘Stop.’ On the third-to-last tread, he caught her hips.

  Lizzie looked down at him as his hands slid over her thighs. His hair and his shirt were wet from the rain. Slowly, he untied her dress. Lizzie’s breath caught. Slipping her hands under his collar, she dug her fingers into his shoulders as his lips rose up her thigh.

  She was unaware of leaving her feet until she felt Carr lay her down on the stairs. Fighting gravity, Lizzie clutched at a banister, then gasped as he pulled her back down. Lightning flashed as he kissed her mouth, and the rumble seemed to travel through them both as the thunder cracked again.

  Upstairs, wrapped in Carr’s arms, Lizzie listened to the storm move off.

  ‘I’m glad you found me,’ he told her.

  ‘I’m glad I did, too,’ she said. ‘I guess I’m lucky it started to rain.’

  He shook his head. ‘I saw you drive in. It just took me a while to get down here.’

  ‘Sorry — I should have called.’

  ‘You don’t need to.’ He kissed her hair. ‘I’d hate to miss you, that’s all.’

  Lizzie stretched happily. ‘I wanted to ask you something, actually,’ she remembered, at last.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I’d like to pencil you to fly Jules’s crew next month.’

  Raising himself on one elbow, Carr looked down at her. ‘You’d like,’ he repeated, ‘to pencil me?’

  ‘Just to be on the safe side. Dates can always change.’ Lizzie frowned. ‘But I’ll firm it up as soon as I can.’

  Carr’s mouth twitched. ‘I’m not sure if I have my diary on me right now.’ He lifted the duvet. ‘No, wait’ — rolling over, he retrieved his jeans from the floor — ‘I do.’

  Lizzie watched him pull a battered black book from the back pocket and extract a stub of pencil from its spine.

  ‘What days did you have in mind?’

  She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I’ll email you the appointment.’

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  Lizzie rattled off the shoot dates.

  Carr flicked through the pages — almost all blank, so far as Lizzie could see. ‘Well, look at that — I’m free. Shall I go ahead and pencil myself?’

  ‘Please do.’ She watched him scrawl something down. ‘There’s another thing, too,’ she smiled, as he threw the diary back on the floor.

  He looked at her.

  ‘I need to scout some more locations for links.’ Lizzie watched his face. ‘I was hoping you might help me.’

  Carr’s eyebrows rose. ‘You want to get back up there?’

  She shrugged. ‘You know what they say. Back in the saddle, and all.’

  ‘Well, if that’s how you feel,’ he grinned, ‘meet me tomorrow morning.’

  Lizzie looked up doubtfully at the horse that Carr was holding. ‘I thought we were flying,’ she said.

  ‘Trust me,’ Carr said. ‘You’ll see more this way.’

  Leading the horse to the mounting block, he held the stirrup for her expectantly. With a deep breath, Lizzie swung up. She’d ridden a little, but — she eyed the hills nervously — this was hardly a trot around Hyde Park. Carr handed her the reins.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, as he brought his own, less sedate-looking mount to the block.

  ‘Up the Windscleugh Valley.’ Carr swung easily into the saddle.

  ‘How far is it?’

  ‘To the top? About four or five hours.’

  How long? Lizzie drew in her breath.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he told her, circling his horse to stand beside her. ‘We don’t have to go all the way.’

  ‘That’s what Todd Bridges said to me after the Sixth Form ball.’

  Carr laughed. ‘I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want,’ he said, ‘I promise.’

  ‘Neither did he,’ she smiled.

  ‘Come on. It’s time I showed you around.’ He shot her a look. ‘Next time you get lost, you can find your own back.’

  Lizzie laughed. ‘Okay … after you.’

  Leaning over, he checked her girth again. ‘Are you okay on your own? I can put you on a lead rope if you like.’

  ‘I think I’m all right.’ At least, she very much hoped she would be.

  She needn’t have worried. As they passed beyond sight of the homestead and yards — out of sight of any buildings, in fact — Carr followed the river’s broad path into the hills and Lizzie began to relax. It was easy going up the old shingle fan, and her horse ambled on after Carr’s of its own accord, leaving her free to enjoy the view.

  He was right: this was the way to see the country. The day was still, the deepening autumn sky was blue, and, bar the fall of the horses’ hooves and the occasional bird, all she could hear was water running over stones. As they rode up the valley, the massive brown hills closed in on either side, their scree-scarred flanks separated by other, older shingle fans that promised other, unseen valleys. Last week’s snow still dusted the tops — it was unlikely, she supposed, to leave them now, with winter around the corner. In the distance, high above the valley’s head, a glacier’s cliffs glowed blue. The Opal Lakes? Lizzie shivered. It would have been a long walk home, even if she had found the way.

  Ahead, Carr reined in. Coming up beside him, Lizzie thought how perfect he looked sitting there, squinting into the sun in his battered akubra and jeans, his shirtsleeves rolled up above the long, tanned muscles of his forearms. If he didn’t already exist, someone would have to invent him for the place to look right.

  ‘Okay?’ he asked her.

  She nodded. It seemed wrong, somehow, to speak up here if you didn’t have to. Like shouting in church.

  ‘We cross the river here.’ He lifted a coil of rope from his saddle. ‘I’d better lead you through.’

  ‘I can take him across,’ she protested. The channel ahead of them didn’t look more than knee-deep. ‘We’ll be fine.’

  ‘You might be fine,’ Carr said, ‘but your mate Sarge doesn’t like to get his feet wet.’ He clipped the rope to the halter under her horse’s bridle. ‘Keep your stirrups up.’

  The sun was high and, despite the iciness of the water, the day was warm enough not to mind the odd splash, which was just as well, since the centre of the channel turned out to be a mite deeper than Lizzie had expected.

  On the other side, she batted, pointlessly, at her wet jeans while Carr unclipped the lead rope. She looked around. Ahead of them, for mile after mile, the valley continued its slow climb to meet the mountains. To their left, a wide, dry shingle fan cut up into the hills, its origins hidden behind the near ridge.

  ‘What’s up there?’ she asked Carr.

  He looked at her. ‘You want to find out?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Come on.’ Kicking his horse into a canter, he headed across the flat.

  Lizzie leaned in as Sarge lumbered after them. How long was it since she’d done this? Too long, she decided.

  Reaching the shingle fan, they slowed to a walk. Carr led the way up, picking a route across the stones and through th
e low scrub on the other side to find easier ground for the horses. Half an hour later, they rounded the ridge to see the very last thing Lizzie had expected.

  Instead of a gentle U-shaped valley, the old streambed entered what could almost be called a ravine — and clinging to its rocky sides like swallows’ nests were the crumbling remains of houses. Huts. Stone huts — half a dozen of them, maybe more. It was hard to tell if some of the heaps of rocks were natural or manmade.

  ‘Diggers’ Gully,’ Carr said, bringing his horse back alongside her.

  ‘Goldminers?’ Lizzie looked around. ‘How long were they here?’

  ‘One winter, most of them.’ He scanned the rocks. ‘So the story goes. There was the odd bloke who stuck out two.’

  ‘Did they find anything?’

  Carr shook his head. ‘An ounce or two.’

  Lizzie smiled. ‘This is what you were bringing me to see all along, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not quite.’ He smiled back. ‘What I brought you to see is a little further up.’

  She followed him on up the gully. As the rock walls opened out again, Carr reined in and turned his horse. Lizzie stopped beside him.

  ‘Look behind you,’ he said.

  Lizzie did as she was told. A slice of the river valley lay perfectly framed between the miners’ huts, the peaks rising behind it, snow and water glittering in the sun.

  ‘I thought it might make a good shot,’ Carr said, matter-of-factly.

  Oh, yes … the documentary. She’d been enjoying the day so much she’d almost forgotten what they were here for. Lizzie shook her head in admiration. ‘You should do this for a living,’ she said, reaching out her phone. All it needed was Richard walking — or even better, riding — towards the camera between the huts.

  She looked at Carr. ‘Um, would you mind terribly going back down and riding up again?’

  With only the slightest rise in his eyebrows, he set off back down the gully. Oh God — Lizzie shook her head — she was turning into Jules … She slid down from Sarge’s back and, taking the horse by the reins, manoeuvred to find the best position. There — that was it.

  ‘Get what you wanted?’ Carr asked, reining in at the top again.