‘I heard that Pieter Schmidt, foreman at the Riverside Winery near Angaston, has been asked to leave,’ Lisel got the ball rolling.
‘The man’s a fool,’ Josh, who knew everyone of importance in the Valley, commented with a snide smile. ‘Pieter was caught red-handed knocking off several cases of cabernet sauvignon, the vintage Riverside won a gold medal for last year. The theft might have been overlooked if it hadn’t been the gold medal wine. Riverside have been guarding that strenuously for export.’
‘He was unlucky,’ Carl rasped, stabbing the air with his fork. ‘Staff pilfering goes on at quite a few wineries, as in all kinds of businesses. It’s a fact of life owners have to accept.’
Margit came in with a tray to clear the plates and cutlery. Greta rose to help and supervise the serving of the main course.
‘The owner of Riverside should have Schmidt charged,’ Lisel, her mouth thinning vindictively, stated. ‘It would be an object lesson for others in the Valley.’
‘Wouldn’t stop the thefts, my dear. Such practices are endemic,’ Carl’s reply was matter of fact. Then, tiring of the subject, he changed it. ‘Onto other matters. Young Luke,’ Carl’s blue eyes speared into his grandson’s, ‘what news of Krugerhoff?’
‘I received a polite refusal, faxed yesterday,’ Luke told him. ‘I’m considering flying to New Zealand to make an offer personally.’
‘No.’ Carl shook his mass of snow-white hair at his grandson. At eighty-two he could have passed for being more than ten years younger than his real age. His skin was healthy and tanned from spending many hours outdoors, and he had a reputation for being as healthy as a man almost half his age. ‘Not smart tactics to show that much interest. The woman, if she has half a brain in her head, will conclude that the land’s worth more than you’re offering for it.’
‘It is, Papa,’ Greta said. ‘Everyone knows that.’
‘She might not,’ Carl replied, his features settling into cunning lines. ‘I suggest you wait a week and up your offer by ten thousand dollars. From what you’ve told me, Krugerhoff is the only worthwhile inheritance she received, and that her…father’s,’ he struggled over the word, ‘New Zealand vineyard is in debt.’
‘According to my sources,’ Luke confirmed.
‘Then unless she’s a fool, she will accept your offer.’
‘Better get in quick,’ Josh Aldrich suggested, his eagerness to be included in the conversation obvious. ‘Other realty offices in town will no doubt relay offers to her because of Krugerhoff’s prime location.’
Carl’s hand landed with a thud on the table, making the cutlery clunk noisily. ‘I want that land.’ His tone deepened, like the distant, ominous roll of thunder. ‘It belonged to Stenmark more than thirty years ago and there is no longer an…“impediment” to it becoming ours again.’
‘Yes, Grandfather. I am sure she’ll come round to the sense of selling it.’ Luke acceded to the head of the family’s demands.
Lisel, sitting diagonally opposite Luke, smiled reassuringly at him. ‘Don’t fuss so, Papa, Luke will be successful.’ She reached across to pat her nephew’s hand. ‘We know he’s very good at what he does, whether it’s working for Rhein Schloss or using Michaels Realty to buy up more land for cultivation.’
It was good to have his aunt on his side and Luke’s smile said so. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Lisel.’
This time it was his father who changed the topic of conversation, bringing up matters of business. Luke let the talk flow around him, only half-listening to what was being said, his thoughts wandering elsewhere. It was clear that his grandfather, even after so long, couldn’t bear to mention his younger son’s name out loud, even though he’d died. When informed of Rolfe’s death he had shown scant interest in knowing anything about Rolfe or his descendants—a granddaughter named Carla Hunter, and a great-grandson. He was and had for years been obsessed by the idea of getting Krugerhoff back as if, in some strange way, that would bring a sense of balance to the past.
His mother’s reaction had been different. She had wanted to know everything he had gleaned from his New Zealand source about her brother’s family. Contact between Rolfe and herself had dwindled and petered out when Rolfe migrated to New Zealand. All she knew was that he’d married and had a daughter. That was the last contact she’d had, leaving her to assume that he had settled down and was happy. Rolfe had been his mother’s favourite brother, and Luke had heard the story of how and why Rolfe had been disinherited many times. So foolish, really, by today’s less strict standards. That his grandfather had antiquated ideas on morality and correct behaviour was obvious. Today, should such a situation occur, he was sure it would be handled differently.
As the main course was placed in front of him, Luke’s thoughts moved back through his childhood, focusing on what he knew about Krugerhoff. A kind of mystique had developed around Krugerhoff. Rolfe had left the Valley so quickly, disappearing virtually without a trace, several older kids—second graders—had, when Luke was in kindergarten at the local primary school, theorised that Rolfe had been killed by Kurt or Carl in a rage and that his body lay buried somewhere on Krugerhoff. Being five and too young to think it through logically, with the older boys, he had made several expeditions onto Krugerhoff land.
The boys had tried, unsuccessfully, to get into the buildings and find Rolfe’s grave and even now, so many years on he could recall the eerie feeling of exploring what was, in the Stenmark household, forbidden territory. On their last sortie Otto, an old man who’d once worked for Rolfe, and the vineyard’s unofficial caretaker, had discovered them and scared the living daylights out of all of them. After that his interest in Krugerhoff had done an about-turn and he’d not gone back. It wasn’t until his teen years that Greta had assured him that Rolfe wasn’t dead, and that he was living in New Zealand, dispelling once and for all the murder theory. His mother had had a good chuckle when he’d confessed what he and the other boys had done years before.
Now Rolfe Stenmark-Kruger was dead. That advice had been received from a real estate agent in Marlborough on New Zealand’s South Island—he’d had the man on a retainer to advise him of any ‘movements’ concerning the Valley View Winery. With Rolfe’s death the final chapter in the love story that had caused the family so much grief had been written. He sneaked a glance at Carl who was distracted by something Lisel was saying. Perhaps now Grandfather could put the past behind him and move on emotionally, but, he suspected, not until Krugerhoff was reunited with Stenmark’s vast holdings.
‘Enough talk of expanding markets and promotions,’ Carl said grumpily after listening patiently for five minutes while Lisel explained some promotion strategy. He turned towards Josh Aldrich. ‘I’ve heard there’s bunch rot at that new vineyard north of the Valley, Jackson’s Landing. What do you know about it?’
‘It’s true, Mr Stenmark,’ Josh said respectfully. ‘They’ll have big trouble in spring if they don’t get it under control.’
‘Our vines?’ Carl shot the question at Josh.
‘They’re fine, sir, every last one of them.’ Josh grinned with relief when Carl nodded that he was pleased by that information.
‘It’s a nasty disease that bunch rot,’ Carl said with a shake of his head. ‘And John, what’s this I hear about de Bortoli expanding into Victoria?’
‘That’s been confirmed,’ John Michaels said. ‘They won’t be the only ones doing it either.’
‘The Barossa’s still the best place for growing grapes,’ Carl defended the Valley staunchly. He saw it as the finest area in the world for vine cultivation.
‘Yes, Grandfather,’ Luke agreed, ‘but other vineyards are diversifying because Australian palates have become more attuned to the many different wines available now. More than they were twenty to thirty years ago.’
Carl chuckled. ‘You’re right about that. When I took over Rhein Schloss, most Australian men and women drank beer or soft-drinks. There was almost a national distrust of wine. It
was foreign, something migrants drank. Nowadays, what with migrants coming in from more countries than you can shake a stick at, the Anglo-Australian has been educated to the value and taste of good wine. Business is booming.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Lisel chipped in with and raised her glass to everyone.
‘And you’re doing good work in promotions, Lisel,’ Carl admitted, if grudgingly.
Because Carl Stenmark gave compliments rarely, to do with Rhein Schloss, Lisel’s cheeks tinted pink. ‘Thank you, Papa.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Luke agreed. He knew it had taken a long time for Lisel to find her niche at Rhein Schloss after her two failed marriages. One of the reasons she enjoyed promoting their products was because doing so gave her the opportunity to travel overseas on a regular basis. This suited everyone because, Lisel, in a bad mood or depressed, as she sometimes became, had a venomous tongue that made her hard to live with especially when compared to his mother who was a gentle, caring woman.
Lisel was a chameleon and a cunning one at that. Many people, like staff at work or at home, had experienced the lash of her sharpness but others, like his father and grandfather, were treated to a very different Lisel. To them she was almost perfect. Capable and vivacious, she refrained from showing them the other side of her personality. He had never been on the wrong side of her temper personally but his mother and others had been less fortunate. Still, it was hard not to like Lisel. She showed such interest in him and had done so since he’d worn short pants. Played with him when he was young, helped him to study, encouraged him through university and later, to diversify and open the realty office in Nuriootpa. She had even paraded a host of young women through the house in the hope that he’d find a suitable mate though he hadn’t so far. Her continuing interest made him believe that his aunt looked upon him as her surrogate child, the one she had never had, despite her marriages.
It didn’t matter to her that, strictly speaking, he was not of Stenmark blood. His mother had been unable to conceive naturally and after seven years of a childless marriage, he had been adopted. That didn’t matter to Grandfather either. At just on thirty-four he was being groomed to take control of Rhein Schloss when Grandfather retired. If and when he retired! Rhein Schloss was his life and Luke couldn’t imagine him not being involved. The wine business had been his salvation after Rolfe’s banishment and later, after Kurt and Marta’s deaths. And even though Grandfather was now an octagenarian he couldn’t picture Carl Stenmark not being at the company’s helm for several more years at the very least what with its many vineyards under the company banner, and with its export trade growing every season.
After dessert they gravitated to the living room, which his mother had redecorated and made more comfortable. Margit had already deposited a cheese platter and biscuits on the coffee table, together with a percolator, cups and a bottle of port.
Lisel, more often than not at this time, was first to take her leave. ‘I’ve a date in town,’ she told everyone. She winked at Luke and said quietly enough so that only he heard the words, ‘Wish me luck, hey!’
He knew his aunt well, and that it was likely she wouldn’t return home until tomorrow, sneaking in without Grandfather knowing she’d had a romantic liaison. Everyone at Stenhaus was used to Lisel’s amorous ways but no one told Grandfather that his youngest daughter had, over the years, become sexually promiscuous. They deemed it wiser for the old man to maintain the illusion that Lisel was…normal. However, Luke knew there would, invariably, be a man waiting for her at some prearranged rendezvous. Her affairs with men—often younger than herself—were always passionate and brief, with Lisel controlling the situation and the assignations.
‘Don’t know where she gets the energy,’ Greta said with a shake of her head as she took the silver tray around.
‘From when she was very small that one always had plenty of energy.’ Carl reminisced. ‘Lisel could wear us all out, especially her mother.’ In momentary reflection his gaze settled on the painting of Anna Louise. A melancholy smile curved his mouth and softened his aged features. He raised his port glass in a silent salute to his long-dead wife.
‘With all her energy Lisel’s a great asset to the company, sir. Always coming up with innovative ideas for promoting and marketing,’ Josh said as he followed Carl’s gaze to the portrait. Anna Louise had been a looker in her day, he thought as he sipped the quality port. Rhein Schloss had a reputation for putting down the best port in the Valley, ageing it in oak casks for eight to ten years and selling the bottles of liqueur port for obscenely high prices.
Josh watched Lisel slip unobtrusively from the room. Slut! That’s what she was and everyone in the room other than the old man knew it. Wouldn’t mind a bit of a lash with her, he admitted, but he was too smart to come on to the high and mighty Lisel, even though he’d heard that she didn’t mind a bit of rough-and-tumble sex. Still, he gave her credit for being discreet. She chose her partners from people she worked with, or amongst those in the Valley—discontented husbands, travellers, even the occasional tourist who took her fancy.
He knew all about Lisel because Josh made it his business to know as much as he could about the Stenmarks. Knowledge was power and he was into power, seeing it as a way to better himself. Sucking up to Luke and old Carl helped too. He’d risen from the bottle-packing line on the winery floor to operations manager in three years. They didn’t realise he was brown-nosing, but while he had moments of self-loathing for doing it, he did so because he saw it as a means to an end. His ultimate goal was to get into executive management, away from the blue-collar workers and the smell of fermentation. Being an executive, he’d decided, was where the real money and power lay.
Though he’d been at the Stenmark home before, Josh’s gaze wandered around the room again, taking in the décor of understated elegance and wealth. Greta, like Anna Louise before her, had superb taste. He’d been invited to dinner a couple of times and he wanted Carl to make it a regular thing. If that happened it would show everyone that he had an inside track to the inner circle of Rhein Schloss management, and that he was becoming indispensable to the old man and the heir apparent.
Luke could definitely be regarded as the heir now because Carl’s other son, Rolfe, had died without making things up with the old man. He knew about Rolfe’s banishment, everyone in the Valley did, but the man must have been some kind of fool not to weasel his way back into favour once Kurt was out of the picture.
Carl wanting the Krugerhoff acres was interesting too, he thought. The old man was a possessive bugger. A pity, really. He had some money put aside and wouldn’t have minded bidding for the land himself but if the Stenmarks wanted it, no doubt they’d be the ones who’d get it. Josh controlled the inclination to sneer. The Stenmarks were always successful because having a great deal of money and influence assured that they would be.
He held his glass out when John offered a second port. Shit, man, wasn’t this the life and boy, he was hungry for a bigger slice of it. Maybe, he thought as he sipped the smooth liquid, he’d take a drive and check out Krugerhoff when he got a spare moment. See why old Stenmark wanted it so much.
Angie drove the hired compact Mazda along the Barossa Valley Highway because she knew the Valley, having spent several years at the viticulture college, before working for some time in Europe. She’d heard that it had closed and courses in winemaking and viticulture were now being done at Adelaide University instead of Roseworthy College.
Carla, watching vineyard after vineyard pass by, shook her head in wonder at the high rate of vine cultivation and the proliferation of wineries. In the last two weeks she had done some homework on the Barossa and the Stenmark family, learning all she could through the embryonic technological medium of the internet, thanks to an up-to-date Christchurch library. It was a wonderful learning and information tool that was growing daily in popularity. Before they’d left Christchurch she’d received three more offers to buy Krugerhoff—two from real estate agents in the Barossa
Valley on behalf of unnamed interested parties, and a second, improved offer from Michaels Realty, which only added more fuel to her curiosity about the inherited vineyard.
Having scoured her father’s journal several times, and with each reading, learning about and bonding with him a little more because of what she now knew, Carla had been puzzled by the level of interest—until now. Seeing the cultivation in the Valley, the emphasis on tourism and winery bottle sales she understood why the old, small holding could be regarded as valuable. Since landing in Adelaide, she had tried to ignore thoughts of rejuvenating Krugerhoff, especially if she had Angie to help her. She personally knew little about winemaking and vine cultivation and…a voice inside her head argued, wouldn’t it be too big a wrench to leave Christchurch? She had lived in the South Island town since her early teens and it was home to her. Angie had told her that forty acres of cultivated vines and the winery could produce a substantial vintage, enough to provide a comfortable living for her, Angie and Sam, without her having to teach. But she did enjoy face-to-face teaching. The possibilities were tempting and for the moment and until she knew more, she couldn’t completely disregard them.
She recalled something she’d heard her father say many times. If you see an opportunity grab it with both hands and don’t let go. It may never come your way again.
Was that why he’d left her Krugerhoff? Because he saw it as an opportunity for her and Sam to become financially independent and to be reunited with his relatives? He could have sold the acres years ago and made life easier for himself at Valley View, but he hadn’t. Darn…She could give herself a headache worrying over the whys and wherefores of her father’s reasoning and still be none the wiser!
‘It feels as if I’m coming home,’ Angie said softly as they passed through Tanunda. ‘I’ve missed this place.’
Sam, who was sitting in the back seat, looked at the countryside and gave his opinion. ‘Nothing but vines, forever and ever. Looks pretty boring to me.’
Sundown Crossing Page 8
