“Who was that talking about paperwork? Is something wrong?”
Keely could hear the decibels rise in her mother’s voice. “No, Mum. I’ve been asked to do some relief teaching but I need my registration and some other things.”
“Oh, I didn’t realise you were staying for that long.”
Keely was conscious of the others in the room. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here,” she replied vaguely. “Besides, once I’m registered I guess I could work anywhere in WA and it would help cover the bills…” She tried to sound reassuring. She hadn’t intended on actually asking her mother to send the paperwork. If Megan had mentioned it again, Keely had decided to say she’d forgotten.
“That’s a good idea.”
Keely lowered her voice. “I’ll let you know the address.”
“It’s in your pocket,” Flynn said. “You put it there when we left Anna’s.”
“Who is that?” her mother asked.
Keely dug in her pocket, ignoring her mother’s question. “Have you got a pen? Here is the address.”
“I’ve put the kettle on,” Euan said. “You’re in charge of making the women tea or coffee, Flynn. If you’ll all excuse me, I’m off to bed.”
Euan’s words startled Keely into action. She put a hand over the phone. “Not for me, thanks. I’ll finish this call in the bedroom.” She went to her room and closed the door on the sight of Flynn standing close to Kat.
Keely had momentarily forgotten about the young woman Flynn was obviously attached to. It had been a lovely evening and Keely had enjoyed the company of both Levallier men but the last part of the conversation at the table with Flynn had been more than enjoyable. For a moment, she’d felt a real lift of her spirits, the tingle of anticipation as Flynn had talked to her about the beads and given her his full attention.
“Are you there, Keely?”
She sighed. “Yes, Mum.” She tried to concentrate on what her mother was saying but she couldn’t help being aware of the rise and fall of voices murmuring gently in the next room.
CHAPTER 14
A loud crack startled Keely from her sketch. She was sitting under the verandah, at the little table that had become her daytime haven. From this secluded vantage point, she could see some of the daily comings and goings from the distant sheds but she also used the table as her work area. She’d made several wine-bottle covers and some bracelets and now she was working on a sketch of the scene in front of her.
The crack came again and a dog barked. She stood up and crossed the yard to the fence. Further away to her right between the rows of vines stood a small man in a battered hat. Beyond him, stretching away over a more exposed ridge, were the vines that, since Euan’s tour, Keely knew were part of the cabernet franc plantation. She watched as the man lifted his arm in the air and flicked his wrist. The whip made another sharp crack and the sound ricocheted around them.
The man looked towards the river. It was a beautiful morning and a whisper of mist still hung over the water. He gave one more flick with the whip then turned and walked directly towards her, a brown kelpie trotting beside him.
Keely wanted to step back to her verandah hideaway but he’d seen her. He studied her as he stopped, just a few feet away, and pushed back his hat. It was an old Akubra style, quite grey. She couldn’t tell if that was its original shade or if it had coloured that way from years of grime. His face had the weathered complexion of a man who’d spent many years outside. He looked to be at least eighty. The rest of his clothes were clean but well worn, from the checked shirt to the grey trousers and the heavy boots. She wondered about the twine tied around each trouser leg just below his knees. He didn’t look the type to be making a fashion statement.
“Jack Telford.” He smiled warmly and held out his hand over the fence. Keely took it and received a firm shake. “It’s a good day when I get an echo. I’m the whip cracker around these parts.” His arm did a wide sweep, giving her the impression he meant more than Levallier Dell.
“I’m Keely Mitchell.” She grinned and nodded towards the house. “I guess I’m the kitchen hand about these parts.”
“I’d heard the Levallier boys had a lady in the house.”
The smile dropped from Keely’s face.
“It’s about time they had the good sense to get themselves a housekeeper. I sometimes get a cuppa here but they’re not the most reliable hosts.”
Despite the reminder that she was the source of local gossip, there was something about Jack’s kind face that made her warm to him. He’d make a good subject for a sketch. And apart from the Levallier boys, as Jack called them, she’d seen no one else for days. It would be nice to meet someone new.
“Would you like me to make you one? I’ve got some fresh cake.”
“Thanks, Keely. A cup of tea would hit the spot right now.” He reached down and patted the dog sitting patiently beside him. “Bob and I have been loading sheep.”
Keely nodded. She’d seen sheep grazing between the rows of vines and assumed they belonged there.
“Drop, Bob.” At Jack’s command the dog sunk to his stomach. “Stay.”
Jack let himself in through the gate. Keely headed towards the sliding door but Jack went in through the laundry door, came into the kitchen minus his boots, whip and hat, and sat at the table. He’d obviously been inside before.
She’d discovered there were doors in all kinds of places in this house. At the end of the laundry, there was a small passage that passed another toilet and led into an office and store room. From there, a door led outside to the cellar-door area or back into the front of the house to a formal lounge, another bathroom and, Keely assumed, other bedrooms. She hadn’t liked to open the doors to see what was beyond them.
“Have you always lived around here, Jack?”
“I was born down Pemberton way. My father was a bullock driver and taught me the same. That’s where I learned to crack a whip. By the time I was a young man there wasn’t much call for bullock drivers so I’ve done all sorts. Nowdays I run a small farm not far from here. Never lost my touch with the bullocks or the knack of whip cracking, though.” He smiled as Keely put the tea in front of him.
“Do you have bullocks?” Keely asked.
“Not these days. Only sheep. I run a few at Levallier Dell to help keep the weeds down but it’s time to take them back to my place.”
Keely studied him as he took a large bite of the cake.
“This is delicious, Keely.”
“Thanks.” She picked up her cup.
“My sheep respond to the crack of the whip but Bob could round them up without it or me. I like to keep my hand in with it. Back in the day I used to crack my whip for the birds.”
Keely watched Jack take another mouthful of cake, puzzled by his reference to birds.
He swallowed. “The crack of the whip frightens the silvereyes. They can do a lot of damage to a crop of grapes. Levalliers didn’t ever have much bother with them. Euan’s always made sure there are plenty of trees to provide blossom. These days everything gets covered with nets but I like to remind those pesky little birds that Jack the Whip Cracker’s still about.”
He chuckled and Keely relaxed. Jack was a man who enjoyed life.
“So, Keely. What do you like to do when you’re not housekeeping?”
“Bits and pieces.” She smoothed the bright floral tablecloth with her hands. She’d discovered it jammed in the back of the placemat drawer. It livened up the space.
“We all do bits and pieces,” Jack said. “But everyone’s got something that makes them happy.”
She looked out at the view through the glass. The vines shimmered green into the distance under a cloudless blue sky. She liked to cook, she enjoyed her sketching, but the thing that she got lost in was making the jewellery. If she was honest it was the only time she was truly happy and the rest of the world didn’t matter.
“I like to draw and make jewellery,” she said softly.
“Well, there�
��s a fine thing. I don’t know much about jewellery but there’s plenty of material for your pencil around here.”
“Yes.” Keely sighed and stood up. It was a long time since she’d admitted to anyone that she drew. “Would you like another cup of tea?”
“No thanks, I must be on my way, though I wouldn’t mind a piece of that cake to take with me.”
Keely wrapped a large piece of the lemon cake and met him on the verandah where he was doing up his laces. She watched as he adjusted the twine tied below his knees.
He looked up. “Bowyangs.”
“Pardon?”
“Stops my trousers dragging on the ground.” He grinned. “Bit of protection as well. Snakes start to get active this time of year. Wouldn’t want one sliding up my trouser leg. Could get nasty.”
Keely glanced around the yard. She’d never given snakes much thought. Surely she wasn’t in any danger of meeting one here.
Jack held out his hand. “Goodbye, Keely. I hope we’ll meet again.”
She looked at his wise old face. She felt sure it masked a myriad of stories. Just like she’d experienced when she first met Euan, there was something about Jack that made her want to capture him in a sketch. She shook his hand and took a deep breath.
“Would you mind if I took your picture and sketched you, Jack?”
His eyes lit up and he lifted the hat he’d just put on his head and made a sweeping bow. “I’d be honoured, Miss Mitchell. I hope you’re not one of those real-life artistes who likes to draw the naked figure.”
“Oh…no…I prefer clothes on…I’ll just get my phone.” Keely rattled the glass door in her haste to get through it and behind her Jack’s chuckle reverberated in the morning air.
* * *
“I’m amazed at how much busier the whole area is since I was here last.” Kat sat in her cousin Michael’s office while he went over his menu. “I’ve been looking at the tourist map with all the wineries and this week Pappou wants me to visit as many as I can.”
Michael put down his pen. “Spying, hey?”
“I like to think of it more as getting to know the opposition. Surely you check out the other restaurants?”
“I don’t get a lot of time.”
Kat pressed her fingertips together and raised her eyebrows.
“Well, maybe sometimes,” he said. “Don’t look like that. You are the image of Pappou.”
“Thanks.” She grimaced.
“You’re going to do the job then.”
She studied her cousin. He was a few years older than she was. He had been an apprentice chef at one of the large hotels in Perth, then had spent several years developing his culinary skills in Greece and Europe. Now, here he was, running the restaurant at River Dynasty.
“You know about that?”
“Pappou has been pestering me to take it on.” Michael dropped his pen on the desk. “He has no idea of the work involved in running this restaurant. Anyway, he hasn’t mentioned it for a while. Then you turn up, the prodigal granddaughter, and he kills the fatted calf. I put two and two together.”
“You’ve travelled overseas, Michael. Are you happy stuck here, working for the family?”
Michael contemplated the question, his deep brown eyes pools of thought. His hair was closely cut over a perfect olive complexion and when he wasn’t frowning, like he was now, he was quite handsome. This was the first time they’d had a chance to talk alone and she wondered if he had a girlfriend. His brothers and most of his cousins were married.
“I don’t feel like I’m stuck here, as you put it,” he said. “I could have kept wandering Europe or even other parts of Australia but I was ready to come home. This business is a good opportunity. People come from all over the world to sample our wines and now we can also provide them with world-class food.”
“Now you’re sounding like Pappou. Did you get a choice? Don’t you feel trapped?”
Michael frowned again. “No. This is a family business. We all work together. I guess you don’t feel quite a part of it yet because you’re tied to your mother’s business. Is there work for you there?”
“Oh, yes. Pappou thinks it’s only a small estate and I guess, compared to what he has here, it is, but I could have plenty to do there if I wanted.” Her last words trailed away.
“But maybe there are other things. You’re young, Kat. Perhaps you need time to decide what you want. Travel like I did, see the world before you settle down.”
“My parents have a path mapped out at home for me and now Pappou has one here.”
“I’m sure your parents could manage, and Peter’s wife, Angela, would take on the marketing here. She’s a bit shy of Pappou but I know she’d do a good job.”
Kat let out a long sigh. “They all expect me to do what they want.”
Michael snorted. “The little cousin I remember never let anyone boss her about. How many times did we have to rescue you from scrapes? You would always do what you wanted and we had to keep an eye on you. Mumma! Look out if a hair on your head was harmed. Remember that time you wanted to go to explore the caves? You set off on your own when the adults wouldn’t take you. Peter and I followed you to make sure you didn’t get into trouble and we got the blame for taking you.”
“I was a little girl then.”
“The same Katerina lives within.” He reached across and put a hand on her shoulder. “Follow your heart.”
* * *
Keely kept to the path through the vines that led to the little tin roof she could see from the back verandah. While Flynn had occupied the studio, as he and Euan called it, she had avoided coming this way on her walks around the property. Now that Flynn had moved back to the house she was keen to get a closer look at the studio and the river. This path was well worn and the obvious choice.
She’d given up on her sketching. The portrait of Jack was coming along but the bright promise of the morning had turned to a murky, dull afternoon. There was no wind but an almost ominous gloom hung in the warm air and large, dark clouds clung to the horizon. It had made her feel restless and she’d decided to explore.
The vines suddenly gave way to an open space and she was standing at the back of the studio. There was a door in the middle of the ramshackle wall but the newly cut grass grew right up to it and Keely had the impression it hadn’t been opened for a long time.
She followed the path around the building. In front of her the river meandered away to a distant bend. In the poor light of the late afternoon, the water was a deep green, a reflection of the trees that bent over it, some caressing the water with wispy branches. It was a restful sight. The path continued on down to the edge of the water, then split and followed the bank in both directions. The studio had been built above a slight bend in the river so that the front door faced a long stretch of water..
Keely dragged her gaze from the river and turned to look back at the old structure. The tin roof was speckled brown with rust. There was a wobbly verandah right across the front. The building was made of wooden slats and at one end a chimney reached above the roofline in a tower of solid brick. From the front, it looked old but not neglected. The remains of a garden still grew around an old birdbath and someone had mown the grass and cut it away from the flagstone steps that were an alternate route to the front door.
She looked around. The interest she had in the building overcame her fear that she was snooping. It was dark under the verandah and she was keen to get a closer look. She stepped up the flagstones. The front was paved with an assortment of old bricks, and two cane chairs sat either side of the door and an old bunch of dried lavender hung on the wall.
She cupped her hand to the window in the chimney end of the building and looked in. The room beyond appeared quite large. She could see a big wooden table, chairs and a couch. Glancing around once more, she moved to the door and tried the handle. It opened easily to her touch and she stepped quickly into the room.
The floor was polished wood. She walked past the big table
to the end of the room where an old wood stove and kitchen bench took up most of the wall. An even more archaic-looking rounded cream fridge and little low sink were the only other kitchen facilities. She turned back to the room. A couple of small patchwork pieces hung on the walls. It was furnished with an assortment of chairs and throw rugs and there was a cosy feel to it.
The door leading to the back was shut but opposite her the door to the bedroom was open and through it she could see an old wrought-iron bed. It was stripped, and the patchwork quilt draped over the bed end reached the floor. Another large patchwork wall hanging covered the wall above the bed.
This had to be Lucy’s studio. The place she had come to work on her patchwork. Suddenly, Keely felt guilty at her intrusion and went back to the verandah, closing the door behind her. The river caught her attention again and she sat for a moment, letting the tranquillity of the scene wash over her.
A rustling noise came from the side of the studio. Someone was coming. She stayed where she was, frozen to her seat, afraid to be caught snooping. A man came into view, dragging a large roll of poly pipe behind him. She recognised his tall frame and broad hat. It was the same bloke who had walked past the house a few days earlier.
Keely huddled into the chair. He continued down the dirt track to the river then turned and followed the path to his left, which took him past the studio. He was intent on his job and seemed unaware of Keely’s intrusion. Just as he was about to step out of her line of sight he stopped, bent down, fiddled with his boot then glanced in her direction.
Keely held her breath, silently cursing herself for being nosey.
He turned back to the pipe and walked on, dragging the bundle behind him. He mustn’t have seen her or, surely, he would have spoken.
She pushed away the thought of being an intruder and gazed along the length of the river stretched out in front of her. She could sit here if she wanted. Euan had told her to go where she liked. It was such a tranquil setting with a creative feel. It was easy to imagine Lucy would have liked it here. Maybe, if it was okay with Euan, she could spend some time at the studio. It would be the perfect place to sketch on a day with better light and she could leave her beads spread out on the table in the kitchen.
Something in the Wine Page 12
