Wild Grapes

by Elizabeth Aston

  “She did no such thing,” said Sybil, with what Fergus could only describe as a ribald laugh. “And when she’d made enough whoopee in Peru, she headed off to the States. She smuggled herself in across the Mexican border; then she decided she needed more education, and went to college. She worked her way through, enormous determination she always had. Once her mind was set on anything, that was it. Nothing would stand in her way.”

  “My mother?”

  “The adventures she had in America! Enjoyed every minute, she told me, even when she was broke and in every kind of predicament.”

  “I knew she’d been to America,” said Fergus doubtfully. “But she went there on a normal visit, as far as I ever heard.”

  “What’s normal?” said Sybil with a shrug. “You aren’t drinking your coffee,” she added kindly. “It’ll get cold.”

  Fergus picked up his cup of coffee and put it down again as Sybil went on.

  “That was where she met your father. He was very determined, wooed her up and down five states. He’d gone to America to get away from his stuffy family for a while. Good thing he did, too, because he made a packet over there. They’d never have hung on to the estate if it hadn’t been for the money your father made in the States.”

  “Money? In America? My father?”

  “Don’t you ever talk to your parents?”

  Fergus thought for a moment. “I do, but they’ve never mentioned any of this. Are you sure about all this?”

  “Why would I make it up?” said Sybil.

  Fergus apologized for questioning what she’d said, but he was still reeling from the mass of revelations about his seemingly staid parents.

  “And what about you, Fergus? You’re just the age your parents were when they took off. And you’re at Oxford still.”

  “Postgrad work,” agreed Fergus.

  “Very dull,” said Sybil. “And what then?”

  “Once I get my doctorate? Find a job in London, I suppose.”

  “Don’t you want to flex your muscles, Fergus? Spread your wings?”

  “I’m likely to get married, quite soon,” said Fergus defensively.

  “Who to?”

  “A girl called Charlotte. We’ve been together for some time.”

  “And you’re wild about each other?”

  Fergus looked alarmed.

  “I wouldn’t exactly say that. Charlotte isn’t the wild type.”

  Sybil burst out laughing. “Oh, my dear young man, a touch of wildness is just what you need. I think it’s definitely bonnet time for you. All we have to do is find you a windmill, what do you say?”

  Fergus could think of nothing to say.

  At the Hall, Zoe was arguing with Gina. “It’s ridiculous, all this cloak and dagger business, it’s only Fergus. He wouldn’t let you down.”

  Gina was standing her ground. “He’d disapprove. He’d look down that nose of his at me and say waugh, waugh, the way you English do. No, all I’ve got to do is keep out of his way while he’s here. This place is big enough, surely.”

  “It’s certainly big,” agreed Zoe, who had had a lot of trouble sneaking in to warn Gina.

  First Esme had buttonholed her, throbbing to strains of Verdi.

  “Hey, who are you, mate?” she said, taking off her earphones.

  Zoe decided to come clean. “I’m looking for Gina.”

  Esme was joined by Guy, who was very sniffy.

  “Visitors to the family use the front door. They don’t come lurking round the back.”

  “I am not lurking,” said Zoe. “And I have perfectly good reasons for wanting to see Gina privately, without anyone knowing I’m here.”

  “What reasons?” said Guy, folding his arms and looking, Zoe thought, quite exquisite.

  “That’s my business.”

  “In that case, you can take your business elsewhere.”

  Zoe was beginning to lose her temper. “Listen, whoever you are, Gina will be very annoyed when she finds you’ve been so obstructive.”

  “I don’t personally care whether Gina is annoyed or not,” said Guy. “I am employed by this family, and part of my job is keeping undesirables out.”

  Esme had been looking at Zoe in a considering way. “Come off it, Guy. You just think this is one of Victor’s sheilas.”

  “Victor’s sheilas! Esme, this is really too much.”

  “Stow it, Guy,” said Esme. “Whoever she is, she isn’t carrying a bomb, she doesn’t look like a loonie, so let her in. Come on,” she said, elbowing Guy aside in one easy movement. “I’ll take you to Gina’s room.”

  “What a terrifying pair,” said Zoe, collapsing on Gina’s bed. “You owe me, Gina.”

  Gina agreed with that, but she wasn’t budging on the Fergus issue. “I don’t care if it will make life easier for you if I come clean with Fergus. It’s going to make life much more difficult for me.”

  Zoe sat up and gave Gina a very direct look. “You,” she said, “are in the shit. If Harry mentions their cousin Gina, Fergus won’t take any notice, but if the name Heartwell, however it’s spelt, comes out, he’s going to start thinking.”

  “Harry won’t,” said Gina definitely, spoiling the effect by adding, doubtfully, “will he?”

  “Depends how well they know each other,” said Zoe.

  “You could have found that out,” said Gina.

  “I tried. Okay? I tried. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, not with him and Sybil going on and on about everything under the sun. Turns out Sybil taught Fergus’s sister, some time back in the dark ages, so that brought on another great spate. Very boring for me, I can tell you.”

  Gina opened the door and peered cautiously out. “We’d better scram,” she said. “I hear Mrs Slubs, she’ll want to do my room.”

  They tiptoed along the passage, down the back stairs, heading for refuge beyond the stableyard. Three steps from the bottom, Gina tripped on a loose board, and fell heavily, landing on Fergus, who was just coming through the side door.

  Fergus looked at Gina, and Gina looked at Fergus.

  “Hello, Fergus,” said Gina finally, in her best party tones.

  “Hello, Gina,” said Fergus grimly. “Are you hurt?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Gina.

  “Then you and I are going to take a turn in the gardens and have a little talk.” Gina found herself moving at speed through the door into the yard.

  Fergus addressed Guy over his shoulder as he went. “Please tell my aunt I’ll be with her shortly.”

  What? thought Gina, not believing her ears. “Aunt? Who is this aunt you’ll be with shortly?”

  “Julia Cordovan,” said Fergus impatiently. “My aunt Julia.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Gina and Fergus walked down the steps to the formal garden with its perfectly coned yew trees and immaculate lawn. The whole garden was several feet lower than its surround, and since that was then bounded by bulgy yew hedges some ten feet high, it was a private spot.

  “Let’s go talk to the goldfish,” said Gina.

  Fergus perched himself on the stone balustrade around the pond in the centre of the garden. “Right, Gina,” he said. “Shoot.”

  “Well, I didn’t go to America, okay, Fergus? I’m here in England, I stayed. Period, end of story. And if you’re going to lecture me, don’t. And if you’re going to haul Popplewell down here so that he can arrest me, well, go right ahead.”

  Fergus was hurt. “Why would I tell that ghastly creature you were here? What kind of a friend do you think I am?”

  “A law-abiding one,” said Gina glumly.

  “Am I?” Fergus was startled. “I suppose I am, in general. I do think you’re mad to try and stay on in England without a visa or a work permit. I assume you have your reasons.”

  “Yes, I do,” said Gina, leaning over at a perilous angle to dribble her fingers at a passing Koi carp. She was thinking hard. How was Fergus going to react when she explained that she was here at Heartsease Hall as an impost
or? Did she have to tell him? If he was related to the Cordovans, then...

  “I can’t go back to the States until I’ve got one or two things sorted out,” she said in a rush.

  “Like?”

  “Like my passport got stolen. And my air ticket, too.”

  Fergus frowned. “Stolen? When? Where from? You’ve told the police, of course.” He thought for a moment. “Who would want to use your passport?”

  Out with it, Gina told herself. “Um, actually, Georgie Hartwell.”

  “Georgie!” Fergus exploded. “Georgie! Gina, you haven’t had anything to do with that dreadful woman?” Light dawned. “Georgie took your passport. Of course, just what Georgie would do.”

  “Yes, but she did leave me hers.”

  “Oh, big-hearted Georgie.”

  “So, um, well, the family here think I’m Georgie.”

  Fergus stared at her. “Think you’re Georgie? Why should they do that? The Hartwells are some sort of connection, aren’t they? They must know perfectly well that you aren’t Georgie. Apart from anything else, Georgie’s English.”

  “I sound English,” said Gina indignantly.

  “No, you don’t,” said Fergus.

  “In that case, they probably think it’s a Scotch accent from that island the Hartwells live on.”

  “Scots,” said Fergus automatically. “Harry must know you aren’t Georgie. He knows Georgie quite well.”

  “Harry invited me here,” said Gina. “He knows who I am, but he told the family Georgie was coming to stay, and they just accepted me.”

  Fergus was aghast. “Gina, this is ridiculous. You mean you’re staying here under entirely false pretences? They think you’re a cousin or whatever, and in fact you’re a total stranger?”

  “Go on, rub it in,” said Gina. “A stranger and a foreigner.”

  “Gina, you’re mad. You can’t hope to get away with this.”

  “I have so far. Until you came along. Charming Sybil, making me stay up in that stuffy room all day and now tipping up to see your aunt Julia!”

  Fergus found that very amusing. “It was you, was it? With Sybil? Oh, it all figures. Leaving that pool up in a wind without anything to support it is exactly the kind of thing you’d do.”

  “Anybody could have done that.”

  Fergus was thinking. “What were you doing staying with Sybil, in any case? If you’re being an impostor here?”

  “My father was here, at the Hall.”

  That was too much for Fergus.

  “It’s not funny,” said Gina. “You’ve got a warped sense of humour if you find other people’s problems a joke.”

  “Gina, your problems are all of your own making.”

  “No, they aren’t. It’s Popplewell’s fault. And Georgie’s.”

  Fergus became more serious. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d got seriously involved with Georgie? I’d have warned you off, that girl is bad news. How did you come across her in the first place?”

  “I didn’t come across Georgie, as you put it. She was at Sam’s party, that evening in Oxford, you remember. And it wasn’t a chance meeting, she sought me out.”

  “Sounds like our Georgie all right.”

  Gina had some questions of her own. “Is Julia really your aunt?”

  “Yes. She’s my mother’s half-sister.”

  Gina tried to work that one out. “Julia was a Cordovan, wasn’t she? Before she married Victor, I mean?”

  “My maternal grandmother’s first husband was a Cordovan. They had Julia. Then he popped off, my granny married again, my grandpa this time, and had another daughter, my mum. Okay?”

  “Just as long as you aren’t one of them,” said Gina. “Are you Harry’s cousin?”

  “No,” said Fergus patiently. “My Cordovan cousins are Victor and Julia’s children. Julia isn’t Harry’s mother, so he isn’t a cousin. On the other hand, we’ve known each other since we were little.” He reflected for a moment. “I wonder what Harry’s up to in all this? Harry never does anything without a reason.”

  “I expect he’s amusing himself,” said Gina quickly. No way was she going to tell Fergus the real reason she was here at Heartsease. Not about Harry.

  It was none of Fergus’s business, after all.

  “Fergus!”

  Julia’s clear and commanding voice wafted over the garden. “There you are,” she said, coming briskly down the steps. She snapped off an errant piece of foliage trailing from one of the huge stone urns as she went past, and gave Fergus an auntly hug.

  “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” she said. “Do you know Gina?”

  “We met in Oxford,” said Fergus.

  “Now, come and have some coffee; I want to hear all your news.”

  Gina blended into a yew tree as they walked back towards the house, and then ran swiftly in the other direction, past the orangery and round to the stableyard. Esme was still there, bobbing slightly to the Verdi beat as she poured Jeyes fluid down the drain to the accompaniment of a deafening aria.

  “Is Zoe still here?” Gina bellowed at her.

  Esme lifted one earphone away from her head. “Your blonde friend? No, she scarpered. Gone back to the cottage; she asked me to tell you.”

  “Thanks,” said Gina.

  Gina decided to retreat to the orchard where nobody would think of looking for her and she could sit among the pigs, having a good think.

  Thwarted.

  Hester leant out of the scullery window. “If you’re going that way, Gina, please take this colander and bring Maria some basil. Prim’s working in the vegetable garden, she’ll show you where the herbs are.”

  Gina took the colander with a good grace and changed direction. Thinking would have to be postponed; besides, it was too hot to think clearly. And Gina loved the huge walled vegetable garden with the peach and apricot and nectarine trees espaliered against the centuries-old wall.

  Prim looked up from her determined battle against the tiniest weed as Gina shut the gate behind her.

  “Basil,” said Gina. “Maria needs some.” Prim straightened up. How does she manage to work in the sun without looking sweaty and frayed? Gina wondered.

  “Sweet basil, then,” said Prim. “That’s over here.”

  Gina sniffed the aromatic air as she passed: thyme and rosemary and tarragon, coriander, sage, rocket...

  “You want to pull the leaves off like this,” said Prim helpfully.

  “Bit savage,” said Gina.

  “No, the leaves need plucking, it encourages the plant to grow more, be bushier.”

  “What happens to all these herbs?”

  “They use them fresh in the kitchen, and then we dry the rest, for the winter and for pot-pourri; Hester makes a lot of that. All the family in London take back herbs from here when they’re down, and Hester sends them little packages. It all gets used.”

  “Is that an olive tree?” Gina couldn’t believe her eyes. “In England?”

  “This is a very warm and sheltered garden. It’s quite an old tree.”

  “Lovely leaves.”

  “Yes,” agreed Prim, her mind wandering back to the cuttings she was planting out.

  “How much should I pick?”

  “A colander-full?” suggested Prim. “You can always come back if Maria wants more.” She went back to her careful green work, and Gina set about plucking the bright, sharp-smelling leaves.

  And there, as though she weren’t captivated enough, in the warmth of the walled garden, with the sound of bees in her ears and the scent of herbs in her nose, Gina had one of those moments when time stands still and, for a few seconds, life touches perfection.

  In the distance, a tractor started up; a dog barked; Prim called out something to her from the other side of the radishes, and the spell was broken. Not before the moment was etched on Gina’s mind; I can’t do without this, she thought. I can’t just go away and never come here again. When I could live here, for the rest of my life. Raise children; ho
w completely different from my own upbringing. I simply have to stay.

  Fergus was rescued from Julia’s rigorous questioning by Don, who put his head round the door.

  “Just looking for Hester,” he said, about to go away again. And then he saw who was with Julia and came into the room to clap Fergus on the shoulder and demand some coffee.

  “You’re very boisterous, Don,” complained Julia, pouring him out a cup.

  Don took no notice; he never took any notice of Julia, having learned from long experience that he always rubbed her up the wrong way.

  He enquired after Fergus’s parents and brother, and the farm and land.

  Fergus laughed. “Dad’s doing very well out of the subsidies,” he said. “So he’s got nothing to do. Spends most of his time in the office. He tried staying at home more, but not being out and about in the fields, he drove my mother mad.”

  “I can imagine,” said Don. “Subsidies! I could do with a few subsidies. There aren’t any for English vineyards, did you know that?”

  “I didn’t,” said Fergus with interest. “How many acres have you got put down to vines?”

  “About a hundred. We add a few more most years. How long are you here for?”

  Julia voiced her displeasure with Fergus’s arrangements. “He’s not staying here,” she said. “He’s with a friend who’s taken the cottage Sybil rents out.”

  “Ah, you’re at Kingfisher Cottage, are you? With Charlotte?”

  Fergus reddened slightly. “No, no, I’m not staying. I just came down for the weekend to settle Zoe in; she shares my house in Oxford.”

  It was quite clear from her expression that Julia didn’t approve of that at all.

  “Zoe?” she said coldly. “Does your mother know about this arrangement?”

  “Come off it, Julia,” said Don. “Don’t give Fergus the third degree; he’s of age, and I should think his mother is well acquainted with the other people in his house.”

  “Yes,” said Fergus gratefully. “Mother and Zoe get on very well, actually, Julia. She’s just a friend.”

  “Why is she at Kingfisher Cottage?” said Julia in her inexorable way.