‘Not what you might call a resounding success,’ sighed Cordelia as she put her walking sticks aside and sank gratefully on to the couch. ‘Pour me a brandy, Sophie. There’s a good girl.’
Jane’s finely plucked eyebrows lifted. ‘That bad, eh?’
Sophie poured the brandy from the cut-glass decanter and handed it to Cordelia. ‘The usual sniping – nothing out of the ordinary,’ she said firmly.
Jane looked at them both, stubbed out her cigarette and drained her glass. ‘Glad I’m out of it then.’ She eyed the slim Patek Philippe on her wrist. ‘Time I was gone. I’ve got lunch with the Arts Council to discuss the forthcoming exhibition at the National Gallery.’
‘What is it this year?’ Sophie used to love visiting Melbourne’s state gallery, and would spend hours wandering through the beautiful high-ceilinged rooms with their exhibits of silver and bronze and exquisite paintings. It would be wonderful to take time out and visit again.
‘The Australian bush painters. McCubbin, Roberts, Streeton.’
Sophie had an instant recall of McCubbin’s wondrous triptych, The Pioneer. It was a painting she’d seen first as a small child, and it had never failed to tug at something deep within her as she gazed upon it. ‘Let me know when the exhibition’s on. I’d love to see it.’
Jane smiled warmly and nodded. ‘I’ll see you get an invitation to the preview. Be quite like old times. You and me in the gallery.’
There was silence in the room after she had left. Sophie eyed her bulging briefcase. She still had a lot of work to do before the deal with the French could be fully formulated and laid on the table, and she wondered how soon she could reasonably take her leave.
‘Is there nothing I can do to change your mind, Sophie?’ Cordelia’s tremulous voice broke the silence.
Sophie shook her head. ‘It’s the only way forward, Gran. I’m sorry.’
The old lady was silent for a long moment, her mouth pursed, her gaze fixed on a distant point out of the window.
‘I can’t pretend I wasn’t hurt to realise you thought of the winery as a shadow on your life, Sophie,’ she said at last. ‘But, having thought about it, I suppose I can understand why you should feel that way. After all, it is what we are, what we’ve been brought up to understand as our birthright, our future, and in turn our legacy to those who follow. It must be daunting for those whose hearts are not fully committed to take on such a demanding inheritance.’
Sophie was about to reply when Cordelia added thoughtfully, ‘The vines are a harsh taskmaster – far harsher than Jock ever was. They’ve caused death and divorce, heartbreak and near bankruptcy – but they have also brought untold wealth which in itself can become a burden if not fully understood and managed.’
‘It is a responsibility, Gran. Though not one I ever found daunting. But I need to spread my wings. To find different challenges. There’s a great big world out there and I want to escape Grandad’s shadow. Stand on my own two feet without Jacaranda opening doors for me.’
Cordelia eyed her for a long moment. ‘I’d like you to do something for me,’ she said quietly. She held up her hand to stem the protest. ‘It has nothing to do with the meeting this morning – but something I’ve wanted for a long time.’
Sophie wondered what she was cooking up now. She wouldn’t put it past Gran to have a scheme up her sleeve, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d be caught up in it with no means of escape. ‘What is it you want, Gran?’ Her tone was wary.
‘I want to visit the place where the first vines were planted,’ Cordelia said firmly.
‘You want to go to the Barossa? But I thought you swore you’d never return to the château after you and Grandad split up?’
Cordelia shook her head. There was a glint in her eye and a secretive smile playing around her mouth. ‘Jacaranda in the Barossa Valley is the present, Sophie. It began a long time before that, in another place and another time.’
Sophie was bewildered. Like the rest of them she knew the family’s sparse history. Knew the story of the early years when Gran’s parents and grandparents had struggled to make the vineyard profitable. ‘How come I haven’t heard about this other vineyard?’
‘People have short memories, my dear, and old family history can be easily forgotten once those involved are no longer with us.’
‘What about the story of how your great-grandmother came to the Barossa with her children and helped to found Jacaranda Vines? It’s a legend lapped up by the tourists when they visit the winery. There’s even been a book written about it.’
‘It’s true as far as it goes,’ said Cordelia wearily. ‘But the real story behind Jacaranda began a long time before the Barossa Valley. In fact, you could say it began way back in 1838 in a small country village in England.’
‘You want to go to England?’ Sophie couldn’t take it in. She sank into an armchair and stared in amazement at her grandmother.
Cordelia shook her head. ‘It would be nice, but I think that’s pushing my luck, don’t you?’
‘Too bloody right,’ Sophie muttered as she remembered the endless flight. ‘So where exactly is this mysterious vineyard, then?’
‘You’ll find out,’ her grandmother replied, her gaze steady and defiant. ‘But not until tomorrow. I expect you to be here by nine o’clock, with your bags packed. Bring only what you will need for travelling through the outback, and leave your work and that briefcase behind.’
3
Sophie changed gears so the camper van could negotiate the steep climb through the pine-covered hills. It was the end of their second day in the heat and dust of the Australian hinterland, and although they had long left Melbourne far behind them, she still couldn’t quite believe she’d let her grandmother persuade her to make this journey. She was a city girl, more familiar with the boardroom and law courts than bed and board in a camper van, yet here she was, thirty years old, in the middle of nowhere, in sole charge of a woman fast approaching her ninety-first birthday. This must rate right up there with her disastrous marriage to Crispin as one of the daftest things she’d ever done.
As the camper crested the hill, Sophie took a hand off the steering wheel and hooked her long hair behind her ears. She’d forgotten how hot it could get out here. Forgotten how the sun bleached the green from the grass and made the pale leaves wilt on the white bark of the gums. If it wasn’t for the air-conditioning, they would be roasted alive.
Yet, as she stared out at the panorama, she felt a tug of something within her that was akin to falling deeply and irrevocably in love. For this was her country, her inheritance, and she couldn’t fault the awe-inspiring splendour of its primal beauty.
The horizon shimmered beneath a sky of incredible blue, the heat laying its watery mirage over the hundreds of miles they had yet to travel. Mountains soared out of the parched earth, hazy with the blue of the eucalyptus that filled the air with its perfume. Golden fields stretched beyond human sight, slashed by great sweeps of paprika earth, lone, blasted gum trees standing sentinel as reminders of the power of the elements.
As Sophie smeared away the perspiration that had gathered beneath her eyes and on her top lip, she caught sight of something that made her pulse race and her foot ease off the accelerator. Gently drawing the camper to a halt, she sat and stared in wonder, knowing this was a scene that had been repeated for centuries in this wild, untamed landscape, knowing she was witnessing something the ancient people must have seen – and although she was sitting in a modern camper van, it was as if she’d been transported to a time long past when magic still happened.
A pair of Wedge-tailed Eagles hovered in the empty sky above her, their powerful wings barely moving in the torpid heat as gimlet eyes searched the fields beneath them. They were so clear, so close, she could almost hear the rustle of their feathers. Then, in slow, graceful unison, the great birds swooped away, and as they disappeared from sight Sophie experienced a pang of indescribable sorrow. For despite her previous misgivings, she was experiencing something she c
ould never have hoped to see back in the city. For like so many other Australians who’d cut themselves off from their roots by living abroad, this was a side to her country she had never got to know except through television and magazines.
Her sigh was a mixture of pleasure and regret as she resumed the journey. Perhaps there was more magic ahead, she thought, but she wished the eagles had stayed a little longer.
*
Later that day Sophie had washed up their supper dishes in the camp kitchen and been pleasantly surprised at the range of facilities in what could only be termed a country campsite. There were gas barbecues and tables and benches set throughout the site. The camp kitchen was fitted out with microwave ovens, irons, kettles, and all the utensils you might ever need, as well as a fridge, a freezer, a toaster and stainless steel sinks with lashings of hot water at the turn of a tap. It was all somewhat different from the English campsites with their freezing breeze-block showers and cold stand-pipes.
Perhaps this camping lark wasn’t so bad after all, she decided. But if anyone had told her a week ago she would end up in the middle of the outback on a long journey with her grandmother, she’d have laughed in their face. She liked the shops and the neon lights, and the city pavements steady beneath her feet, where the only wild-life was the birds in the park and the drunks on a Saturday night.
She collected the washing up and headed for the camper van. It was a monster, gleaming in the yellow of the dimmed site lights, the drawn curtains silhouetting her grandmother as she sat reading by the internal light. Yet it was equipped with everything they could possibly need, and the bunks were surprisingly comfortable.
Sophie climbed into the back. ‘I thought you’d be asleep by now. It’s way past ten and the rest of the camp is as dead as a dodo. I’m amazed at how early everyone settles down. Back in England they’d be drinking and talking, with their kids running about making a row way past midnight.’
‘Australians know what’s good for them,’ Cordelia said brightly as she put down her book. ‘But you look worn out. Is the driving too much for you after that long flight? We’ve covered a lot of miles since yesterday morning.’
Sophie shook her head and began to get ready for bed. ‘Driving doesn’t bother me, Gran. I just haven’t slept very well for the past couple of nights, that’s all.’
Cordelia’s voice was soft and full of sympathy. ‘Crispin, I suppose?’
Sophie pulled a long T-shirt over her head and began to brush her hair. ‘More like jet-lag,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Cris and I are friends, Gran. Neither of us bears a grudge.’
‘I never thought he was right for you, darling,’ her grandmother said comfortably from her nest of pillows. ‘Far too English.’
Sophie smiled. ‘Yes, he was. But that was what attracted me. The smooth voice, the nice manners, the way he opened the door for me and treated me like a lady.’
‘Good thing he had his own money,’ sniffed Cordelia. ‘At least you didn’t have to fork out like your mother did every time she got divorced.’
‘We signed a pre-nuptial agreement. Both his mother and I insisted – it was about the only thing we ever agreed upon.’ Sophie put down the brush and crawled into her narrow bunk. ‘The English are a funny lot, Gran,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘They have these rules for everything, and unless you’ve been born into the so-called upper classes, they can catch you out over the slightest thing – like wearing the wrong perfume or jewellery, or calling the dunny the toilet instead of lavatory. It’s like living in Alice’s Wonderland without a script.’
Cordelia took off her glasses and snuggled down beneath the duvet. ‘But you were happy over there, weren’t you? Your letters sounded as if you were.’
Sophie laughed. ‘My accent didn’t help of course, but yes – I suppose you could say I was happy.’
‘You haven’t got an accent,’ said Cordelia stoutly. ‘It’s been swamped by English plums. I can see I’ve got a lot to do before you can call yourself Australian again.’
‘Don’t you start,’ she teased gently. ‘Cris’s mother said that the first thing they would have to do was get rid of my “ghastly” Colonial whine and teach me to speak the Queen’s English.’
‘She didn’t? Good thing I never met her – I’d have given her a piece of my mind. Colonial, indeed.’
They both leaned back into the pillows and laughed, but Sophie could still remember the humiliation of having elocution lessons to please her future mother-in-law, and the ghastly hour she had to spend with her every Saturday and Sunday to learn the etiquette of morning tea, luncheon and cocktail parties. It had been a nightmare, but one she’d seen through grimly because she’d thought herself in love with Cris. Don’t look back, she reminded herself. Both Cris and Jay are in the past. It’s time to move on.
She decided to change the subject. ‘Where exactly are we going, Gran? All you’ve given me is the next day’s route map.’
‘All in good time, darling,’ muttered Cordelia sleepily. ‘Learn to live each day as it comes, then you’ll derive more pleasure from the surprises it brings.’
That’s all very well, Sophie thought crossly, but my life has been charted since day one, and it’s difficult to change the habits of a lifetime. ‘Don’t you think we ought to tell someone where we’ve gone, Gran? They’ll be frantic with worry by now.’
‘I left a note with Jane, whom I trust implicitly, but knowing Edward he’s already let the cat of the bag. He never could keep his trap shut for long,’ muttered Cordelia sleepily.
‘So Edward and Jane know where we’re going?’
‘Of course,’ came the muttered reply.
Sophie bit her lip. Without Cordelia around, Mary was a loose cannon, and as Sophie lay in the darkness and listened to her grandmother’s steady breathing, she wondered how soon it would be before her mother got wind of this trip and began to cause trouble.
*
The first stirrings of unrest had begun earlier that day in a restaurant on the South Bank of the River Yarra and were to have a far-reaching effect on more than one member of the family.
Mary snapped the menu shut. She would order a green salad and a glass of mineral water. It was hard work keeping her figure as she was naturally greedy, but as the years had worn on she’d become so used to the regime she hardly noticed what she ate any more. The binges were infrequent, the bulimia almost history.
The three women were sitting beneath the canvas canopy that shielded them from the glare of the afternoon sun and bathed them in the cool green light suffused by the lush greenery of the potted palms that surrounded the outdoor eating area. The wrought-iron tables and chairs were placed strategically so the diners could look out over the Yarra and watch the passing cavalcade of boats and pedestrians. It was a favourite meeting place for Melbourne trend-setters, and Mary congratulated herself on her choice as she recognised several well-known faces.
‘So what do you want?’ Kate’s blue eyes watched her sister through the inevitable cigarette smoke.
‘I thought we could have lunch,’ replied Mary. ‘We don’t meet up often, so why not make an occasion of it?’
Kate’s bark of derision made heads turn. ‘Don’t give me that bull, Mary. Haven’t you heard the one about a free lunch?’
‘Keep it down, Kate,’ hissed Daisy. ‘People are looking at us.’
‘Then they should mind their own bloody business,’ she snapped, glaring at her audience.
Silence fell as the waiter brought their drinks and took their orders. ‘Cheers. Here’s to Mum. I thought she put up a good fight yesterday.’ Kate raised her glass of wine.
Mary’s glass remained firmly on the table. ‘I found the whole scene embarrassing,’ she said. ‘Mother’s far too old to know what’s best for the business. She really should step down and let Charles and Edward make the decisions.’
‘Why? Because they’re men?’ Kate’s direct gaze settled on her youngest sister. ‘Mum knows more about the winery than all of us
put together. She has every right to her own opinion.’
Mary tapped her long nails against the glass of water. ‘Of course she has. But didn’t you think there was something a little off-key about the way she carried on yesterday?’
‘Such as?’ Kate’s tone was dry.
‘No sane person could go on like that with everything stacked against her. It’s obvious the company’s in trouble, but she seems determined to ignore that and stir up a hornet’s nest.’
‘You can’t say things like that,’ protested Daisy.
‘Mum’s got all her marbles,’ rasped Kate. ‘She’s probably more sane than you ever were.’ She leaned across the table. ‘Remind me, sister dear. Who was it who had to have counselling for eating disorders? Who went to pieces and made an exhibition of themself when their last husband shot through by taking up a lover who was young enough to be her son?’ She rested back into her chair. ‘You of all people should think twice before questioning Mum’s state of mind.’
Mary took a sip of mineral water. This was going to be more difficult than she’d thought. She would have to tread carefully, for apart from Kate’s scathing cynicism, her decision to vote with their mother had come as a shock, and if she was to get her sisters on her side, it would take some finely tuned manipulation to get them to see things in a different light. She decided to change tack.
‘Uncle Edward said something interesting after the meeting.’
Kate raised an eyebrow.
Mary forced a smile. ‘I know you think he’s a bit of an old woman but I find him most informative.’
Kate sighed and put down her glass before stubbing out her cigarette. ‘You’re obviously dying to tell us your gossip so get on with it. Some of us have things to do this afternoon and I don’t know why I let myself be dragged here in the first place.’
‘Neither do I,’ said Daisy as she fiddled with her spectacles. ‘I hate scenes, and if all you’re going to do is snipe at one another, I might as well go.’
As the waiter brought their orders, Mary looked at her two sisters, felt the familiar surge of impatience and struggled to hold on to her temper. ‘Edward and I were discussing Mother after the meeting and he let slip that she’s planning a trip.’ She sat back and waited for their reaction.
Jacaranda Vines Page 4
