Angel's Share

by Kayte Nunn

  CHAPTER TWO

  Half a world away, Rose Bennett was having trouble sleeping. She glanced across to Mark, who was spark out next to her, snoring loudly, the covers shuddering with every out-breath. He’d put in nearly fifteen hours at the winery the day before. During the long weeks of vintage he often worked almost around the clock, snatching a few hours’ sleep in between shifts, making sure that the pickers knew exactly what they were doing, that the quality of the grapes coming in to the crusher was up to scratch, that the ferment stayed at precisely the right temperature and didn’t get stuck or prevent the sugar in the grapes turning to alcohol … the list of jobs at this time of year was almost never-ending. There was also something else to worry about now, with rumours of a mining company sniffing around the valley.

  At this time of year, Rose counted herself fortunate to see him for more than a snatched conversation over a hastily eaten bowl of pasta or a cup of tea. But it was nearly finished, and in two days’ time they were taking the kids to the coast. She could hardly wait, and neither could Leo and Luisa, who had also barely seen their father in the last few weeks.

  There was just so much to do before they left.

  Thoughts swirled around in her head, of Leo, who was eleven and having a few problems at school, of Luisa, delightful and cheeky at nearly five, of Mark’s meeting scheduled with the accountant at the end of the week, the work still to be done at her restaurant, Trevelyn’s Pantry, and the holiday packing she hadn’t even begun…

  By the time the alarm went off some four hours later, she was groggy from the interrupted night. Mark spooned her and she felt him warm against her back, familiar and comforting, their bodies slotting together like two interlocking pieces of a well-made puzzle.

  ‘It’s early, do you have to get up just yet?’ she whispered, moving her body against his, despite her tiredness.

  He groaned. ‘Four more days, babe, then I’m all yours.’

  After a beat she unwound herself from him reluctantly and slid out from beneath the sheets. ‘Okay. Coffee?’

  ‘Legend.’

  Rose padded down the wide stairs of Kalkari House and into the sunny kitchen. It was her favourite room in the rambling old house. She loved the pale yellow enamel range that sat in a huge inglenook fireplace, and the scrubbed-oak table that, at the moment, was almost entirely covered by paper, cardboard boxes, glue, sticky tape and felt-tip pens. Leo and Luisa were designing tree houses. Leo had been begging Mark to build him one in the branches of one of the huge liquidambar trees that stood sentinel at the start of the drive, but Mark was too preoccupied with vintage to think seriously about it. Perhaps she ought to take matters into her own hands and find someone local to do it, Rose mused. It didn’t have to cost much – well, not unless they incorporated all of Leo’s grand plans, she thought as she looked at the latest elaborate construction.

  There never seemed to be enough time; she was constantly trying to keep all the balls in the air, running a fledgling business, supporting Mark in his, and trying her best to be a good stepmother. It was exhausting, but she couldn’t complain – she loved it all, the whole crazy busyness of her life. Well, apart from the mess, perhaps. She could do with less of that.

  Sweeping the models into one corner of the table, Rose waited for the kettle to boil. She heard the sounds of birds cawing their early-morning chorus outside, and over it, the distinctive cock-a-doodle-doo of Nugget, the Kalkari rooster. The sun was rising and it looked set to be another beautiful day. A scorcher, if the forecast was to be believed. It was the school holidays, and Leo loved to hang out in the winery – though he didn’t much care for the back-breaking work of picking the grapes, which was where Mark would have preferred his help. Luisa would, Rose knew, be happy to play with her and Astrid in the kitchen, where Rose had not only to prepare lunches for the winery crew and the pickers, but also do some prep for her restaurant, which was a couple of kilometres further along the Shingle Valley. The restaurant had been the home of local grape-growers Vera and Violet Trevelyn before it was gutted by fire a couple of years earlier. Rose’s brother, Henry, had bought the property and she had overseen the renovation of the old building, restoring it to its former glory, putting in a commercial kitchen and opening up the downstairs spaces to form a restaurant dining room. It was only open for lunch and dinner Friday through Sunday, but there still seemed to be so much to do every other day of the week, and Rose was anxious to get a head start on things before the weekend rush began.

  If she was lucky, she thought, she might squeeze in a quick run before it got too hot and the demands of the day overtook her. She returned upstairs to Mark, mug in hand, tiptoeing past the kids’ rooms in order not to wake them.

  Mark was already in the shower, so she left his coffee on the bedside table before slipping on a singlet, shorts and shoes and heading downstairs and out the back door.

  Kalkari House was still as imposing as when she’d first laid eyes on it, the honey-coloured stone catching the morning light, which also reflected off the panes in the large square windows. Rose never failed to be amazed by the beauty of the place that she now called home, falling in love with it afresh almost every time she stopped to gaze across the wide valley plain. She revelled in the early-morning view of the vineyards spread out across the valley, protected by the steep slopes of the Shingle Hills in the distance.

  The air was already warm and fragrant with the honeysuckle that grew along the wall at the side of the house. Rose breathed in, savouring the fresh, sweet scent. She noticed a lone magpie, hopping on the gravel at the front of the house, and looked frantically around for its mate. No joy. She did her best to dismiss the old saying – one for sorrow – from her mind as she gathered her long, dark hair in a ponytail, adjusted her running cap and set off on her favourite loop down the drive and up along the Shingle Road. She soon hit her stride and settled in to a steady pace, cares temporarily forgotten by the time she puffed up the steep hill behind the winery.

  Arriving back at the house about forty minutes later, she saw Astrid’s car parked at an angle across the drive in front of the house, as if she’d abandoned it in a hurry. The rear passenger door was still open, the hulk of a toddler’s car seat visible. Closing the door and coming into the house, Rose found the Austrian nanny in the kitchen, watching as her flaxen-haired, chubby-cheeked son spooned cereal into his mouth.

  ‘Hey, Astrid, how are you? Hello, Maxie!’ She ran a tender hand over his fair curls.

  Astrid grinned, besotted, at the toddler. ‘We’re all good here, aren’t we, Max?’

  Max flung Weetbix on the floor with fat fingers.

  ‘Did you know the car door was open?’ asked Rose.

  ‘Oh God, sorry. Max was yelling for his breakfast. I was in such a rush. He’s a holy terror when he’s starving – a bit like his dad, really.’

  Astrid had been nanny to Leo and Luisa for more than three years. When she found herself unexpectedly pregnant to local vigneron Thommo Drummond, Mark had been more than happy for her to come back to work to look after them within a few months of Max’s arrival, bringing the baby with her. Luckily for all, and his young mother especially, Max was an easygoing little soul – well, apart from when he was hungry – and Luisa, particularly, doted on him. Rose had first come to Kalkari a few months after Astrid, originally to work as an au pair and cook, and the two women had become friends, united in their mutual dislike of Isabella, Mark’s estranged, and now thankfully ex, wife.

  ‘I’ll go and see where the other two are and get them to come down for some brekky. I thought we could all go to the river for a swim this afternoon. Looks like it’s going to be a hot one. I’ve got a heap of prep to do at Trevelyn’s first though, and I really need to weed the veggie patch over there, as well as make lunches for the picking crew.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Astrid replied. ‘I’ll take the kids into Eumeralla this morning; Isabella wants me to get their hair cut. The last time, when I did it, she told me they looked worse
than refugees and I must have used pruning shears. Pah! What is wrong with using the kitchen scissors anyway?’

  Since Isabella had walked out on Mark several years before, she divided her time between the Shingle Valley and her native Spain. She was a constant thorn in Rose’s side – not that Astrid fared much better – and Rose was still completely intimidated by her glossy sophistication and cutting comments. Isabella, for her part, looked at Rose like something the cat had brought in. She treated her like an imposter who wouldn’t be sticking around for long. Certainly if she had anything to do with it. This made Rose even more tongue-tied around her, and left her feeling like a gauche teenager instead of a grown woman. She did, however, get some small satisfaction from the fact that she was in fact proving Isabella wrong by still being with Mark, nearly three years down the track. Mark did his best to keep the peace, and for her part Rose tried to steer clear of the intractable Spanish woman whenever possible, but it wasn’t always easy. She reminded herself that she was going to have to speak to Isabella that morning to see if she would bring over the kids’ swimsuits and goggles – she’d turned their rooms upside down before remembering that they’d left them at their mother’s the week before. She wasn’t looking forward to the call.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mattie tugged on the zip of her suitcase, stopping as she heard the distinctive rattle and honk of a black cab outside the window. She glanced around at the shitstorm that was her room. Clothes spilled out of drawers, magazines and books teetered on the bedside table, dirty coffee mugs and plates laid a trail towards the door. The rest of the flat wasn’t in a much better state. Cara teased her that she managed to be painstakingly efficient and organised at work, but that her home wasn’t fit to keep pigs in. She raced towards the front door, promising herself that she’d sort it all out when she got back.

  What lay ahead was far more exciting.

  She, Johnny, Cara and Nick were due to meet at the airport in an hour. She was beside herself with excitement; she’d never been to Switzerland and had been captivated by the storybook images she’d seen on the travel websites – like Heidi come to life. She hadn’t had a proper break since starting work at Three Bees almost a year ago, and couldn’t wait to escape the unrelenting London grey. Working at one of London’s most dynamic ad agencies, with a roster of fashionable, gilt-edged clients, wasn’t exactly the career of a fine artist that she’d dreamed of once upon a time, but it more than paid the bills she’d racked up as a student and she loved the creativity of the job, the energy of the people she worked with. She also loved living in a big city, the buzz of being part of such a vibrant place, and nurtured bigger dreams, perhaps at the helm of her own agency one day, or masterminding the revival of a neglected brand. She had a point to prove – to herself and to everything and everyone she’d left behind. The fact that she chewed antacid tablets as if they were breath mints and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d woken up without a headache went, in her mind at least, with the territory.

  The taxi honked again, and she took a last look around, checking she hadn’t forgotten anything essential. Hurrying downstairs, she heaved her suitcase into the cab’s boot and climbed in the back. At last she and Johnny would have some uninterrupted time together. And she and her best friend could hang out as well. It couldn’t be more perfect.

  Mattie had met Johnny just over a year ago. She’d gone out to catch up with a couple of acquaintances on a Sunday night at a pub in Covent Garden. It was a dark, noisy place, thronging with expats and backpackers, their once-familiar broad accents now sounding foreign to her. The bare floorboards were sticky with spilt beer and a booming bass thumped from a speaker above her head. As far as she was concerned it was the bowels of hell, but she’d been in the middle of a meeting at work when the message came through and had been too busy to suggest somewhere better. She eventually spotted the couple she had come to see, but it was impossible to hear even half of what they were saying over the roar of voices and music, and she didn’t plan to stay for long. One drink later she was saying her farewells. Promising to catch up with them again soon, she fought her way through the crush to the door. As she pulled on the heavy iron handle to leave, she was nearly sent flying by a tall figure pushing his way in.

  ‘Oh God, I’m terribly sorry, didn’t see you there. Are you alright? I didn’t do any serious damage, did I? Less haste more speed, hey?’

  She craned her neck upwards and saw broad shoulders encased in a striped emerald and white rugby shirt, close-cropped sandy hair and a concerned look in a pair of the clearest blue eyes she’d ever seen. The man spoke with a clipped accent but she had to stand on tiptoes to understand him above the noise in the pub. Taking a closer inventory, she noticed a faint sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Broad shoulders and freckles. A killer combination. She wasn’t sure what a posh, most likely ex-public schoolboy was doing at The Rouseabout though. It was generally strictly colonials only.

  Her voice was husky from shouting over the din. ‘Don’t worry about it, I’m fine. Honestly, I am.’

  ‘No really, I can’t believe I would trip over someone as blindingly gorgeous as you. But maybe that’s it,’ he continued hopefully, ‘perhaps I was knocked senseless by your beauty?’

  From anyone else’s lips it would have sounded like the world’s cheesiest line, but as she looked up at him she couldn’t help but be a tiny bit charmed. Still, she doubted the sincerity in his words. Though she’d inherited her fair skin and fine bone structure from her mother and her wide-set, bottle-green eyes and dark brown hair from her father, she knew that she was far from conventionally beautiful – her lips slightly uneven, the lower one fuller and pouting, her nose a little too tilted, her hair too spiky. She was also wearing her favourite faded jeans, RMs and an old t-shirt that had long ago lost its shape – far from a glamorous get-up. Cara would have been horrified.

  She leaned closer and yelled in his ear, ‘Look, it’s fine. I was just leaving.’

  ‘Are you sure I can’t buy you a drink? I’m supposed to meet someone here, but I’m rather late, and really,’ he peered into the gloom, ‘it doesn’t look exactly promising, does it? Not surprised you were on your way.’ He paused, looking pleadingly at her. ‘I know a little place round the corner; we could have a drink there. Please? I’ll be forever tormented by my rudeness if you don’t let me make it up to you.’

  Mattie entertained the idea, taking a good look at him. He was pretty damn cute, she had to admit. And he was trying very hard. On the other hand, she didn’t know this guy from a bar of soap.

  ‘I promise I’m not a stalker. Or a nutcase.’

  Had he read her mind? Despite herself, she smiled at him. Sensing weakness, he took her arm. ‘Come on, just one drink, my little antipodean pixie. Then I’ll make sure you get to wherever you need to go. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.’

  Mattie had allowed herself to be guided out of the pub and down the street.

  He had taken her to a quiet wine bar. It was just around the corner but a million miles away in style from The Rouseabout. They sat opposite each other in a candlelit booth, and it felt as if they were in their own private world.

  ‘So do you often pick up strange women in bars?’ she asked him with a smile.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said seriously. ‘Always the strange ones.’

  One drink turned into several, and they chatted easily, like old friends who had years to catch up on instead of strangers who had only just met. He teased her gently, in the same way her brother used to, and she’d forgotten how that could make her feel, as if she was cherished and indulged. She was so used to playing the hard-edged, in-control director at work, that it was nice for someone to see her differently, to take her on face value for a change.

  It wasn’t until the waiters started flicking the lights on and off that Mattie glanced up and found that they were the last couple in the place. It was time to make her escape before she did something she might regret.


  ‘Sorry, but I really do have to go. I’ve got to be up early tomorrow – you know, the work thing? But thanks for saving me from a complete dud of an evening.’ She stood up, a bit woozy from the red wine they’d shared. Definitely time to head home. He insisted on finding her a cab and she watched his disappearing figure as the cab sped away. A smile curved her lips.

  She was even more impressed when Johnny rang her at eight o’clock sharp the next day, as she was striding along Wardour Street on her way to the office, to wish her a good morning.

  At first she had been worried that starting a relationship might conflict with her job, which demanded long hours and most of her focus. But things had developed slowly and Johnny turned out to be an old-fashioned romantic. ‘I thought they’d become extinct in the last Ice Age,’ said Cara as they were discussing him at work one day. He liked to party rather more than Mattie would have liked, and whizzed her around London’s hottest nightclubs until she was almost dizzy. No doubt about it, Johnny was energetic and entertaining company and seemed very keen on her, which was extremely flattering. She was hooked, she admitted to Cara in a whispered conversation, swept off her size-five feet.

  When Johnny mentioned going skiing, she was ecstatic. They’d never been away for more than a long weekend together, so the prospect of ten days in the Swiss Alps with him by her side was beyond exciting. Actually, Mattie thought, she would have been happy to spend a holiday with him in a tent in a muddy field, but snow-covered mountains, cuckoo clocks and more chocolate than you could chuck a stick at … yep, she could go for that. When he suggested that Cara and his friend Nick might like to join them, Mattie was enthusiastic. She couldn’t think of anyone better to spend the holiday with and she could see that a foursome would be fun. And who knew? Cara and Nick might even hit it off.