by Kayte Nunn
He gave her a broad smile. ‘You’re a little pocket rocket, Tilly. You were completely fearless. I’ve never seen anything like it. That was a gutsy ride; some of those fences nearly did for Whiskey and me.’
She wasn’t sure how she felt at being called a pocket rocket, but glowed at his other compliments. ‘You mean you were watching?’
‘I might have caught some of it,’ he teased.
The presentation confirmed that she’d achieved the fastest women’s time, and had come fifth overall, even beating Charlie by nearly thirty seconds. Stepping down from the podium, she was swept up in a bear hug by a boy she barely knew. Everyone wanted to congratulate her.
She looked around in vain for Charlie. She’d wanted to share her pride in winning and show off the silver cup in her hands, but he’d turned away and she watched helplessly as he left the room, his golden head several inches above the crowd. Had he minded losing to her that much?
She never did get the chance to find out. Charlie and Thommo went off to France for vintage a few months later that year, and then to agricultural college in Adelaide the following summer. By the time they came back, Mattie was long gone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘What do you think, darling?’ the timid-looking woman asked her willowy blonde daughter, who was standing next to her at Trevelyn’s Pantry. Rose had arranged to meet them both that morning to discuss the table layout and possible decorations. Several weeks earlier, Rose had taken on the wedding booking, the first time she’d been asked to organise such a large function. She’d done a few small parties, simple canapés and wine, but as yet had not ventured into the wedding business. She had wanted to get the restaurant well and truly established first, but when a distraught mother of the bride had called her last month, in tears because her daughter’s original choice of wedding venue had fallen through, Rose didn’t have the heart to turn her down. When Susan mentioned that she and her daughter had loved their lunch at Trevelyn’s earlier that year, and that they were only having fifty guests, and it was on a Friday, and, really, anything she could do would be wonderful, Rose had caved in.
She’d emailed Susan some menu suggestions, and had prepared a couple of main course options for them to taste. She stood to one side, in her starched white chef’s jacket, feeling anxious as they looked around. Trevelyn’s Pantry was her baby, her dream of a simple, honest country restaurant that respected its setting, but now, looking at it with fresh eyes, she wondered if it scrubbed up well enough for a more formal occasion.
‘We-ell …’ Gabriella drawled. ‘It’s not the Grand Hotel ballroom now, is it?’
Susan looked apologetically at Rose. ‘I’m sure we can work with it, darling, can’t we? Go for a rustic theme instead.’
‘It’s not like we’ve exactly been left with a lot of choice,’ said Gabriella gracelessly.
A look of relief crossed Susan’s face. ‘I think it will be even better than we’d originally planned,’ she said brightly. ‘It’ll be relaxed and fun. A real country wedding.’
‘Humph. If you say so. At least the food is up to scratch, or it was when we came here last time,’ Gabriella said, flopping onto a bentwood chair.
Rose, who had been hovering while they debated with each other, came forward. ‘Would you like to try the sample menu I’ve prepared? The produce is all locally sourced, and the veggies are from our kitchen garden. Then perhaps we can discuss final numbers and anything you’d like to bring in the way of decorations, a cake, and so on, over coffee?’
Susan beamed. ‘That would be lovely, thank you, Rose.’
Rose went to get the dishes from the kitchen and placed them in front of the two women, standing back as they picked up their cutlery.
‘Not bad,’ said Gabriella after she’d tried the main dish. ‘Not bad at all.’ She took another dainty mouthful of the rare beef and dipped it in horseradish cream. ‘Got to get into my dress though,’ she said, smoothing her shirt down over a stomach that was as flat as a tack. ‘So no more for me.’ She pushed the half-eaten plate aside.
‘Absolutely delicious, Rose,’ said Susan. ‘I think we should definitely go with the beef.’
‘Lovely,’ said Rose. ‘So it’s chicken liver parfait with sorrel, followed by Shingle Valley fillet of beef with fresh horseradish, roesti potatoes and wilted greens, and then wedding cake. Now, have you thought about wines?’
‘Oh well, we want the Assignation shiraz, of course, the one that won the Jimmy Watson the other year. It’s from around here, isn’t it?’ said Gabriella, looking out of the window at the view of the valley.
‘I’m not sure how much of that particular wine is left, but I happen to know the owner very well – he’s my partner, in fact – so I think we can source some, even if it’s a later vintage.’
‘Very good,’ said Gabriella. ‘And you’ve got proper glasses, I take it?’ She looked pointedly at the enamel mugs that Rose had placed on the table in front of them.
‘Of course,’ Rose assured her. ‘Lead crystal.’
‘Good. Now, what on earth are we going to do to brighten up this place?’
Rose looked around at the pale cream walls, long timber tables and bentwood chairs. She hated to admit it, but Gabriella was right. It worked very well as a country restaurant, but it was lacking anything that gave it a suitably nuptial feel. ‘Not a problem,’ she said, thinking quickly. ‘I can track down some white linen, and then decorate the tables with flowers, and if the weather’s nice we can open the doors to the garden. We can even have the ceremony there if you like. Do you have a colour theme?’
‘Pale pink and silver,’ said Susan.
‘Perfect. How about posies of peonies, pink and cream, in glass vases down the length of the tables, perhaps with silver runners? I can get a quote for you, if you like, unless you want your florist to arrange it.’
Even Gabriella seemed satisfied by this.
Rose left Trevelyn’s after her wedding planning meeting and returned to Kalkari. She saw Mattie in her now customary spot on the verandah, laptop open beside her. Mattie had been staying with them for almost two weeks. She was improving every day, and it was good to see that she had a bit more colour in her cheeks. Sitting in the sunshine had helped get rid of the deathly pallor she’d had when she first arrived. She was finally allowed to put weight on her foot and Rose could see that she had become quite adept at hobbling between the barn and the house.
‘There you are,’ she called. ‘I’ve got a big favour to ask.’
‘Oh yes?’ Mattie replied. ‘I’m not sure I can imagine there’s much I can help you with right now, but fire away.’
‘I’ve got a wedding coming up. To be honest, I’m a bit freaked out. It’s the biggest function I’ve done so far at Trevelyn’s so I want everything to be perfect. I need to fancy up some menus, and my design skills are absolutely rubbish,’ Rose said. ‘I know it’s way below what you used to do, but do you think you might be able to take a look? Would you have some time to have a play around? Can you manage, you know, with your shoulder?’
‘Time?’ asked Mattie. ‘Yep, time is something I’ve got plenty of right now.’ She grimaced. ‘And designing a menu is a no-brainer. Let me have the copy and I’ll make it look good. I can just about use a mouse, even with my dodgy shoulder.’
‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’ Rose looked relieved. ‘You’ll be saving my arse.’
Mattie smiled. ‘Really, I could do this with one hand tied behind my back … Hah. I will be doing it with one hand behind by back. Any thoughts about colour? What sort of style are you after? What size do you want it?’
‘Oh God, I don’t know,’ said Rose. ‘We’re decorating the restaurant with pink and cream peonies, but nothing too old-fashioned or over the top, I think. Clean and modern is best. Is that enough to go on?’
‘Leave it with me,’ Mattie reassured her. ‘When do you need it by?’
‘How about yesterday? I need to get the bride to approve it as soon as possible
.’
‘Best get cracking on it right now then, huh?’
‘You’re a star, thanks so much, Mattie.’
‘Well, it’s not like I’ve got anything more urgent to do,’ she said drily. ‘But thanks, Rose. It’ll be nice to have a creative task again.’
Rose had another surprise for Mattie, something she hoped might cheer her up far more than a small job designing wedding menus. Leo and Luisa had come back from a visit to their old housekeeper, Brenda Butters, or Mrs B, as she was more affectionately known, raving about the litter of kittens her old ginger cat had recently had. ‘Rose, she says we can have one if we want. Please, pleeeease can we?’ Luisa had begged, looking at her beseechingly.
This information had planted an idea in Rose’s head and so she’d stopped in to see the old lady on her way back from the restaurant one afternoon a few days later.
‘Hello, love, how are you going? How’s everyone up at the house? You’ll stay for a cuppa?’
Mrs B’s brew was legendary in the valley. The colour of brick dust and so strong you could stand your spoon in it, but Rose didn’t dare turn her down.
‘Luisa tells me you’ve got some kittens?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Aye. Only two more that I’ve got to find a home for. Why? You’re surely not interested? Haven’t you got your hands full enough with that menagerie?’
‘Well,’ said Rose, pausing to take a sip of tea and trying not to wince at its tannic bitterness. ‘I thought it might cheer Mattie up. And Luisa’s been on my case, too. So between them both …’
‘Right-oh. Would you like to take a look at them now? They’re in the back room.’ The old lady heaved herself out of the armchair she was sitting in and made her way to the rear of the house.
‘Awww.’ Rose’s heart melted at the sight of the two tiny orange kittens, one with a snowy white chest and paws, and the other completely ginger, each one so small they fitted in the palms of Brenda’s roughened hands. ‘They’re divine! But I’m not sure I could decide between them.’
‘Tell you what, these are the last of the litter and I’ve got to find them a home. Why don’t you take them both? I’ll go halves with you on the vet bill.’
Rose reached out towards the completely ginger one. ‘May I?’
‘Of course, love. Here, take them.’
Rose knew Brenda was trying to get her to fall in love with both of them, but nevertheless let her place the two mewling balls of fur in her hands. They were soft as gossamer and, like two little twin turbo engines, they began purring as she gathered them to her chest. She didn’t hesitate.
‘It’s a deal.’
Oh Lord. What was Mark going to say? They already had a dog, a pony and two goldfish. She wasn’t sure how he’d react to two more additions to the Kalkari family. As a child she’d been completely dotty about animals, lavishing the family cat with affection. It was the only pet her mother had allowed them to have. She was more than making up for it now.
‘Uno!’ Leo shouted.
‘Not again!’ Mattie groaned and folded her hand.
She was sitting in the large, sunny kitchen at Kalkari, playing cards at the scrubbed-oak table, Luisa sitting beside her. Max drummed on his highchair with a plastic spoon as Astrid cooked spaghetti for them all.
Rose crept into the room, a carrying case hidden behind her back. ‘Hey, kids, guess what?’
Four pairs of eyes looked curiously at her. Max was still looking at his spoon.
‘Ta-da!’ she said, revealing the carrying case with a flourish and placing it on the floor.
‘Pussy cat? Pussy cat?’ said Luisa, hearing the frantic mewling that was coming from the case. ‘For me?’
‘Well, one is for you, darling, and the other is really for Mattie. I thought she might like some company. Shall we get them out?’
Luisa clapped her hands together in excitement and slid down off her chair. ‘Ooof, careful, darling,’ said Mattie as Luisa’s foot connected with her ankle.
The little girl was oblivious. ‘A pussy cat, a pussy cat!’
Rose handed one little ginger kitten over to Luisa. ‘Gentle now, sweetheart,’ she cautioned. She carefully placed the other into Mattie’s good hand. ‘Don’t they just melt your heart?’ she said, hoping Mattie would agree.
‘Oh baby, you are so tiny. Aren’t you gorgeous, hey? So what are we going to call you?’ Mattie held it up to her face. ‘Who do you look like, little ginger miss?’
‘Oh, she’s so soft, Rosie,’ said Luisa, her eyes shining with delight.
Rose looked across at the little girl, ecstatically cuddling her fluffy bundle, and down to the kitten mewling in Mattie’s arms.
‘I’m not sure I’m really ready to be responsible for a cat, if it’s all the same to you, Rose,’ said Mattie eventually. ‘Besides, what happens when I leave here?’
‘Let’s worry about that later, hey? Why not enjoy her for as long as you like?’
Mattie looked at the little kitten again, holding her up to her face. ‘Alright then,’ she said, eyeballing her. ‘How about Gin for you, and Tonic for Luisa’s?’
‘Oh, I love it!’ said Rose, clapping her hands together. ‘Perfect.’
Only Leo looked unimpressed. ‘Who needs stupid old cats anyway?’ he said to no one in particular. ‘And Luisa’s got a pony. It’s not fair.’
‘Come on now, don’t forget you’ve got Barnsie,’ said Astrid, trying to console him.
‘And he’s much better at tricks, in any case,’ said Rose.
‘Yeah, I suppose,’ Leo grumbled, reshuffling the cards.
Mattie stroked her kitten, whose tail was switching like a conductor’s baton. ‘I mustn’t get too attached,’ she murmured.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘There are vineyards that date back to the 1800s in this valley!’ Bob Drayfield roared. ‘If the bloody mines start taking over our land, it’ll be the end of us. What gives them the right, hey? Hey? It doesn’t smell right to me – it’s as dodgy as a three-day-old prawn.’
There was a loud cheer of agreement from those who had gathered at Trevelyn’s Pantry for a meeting of the valley’s winemakers, growers and other business owners. Basically, anyone connected to the valley was there.
‘Yeah, what about the salinity? Not to mention the noise.’
‘We’ll end up with a wasteland,’ said another.
‘No doubt about it, it’ll kill off tourism too,’ Amanda Davies, whose parents ran Bellbirds, a B&B further along the valley, chimed in.
Looking out from the kitchen, where she was serving up refreshments, Rose could see that the room was packed with many familiar faces: Deano and Angie from Lilybells, Bob and his wife, Sadie, Amanda, Thommo and Charlie Drummond, their parents, Bill and Sheree, as well as many others. These people were the lifeblood of the region; their grandfathers and great-grandfathers and their fathers before them had planted the vines that now threaded their way across the valley floor. They were the reason that this area was such a drawcard for visitors, for food, wine and music lovers and why the Shingle Valley had become a renowned wine region not just in Australia, but throughout the world, with bottles flying to all corners of the globe.
‘What exactly is fracking anyway?’ asked Amanda, who had driven up from the city especially for the meeting.
‘It’s when they drill at high pressure and inject liquid into the rock to split it – to fracture it,’ explained Dan. ‘It releases the natural gas in the rock. It uses massive amounts of water, as well as a stack of chemicals, including mercury, lead and uranium. Chemicals that will get into our groundwater. Poison our kids.’
‘Not to mention that there’ll be trucks going through the valley at all times of the day and night,’ said Thommo.
‘And the dust that it creates,’ added Mark. ‘That’s potentially poisonous too. How can we be expected to carry on making wine with something like that affecting it? Let alone raise our families here.’ There was a lot of grumbling from the crowd. ‘Alr
ight,’ he said, trying to bring calm to the room. I think we’re all agreed that mining would be disastrous for the valley, for the soil, the grapes, our businesses and for tourism. But the question is, how can we stop it happening? What can we do? We need to act, and act quickly.’
The meeting had been called after Mark had been able to confirm that Tarrawenna, a large winery with vineyards at the southern end of the valley, had recently been sold to Tin Pei Resources, a Chinese energy company. The threat of coal seam gas mining had loomed over the valley for years, with only the northern end zoned for tourism and agriculture, but this latest development raised the stakes considerably. Ironically, before he died, the former owner of Tarrawenna had been one of the valley’s most outspoken opponents of mining in the area. Everyone agreed that it was a tragedy that this had been allowed to happen, though sadly the clash between mines and vines was not a new one.
‘We’re not the only ones in the country facing this. I think we should contact other regions and find out what they’ve done, how they’ve taken action,’ said Bill Drummond.
‘Good idea,’ replied Mark.
‘What about a PR campaign? I can get in touch with the local paper and some of the metro ones,’ suggested Amanda. ‘We can also get up a petition and go and talk to Jeremy Bell. See what he can do.’
‘Good luck with that,’ said Charlie. Jeremy Bell was the local MP for the valley, but most people only saw him in the region once or twice a year, when he came to present prizes at the Eumeralla school fete or the local horse show. It was universally acknowledged that he was fairly useless. ‘He’d struggle to pour water out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel,’ was the oft-quoted saying.
‘How about the State Planning Commission?’ suggested someone else.
‘Right,’ said Mark. ‘I’ll look into that, and try to speak to Jeremy. Anyone else got any other ideas?’
‘I reckon we should form an organisation, you know, give ourselves a name. It’ll help with the PR,’ said Amanda.
