A Vintage Summer

by Cathy Bramley

  We stared at each other, frozen with fear.

  ‘Hello?’ repeated the voice.

  ‘Nothing. It’s okay now,’ said Evie, panting. ‘He’s gone.’

  She ended the call and we sank to the floor and wept.

  Harvey had gone and this time hopefully he’d gone for good.

  Chapter 8

  The next morning when I came downstairs in search of tea, Evie was already sitting at the kitchen table with a cup and her laptop in front of her. She was still in her dressing gown and had a towel wrapped around her head.

  ‘Morning,’ I said through a yawn.

  ‘Morning, yourself. Sit down, I’ll get you a mug, there’s some coffee in the cafetiere.’ She made to get up but I touched her shoulder.

  ‘Tea for me,’ I said. ‘And I’ll get it myself.’

  ‘You’re supposed to be my guest.’ She smiled, but her face held a tension as if there was an emotion she was battling to keep at bay.

  No prizes for guessing what was bothering her, I thought with a flicker of guilt. I cancelled the ‘do not disturb’ setting from my phone and refilled the kettle. The visit from the fostering agency had gone without a hitch yesterday. I’d gone out again to give Evie some space so I hadn’t met the adviser, but Evie said that she had made all the right noises, approving the lovely light spare bedroom, which had originally been decorated by Darren as the nursery, and complimenting Evie on her small but pretty back garden, which could accommodate a swing or maybe a football goal if required.

  But despite the positive outcome, the shadow of Harvey’s less pleasant visit had hung over us and she and I had been jumpy all evening, twitching whenever we heard a sound outside and holding our breath in case there was a knock at the door. I’d heard her go downstairs again after we’d gone to bed and check all the locks and I’d felt awful. Me bringing my problems to her door was the last thing my sister needed right now; she had enough on her plate.

  The only bright spot had been the couple of texts and a call we’d had from Dad. He’d got as far as Belgium and would be spending the next few days doing a tour of First World War landmarks. Evie and I had agreed that this stop probably wouldn’t have been on the itinerary if Mum had been with him; she’d have headed straight for the sun, sea and glamour of the South of France. Dad had been as pleased as Punch that he’d had such a successful first day; there was no way we were going to spoil it by mentioning Harvey.

  I sat down at the table with my tea. Evie peered into the mug and frowned.

  ‘Black? You normally have your tea stewed but milky.’

  I swallowed. ‘Don’t. Even the word … milky’ – I said it fast – ‘makes me feel queasy. I think you’re right: I might have a bug.’

  She stared at me. ‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ She managed to inject a hint of laughter into her voice but I wasn’t fooled; it would be such a kick in the teeth for her if I’d got pregnant without even wanting to after all the heartache she and Darren had been through trying to conceive.

  ‘Definitely not.’ I shook my head. ‘We took precautions and I haven’t missed my period.’

  A niggling voice reminded me that it was only a light one last time, but I pushed it away. Apart from the occasional accident which Harvey had owned up to, he was very careful about using condoms. There’d been one or two occasions when I’d been carried away and wanted to throw caution to the wind, but Harvey had insisted. He wasn’t ready to share me with anybody else, he’d said, not even our own baby. I’d thought that was quite sweet at the time.

  ‘Anyway, listen,’ I said, placing my mug down away from her laptop and on top of the latest copy of the parish magazine, ‘I’ve been thinking. It’s lovely of you to offer me your spare spare room, but I’m going to look for somewhere else. I think I’m probably more trouble than I’m worth. Besides, if I’m going to hang around for a while, I might as well find a place of my own.’

  I half hoped that Evie would protest; Harvey’s appearance aside, it was lovely to be spending time together. But she gripped her own mug and gazed into it, not meeting my eye.

  ‘It might be for the best,’ she said quietly.

  I plastered on a smile.

  ‘Not that you’re any trouble at all,’ she added quickly. ‘But given everything that’s going on with me …’

  ‘Exactly. And I wouldn’t want Harvey to jeopardize anything.’

  ‘It’s unlikely he’ll come back. Not after threatening him with the police. But …’ She left the sentence hanging.

  ‘I know. There might be children here next time he turns up,’ I finished for her. ‘And we can’t put them at risk; I’d never forgive myself.’

  Evie let out a breath of relief. ‘Thank you. Nor me.’

  The mention of police reminded me of something she’d said yesterday.

  ‘Look,’ I began tentatively, ‘tell me to mind my own business, but your first thought yesterday was to call Darren.’

  Her eyes flicked briefly to mine. ‘Yes it was. It really hit me then, the reality of our separation. It was awful.’

  ‘Do you think it might be worth ringing him? Telling him how you feel?’

  ‘Don’t you think I’ve tried that?’ she said with a deep sigh. ‘He’s adamant that we need to have some time apart.’

  ‘Then there’s still a chance of reconciliation?’ I said hopefully.

  Evie lifted a shoulder. ‘Except he doesn’t want to foster kids. So unless I change my mind …’

  I reached across the table and took her hand gently, my heart heavy with the injustice of it all. It was so unfair that some women could conceive effortlessly and others, whose arms ached to be filled with a new-born, could only dream about it.

  We both picked up our mugs and sipped in silence for a moment. Sensing the need to change the subject, I opened the parish magazine and flicked through the pages, smiling at the outdated adverts for hairdressers, cleaners and handymen.

  ‘I might advertise in the next issue myself,’ I said, holding up a picture of a lady taxi driver. ‘See if anyone needs a lady tree surgeon.’

  I came to a page that had had the corner folded down. Evie cleared her throat.

  ‘Ah yes. That.’ She flicked a piece of fluff from her dressing gown. ‘Interesting job for you maybe.’

  I put my mug down and unfolded the corner so I could read it properly. I scanned the title:

  Gardener/Housekeeper/Companion, Live-in (Contract length approx. six months, start date asap).

  A job and a place to live, possibly with immediate effect. ‘Gosh, you really are keen to get rid of me, aren’t you?’ I said, only half joking.

  Evie pressed her lips together and a flash of determination crossed her face. I had a sudden rush of sympathy for Darren. She really was prepared to put her plan to be a mother ahead of everything else. I’d never seen this side of her before, so single-minded. I was both proud and envious of her.

  ‘Don’t be like that.’ She lifted her mug to hide her face but I could see she was blushing. ‘It was just a thought. Read on.’

  I began reading again.

  An opportunity has arisen for a capable, multi-skilled individual at Butterworth Wines, a small private vineyard located on the outskirts of the pretty rural village of Fernfield.

  The position would suit an experienced gardener, familiar with large-scale gardening, with the ability to manage a team of part-time workers and, above all, a passion for the outdoors. The estate comprises a family home, ten acres of land, mostly planted with vines on a south-facing slope, the winery and stables converted into accommodation for the successful applicant. Duties to include some light housekeeping and companionship, although no cooking. A full driving licence is required as the property is located off the beaten track and the role may require some driving of the homeowner from time to time. Please send an introductory email, including a contact telephone number, to BottomsUp@ButterworthWines.com

  ‘Well,’ I said, not sure which bit to comment on fi
rst: the fact that someone, somewhere in our village, was producing wine this far north or the dodgy email address. ‘Gardening, managing staff, housekeeping and driving … more commonly known as a dogsbody, I’d say.’

  ‘But no cooking,’ said Evie, pointing out the positive. ‘And you could do the rest standing on your head.’

  ‘Could I?’ I arched an eyebrow doubtfully. ‘I can’t even manage myself, let alone others.’

  ‘Didn’t you say you’d been offered a promotion to supervisor at the crematorium?’

  That was true. And if the staff were only part-timers, it might not be too onerous a task.

  ‘I didn’t even know there was a vineyard in Fernfield.’ I wrinkled my nose. ‘Don’t you need Mediterranean sunshine to grow grapes?’

  ‘No idea, you’re the gardening expert, not me,’ she said. ‘I do know where it is, though: it’s a couple of miles out of the village on the Buxton road. Set back behind a tall brick wall; you’d never know it was there.’

  ‘Of course, the one major stumbling block is that I don’t know anything about wine.’ I shuddered, picturing the contempt on Harvey’s face when I’d incorrectly served white wine with our pork last week.

  ‘You like drinking it, that’s a start. Besides, are they asking for wine knowledge? No.’ She sat back and folded her arms. ‘And it’s only for six months. You could stick anything for that long and it would give you a chance to catch your breath and decide what to do next.’

  I nodded thoughtfully. ‘I suppose there’s no harm in sending an exploratory email.’

  Evie let out a long breath. ‘Good because—’

  She was interrupted by a call on my mobile. I picked it up and stared at the screen.

  ‘It’s a mobile number, not one of my contacts.’ I looked at Evie, my stomach fluttering nervously. ‘What if Harvey has bought himself a new phone, to get around me blocking him?’

  ‘Then this will be his one and only call because you’ll block him again. He won’t be able to afford to keep doing that.’

  I gulped. ‘You’re right. I’ll answer and not speak.’

  She nodded.

  I touched the green button on the touch screen and set it to loudspeaker.

  ‘Hello?’ said a frail voice. Male. Possibly elderly.

  Evie and I exchanged glances; either Harvey was playing games or it wasn’t him at all.

  ‘Hello? Oh, dash it, Roger, I think it must be one of those blessed answerphones.’

  ‘Well, leave a message then, man,’ said an impatient muffled voice in the background.

  ‘This isn’t Harvey,’ I whispered. ‘We’re getting paranoid.’

  We grinned at each other with relief; these two sounded completely harmless.

  ‘Hello there?’ I said. ‘Sorry about the delay, I couldn’t hear anything.’

  ‘Can you hear me now?’

  ‘Loud and clear,’ I replied.

  ‘Get on with it,’ hissed the other voice.

  ‘All right, all right.’ The man cleared his throat. ‘This is Godfrey Hallam. Calling regarding your application for the position at Butterworth Wines?’

  ‘My application?’ I stared at Evie whose eyes widened guiltily.

  ‘I was going to tell you,’ she whispered, ‘and then the phone rang.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Godfrey, sounding uncertain. ‘I received an email this morning. I have got the right number? This is Miss Allbright?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I said, a bit flustered. ‘It’s … I was … well, I suppose I wasn’t expecting a response so soon. You’re very efficient.’

  Evie clapped her hands excitedly. I gave her a stern look. Wanting me to move out was one thing; actually applying for a job on my behalf was quite another.

  ‘Why thank you!’ said Godfrey, chuckling. ‘One does one’s best. I was the editor of a regional newspaper once upon a time, you know. And the urgency of working to a tight deadline never leaves you.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Godfrey, get to the point, she’ll be here in a minute,’ hissed the man I assumed was Roger.

  ‘Keep your hair on, old chap.’ Godfrey sounded like he had his hand over the mouthpiece. Then his voice became clearer again. ‘Sorry about Roger. He isn’t yet retired and hasn’t learned to slow down and smell the—’

  ‘Right, I’m taking over,’ said Roger. ‘Hand me that phone.’

  There were some grunts and tussling noises for a moment and then a sharp voice came on the line. ‘Miss Allbright, Roger Cooper here. Are you available for an interview this morning at the winery at eleven, yes or no?’

  The phone was still on loudspeaker. Evie shrugged and pulled a ‘what have you got to lose’ sort of face.

  ‘Um.’ I blew my cheeks out, still bewildered that I seemed to have landed an interview for a job I hadn’t applied for and wasn’t sure I even wanted. Despite that, I found myself answering that I was available.

  ‘Excellent. See you anon.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Cooper, I look forward to …’ My voice petered out as I realized I was talking to myself. I stared at Evie. ‘He’s cut me off. Roger is savage. I hope it’s Godfrey who does the interviewing.’

  ‘Well done! Day one of your job hunt and you’ve got an interview set up already.’

  I gave her a withering look. ‘You mean you’ve set me up.’

  She waved a hand. ‘Don’t get all touchy. Now, what are you going to wear?’

  ‘Easy,’ I replied, getting to my feet. ‘My gardener, house-keeper, companion, driver outfit, of course.’

  Evie was right, I acknowledged later that morning: you’d never know there was a vineyard here at all. There was a tall sandstone wall edging the property which hid everything from view. I turned off the country lane through large open gates and slowed down to take in the view.

  A valley had opened up before me: softly sloping land, lush and green as far as my eye could see. Immediately to my left and right, the fields were alive with ripening barley, rippling in the breeze, like a giant Mexican wave. I’d never seen a vineyard in real life before, but further ahead, the row upon row of neat parallel lines running downhill were unmistakable.

  I wound down the window and inhaled the sweet summer air; it was good to be out of London. And on a day like today, when the sky was blue and the sunlight made the leaves on the trees shimmer and the grass sparkle, there was nowhere I’d rather be in the world. Even the nightmare of yesterday was beginning to fade.

  I inched forward, taking note of my surroundings. The driveway was rather rough and pitted, but edged with a rustic drystone wall along which wild red poppies grew, their cheerful scarlet petals seeming to wave me on.

  The path narrowed ahead and became even rougher but to my right there was a tall beech hedge forming a perimeter around what I guessed must be the house and winery. A few metres further on, I came to a gap in the hedge and turned through it.

  Ahead of me was a square concrete yard and to the left a large house, homely rather than grand, built from creamy yellow stone which lent it an air of faded elegance. With a deep sloping roof, pretty little windows set into the eaves and a beautiful climbing wisteria like frilly lavender bunting, the house had a fairy-tale quality to it. You couldn’t fail to be happy living here, I mused.

  Across the yard from the house were what looked like converted stables and finally, partially obstructed by several vehicles including a Land Rover and a quadbike, was a long single-storey building. This was much newer and more industrial-looking, with wide double doors standing open. Inside I could just make out some sort of stainless-steel construction and outside it was a forklift truck next to some pallets of bottles. The winery, I presumed.

  A lean man with gingery hair and long legs and dressed in a tracksuit emerged from this last building and marched towards me, beckoning me forward with both hands like an air traffic controller. As I got closer, he started to wave me to the right, indicating I should park in the space next to the quadbike. I could probably have managed that
by myself, I thought, but I gave him a thumbs-up to show I understood his instruction. At a guess, this was Roger.

  A second man, shorter, rounder and balder than the first, appeared and gave me a cheery wave. He walked with a slight shuffle towards my van as I climbed out.

  ‘Miss Allbright?’

  ‘That’s me. Call me Lottie, please.’

  He held out his hand. ‘Godfrey Hallam.’

  ‘It’s a beautiful place you have here, Godfrey,’ I said, shaking his warm pudgy hand.

  ‘It’s not his,’ said the first man, smoothing his hair into place before extending his hand in greeting. ‘Nor mine. I’m Roger Cooper, by the way; we spoke on the phone.’

  Roger had a vice-like grip and I was glad when he released my hand.

  ‘I spoke to you too,’ said Godfrey, raising a hand timidly.

  ‘I must say, I had my reservations when I read your email,’ Roger said, casting an eye approvingly over my outfit. ‘Given your age and, ahem, sex.’

  ‘Oh?’ I regarded him coolly, daring him to make a sexist remark.

  ‘And I apologize for jumping to conclusions; you look very strong and capable.’ He smiled at me as if he’d just paid me the greatest compliment.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, inclining my head. ‘I believe I am.’

  Given the warmth of the sun today, I’d have preferred to be wearing a summer dress, but it would have done me no good given the practical nature of the job. So I’d opted for some heavy-duty canvas trousers I used to wear when I worked with Dad, a white polo shirt and my steel-capped boots, which I had to wear with thick socks. I reckoned it was about ninety degrees inside those boots right now. I looked down, half expecting steam to be coming out of them. So I might not look feminine and smart, but ‘strong and capable’ would probably win me more Brownie points.

  ‘Come along, let’s go and get settled into the winery before the ladies arrive.’

  Roger looked left and right as if he was hiding from someone and then crept towards what I’d guessed was the winery, gesturing for us to follow him with an impatient flap of his hand.