A Vintage Summer

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘Namaste,’ he replied, clearly amused, one blond eyebrow arched. His eyebrows were lighter than his hair, I noticed. Sun-bleached almost. His face was tanned too; I bet he’d had freckles when he was younger. My first boyfriend had freckles. Everywhere. I used to trace them with my finger across his tummy. I wondered if Jensen had freckles left anywhere …

  He coughed politely and I realized I was still in prayer mode. I dropped my hands, swung them around a bit and then settled them on my hips.

  ‘You brought me something?’

  ‘Gran sent you these,’ he said, holding out a stack of books. ‘She’s gone to get changed before we go out.’

  ‘Oh, thanks.’ I took them from him and set them on the kitchen table. The cottage was so small I could do this without taking more than a couple of steps.

  A normal person would have opened the door and let him in. Not me. I just let him stand there on the other side of the stable door, like we were two horses sharing a nosebag or something.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Look, this is a bit awkward.’

  I nodded, smiling; he was here to apologize and beg me to come out with them, I could tell. I bet Betsy had told him off for his bad manners.

  ‘It’s fine, don’t worry. And I really am tired; I’ve had a lot to learn today and there’s still loads more to go at.’ I gestured to the books. ‘So if your grandmother really wants a third person I suggest you try Marjorie.’

  Jensen frowned. ‘That wasn’t what I was going to say.’

  ‘Oh.’ My face was so hot even my eyes were burning.

  He took a deep breath. ‘Lottie, you seem like a lovely girl.’

  I widened my eyes.

  He flushed. ‘Sorry, person. And I’m sure under different circumstances you’d make a great vineyard manager – I presume you’ve had a lot of experience with vines—’

  ‘Well, I …’

  ‘Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is—’

  ‘Jensen?’ Betsy called from across the yard. ‘I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go here, come along.’

  He exhaled with frustration. ‘I’ll have to catch up with you at another time. This weekend hopefully.’

  ‘Hopefully,’ I found myself echoing.

  He looked confused and turned to go and then hesitated. ‘Hold on a sec.’

  He zapped his key fob at the car and it lit up. ‘Get in, Gran,’ he shouted.

  ‘How do you think she’s doing?’ he said, his blue eyes boring into me as if they were trying to read my soul not just my face.

  ‘Well, I’ve only just met her, so …’ I said, flustered and absolutely determined not to drop her in it and mention her sight.

  ‘But do you think she’s coping okay without my grandfather?’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘I want an honest answer. I can’t ask any of the others, including Marjorie, because they’re all so protective of her. As if at the slightest sign of trouble, I’d whip her off into a home or something.’

  ‘And you wouldn’t?’ I said, watching his features carefully.

  He took a deep breath. ‘I love my grandmother more than anyone else in the world. I want her to be safe. But most of all I want her to be happy. That’s my priority.’

  I felt my throat tighten. That had to be the most adorable thing I’d ever heard.

  ‘Then you probably know her better than anyone,’ I said kindly. ‘Watch her tonight, gauge for yourself how she is. I think she’s …’ I swallowed.

  Jensen’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I think she’s very lucky to have you.’

  The horn of his car sounded loudly and we looked across to see her waving impatiently at him.

  ‘She was my rock when I was a little lad,’ he said fondly.

  I reached across the stable door and touched his arm. ‘And now it’s your turn to be hers.’

  He gave me a dubious look.

  ‘But don’t tell her that,’ I added and we both laughed.

  I waved them off as they drove out of the yard and marvelled at what an unusual day I’d had. Life with the Butterworths was not quite the low-key summer I’d had in mind. Still, I was happier than I’d been in a long time and maybe, I thought with a flutter of hope, I’d finally found somewhere to call home, at least for the summer.

  Hours later, a loud insistent knocking at the door woke me with a start. I blinked myself awake. There were no lights on, and with the stable door fully closed, the cottage was dim. The knocking started again, this time with more urgency.

  My pulse raced; something might have happened to Betsy in the night. And I was the only one here. I stumbled to my feet and a heavy book crashed to the floor; I must have fallen asleep reading one of Ted’s books.

  ‘Coming!’ I yelled.

  I dashed across the room and flung open the door. ‘Sorry, I was— Oh!’

  Jensen stared at me grimly, feet planted, arms folded.

  I pressed a hand to my chest, breathing heavily. ‘Is everything okay, is Betsy all right?’

  ‘Gran’s fine,’ he said. ‘But I’m not. I need to talk to you.’

  ‘It’s the middle of the night!’

  He shook his head in disbelief. ‘It’s eight thirty; it’s not even dark.’

  As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw he was right.

  ‘Oh, right,’ I said. ‘I’m very tired at the moment, a lot has been going on and I haven’t been sleeping—’

  ‘Can I come in?’ he said, stepping into the cottage and sweeping past me into the kitchen area. There was no point answering that.

  ‘Tea? Coffee?’ I asked instead, closing the bottom half of the stable door, but leaving the top half open so that Jensen’s hot air could escape. ‘Cold water?’

  ‘No.’ He caught my eye and looked away again guiltily. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘How was your dinner?’

  He rubbed his forehead, leaned against the worktop and folded his arms again. ‘The waiter told us the specials and Gran repeated each one like it was some sort of memory test, which I thought was odd.’

  ‘Oh?’ I had an inkling where this was leading. Of course, I’d expected him to guess. What I hadn’t bargained on was this obvious anger.

  ‘Yes.’ His blue eyes held my gaze, but rather than the dazzling smile he’d given me earlier, now his fierce stare bore into me like a laser. ‘And she held her menu upside down and pretended to peruse it until I turned it around for her.’

  ‘Lucky she had you to look after her,’ I said softly.

  ‘Yes, I was there then. But I’m not here most of the time,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I had no idea that Gran can’t see!’

  ‘She can see; her vision is simply impaired,’ I corrected.

  ‘If you can call it vision,’ he muttered. ‘Once I’d tackled her on it, she admitted that she’s had macular degeneration for a couple of years, but her optician confirmed that it’s deteriorated a lot recently. The doctor recommended some vitamin supplements the other day, but the loss of sight is irreversible.’

  So that was why she’d been at the surgery when I bumped into her and Marjorie.

  ‘Poor Betsy,’ I said. I picked up the book that had fallen and stacked it with the others. ‘Do sit down.’

  He raked a hand through his thick hair. ‘I can’t, I’m too wound up. I don’t understand why you weren’t honest with me. I don’t understand why Gran has employed you and I am not at all sure about your motives.’

  His long legs started to pace the length of the tiny space and something inside me snapped; this was like watching Harvey build up to one of his rages all over again. I was not going to stand for it.

  I got to my feet and stood in his path, forcing him to stop pacing.

  ‘I have to tell you,’ I said, chin tilted, ‘that I don’t respond well to bullying. I’ve recently ended an’ – I stopped short of admitting that it had been abusive – ‘an unhappy relationship and will never again tolerate that sort of behaviour.’

  Jense
n’s jaw dropped. ‘This isn’t about a relationship; this is about you taking advantage of an old lady who’s recently been widowed.’

  ‘I resent that remark,’ I said, folding my arms. But a small voice in my head was already beginning to worry. Had I taken advantage of her? She hadn’t even advertised for staff, that had been Godfrey and Roger. And if I hadn’t burst into tears, she probably wouldn’t have changed her mind and I wouldn’t be here now. Had I taken advantage of her kindness? I swallowed nervously, doubting my own intentions.

  ‘Lottie,’ Jensen said, exhaling deeply as if trying to control his temper, ‘my grandmother can’t see properly! How can she possibly remain in this big house alone, not to mention in charge of ten acres of vines and a winery?’

  He cared about her, I reminded myself; he was angry because he was worried, that was all. I touched his arm tentatively.

  ‘Jensen, I completely understand how you feel—’

  ‘Do you?’ he snapped, shrugging me off. ‘I doubt that very much. My job is really high pressured. I work in London at the moment and if things progress how I think they might over the next few months, I’ll be even further away. I wouldn’t be able to relax knowing that at any moment, Gran could have an accident.’

  ‘And is that what is the most important thing here: you being able to relax?’ I stared at him, challenging him with my eyes.

  He looked away and massaged his forehead.

  ‘Yes. No. Of course not! But I do have a duty as her grandson to make sure that she is living her best possible life and any idiot can see that living here, being responsible for a business, which by the way has cash flow problems to rival a small African country, is impossible.’

  He finished his little tirade and appeared to run out of steam, dropping down on to the sofa with a thump and clasping his head between his hands. ‘Hell fire, what a bloody mess.’

  My legs were shaking from a combination of tension and tiredness and I was about to sit on the opposite end of the sofa when a voice from the door made us both jump.

  ‘Jensen, my dear boy, I think we need to get a few things straight.’ Betsy stood framed in the open part of the stable door. She looked like a wise old angel in her white blouse with the pink of the setting sun forming a halo around her white hair.

  ‘Gran!’ Jensen looked across to the door and groaned.

  ‘Apologize to Lottie this minute.’ Betsy reached inside, fumbled with the door catch and let herself in. ‘The poor girl has been through enough and she does not deserve getting short shrift from you.’

  I shot her a smile of thanks, even though I wasn’t sure she could see my features clearly. She steadied herself by holding the back of the nearest dining chair.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ she said imperiously.

  Jensen gave me a sulky look. ‘I apologize.’

  ‘Well, that was full of sincerity,’ said Betsy sternly. ‘I thought you had to leave for Newcastle, shouldn’t you be on your way?’

  He stood up and stifled a yawn. ‘I can’t go now, not until I get some answers to my questions.’

  Betsy stiffened her spine and drew herself up to her full height. I glanced at Jensen to see if he realized there was a torrent of ire heading his way. He did.

  ‘Gran,’ he began, holding his palms up in defence.

  ‘Here’s a question for you,’ she said. ‘Did Granddad’s will mention anything about you being in charge?’

  He frowned. ‘No but—’

  ‘Or about me having to defer decisions to you?’

  ‘Well, no but—’

  ‘Precisely. Which means that you have absolutely no right to be demanding answers.’ She glared at him and he shifted his gaze from the floor to me and back again. He looked so uncomfortable that I was beginning to feel sorry for him. ‘From either me or my staff. Now, I’m prepared to discuss my plans with you, but under my terms and without feeling harangued. Understood?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Jensen flatly, looking like a beaten man. ‘But I’m going to need some coffee first to wake me up, I’ve had a long drive up from London.’

  Betsy’s icy demeanour melted instantly. ‘Oh my poor boy, of course you have and I’m causing you more stress.’

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ I said, pleased to be able to do something positive.

  ‘Proper coffee,’ Jensen added, eyeing up the jar of instant on the worktop.

  Betsy caught my eye and gave me an amused wink, harrumphed and turned back to the door. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. Back to the house, city boy, and I’ll make you some fresh.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ he said to me, stifling another yawn as he trooped out of the cottage and stomped across the yard.

  ‘Typical,’ Betsy said with a tut. ‘Just as hot-headed as he was as a boy.’

  ‘It’s just because you’re his favourite person in the world,’ I said, ‘he told me.’

  ‘Oh, the dear child.’ She sighed. ‘But be that as it may, he’s deserted me. Would you mind walking me back to the front door? I haven’t brought my stick and my eyes are worse when the light fades.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Jensen’s yawn was infectious and once I started I couldn’t stop.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said, covering my mouth.

  She tucked her hand through my arm as we made our way slowly back to the house, dodging the potholes.

  ‘Don’t tell me we’re boring you,’ she whispered, her eyes twinkled mischievously.

  ‘There is no chance of that.’ I laughed softly. ‘Anyway, tell me, did you enjoy your Italian?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she chuckled, ‘once I’d memorized the menu. Although there was a young couple at the table next to us having a bit of a domestic. Such a shame. Apparently, the man threw money on the table and walked out, leaving her in tears.’

  My heart thumped in horror.

  ‘Are you all right from here?’ I asked once we’d reached her front step. ‘Because I’d like to go and phone my sister.’

  She bade me goodnight and I sprinted back to my cottage. My pulse was whooshing in my ears as I rang Evie’s number. It might not have been her and Darren that Betsy overheard arguing, but it seemed too much of a coincidence not to be.

  My heart sank as her voicemail kicked in.

  ‘Hi, Evie,’ I said, careful to keep the worry from my voice, ‘just wondering how your evening went? Call me back. Love you.’

  Two minutes later, a text message flashed up on my screen.

  Awful. I got it all wrong. He doesn’t want us to try again, he wants a divorce. Don’t call me back, I don’t want to talk tonight. Evie xx

  Poor Evie. And Darren. My chest felt tight with sorrow for them both. I sent Evie a text sending my love and urging her to call me any time, night or day, as soon as she felt able to. Ten minutes later I crawled into bed, exhausted; the first night in my new home. Despite feeling more tired than I’d done in my whole life, my brain kept replaying the drama of the week and I couldn’t stop asking myself a million questions. What could possibly have gone so wrong on Evie and Darren’s date for it to end in the threat of divorce? And what would that mean for her chance of fostering; would she have to sell the house? What if Harvey came back for me and found me here? I wouldn’t want any trouble for Betsy. And finally, what if Jensen was right and the vineyard really was in financial trouble? Suddenly, the simple life I’d envisaged back in Derbyshire was looking less simple by the hour …

  Chapter 13

  It was Sunday morning and even though Betsy had insisted that I work normal Monday-to-Friday hours, I had no intention of lazing around. I felt full of energy for a change after a twelve-hour sleep last night so I went for a walk around the vines, tucking in and tying back wherever I saw a wayward frond. I was already getting to know the different varieties and learning which rows got the most sun. That very sun was warm on my face and after an hour my shoulders were beginning to burn and my head ached. I decided to head back inside for a bottle of water and some sunscreen. Hopefully the winery woul
d be open by now too. Roger had spent a couple of hours here yesterday and had told me that I might catch Matt and Clare in there today: the only two regular volunteers I hadn’t yet met.

  On the walk back up to the cottage I sent Evie a quick text to check she was okay and got a ‘thumbs-up’ back. Phew.

  I’d met her for a drink at the Royal Oak on Friday night, the night after her disastrous evening with Darren, and she’d poured her heart out. We’d sat outside in the corner of the beer garden where she could cry unobserved if necessary. It had been going well, or so she’d thought, until she’d reached across the table to stroke his hand, taking a chance that that was what he wanted too. But he’d folded his arms, looked down at the table and told her that he’d found himself a solicitor, that he was prepared to make everything as painless as possible and that she could keep the house. Evie had been so shocked that he wanted such a quick end to their marriage that she’d burst into tears. Things had gone downhill from there, which must have been the point at which the commotion drew Betsy’s attention.

  Since then Evie had thrown herself into redecorating the spare room and by Saturday evening she’d been feeling bright enough to invite me round for pizza and wine. I’d declined, telling her that I was enjoying my research into viticulture so much courtesy of Ted’s extensive collection that I couldn’t drag myself away.

  ‘You’ve never read a book in your life,’ she’d laughed.

  This was true; while she’d been addicted to Judy Blume and all things Sweet Valley High, I’d been climbing trees and trying to train earthworms to go round an assault course I’d built in a shoebox. It was surprising we got on as well as we did, when you thought about it …

  ‘I’ve just never found one I’ve been interested in before, that’s all,’ I’d retorted.

  So I’d been propped up in bed by nine, with a giant bag of Minstrels, a bottle of sparkling water – my new obsession - and a beginner’s guide to grapes from around the world. And this morning I was reaping the benefits.

  The doors to the winery were open and a pick-up truck and a tiny hatchback were parked outside. I dashed back into The Stables, slathered my arms and shoulders with factor thirty, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and headed to the winery. After three nights of reading about it, it was time to add some liquid knowledge to all that theory.