‘I’m not sure.’ Carla’s expression was thoughtful. The Conrads were an odd couple who held a strong aversion to the Stenmarks but whether they did rightly or wrongly, she didn’t know yet. ‘I intend to find out though.’ And who better to tell her than Paul. Working with him four days a week she had found him a fount of information on matters relating to what went on, in and around the Valley. He’d know what had happened between her grandfather and the Conrads. He mixed with many different people because of his business and had been living in the Valley since taking over from his uncle twelve years ago. During their conversation she’d got the inkling that the Conrads might have an agenda of their own and that getting square with her grandfather could be high on their priority list. Still, to be fair, they were the only people who had attempted to speak to her and Angie tonight—which showed they weren’t as cowardly as others in the Valley.
A sigh ran through her…If she were the kind of person who got easily depressed, she would have succumbed by now. She didn’t enjoy being persona non grata to everyone other than the Loongs, Paul and the Conrads. And what was happening, all the little problems they were having with uncooperative merchants, not getting materials, people snubbing them and making it clear where their loyalties lay, had done one thing—it brought home forcefully how powerful the Stenmark family was in the Barossa, and most likely, beyond it. In fact, every day it became more obvious that she and Angie were involved in a silent, but nonetheless deadly, war of attrition.
Which made Carla pose the question: could they survive financially and emotionally beyond the first harvest, until sales of their first vintage brought in an income?
At that precise moment Luke and Lisel walked past, Lisel deliberately ignoring her. Damn her arrogance! Carla’s lips tightened with controlled anger and her resolve firmed once more. She was Rolfe Stenmark-Kruger’s daughter and she was not going to let anyone, including the Stenmark family, destroy the dream she had nurtured of becoming an independent, financially secure winegrower.
There was a certain glint in her eyes as she touched Angie’s arm. ‘Come on, we’re going to mingle.’ She watched Angie’s fair eyebrow lift questioningly and responded, ‘If no one will break the taboo and speak to us, we’ll go and speak to them.’
‘We could be snubbed,’ Angie said doubtfully.
‘I don’t care.’ She did but she wouldn’t admit it, not even to the one woman in the world she was closest to. ‘I want everyone to see that I’m not intimidated by the Stenmarks. How people react is up to them.’
On the fringe of the party, Josh Aldrich watched Carla and Angie tackle a number of the members. It was interesting to watch how the growers reacted. First they would look shocked that Carla had the temerity to introduce herself, then their expressions would become unsure, even embarrassed and finally, shifting restlessly from one foot to another, they’d excuse themselves and move on. Occasionally, a grower with some backbone welcomed her and her partner and talked for a while.
His lips twisted in an admiring grin as the women ‘worked’ the room, creating undercurrents of tension, and interest. Obviously Carla wasn’t going to allow people not to notice her. He gave Carl’s granddaughter top marks for guts. Josh liked a woman to have spirit. Carla had it and so did Lisel Stenmark, though in Lisel it manifested itself in arrogance and a super ego. The highlight of the evening for Josh was watching Carla. However, his gaze focused intently on her as she threw her head back to laugh at a comment some grower made. Her spontaneity, the fact that she was the best-looking woman there, made him admit something else: he liked Carla Hunter—a lot. So…why don’t you do something about it?
Unobtrusively, Josh wove his way through the crowd, which was beginning to thin, towards Carla. On the way he picked up three glasses of white wine from a passing waiter. Fronting up to Angie and Carla he offered the wine. ‘Ladies, for you. I don’t know how you did it but tonight you’ve managed to turn a negative situation into a positive one.’
‘Oh. It’s you,’ Carla said dourly as she recognised Josh. She wasn’t impressed. Her gaze turned glacial but politeness dictated that she accept the glass offered.
Josh gave her a boyish, clearly sheepish grin. ‘I apologise for…before.’ A flicker in her eyes’ blue depths told him she knew what he was referring to. ‘We kind of got off on the wrong foot back then. I…didn’t know who you were, what you were doing.’ Which was a lie but she needn’t know that. He glanced towards Angie, trying to include her in the conversation. ‘I’m impressed with what you’ve achieved at Kruger,’ he corrected himself, ‘Sundown Crossing. You’ve created a vineyard out of a derelict property in a very short time. That’s no small feat.’
His compliments made Carla study Josh with a little more interest. In his dinner suit, with his hair neat and his face clean-shaven, he presented a different image to the one she remembered—that of the bearish, irritable man who’d accosted her on her second day in the Barossa.
‘It’s hard for me to believe your employers said to tell me that,’ Carla’s comment was pointed.
‘They didn’t. It’s my personal opinion.’ He leant towards her and lowered his voice confidentially. ‘The Stenmarks don’t own me body and soul, you know. I might work for them but when I’m not on company time, I’m my own man.’ His smile was earnest, believable, and when he saw Carla’s eyes widen slightly he was confident that she’d bought the lie. Well, it wasn’t a proper lie, more of an exaggeration because, in the long term he knew where his bread was buttered. Still, if he could get cozy with the owner of Sundown Crossing, who knew where it might lead? It would give him an inside track for the Stenmarks and, with old Carl almost frothing at the mouth because his granddaughter was making a go of things so far, either way he couldn’t lose.
‘So, can we bury the hatchet and start again?’ Josh asked. He put his hand out tentatively to shake hers but when he saw her indecision he pulled his hand back. ‘It’s okay. I understand. Why should you trust me when you know that I work for them? If I were in your shoes, I probably wouldn’t trust me either.’
‘At least you’re man enough to talk to us. That’s more than most of the men have done tonight,’ Angie made the observation with feeling.
Not normally suspicious, Carla forced her initial opinion of Josh to be nullified by his chameleon change to being open and pleasant. Could she have been wrong about him? And, what harm could there be in meeting him halfway, seeing that he purported to be his own man? Her hand reached out towards him and was quickly enveloped by his larger, stronger one.
‘Good. Friends then?’
‘I guess so.’
‘You won’t regret it, Carla,’ he promised.
Carla’s long, considering look might have put a less-confident man off. ‘I hope you won’t give me a reason to.’
Josh nodded that he wouldn’t, then, pleased by his success and wise enough not to press too hard and turn her off, knew it was time to make himself scarce. ‘Things to do, ladies. I’ll say goodnight.’ He turned away smiling, with remarkable speed for such a thick-set man. He had accomplished his goal and the next time they met, he would ask Carla out. He was sufficiently optimistic to believe she would say…yes.
A week later Josh dropped into van Leeson’s office while Paul was out, and asked Carla to dinner. She ummed and ahhed for a while but finally said yes. They had a very pleasant dinner at a restaurant on the outskirts of town and he behaved perfectly. Josh knew enough about women to know that Carla Hunter wasn’t the type a man could rush into bed. She was too strong-willed and had the memories of a dead husband to get over. He went over his proposed campaign. To start with they’d just have the occasional date, and he’d get to know her kid too, have him come along with them sometimes. That’d please her, he reckoned. He could be patient, he told himself, when his goal was someone worth being patient for.
CHAPTER TEN
The promise of spring was evident in the clear blue sky, and a warmer breeze as, one Saturday morning
late in August, Carla and Sam wandered between the rows of vines towards the creek. After winter rains the creek was flowing strongly, so much so that Carla insisted that when Sam wanted to explore it an adult had to accompany him.
Although no expert when it came to vineyards, she thought the vines looked healthy as she walked between the rows. Spring growth had begun to burst—the new leaves, light green in colour, were still curled and delicate, and vine tendrils were already reaching out for support to assist them as they sought the warmth of the sun. Angie said she was pleased with what had been accomplished. Heavy pruning during winter had made the vines strong and eager to grow. Almost spring. Carla stood still for a moment, reflecting…
It was the time of year her father had loved the most. Spring—renewal, the affirmation of nature’s cycle of life, he’d called it. For a second or two she squeezed her eyes tightly up. The mist began to lift near the creek, and if she stretched her imagination, she could picture him striding down a row, as he’d done for years, stopping to finger the vines, almost caressing the leaves, and winding tendrils around the wires. A tightness invaded her throat and she swallowed hard. She missed him. Angie and Sam missed him too. That’s why Angie was driving herself so hard; her way of dealing with the grief, the sense of loss and emptiness.
‘Mum, come on,’ Sam called impatiently from the edge of the field where it ran up to the thicker growth of shrubby bush and taller trees that edged the top of the creek.
Carla jogged up to him and ruffled his hair. ‘I’m here.’
Sam looked up at her. ‘Josh said he saw a platypus in the creek once. I’m gonna find it.’
‘Really!’ Carla exclaimed. They pushed their way through scrubby bushes and down to the creek’s bank. There were a liberal number of rocks to climb over—a task Sam enjoyed. ‘I’m no expert on Australian fauna, love, but I think the creek is running too fast for platypuses. I think they prefer calm waters.’
His mention of Josh turned her thoughts towards Rhein Schloss’s operations manager. To her surprise, and Josh’s ability to be persuasive, they’d had several dates, two with Sam accompanying them during which Josh had made a huge fuss of her son which had pleased him no end. The way Sam had responded to Josh brought home to her that, since her father’s death, her son had no significant male role model in his life although Paul often came to the cottage, visiting and for dinner. Sam and Josh had played football, thrown and caught a Frisbee in the park, and Josh had pointed out birds he recognised and, once, they’d come across a large goanna rummaging through a turned-over rubbish bin.
Clearly, Josh was making an effort, with her and with Sam, which made her feel a little guilty because, after the second date she’d known there was no chance of a deeper relationship developing between them. She simply wasn’t physically attracted to him. Even so she had used him to ferret out information about the Stenmarks, which he’d obligingly divulged. She learnt that her grandfather was something of a recluse, because although he spent his working day at the Rhein Schloss office, he then went home and rarely appeared in public, doing so only if it was required for business. Josh also told her that Greta, Luke Michaels’s mother, was the easiest Stenmark to get along with and that Lisel…Josh, who had an opinion on everyone and everything, said very little about Lisel, which whetted Carla’s curiosity to know more about her sharp-tongued aunt.
The problem was, who could she ask? Paul, maybe. Or the Conrads. At Angie’s invitation they were coming over for dinner tomorrow night. Yes, she decided as she hopped from one rock to another trying to keep up with Sam, the Conrads might prove more informative than her boss.
It was hard for her to think of Paul as her boss; he was so laid-back and easygoing. Patient when she made mistakes on a drawing, happy to inform when she asked questions, and supportive of her dream to become a winemaker. She glanced ahead to check on Sam. He’d found a long stick and was poking it about in the water. ‘Be careful, Sam, the creek’s running pretty fast.’
‘I’m okay, Mum,’ he called back confidently. ‘I thought I saw a yabby.’
Moving towards him she went back to her ruminating. It was a pity that…what? Paul had his own problems to deal with. Such as getting over the death of his fiancée. His fiancée, Lisa McNee, working for the International Red Cross, had lost her life in a rebel skirmish in Botswana just over a year ago. Carla thought Paul was remarkably stoic about the tragedy when he’d told her about Lisa. He said that talking the grief out helped him get through the days, and the nights. She knew all about grief! With Derek and now her father.
‘Come on, Mum,’ Sam entreated again. ‘There’s a quiet pool of water up near the bend.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘A platypus might be there.’ Using the branches of several bushes to steady himself, he climbed over a series of rocks towards an area where the creek was about three metres wide. The sheer volume of water made it splash and crash over rocks on the opposite side but on their side of the creek the water flowed more sedately.
‘Sam, be careful. Wait for me.’ Carla glanced at the water in the creek as she followed the path Sam had taken. The water was dark, almost black and though tall trees gave the creek shade, she gauged that where the pool was, the water could be more than two metres deep. Increasing her pace to catch up to Sam, she almost slipped on a patch of moss, but saved herself by grabbing a tree branch. Then, as she looked ahead, she saw Sam. In his rush to find a platypus he wasn’t being careful, and he wasn’t waiting for her. His five-year-old legs were rushing over the slimy lichen-covered rocks.
Carla saw Sam lose his balance. He groped the air as he tried to grab the closest shrub but his arms were too short to reach anything. He fell sideways and began to roll off the wet rock into the water. Propelled by his body’s momentum he hit the water and went under straight away.
Carla went rigid with shock, then panic took over. She rushed over the rocks, uncaring of the grazes, the slipperiness. Above the gurgling sound of water cascading downstream all was silent around the creek but when he didn’t resurface, she screamed…‘Sam!’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Carla was about four metres from where Sam had fallen in. For several seconds a spasm of fear squeezed her heart, immobilising her. Sam wasn’t much of a swimmer yet and his wet clothes would drag him down. His head surfaced, he spluttered, his arms flailed about and he sank again. Carla straightened and plunged into the water. It was freezing. She broke the surface and trod water—it was almost two metres deep. Her head swivelled this way and that, looking for Sam. Where was he? A series of bubbles and tiny ripples eddying out to the creek’s bank were the only clues to his location. She breast-stroked towards them then dived under.
Churned up by the volume flowing downstream the water was murky and she could see very little. Fear escalated as her arms threshed about under the water, seeking him. Why couldn’t she find him? Oh, Sam, Sam…Desperate, splayed fingers touched something soft—his sleeveless nylon vest. She tugged with all her strength but he didn’t move. Something was holding him down. Her other hand grabbed the vest and she tugged, harder this time, managing to wrest him from near the bottom of the creek, where part of his leg had been stuck under a submerged tree branch.
Her lungs were almost bursting when she resurfaced supporting Sam in one arm. She opened her mouth and gulped in a mouthful of air, then she shook her son’s body, trying to get a response. ‘Sam, are you all right?’ Relief flooded through her when he coughed and spat out a mouthful of water. His eyes opened and so did his mouth. Coughing and spluttering water, he tried to fill his lungs with life-giving air. She gathered him close to her, hugged him and pushed the hair back off his face.
‘Oh, you’re all right. Thank God.’
‘A bit early in the season for a dip, isn’t it?’ a laconic voice from the creek bank asked.
Dashing the water from her eyes, Carla saw Paul van Leeson wade into the water to help. Rolling Sam onto his back and telling him to relax, she cradled him in one arm as she sw
am towards Paul. Rebel, Paul’s red setter, sensing the drama unfolding, barked and ran backwards and forwards excitedly on the creek’s bank.
‘That was a bit too close for comfort,’ Carla panted. Near exhaustion herself from the physical effort of locating Sam and the emotional drain of the accident she gave Sam to Paul. He carried the child to the bank and sat him gently on the grass. Carla swam after them, struggling against the drag of the current. Paul helped her out of the water and she collapsed next to Sam, both arms wrapped around her son, holding him close.
‘I was taking Rebel for a walk, or rather she was taking me,’ Paul explained. ‘We were following the creek ’cause Reb enjoys a bit of a splash around.’
Sam looked at his mother. ‘I’m s-sorry, Mum. I didn’t know the rocks would be so slippery. I thought I was being careful but I slipped…’
‘I know. It’s okay, Sam. You’re all right and that’s what matters.’ She stared over the top of her son’s head to where Paul crouched on his haunches near them. ‘Accidents happen.’ She gave him a watery smile. ‘Thank you for being here.’
‘Just a bit of luck, really.’ He smiled sympathetically at her. ‘Didn’t expect anything quite so dramatic, did we girl? Our walks are usually pretty uneventful unless Rebel spots a bird or a rabbit.’ He patted the dog’s head to calm her down.
Carla dared not think about what might have happened had she not been with Sam. ‘From now on, Sam, any part of this creek is off-limits. Understood?’ On previous excursions an adult had accompanied him and Su Lee but today her being with him hadn’t prevented the accident so it was wiser to make the creek area off-limits permanently.
‘Yes, Mum,’ a chastened Sam agreed, his expressive face showing that he’d got the shock of his life.
She looked at Paul. He was giving her a thorough assessment from head to toes, which made her aware that her wet lightweight slacks and sweater were clinging to her body and leaving little to his imagination. Her cheeks warmed at his level of scrutiny. Had Josh been staring at her like that she’d have had no qualms about telling him where to put his gaze, but Paul! She wasn’t used to him staring at her in an interested, speculative way, as if…She breathed in, held her breath as a lick of sexual awareness invaded her senses then her entire body. The thudding of her heart began to move to a faster beat, increasing the tension between them. But—was this heightened awareness only coming from her, or was he similarly affected? His grey eyes, his set features, his posture gave nothing away. Becoming embarrassed by what she was feeling she scrambled to her feet to loosen the folds of the sweater from her body so it was less revealing.
Sundown Crossing Page 14
