Here she belonged.
The yummy gold smell of freshly baked bread wafted in the air, intermingling with sun-ripened fruit and grapes from Vitali’s vineyard. The shouts of children blended with the barks of farm dogs.
Alex had never felt less isolated in her life. New York, with its teaming throngs of stressed out people and thugs, had always made her feel alone.
She stretched her hands to the sky and inhaled the sweet air. There was no way she would ever be lonely here. Or bored. Her project would see to that, she mused happily as she went in search of Dara McKee. She found her in the kitchen with the two Maori girls who helped in the house—Aroha and Hinemoa. Alex insisted on having her breakfast at the kitchen table so she could chat to them all, but the girls were so full of shy giggles they could hardly speak. So Dara answered Alex’s questions on their behalf.
‘I thought you must be baking bread,’ Alex remarked questioningly, looking around at the ovens although there was no smell of it in the kitchen.
‘Everything’s cooked down in the bake-house,’ Dara explained. ‘I’ll show you after you’ve eaten. If you like.’
Alex nodded. ‘Yes please. I’d like that very much.’
Dara laughed. ‘Everyone’s looking forward to strutting their wares in front of you at the Farmers Market. But be warned, they can talk the hind legs of a stag when you get them started. You won’t find us lacking in passion.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
Hinemoa served her a plate of fresh fruit—plump pinot grapes that popped in her mouth, fat plums, the juice of which threatened to slide from her spoon, sweet, succulent cherries and sun kissed orchards. She really was in heaven, she mused, eating the fruits of the gods.
‘Do you fly these in?’ she asked.
‘Good heavens, no!’ Dara chuckled. ‘All home-grown. Mr Rossi is big on self-sufficiency.’
Alex almost choked on her mouthful of fruit as she gagged back the temptation to declare, “‘aint that the truth.” Instead she nodded her head in admiring approval.
Everything in New York seemed to be out of season, imported from some exotic locale, and none of it was anywhere near as tasty as this delicious bounty. When Aroha disappeared outside and returned shortly after, grinning proudly, with a bowl of freshly laid free-range eggs Alex didn’t have the heart to tell her she couldn’t possibly eat anything more.
As she tucked into the most sumptuous omelet she had ever tasted, Dara told her about the meat-house and the store where all the dried and tinned foods were kept, as well as other maintenance necessities. Clearly, Dara had been tasked with filling Alex in on all the domestic things which went into ensuring the house ran smoothly. Alex listened patiently, feigning interest.
A bell clanged in the near distance and Dara immediately answered Alex’s unspoken question.
‘The school bell. It’s nine o’clock.
‘You have a school here?’
‘Of sorts. This year we’re home schooling fourteen kids. Most of them are the sons and daughters of our employees, but Vitali is passionate about making sure all kids, regardless of economic circumstance have the right to quality education. If it wasn’t for him,’ Dara said proudly, half the Maori kids round here would still be illiterate.’
Alex shook her head in amazement. Her husband really was multi-faceted and generous. Her admiration and love for him notched higher.
Dara left the girls to clean up while she and Alex embarked on a grand tour of the places they’d just spoken about. Bread was baked in the bake house every second day. The store was open every morning for anyone who needed supplies. The radio correspondence lessons in the school were very personal, each child speaking to the teacher in turn. The meat-house looked as if it could feed the whole community for weeks.
Alex reacquainted herself with most of the people she had met yesterday and thoroughly enjoyed herself, inspecting the produce that was destined for the farmers market. Their last stop was the stables. She arranged with Matt, the head stable-boy and horse-breaker, to select a very obedient horse and have it ready for her to ride later in the afternoon. If her bum and thighs were going to survive a muster they’d better start toughening up now.
They returned to the house for lunch and Alex took the opportunity to ask Bob if she might have a private chat with him in Vitali's study. Ever since a fall from a horse had aggravated an old back injury he could no longer ensure long hours on a horse. Instead he busied himself with running the business end of the station in Vitali's absence. Alex noticed with interest he looked at his wife, as though seeking her approval, before consenting with a broad smile to join her in Vitali's study.
His very private study.
‘I never thought I’d see the day,’ he chuckled. ‘He’s met his match in you, that’s for sure,’ he said, punching in the code which unlocked the study door. He hesitated before turning the handle, ‘He does know what you’re up to?’
‘He told me you’d help me,’ Alex said, peering past his arm.
‘Time he started opening some doors, anyhow.’ Bob muttered as he allowed Alex to enter.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Vitali's study was nothing like she’d imagined. This room was inconsistent with the pared back modern simplicity that permeated every other corner of his house.. It was warm and cosy and almost cluttered.
In the center facing the view was a massive antique desk, feather-filled, worn, butter-soft leather chairs sat around an ornately carved coffee table, in the middle of which sat a sulphur yellow work of art. She immediately recognized it as a piece by New Zealand’s most eminent ceramist Len Castle.
Against one wall was a large showcase of trophies, and above it hung an impressive number of blue ribbons showcasing a variety of awards for venison and wine. Floor to ceiling bookcases held rows of magazines and books, and there were several business-like filing cabinets.
‘I assume it’s about the money?’ Bob said matter-of-factly. ‘I called the accountant as Vitali instructed. I’m assured the money will be available by close of day.’
‘Thank you, Bob. I doubt I’ll need the full amount.’
‘More is more. Alex.’ he grinned. ‘A drop in the Pacific to Vitali, and besides, I get the impression he wouldn’t leave you wanting.’
Her embarrassment about asking for the money subsided as she realized how easy Vitali and now Bob were making it for her.
‘Vitali tells me you have a special project. Sing out if I can be of any help.’
‘There is something I’m hoping you can assist with,’ she said, brightening at the prospect of not having to wade through the detail on her own. ‘It’s experimental,’ she cautioned. ‘No guarantee that my hunch will work. But if we don’t try we’ll never know.’
‘Go on,’ he said, his eyes sparkling.
‘Do the names Suri, Cara and Lanuda mean anything to you?’
‘I think the wife might have mentioned Suri while flicking through the gossip mags,’ he scratched his head. ‘Yes, that’s it. Tom Cruise’s daughter. As for the rest, nah.’
Alex laughed. ‘Nothing as famous as Tom Cruise. What if I told you they were different breeds of Alpaca? What if I told you we could breed them here?’
‘Honestly?’ he asked. ‘I’d say you were trying to make possible the impossible.’ Which I take it is just the point.’ he said chuckling. ‘
‘Exactly.’
‘Don’t take this the wrong way Alex, but it seems a bit fanciful for around here.’
‘Not at all,’ Alex said fired by his interest and the hope that her plan could be a success. ‘The thing about them is that they can survive longer than most animals in drought conditions—like their relatives the camel they’ve got well-developed sweat glands. Plus, they can survive in frozen terrain. I’m sure Central Otago feels warm in winter compared to the Andes.’
Bob McKee nodded his agreement. He sat down in one of the plump leather chairs, and stretched out his legs, his hands clasped behind his head
. ‘You have my undivided attention,’ he said, nodding toward the opposite chair.
‘Not only are they more fitted to this country than deer,’ she said, sitting down, ‘but if I overheard you correctly last night you told Vitali that deer farming is on the wane as it’s not as profitable as it was a few years ago. The market is saturated and demand is tailing off is it not, Mr. McKee? But the market for exotic fur, on the other hand, is ballooning. And then there is the challenge, which is after all what motivates my husband.’
Bob looked dumbfounded. He slowly shook his head as if needing to clear cobwebs from his mind. ‘I thought…’ he paused, and made a helpless gesture with his hands, then gave her a lop-sided smile. ‘Looks to me like Vitali's got himself one hell of a wife. Does he know the details?’
Alex decided that discretion was the best strategy. ‘Vitali said I could go ahead and do anything that makes me happy. He said I could, what was the term he used—free-range? This is what will make me happy. Hopefully it will make Vitali happy too.’
Bob McKee chuckled, his blue eyes crinkling with amused delight. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Alex. I’m with you all the way. There’s just not too many women, or men, for that matter, who’d come up with a whacky idea like this—and be certain to pull it off. It sounds good to me. Worth a shot. Regardless of the outcome.’
‘Thank you, Bob,’ Alex said leaping from her chair and swinging her arms around his neck. Thank you so, so much.’ She breathed a sigh of relief as she released him and walked to the panoramic window.‘Let’s just keep it to ourselves for now. No need to bore Vitali with the details. I want it to a wonderful surprise.’
‘Mum’s the word,’ Bob said, tapping his finger on his nose.
‘I’ll be honest—I really don’t know where to start.’ She confided. ‘I don’t even know how you go about importing Alpacas. I’ll need your help on what channels I have to go through. Government departments and then of course there’s the bigger picture’, she said looking at the awards Vitali's deer had won. ‘We’ll have to figure out how we’re going to win prizes.’
‘Prizes?’
‘I figure if we are going to make Vitali happy we’ll have to cater to something he cares about. He’s too rich to be in deer farming for the money—these are what is important to him. Accolades. Prizes for being the best.’ She spun around to face Bob. ‘Our Alpacas, mine and Vitali's—and yours, have to surpass all others.’
‘I like your thinking, Alex. Think big and get the job done! Why not? I’ll get straight onto it. One thing’s certain. Whatever you import will have to be quarantined. It’s not going to be quick, Alex. You’ll have to be patient.’
‘So you’ll make those enquires for me? Get the ball rolling?’
‘Right away,’ he promised. ‘I’ll certainly have some concrete information by tonight.’
‘You’re a gem, Bob!’
Bob laughed outright. ‘I reckon you’re the marvel around here, Alex. A gold-nugget in the rough. Now I know how Vitali got snared. All these years women didn’t seem to mean anything to him. But you…’ Again, he shook his head. ‘He must have detected a vein of gold in you. I’m glad he’s been able to play a part in enabling you to bring your talents to the surface. Well. Good luck to you. I’m glad for you both.’
Alex wished it was going to be as easy to convince Vitali of her good intentions as it was Bob, but she was pleased with the initiative she had taken, and the feedback Bob had offered. He was now her firm ally, and together they would get the project active as soon as possible. Hopefully, before Vitali got back from his muster. She wanted something definite in hand to show him that she could be a true partner in every sense of the word.
Luck was on her side. Bob called some personal contacts and found that the MAF security department was running an experimental operation on Matiu Somes Island off the coast of Wellington. They were importing frozen embryos of these breeds from Argentina, and transferring the embryos into local Alpaca from Waiheke Island.
‘We’ve got half a million dollars, Bob. Let’s buy whatever we can with that,’ Alex instructed without a moment’s hesitation. Not even by a flicker of expression did she betray her nerves. Could she really pull this off?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The days that followed were packed with activity for Alex. Most mornings she spent with Bob, pressing for a resolution about the Alpacas she wanted. Forty females and ten males would be airfreighted from Matiu Somes Island to Gold Ridge Station within the month.
While all this was being negotiated Alex learnt a great deal about the running of the station under Bob and Dara’s coaching. Then every afternoon she spent more time in the saddle. It didn’t take long for the aches and pains to subside and she began to enjoy increasingly long rides.
The horse which Matt had chosen for her was a very well behaved golden mare called Chardonnay, and Alex loved riding her. The head stable-hand, cautious of the boss’s wife’s safety, always insisted that someone ride along with her, so Alex made the acquaintance of the Maori boys who had waved to her from the fence that afternoon.
She particularly liked two of them, Rangi and Jack, who kept her entertained with stories of their skills of survival and self-sufficiency, fending for themselves on the land. They both boasted they could survive anything, anywhere, any time and they were going to be the best stockmen that had ever sat in a saddle on Gold Ridge Station.
Alex was inclined to believe them—they handled horses expertly as if they had almost been born in the saddle. Gradually Alex learnt to master their skill of riding bareback and she loved the thrill and exhilaration of feeling at one with the animal. She was pretty sure that Chardonnay also loved the freedom of being unencumbered by a weighty saddle, and a horrid bit in her mouth.
Her wedding photographs arrived on her sixth day at Gold Ridge Station. Vitali hadn’t bothered about choosing from the proofs. He’d left them on her writing desk in her bedroom. Large prints of every shot taken were bound in two identical albums—one for her and one for her mother she assumed.
Alex leafed through the album, studying the photos of her and her new husband, looking to see if their deception would be picked up by her mother. But as she looked at the image they were so incredibly convincing that she almost believed that their marriage was not one gigantic lie.
She trailed her fingers over the large close-up of their kiss, his head bent to hers, their foreheads touching, his sensuous lips pressed to hers.
As though they were one.
Looking at that photo she could almost believe that Vitali had married her because he loved her with all his heart and that their marriage would last. But photographs could lie, and she was well aware of Vitali's agenda.
She started to have doubts about sending the album to her mother. Vitali had made it clear he wanted no publicity. She wrote a long letter to accompany them asking her to keep the photos private, and telling her about their life together.
She wanted her mother to understand the life she had chosen with Vitali, but held little hope. The South Island of New Zealand was a million kilometers away from her mother’s glittering life in New York—the life she’d wanted her only child to follow.
Yet Alex yearned to recapture the brief wave of empathy they had shared on her wedding-day. She wanted to reach out to her mother again. Just as Alex wished she could have reached out to her father. She’d attended too many funerals and heard too many stories where people had left it too late to tell the people most important to them that they were loved.
Thumbing through her wedding photos, and recalling loved ones no longing living reminded her of the photographs she had printed and placed in a small album in her suitcase…the close-up ones she had taken of her father’s painting Lost Love.
She fetched them and spread them on her writing desk. Alex's heart pounded then took a dive as her mind raced. She knew now who the woman in the painting was, but what was the significance of the setting?
It had to have been inspi
red by somewhere on Gold Ridge Station, she decided, glancing out at the craggy ranges in the distance. But where?
When she went out riding that afternoon she described the painting to Rangi and Jack. It would have been easier to show them the photo but Vitali had made it bitingly clear that on no account was the painting to be shown to anyone.
‘Do you know anywhere with endless velvet plains of golden tussock and Rātā trees clinging fiercely to craggy rocks? Somewhere that looks like it could be a painting, somewhere beautiful with rough soaring peaks that look as though they could be troughed on the canvas? Lit from the dying sun with a hurtle of blue and ochre and gold. Do you know anywhere around here like that?’ she asked, careful to inject her voice with only mild interest.
‘Yeah, why?’ Jack asked, a puzzled line creasing his brow.
‘I saw something like it in a travel article once. I’d like to see it for myself,’ she said.
‘Fair enough. Heaps of places. We’ll show ya a few of ‘em if ya want.’ Rangi crowed in his cocksure knowledge of the land.
Alex’s pulse quickened. ‘I’d love that.’
‘It’s pretty far,’ Jack cautioned, as though conscious of their responsibility to look after the boss’ wife and the fact she had only recently learned to ride.
‘Come on Jack, stop being a wet blanket,’ Rangi argued. ‘We can be there and back before dusk— heaps of time before anyone notices we’re missing. What are ya worried about?’
Jack regarded him skeptically, then shrugged. ‘Nah, it’s all good,’ he smiled weakly.
‘Sweet as’ grinned Rangi. ‘We’d better get a hurry on if we’re to get back before dark.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
As the horses crested the hill a little over an hour later Alex paused triumphantly, then gazed in awe at the breathtaking view. Her heart spasmed as her eyes lingered on the spot where her father had stood, not far from there, so many years ago. The spot so indelibly etched in her memory. The spot like a beauty mark on her soul.
The Italian Billionaire’s Scandalous Marriage: An Italian Billionaire Romance (Italian Billionaire Christmas Brides Book 2) Page 17