The Quilt

by Carlton, Rochelle

  Sid cleared his throat before speaking.

  “The boundaries are quite clear. The road and cliff edge obviously form the front and back. There is a track down to the beach but it is overgrown so you might struggle. The side boundaries are also easy to follow. Marinella is a large rectangle. The neighbours both farm deer so the fencing is obvious.”

  “I’ll unlock all of the doors and then if you don’t mind we will get on with some work. Take your time and if you have any questions we will either be in the house or the barrel room.”

  Paul wandered around the perimeter of the amphitheatre. The outer bank rose in the shape of a horse shoe, forming a hollow in the centre. The pizza oven was situated close to the restaurant. The structure was solid with a huge cavernous mouth constructed in fire bricks.

  Paul could see Mari was in the restaurant so he made his way across the car park and through the stone wall that formed the entrance to the house. The impressive double entrance doors were the same for all of the buildings on the vineyard. The hinges and handles appeared to be forged out of iron and probably individually made by a blacksmith. The doors themselves were constructed in heavy, thick planks of hardwood. A pergola reached over the exterior entranceway, dripping with purple bougainvillea and flanked by barrels spewing blood-red geranium. The effect was even more dramatic than the photographs had indicated.

  The doors swung open revealing high ceilings, pale terracotta walls and clay-coloured tile floors. The entrance flowed directly into a spacious lounge area with huge glass windows opening on to a large, rectangular inground pool. A flat expanse of lawn ran from pool to the cliff edge that gave way to the harbour below.

  A stone fireplace dominated one side of the room. In front, sat a large overstuffed red leather suite and above the massive hearth was a wooden framed picture showing a typical Italian street scene with garden boxes and flowers picking up the reds and terracottas of the room.

  The kitchen was separated by a marble breakfast bar that continued around the work area bench. Paul walked through the other areas of the house admiring the large bedrooms, Italian-inspired bathrooms and views over the gulf.

  Whoever had designed this house had taken a small piece of Tuscany and placed it on Waiheke Island. Strategic plantings surrounded the house and ran down to the edge of the cliff. This provided privacy from the lawn in front of the restaurant. He walked around the vineyard, citrus orchard and olive grove. It had obviously been well maintained despite Sid and Mari absence from the property.

  The café and alfresco dining area were cavernous and felt unfinished. There was no furniture, tables or seating. Noise echoed and the bare walls gave an impression of abandonment. He walked through the swing doors into the commercial kitchen. The entire area appeared unused with spotless shining stainless steel benches, huge double sinks; another brick based pizza oven and appliances that looked more suited to a showroom than a functional restaurant.

  He walked out of a side door and under the pergola that ran between the restaurant and the barrel room. The barrel room was larger than Paul had expected and had a cool, sterile stillness. Barrels lined the walls and each had a plaque inscribed with numbers and references. Several monitors indicating temperature and moisture were positioned around the room. The flooring was brick and continued on to the tasting room that could be accessed by a large interior door.

  This room was long, stark and rectangular. Its heavy double front doors opened on to the car park area and the pergola above gave a similar visual entry as the main house. A series of uniform, built in glass cabinet’s contained several bottles of red wine along with some wine making books, brochures and literature from Italy. These were obviously only for display purposes. The remainder of the walls were lined with racks containing bottles ready for purchase. A cash register sat unused on a long rustic wooden bench near the exit door.

  Paul glanced through the doors of the utility buildings that were situated furthest away from the public parking. They contained large stainless steel vats and, what appeared to be, mechanical presses. There was an area containing bottles and several notices outlining hygiene and safety procedures. The exterior of this building was fashioned in the same style as the restaurant, barrel room and tasting room. However, the interior was clinical, with polished white and stainless surfaces and low maintenance, glossy floors.

  Paul walked to the edge of the cliff and pushed through the low shrubs that formed a soft barrier. The track was hard to locate, overgrown and obviously unused for several years. It was slippery and steep but with careful negotiation he found it led down to a tiny stretch of coarse white sand.

  At each end of the little beach were steep rocky outcrops jutting into the harbour. At one end sat a small crumbling boatshed with tracks running from its lopsided door to the water, pointing like fingers towards the bay.

  No doubt it was leftover from a time when families spent holidays fishing and swimming close by. He walked around the rocks that had been exposed by an outgoing tide and found another longer shelly beach with a similar boatshed covered in newly applied white and blue paint.

  It was tempting to continue exploring the foreshore but a quick glance at his watch told Paul he was already too late to catch the ferry back to the mainland.

  He found Sid holding a crescent in his hand and staring dismally at the pool pump.

  “Why we put in a pool I have no idea. We don’t have children to enjoy it and the pump is constantly in need of repairs. Do you have children Paul?”

  Paul shook his head and stepped forward to take the crescent from Sid. He knelt down and began working on the offending pump.

  “Don’t leave it too late. I mean to have children. Not the pump.”

  The last ferry had already sailed by the time Paul had repaired the pump. They closed and locked the buildings and made their way back to the beach house.

  Sid had pointed out the boundaries of each of the two titles before they left. The vineyard, all of the buildings, orchards and home were on one title.

  The second block was of little commercial use. Access from the road could be put in but most of it was steep and covered in ti tree. The views were magnificent, despite the land being difficult in contour. With imagination and a good architect a secluded upmarket home could make it a viable sale option at a later date.

  Mari overheard Paul telephoning his father to make sure the dogs had been fed and exercised. She caught Sid’s eye.

  “Someone has brought that young man up well.” Sid nodded.

  Paul contacted the rental car company to extend his contract for another day and tentatively arranged a motel at Palm Beach on the opposite side the island.

  “No, that is a waste of money! Ring the motel back and cancel. Regardless of whether or not you are serious about the vineyard there is much more we need to go through before you can say you have really explored the option. We have plenty of room here or if you would like to stay back up at Marinella it would do the house good to be aired.”

  Paul started to protest but Mari interrupted.

  “We have already booked into eat at a café-style restaurant. It isn’t exactly what we had planned for Marinella but it might give you some inspiration.”

  The café was filled with character. It was rustic and had a similar feeling to Marinella. Soft music played in the background and vines twisted overhead on exposed beams. Paul glanced around at the tables which were filled with diners. Most were occupied by middle-aged couples or groups of four.

  “Look at the menu. All the food is matched with a wine that is produced here. Most dinners take their recommendation which is easy marketing and sales for the vineyard. They offer by the glass which more often than not leads to the customer buying a bottle either for the table or to take home.”

  “They serve good food. Of course, ours would have been Italian and would have been better.”

  He chuckled and pointed to a tall door leading off from the courtyard.

  “That is the tast
ing room.”

  “There are organised bus tours through many of the vineyards including this one. In the summer there is casual walk in traffic and wine trails.”

  “It’s a good idea to not only allow tastings which often sell more than a bottle or two, but also to give information if there are several people or a tour.”

  “Make it simple. The history only needs to be basic and it should be followed by or accompanied by wine. Educates people and again leads to sales.”

  “We had wanted to push the virgin olive oils at the same time. One of the reasons for the organic lime orchard was to introduce an infused oil line. Garlic and chilli, lime and lemon.”

  “Good marketers make the labels attractive and all it costs is a little oil and some fresh crusty bread for tastings.”

  Sid had become quite animated.

  “It’s a shame when you run out of the time and energy to complete a vision!”

  He laughed and leant over to talk to Paul.

  “That pretty young waitress is giving you a look.”

  Paul automatically glanced over and was embarrassed to meet her eyes. He changed the subject and looked away.

  “Why are there roses planted at each end of the vines?”

  “It depends on what theory you want to believe. Legend has it the roses will succumb to disease before the vines. This gives an advance warning of trouble. With today’s rootstock it now seems unnecessary. I personally believe it looks attractive, and is traditional whatever the reason.”

  Sid turned the bottle they were drinking away.

  “So, young man let’s see how much you have listened. What are you drinking?”

  Paul hesitated.

  “A merlot.”

  Sid smiled and nodded.

  They finished their meal and without asking Sid drove back to the vineyard. He took out a pile of papers and passed them over to Paul.

  “I have put together a lot of information and I think it would be nice if you were left alone to have a good look through it. Make yourself at home. I am sure you have had enough of us. Here is a copy of both titles. They are for sale together or separately, we don’t mind either way. There are also projections. They are on the conservative side but the figures are based on the revenue generated by similar restaurants and cafés in the area. I have factored in the cost to furnish and complete the buildings up to the stage needed to operate.”

  He wandered out and returned a few minutes later with a tray containing six small carafes of wine. Each was numbered, but there was no other information on the glass.

  “Have a nice evening, and as you have come a long way to see the vineyard, have a good look around. I’ve written a description of each of these wines.”

  He pointed to a piece of paper on the tray.

  “Let’s see if you have learnt enough to put the right numbers next to the description!”

  Paul glanced down at the paper.

  “But there are only five descriptions.”

  “So there are. One of them you haven’t tasted before and it isn’t described. I can’t make things too easy now can I?”

  After Sid and Mari had left there was enough daylight to walk down to the beach again. Paul went in the opposite direction, this time stopping to watch some yachts that were racing, and taking time to talk to a young couple that were walking their dog.

  By the time he got back the sun had started to set over the city. It was casting a red glow across the water below. Sea birds were returning to land and a warm breeze flowed through the house. Automatic lights activated around the pool, illuminating the surface with a soft glow. He changed into shorts and dived into the cool depths of the water.

  Paul was grateful that he was able to return to the vineyard for a second time. He felt more able to be constructive, without first impressions clouding logical thoughts. He had walked to the restaurant before going down to the beach and could now visualise the space as a functioning business, similar to the café they had visited earlier in the evening.

  He settled into the comfortable depths of the lounge suite, took out Sid’s notes and poured a small quantity of the first wine.

  Mari and Sid arrived with a bag of warm croissants and homemade strawberry jam the next morning.

  “Did you sleep well?” Mari called out as she was preparing coffee.

  “Yes, it is very peaceful here.”

  “It was the wine.”

  Sid called from outside where he was turning on the pool pump.

  “Let me have a look at what you made of those wines.”

  He took the notes and went through them.

  “Very good and you are correct, it was number four that wasn’t described. Did you like it?”

  “Yes, it was my favourite but please don’t ask me to critique it.”

  “That young man was our Reserve from two years ago. The very best we have produced to date. Well worth putting down for a few years, it will only become mellower and develop more depth over time.”

  Mari and Sid dropped Paul off at the ferry terminal, although he would have been happy to walk the short distance.

  “Here is the name and number of our solicitor and accountant. I will phone them both and ask that any information you want is made available. If you have any problems with them hiding behind claims of confidentiality give me a call.”

  Sid dropped his voice and looked at Paul steadily.

  “This is a huge decision, Paul, and will require a large commitment financially and personally. Take your time, telephone if I can answer any questions and if you are in doubt keep looking, there will be something else out there for you.”

  Sid extended a hand and then spoke again.

  “Did you say you needed finance left in if you did decide to go ahead?”

  “No,” Paul replied.

  “But, I could do with your knowledge, expertise and guidance being left in.”

  Sid smiled and extended his hand.

  “I am sure both Mari and I would be happy to organize that for you, young man. Time is something we have plenty of.”

  Chapter 22

  “Sandy”

  Unlike the mammogram and ultrasound, the core biopsy was painful. They punched down hard into the lump leaving an angry purple bruise that remained visible for weeks.

  With the discomfort came fear. Sandy’s moods began to swing even more severely. She could lash out, lapse into silence or sob uncontrollably without warning.

  A formal letter arrived from the Wine Bar advising Sandy was in breach of the terms of her contract. Joanne skimmed through the contents that outlined inappropriate conduct and threatened termination of her employment if there was another incident.

  “Exactly how many days are you not at work Sandy?”

  Sandy’s face was impassive.

  “What the hell is it to you?”

  “I realize you are anxious, but you cannot continue to treat people without respect. You need support and you need to remain employed, generate an income and keep busy. Have you explained what is going on? Surely they would be more understanding if they knew.”

  “It’s none of their bloody business.”

  There was a brief period of silence. Joanne eyed the door.

  “You have to try to remain positive. The results of the biopsy could be negative and at this rate you will unemployed.”

  “Do you really believe that, Joanne?”

  For a moment Sandy hesitated and a series of emotions played over her face.

  “You know something? I really don’t care if I am unemployed. You seem to be managing quite well without a job and without anything to do.”

  There was no point in responding. Joanne walked to her room and picked up a book.

  The following day Joanne exhausted her list of contact numbers for Sandy. Her mobile went unanswered, her friends had not seen or heard from her and Sandy had failed to turn up for her shift at the Wine Bar.

  A courier delivered an official letter advising Sandy that her e
mployment had been terminated and that dismissal was effective immediately.

  Sandy arrived back at the villa late in the afternoon. She offered no explanation or apology.

  “Why am I not seeing Dr Hansen? He is my doctor!”

  Sandy’s voice had risen to the edge of hysteria. Waiting patients looked up uncomfortably from behind their magazines. The starchy receptionist looked flustered.

  “Sandy, Dr Martin is one of our most respected specialists. He only visits this clinic on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Patients often have to wait weeks to get an appointment with him.”

  “I really don’t care, my doctor is Dr Hansen, not Dr Martin!”

  Before the conversation had the chance to escalate, Joanne put her hand on Sandy’s elbow and steered her away from the unfortunate woman behind the desk. A few minutes later she ushered the disruptive Sandy into the breast surgeon’s office.

  Doctor Martin was a middle-aged, unmemorable type of man. He had a slightly disinterested manner and, while extremely competent, he had a reputation for being abrupt when consulting his patients.

  He lifted his eyes from the file sitting on his desk and cleared his throat as they entered.

  After a brief introduction and a courteous handshake he addressed Sandy.

  “The biopsy is suspicious for breast cancer. There is a lymph node involved.”

  He cleared his throat again and looked from Sandy to Joanne before he went on.

  “You are likely to need surgery and further treatment depending on the type of cancer cells found on histology.”

  He glanced at his notes and spoke again without expression.

  “I have taken the liberty of organizing an MRI scan at the hospital.”

  He reached over for a leaflet containing information about the procedure.

  “Here is the referral. The appointment details are on the front of the form and you will find additional instructions on the reverse side. Have you got any questions?”