Do something! he told himself. He saw the owner of de Bortoli’s Wines, who’d flown down from Griffith, no doubt to sniff out any new wines being produced, and to glean a little inside industry information. ‘Come, let me introduce you to a few people. You may remember some of them from your engagement party.’
Marta saw a waiter passing by with a full tray of drinks. ‘But first another wine, yes?’
He gave an inward sigh. Keeping Marta stonecold sober was going to be a challenge. ‘Of course.’
For someone who’d probably drunk wine with dinner from an early age, as Rolfe and his siblings had, that Marta was more than a little inebriated by the time the wine-tasting wound up surprised him although she was far from being falling-down drunk. Even so she had to cling to his arm to control her wobbly legs as they walked back to the car. An evening breeze that rustled through a small stand of gums made Marta move her head from side to side to catch the wind in her hair. Rolfe took off his suit coat after he’d closed the door on her side of the Mercedes, glad to be rid of it. And after putting the vehicle’s top down because it was cooler now, he slid behind the wheel. Marta put her hand on his shirt sleeve.
‘I had a lovely time. Thank you, Rolfe. I…I think you and I are going to be gute freunde.’ Sighing, she leant her head back against the leather seat and closed her eyes.
With her eyes closed he was able to look his fill at her and he did until the tightness in his chest grew to being almost unbearable. Good friends. He knew he wanted more than friendship. His jaws clamped together until the muscle hurt. Yes, much more. Agitated by the progression of his thoughts he ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair. He found her watching him thoughtfully through a veil of half-lowered lashes.
‘I like your hair, Rolfe, the way it curls around your neck and its waviness. It’s not like Kurt’s, his is so straight and short.’
Her words were slow and slurred, then she reached up to finger comb several locks back off Rolfe’s face. He drew back, retreating from her intimate gesture, and cleared the huskiness from his throat. It broke the sense of intimacy between them and, embarrassed, he turned the key and started the engine.
It was pleasant listening to the sound of her laugh as he drove down the darkened, dirt road. Her laughter sounded so free, with an undertone of sexiness to it. ‘Go faster, Rolfe. I love speed. I love to feel the wind racing through my hair. It’s so exhilarating.’
He glanced at her, saw her expression, how lovely she looked and though common sense told him not to, the urge to impress, to please, took hold of him. He pushed his foot down harder on the accelerator and the Mercedes leapt forward.
‘Wheee!’ Marta squealed. ‘Wunderbar.’
One of the back wheels hit a depression in the road. The steering wheel spun sideways and for a few seconds he lost control. The car slid off the verge of the road and as he applied his foot to the brakes, hard, the car came to an abrupt stop but not before the front fender made contact with a fallen tree branch. Angry, Rolfe hit the steering wheel hard with his hands. Several seconds later he got out of the car to inspect the damage but even with the headlights on it was difficult to see any scratches or dents. He would need the cold, hard light of day for that. ‘Damn. Kurt will kill me.’
‘I’ll tell him it was my fault, that I made you speed.’
He rolled his eyes at her. ‘I don’t think that will impress him.’ Nor his father! They would both be angry with him.
Marta patted his knee, just once. ‘Nein, it will be all right, you’ll see.’
He didn’t know why but he believed her. His gaze narrowed as he turned his head to stare at her, wondering…was he seeing another dimension in Marta, an ability to manipulate things to her point of view? He was beginning to see that there was more to her than the surface glamour, the charm. And, agonisingly, he found that made her all the more intriguing to him.
Oh, Dad… Carla looked up from the journal. She had been concentrating so hard on reading that her eyes were sore, then, with a tiny gasp of surprise she realised that she was more than halfway through the journal. It didn’t take much imagination on her part to see where the entries were heading—to a one-sided love affair. Was that why he’d left the Barossa, she wondered, because he grew to being unable to bear the sight of Kurt and Marta together? But she shouldn’t presume…Her gaze dropped to the next page.
In his navy singlet, rolled-up shorts and muchworn workboots he looked no more the owner of Krugerhoff than his workmates, Otto and Ernst. The sweet-sour smell of the continuing fermentation process was enough to take one’s breath away in the confines of the large tin shed jokingly called the winery, as opposed to a distillery where brandy and other fortified alcohol was made. The three had racked the clean juice away from the sediment and were checking and debating how much yeast should be added. He listened intently to Otto and Ernst, and had to trust their collective judgement after years of experience in winemaking.
Marta’s unexpected arrival was enough of a distraction to end their debate. She stood at the doorway to the winery and the men stared at her like love-struck schoolboys. She looked beautiful in her figure-hugging slacks and a light wool sweater. The weather had cooled down rapidly after the wine-tasting at Seppelts.
‘I have come to see how the wine is made,’ she said simply. ‘You promised to show me, remember,’ Marta spoke to Rolfe, adding in a soft tone, ‘It is convenient, yes?’
‘Umm, oh! Of course. I’d be delighted…’ He frowned as he thought of something. ‘Kurt knows you’re here?’
‘No.’ She shrugged her shoulders as if it wasn’t important that he should. ‘He told me last night that I must learn to amuse myself but,’ she pouted in a manner similar to Lisel, ‘it is hard to. Greta does not need help at Stenhaus because Lilly and the occasional daily help take care of things there. Lisel, who I am very fond of, is at school most of the day, and Kurt and Papa Carl are always at Rhein Schloss. They leave early in the morning and don’t return until after dark. I play with Luke, read him stories and that sort of thing. He is a dear little boy but…’
‘I understand,’ Rolfe nodded. ‘Come, we’ll go and see the vines, that’s where it all starts. They’re just beginning to lose their leaves. Then we’ll walk and I’ll talk you through the winemaking process.’
‘Sehr Goot, Rolfe. I was afraid you would be too busy to bother with me, and I do want to learn the business so Kurt and I can discuss matters.’
Then he came up with an idea. ‘Perhaps,’ he hesitated. Should he ask? Why not? ‘Perhaps you would like to do some work here for me.’
An hour later they’d toured the winery and seen the vats, pipes, racks for the bottled wine and other paraphernalia involved in the winemaking process. Marta’s expression showed some alarm when Rolfe asked again if she wanted to help. ‘Not to work in the winery, but in the office. I’ve made one of the bedrooms in the cottage my office but I’m way behind with the paperwork. In fact, the whole office needs to be properly organised.’ His smile was meant to be reassuring. ‘It would only take a little of your time. I’m in the process of designing the wine label for Krugerhoff too—some of it’s bottled but not labelled.’ In truth, he had designed the label but not had any printed and she was an arts student. Perhaps she would have better ideas than he had.
Marta smiled with delight. ‘I would love to help you design the label.’
Rolfe grinned at her enthusiasm but tempered it with the proviso, ‘So long as Kurt approves.’
‘Oh, that will be no trouble,’ she waved her hand about airily. ‘He will be glad that I am—how do you say it?—occupied, until work at Rhein Schloss slows down and he has time for me.’
His grin widened at her animated expression. ‘Good.’ He wasn’t going to think about how hard it would be seeing so much of her, having her close. No, he was not going to allow himself to dwell on that.
For the next three weeks Marta came for approximately three hours a day, three days a week. She surp
rised Rolfe by being an industrious worker and he only had to tell her something once and she was able to do it. After she had organised the office she set about humanising the rest of the cottage with odds and ends brought over from Stenhaus. A rug for the living room floor. Ornaments here and there and on the mantelpiece. A set of crockery for the kitchen and cutlery too. A selection of wine glasses, and curtains—she’d found old ones packed in the basement at the big house—for all the rooms.
He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he liked things plain, few fancy things and flounces, because adding the womanly touches gave her such pleasure and in turn it delighted him to see her happy. They settled on the design for the label: a shield on which lay a diagonal wavy line depicting the creek that flowed through Krugerhoff, a bunch of grapes and two wine glasses, one in front of the other. That had been Marta’s suggestion and he’d thought it a good one.
One Friday, late in the afternoon, they were among the vines. He was showing her how to tie the vines and run the thin branches horizontally along the wires, fixing them every nine feet with strands of wire to keep them secure. Above, the sky was heavy with dark clouds. A storm was approaching from the south. The wind had dropped but it had a moist, earthy smell to it and an ominous stillness pervaded the vines and the bush. No birds were twittering to each other; there were no insect sounds.
‘We’d better head back,’ Rolfe decided, after glancing up at the sky. The clouds had turned a dark greenish-grey and were heavy with moisture. ‘If we run we probably won’t get wet.’
‘I will race you. Come on,’ Marta said and with a challenging laugh she took off.
Rolfe pushed his secateurs and the wires into the back pocket of his trousers, and ran after her. There was just one warning clap of thunder followed by a slash of forked lightning and the storm was upon them. Droplets the size of two shilling pieces hit the earth in rapid succession and in seconds the shower became a deluge, soaking them to the skin before they could reach the cottage’s back door. Inside, and through the kitchen and down the hall, they left a rivulet of puddles all the way into the living room.
‘I’ll light a fire.’ He moved to the fireplace where logs and kindling were stacked beside the grate: the Barossa could get very cold in winter. He saw Marta hug herself, her lips quivering with cold. ‘In the bathroom you’ll find towels to dry yourself. Take your wet things off, and we’ll dry them by the fire. There’s a few blankets in the linen cupboard. You can wrap one around you till your clothes are dry.’
He saw her indecision and that her shivering was getting worse. ‘Go on, you don’t want to catch cold, do you? After I’ve lit the fire I’ll put the kettle on. A hot cup of coffee and a brandy will warm us up.’ At that she nodded in agreement and turned towards the hallway.
Flicking wet hair back off his forehead, Rolfe knelt near the fireplace and reached for the box of matches that rested on top of the basket of firewood. In next to no time, the fire had struck. He stripped off his boots and sweater and dropped them on the floor, then padded out to the kitchen, lit the gas on the stove, filled the kettle with water and put it on to boil. He didn’t have a coffee percolator so instant coffee would have to do. Spooning the dark grains into two cups, he searched through the small pantry cupboard for the bottle of brandy he kept, strictly for emergencies. Half-filling two wine glasses with the brandy, he waited until the water boiled, made the coffee, found milk and a bowl of sugar and put it all on a wooden tray which he took into the living room where the fire was burning well, crackling and spitting.
‘Marta, are you okay?’
‘Ja.’ She stood in the living room doorway, the blanket clutched to her in American Indian style. ‘But I am freezing. The rain was so cold.’
‘Sit close to the hearth, you’ll soon warm up. I’ll bring your clothes out so they can dry.’ It was important to be doing something physical, he thought as he followed Marta’s wet footprints down the timber-floored hallway into the bathroom. He wrung as much moisture out of her clothes as he could and carried them back to the fire. Moving and rearranging the dining-table chairs into makeshift clotheslines he draped the wet garments over them and moved the chairs closer to the fireplace.
Outside the storm raged, pelting sheets of rain against the window panes and onto the roof, hitting with such force that Marta and Rolfe had to speak loudly to each other to be heard over the noise.
‘Does it rain like this very often?’ Marta asked. She ran her slate-coloured gaze over the room and her drying clothes, then stared, almost hypnotically, into the fire’s flames as she sipped the hot coffee.
‘It’s a seasonal thing. That’s why it’s important to know weather patterns and when to pick the grapes. If they were still on the vines, half the fruit would be ruined by now.’
‘But won’t the storm still damage the vines?’
Bare-chested, he sat on the sofa next to her, then he remembered his wet trousers and stood up again. ‘It will. Especially the finer tendrils of the smaller vines. Some of the trellises will come down too but that damage can be repaired. It’s not like losing half the harvest.’ Uncomfortable in his wet pants he said, ‘I’ll go and change.’
The wardrobe in the one furnished bedroom had an assortment of work clothes he had gradually brought over from Stenhaus. He chose blue jeans and a lightweight zip-up jacket and put them on. When he came back to the living room Marta was kneeling in front of the fire, one hand around the blanket while the other lifted her long straight hair towards the fire, trying to get it dry. The blanket had slipped off one shoulder, revealing her creamy, lightly tanned skin to his gaze.
He remembered how she looked in a bathing suit, having seen her in the pool with Kurt, but now his imagination and sense of arousal rose several degrees because he knew that she was naked under the blanket. It was a mistake to glance at her lacy bra and lace-edged panties drying over one of the chairs. A rush of heat blasted through him. He tore his gaze away and glanced at the window, noting that it was getting dark. Kurt, if he were home, would be concerned as to Marta’s whereabouts.
Damn, her being here was no good. He had to get her out of the cottage before he did or said something stupid. ‘It’s getting late. I have some clothes you can wear home. I-I’ll get them for you, and, and as soon as the rain eases…’
She glanced across at him through a veil of sable hair, parting the locks to see him more clearly. Her gaze ran over him again, assessingly this time and lingered on the breadth of his shoulders and the tautness of his chest under the half-zipped jacket. His hair was mussed up too from where he’d roughly towelled it dry. He watched her free hand reach for the brandy. The glass was already almost empty. She downed the rest of it.
‘So, you are tired of me being here?’ She blinked several times and her lower lip trembled. Averting her gaze she said in a little-girl voice, ‘I understand.’
‘No, it’s not that.’ Damn. Now he had hurt her feelings. Repentant, he knelt by the fire opposite her, anxious to appease. ‘I-I just think it would be better. Your clothes, the sweater in particular will take ages to dry.’
Marta didn’t answer. Licking the residue of brandy off her lips, she inched closer till she could reach across and touch his face. ‘Dear Rolfe. You are so sweet.’
It was her touch that did it.
All the pent-up feelings he had been repressing for weeks, the nights he’d spent dreaming about her, imagining her in his arms, pushed his control over the edge. Involuntarily his hand reached up to hold hers against his cheek, then slowly he moved it to his mouth to kiss it. He saw her eyes widen with surprise and…something else, delight. Her mouth opened in a silent ‘oh’. She moved closer till their torsos were almost touching…
He was only a man and he was in love, so he did what men have done throughout the ages. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her even though he knew it was foolish, that his behaviour would destroy the friendship they had, that if she told Kurt there would be repercussions beyond his imagining
. However, at this special moment in time he was only vaguely aware of all that—he didn’t care. He wanted, needed this moment with her because, fatalistically, he knew that it would have to last him a lifetime.
Anticipation turned to amazement when she didn’t pull away when, in fact, she kind of melted against him and…kissed him back with equal fervour. It was, she was, magnificent! So soft, so warm, so giving. How could he resist? He knew he couldn’t. Aware of their trembling, his hands slipped beneath the blanket and began to stroke her body. Oh, how wonderful that was. Fingertips found her breast, circled it, rolled the nipple between his fingers, felt it harden with arousal, just as another part of his own body was hardening in response to his tentative lovemaking.
The feeling was intense, heady, overpowering. Suddenly she pulled back from him and in her dark eyes he saw the reflection of his face and the passion he was betraying—the desire, the need. She gave him a little smile and while he was not worldly in the ways of love, he could not mistake its meaning. There was a sensual encouragement in the way her lips curled at the edges and her own breathing had become as hoarse as his own, especially when his hands found other tantalising parts of her body to caress beneath the blanket.
‘You are so beautiful,’ Rolfe whispered.
He ran a trail of kisses from her ear lobe down her cheek to the side of her throat, but that wasn’t enough, he wanted more. He got to his feet, bringing her with him and in the doing the blanket fell away completely…because she let it go. Marta arched against him, invitingly, and the fingers of her right hand traced along his jawline, up into his hair and then ran through it, combing it back from his face.
‘I love you, Marta…’
She smiled at him; it was an age-old, knowing smile. She whispered back, ‘I know.’
She cupped his face with her hands, and kissed him again, running her tongue between his teeth until his tongue met hers in a brief, passionate duel. ‘I want you, Rolfe…’ She took hold of his hand and, still smiling, pulled him towards the hallway that led to the bedrooms. ‘Right now.’
Sundown Crossing Page 5
