“It’s lovely,” she said, surprising him. “The perfect location. I understand what you mean about the food being second to the wine, but it doesn’t have to be that way. I don’t think Ginger’s planning haute cuisine, but she has some ideas for quality platters, sourcing fresh seafood, local fruit and veg, home-made breads, that sort of thing.”
“Sounds great,” he said, meaning it.
“I think you’re right in keeping the focus on the wine, that has to be what the place is about, but there’s no reason we can’t offer some fabulous food alongside it.”
“Absolutely.” He liked that she agreed with him. He inhaled deeply, feeling the tension that had knotted up his stomach for months slowly beginning to dissolve. Even if she now told him she wanted him out, he’d know the place was in good hands. That mattered to him more than anything.
“This leads to the Cellar Door?” She indicated along the passageway.
“Yes. You want to wait for your sisters?”
“No, they’ll be talking shop for a while. Besides, the vineyard would be my domain.”
“Come on, then, I’ll show you around.”
They passed through where they held the wine-tasting classes, then he took her out to the main wine-producing facility, and showed her the presses, the temperature-controlled barrel hall with its stainless-steel vessels and oak barrels used for fermentation, and the filtration and bottling equipment, introducing her to the staff working there as they passed. Finally, he took her down to the vineyard itself, pausing at the edge of the rows so she could look across the fields.
“It’s good terroir,” he said, watching Scully bounding around on the grass, chasing rabbits.
“That’s the natural factors, right?”
“Yes. Good soil, a decent slope, north-facing, great drainage, lots of sunshine. We have ten acres planted, and the estate owns another five that could be utilized.”
“Why aren’t they all being used now?”
“They were, but my father didn’t pay enough attention to them, and we don’t have the equipment or the manpower to maintain them.” It was hard to admit, and he did so through gritted teeth. “I’ve concentrated our attention on the block that was growing well. We have six thousand vines and five types of grapes.”
“I’m guessing Chardonnay, Merlot, Syrah, Sauvignon Blanc...”
“Yes, and Chambourcin, which grows well here.”
“And the wine’s good?”
“We’ve won awards, as I’m sure you know. A few years ago now.” Before her father died. He saw her glance at him, and knew she’d guessed his thoughts.
“No reason it can’t do so again,” she said.
He made himself unclench the hands that had curled into fists. “That’s true.”
She studied his face for a moment, her eyes hidden once more behind her sunglasses. Then she looked away, back to the restaurant. “Shall we catch up with Ginger and Sandi?”
“Of course. I’ll take you to the house, and if you’re ready, we’ll sit down and go through the books.”
“Sure.”
They walked back to the restaurant, where Ginger and Sandi were now wandering around, talking about possible plans for the place. Mac felt agitated, the knot returning to his stomach. The girls had been nice so far, but it was time to tell them everything, to reveal the truth about the estate and its condition. He’d hinted at most of it already, but he wasn’t sure they understood. They walked behind him, their eyes bright, talking in low voices, their feelings evident in their tone and hand gestures. They were excited—they liked it here, and were looking forward to taking on the challenge.
He didn’t mean to be patronizing, but he couldn’t imagine these young women had any idea of the cost involved in maintaining an estate like this. A serious injection of cash was needed to get it back on its feet, and he doubted their bank accounts were overflowing. The last thing he wanted to see was them pile all their hopes and dreams on the place, only to have them dashed when they realized the little they could afford to do. He would have to be up front from the beginning, and make it clear exactly what a disaster his father had been.
He stiffened his spine and picked up his pace, crossing the courtyard to the house. Best get this done. He’d been dreading it for months, and it would be a relief to get it out of the way, even if it meant seeing the light fade in Fred’s beautiful eyes.
Chapter Four
IT WAS CLEAR FROM THE way Sandi and Ginger were talking that they were excited by the possibilities the estate offered. Fred smiled at them as they gave her a thumbs-up behind Mac’s back, but she didn’t say anything.
The place was stunning and full of potential, but there was a lot they had to get through before they made any decisions.
Mac led them out of the complex of buildings and through a gate marked Private. In front of them, the main house sat on a ridge of land, overlooking the fields of vines and with a splendid view of the Pacific Ocean. An orchard lay to the south, with lemon trees on one side and mandarins on the other. The air smelled fresh and sweet, and Fred couldn’t stop her heart lifting.
Mac paused at the front door and turned to them. “I’m still in the process of cleaning up,” he advised. “I was concentrating on the vineyard, so I’m afraid it still leaves a bit to be desired.” Without saying anything more, he opened the door and led the way in.
Fred followed, curious as to what she was going to find. After his words, she half expected to find the place a bomb site, with walls tumbling down and holes in the roof. Structurally, though, there was nothing wrong with it. Like the other buildings, the whitewashed house was long and low, with a decent-sized living room and kitchen, and three bedrooms at one end. As Mac opened the doors to them, though, she finally saw what he meant. One of them was filled with rubbish. It looked as if someone had stood in the doorway and just thrown in everything they didn’t want—papers, books, old furniture, frayed bits of carpet, pieces of kitchen tile, a clock with no hands, what looked like parts of a rusty bike, bricks, old bottles, cardboard boxes, a broken wash basin, even—to her disgust—stains showing there had been food rubbish tossed in there, although Mac had cleaned that up.
“I know,” Mac said in a low voice, presumably seeing the look on her face. “I’m sorry.”
“It looks like your room at home,” Sandi said to Ginger, who stuck her tongue out.
Fred watched Mac’s mouth twitch. He felt too bad to let himself smile. He hated this, she realized. He was mortified at the state his father had left the place in, and he was resenting having to show them with every bone in his body.
“This one’s better.” He opened the second door, and she saw that he was about halfway through cleaning it. Scully snuffled around, interested in something.
“Are there rats?” Ginger swallowed.
“There were. But I’ve had rat bait and traps down for weeks and I’m certain I’ve got rid of them all.” He led them to the master bedroom and opened it. Fred walked in first and looked around. He’d completely cleaned this one, and it was a pleasant, light room, with a large queen bed and various pieces of wooden furniture, rimu again, by the looks of it.
It was tidy, but Fred noted the jacket hanging on the back of a chair, and the same lemon scent she’d smelled when Mac had walked past her. “You’re staying here?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I have been.”
“I think the rooms will look lovely when they’re sorted,” Sandi said brightly.
Fred met her gaze and they exchanged a smile. Sandi obviously recognized what Mac was feeling too. They’d all been prepared to dislike him and his family, but now they were here, it was becoming obvious what a terrible situation he’d been put in.
“Come through to the kitchen,” he said. “I’ll make us a drink, and we can get started.”
They took seats at the large, square dining table. Several manila folders rested on its surface, along with an A4 pad filled with slanted handwriting. While Mac filled the
kettle and made coffee, Fred glanced at the notes. Most of them were columns of figures, but she saw at the bottom, underlined, the phrase, “Honesty is the first chapter in the book of wisdom. Thomas Jefferson.”
She leaned back in her chair, watching him as he stirred the coffee pot, then filled four cups. There were no signs of a woman around. Why was that? He was a good-looking guy. Her gaze brushed down him. His shoulders were broad and well-muscled, the sleeves of his shirt tight across his biceps. That and the color of his skin told her he was outside a lot, in the vineyards, not afraid to get involved in the physical work. His past intrigued her. The fact that he’d reached out to them and admitted the truth touched her more now than it had in the U.K.
She still wasn’t ready to forgive him, though. Not yet.
He brought the mugs across to the table, then to her surprise stood behind his chair. Scully lay down beside him. He picked up the sheet of notes and studied it, one hand jammed in the pocket of his jeans. His shoulders were hunched, his posture defensive. He was nervous. He thought they were going to give him a hard time.
Fred exchanged a glance with her sisters. Ginger raised her eyebrows. Sandi stuck out her bottom lip as if to say “Awww!”
He put the sheet down and shoved his other hand in his pocket. “I prepared a formal speech,” he admitted, “but it seems stupid now you’re here, so I’m just going to tell you what happened, and then you can ask me anything you like.”
He glanced at the view outside, looking at the vineyard, where the ripe grapes glowed in the afternoon sun, then looked back at the table. “This land has belonged to the Cartwrights since the days of the early settlers, handed down from father to son over the last two hundred years. I grew up in Russell, but even as a kid, I loved it here and played amongst the vines, unbeknown to the estate managers.” His lips twisted at the recollection of an early memory. Fred could see him as a youth, all elbows and knees and brown skin, creeping through the vines as he played hide and seek or some war game with his friends.
“As a teen, I spent my summers working here, and when my father took over as estate manager, I knew that I wanted to follow in his footsteps and be a viticulturist. I took a degree in chemical science and a masters in wine science, and spent several years travelling to gain a better understanding of the winemaking process.”
He knew his stuff, then, Fred thought, impressed with his credentials.
“I came back from time to time and worked here,” Mac continued. Then he hesitated, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, keeping his gaze pinned on the table. “I hoped that one day I’d take over as estate manager after my father. I had no dreams of owning the land. And then your father fell ill.”
His gaze rose to scan theirs. “You must understand, I had no idea that Harry had children. I don’t know why he never told me about you—from his letter, I’m guessing it was because he was ashamed of leaving you behind. But as far as I knew, he had no family. He was diagnosed with cancer in December 2011, and he died in June 2012. It was very fast.”
Fred clenched her teeth, refusing to let the emotion rising inside her show. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sandi rub her nose and Ginger look away, out of the window, but they kept their feelings to themselves, and she was proud of them for that.
“I was away when he died,” Mac said. “In the South Island, on a viticulturist’s course. I came back up when I heard, and asked my father what was going to happen to the estate. He then produced the will, in which Harry had bequeathed the estate to him.”
His face was now like stone, frozen to cover his feelings. All four of them were very still, but Fred imagined that she could feel the emotion around them roiling and churning like the waves in the bay.
“I was over the moon,” he said flatly. “Thrilled that Harry had passed the land on to my family. I knew that when my father eventually died, it would pass to me, and I couldn’t have been happier.”
At that moment, he turned and walked over to the window, where he stood, gazing out. “That should have been the moment that brought us together, but unfortunately my relationship with my father—which had never been great, although that’s another story—took a turn for the worse. Now, I think the guilt had begun to tear him apart. He knew I would be furious and disgusted with him if I ever found out what he’d done. He couldn’t tell me. And because of that, he turned his anger on me.”
Fred hadn’t expected him to say that, and she glanced at her sisters, who both also looked surprised and curious.
“My parents divorced when I was only two,” he continued, still facing away. “I suppose I blamed him for the marriage failing, because he wasn’t an easy person to live with. But he got much worse. Rude, aggressive, confrontational. He found fault with everything I did. When I tried to make suggestions for the estate, he took it as criticism, and just yelled at me. He told me he didn’t want me running the place, not until it was my turn. He made my life a misery.”
He turned back to them then and started pacing. “I’m not trying to make you feel sorry for me—I’m just trying to explain why I was unaware what he was doing. After a year, I decided I couldn’t bear it any longer, and I got a job as an estate manager down in Blenheim. I worked there for three years. I visited Blue Penguin Bay from time to time, and I could see that it wasn’t being used to its full potential, but I had no idea how far he’d fallen.”
He stopped pacing. “I knew he drank a lot, but it turns out he’d become an alcoholic. He spent all the profits on drink, women, and expensive holidays abroad, while letting the estate fall to rack and ruin. I’m very sorry to tell you this, but for five years the restaurant and the B&B have made a loss, while the vineyard has only just made a profit. The equipment hasn’t been replaced for years and is outdated and badly repaired. The place is in need of an overhaul, and it needs serious money spent on it.”
Fred stared at him, and she could see her sisters doing the same. She’d known the place wasn’t making a fortune, but she hadn’t realized it was this bad.
“In the final year of his life,” Mac continued, “he let the house fall apart too. I think he went a little bit mad. He used to let his dogs roam the place, as well as any other animals that cared to wander in the open doors. He never cleaned, and let food just drop to the floor.” He stopped and swallowed. “I never knew how bad he’d gotten. I could kick myself now—I should have visited more, should have realized...”
“It’s not your fault,” Sandi said.
“Then who else do I blame?” he snapped. “I love this estate. I fully expected to inherit it, and I should have demanded to see the books, and to play a part in the running of it.”
“It’s easy to make decisions in hindsight,” Ginger said. “I’m sure you did what you thought was best at the time.”
His jaw knotted. He didn’t want them to forgive him. “When he died,” he said through gritted teeth, “I was relieved. Even happy. How terrible is that?”
Fred exchanged a glance with her sisters, then looked away. “We’ve all done things we’re ashamed of,” she murmured.
“I came to the bay with gladness in my heart,” he said. “Walked through the vines feeling like a million dollars. The estate was mine! I couldn’t believe it!” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “And then I went into the house. I saw the state of it, and my heart began to race. I walked through the barrel hall, and spoke to the workers, who weren’t shy in saying what they thought of the way my father had run the place. I looked at the books, and realized what had happened. I was horrified, and disgusted. But that’s nothing compared to the way I felt when I started working through the rubbish in the house, and discovered Harry’s letter to you.”
He dipped his head, and for a moment Fred thought he was going to throw up. Suddenly, she could bear it no longer.
“Mac.” She pushed herself to her feet and walked around the table to stand next to him. “There was absolutely nothing to stop you burning that letter and never telling a soul
. But you didn’t.”
“That took some balls,” Ginger agreed.
“I’d never have been able to live with myself if I hadn’t.” He frowned at Fred. “I don’t understand why you’re not all furious with me. I’ve hardly done you a favor. You came here thinking you’d inherited a dream, and instead you got this.” He gestured angrily at the papers on the table.
“We knew there were problems,” Sandi said. “You made that clear in your email. We’re not completely shocked.”
“We’re a bit shocked, though,” Ginger added.
Fred’s lips twisted. She wasn’t wrong.
Mac’s eyes—as blue and deep as the ocean—were full of pain and anguish. “I’d do anything to change what’s happened,” he whispered, looking at Fred. “I want you to believe me.”
She couldn’t tear her eyes away. She felt as if she were swimming in his gaze. She’d known him all of an hour, and his father had completely screwed her and her sisters. She should be angry with Mac, because he was right—in an ideal world he would have demanded to be part of the running of the estate, and he would have noticed what was happening long before things got this bad. She was furious with James MacDonald. Not only had he taken the estate for himself, he’d practically ruined it.
But to her surprise, she couldn’t bring herself to hate his son.
“I believe you,” she whispered. And the answering relief in his eyes made her heart lift.
Chapter Five
MAC’S BREATH LEFT HIM in a rush at Fred’s words. He had no idea why, but the fact that she believed him mattered more to him than anything else in his life. He hadn’t cried for years, not even when his father had died, but now tears pricked his eyes, and his throat tightened.
“Come and sit down,” Fred said gently, placing a hand on his arm. “We’re going to talk about this, and see if we can find a way to solve the problem together.”
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