Rose's Vintage (10 page)

He looked up from his laptop and waved a cheery hello. ‘Just checking on the weather, boss. Looks like we could be in for some rain in the next week or so.'

Something clicked in Rose's brain. ‘You've got internet access in here?'

‘Yeah, but it's pretty slow, and not exactly reliable,' Dan answered. ‘One of the delights of working in the country.'

‘Ah,' said Rose, dejectedly. ‘I guess I'll have to keep relying on Sacred Grounds then. Anyway, nice to meet you, Dan.'

She followed him out of the small winery office and up a set of metal stairs to a gantry catwalk that wound around the edge of the building. It was terrifyingly high and narrow. Rose was not a fan of heights but she followed him up the stairs, trying to stop her legs from shaking as she did so. They gazed down on the steel tanks, some large square concrete tanks towards the back, and a pyramid of small oak barrels in the far corner of the winery.

‘French oak,' said Mark, pointing to the barrels. ‘Limousin and Vosges. Bloody expensive, but the best there is.'

As they climbed down the stairs, Mark walked over to the barrels and pulled out a long curved glass tube. It looked to Rose a bit like an elongated turkey baster, and she watched as he pulled out the rubber bung from a barrel and sucked up some of the wine. ‘A barrel thief,' he said.

‘Are you referring to the baster, or yourself?' she asked, risking a cheeky grin.

He raised one eyebrow in response.

Putting a thumb over the end to stopper the baster, he then released it and let the wine slosh into two small glasses that he had in his other hand. ‘Here, have a taste of this. It's our 2014 shiraz, the Assignation,' he said, offering her a glass. ‘Here, this is how to taste it,' said Mark. He showed her how to hold the glass by its stem and swirl the liquid, poke her nose into the glass and take a deep sniff and then slurp some of the wine over her tongue all the way to the back of her throat before swallowing. Rose knew how to taste wine from spending time with Henry, but she let Mark demonstrate and followed his instructions. She didn't want him to find out that she knew more about wine than she was letting on.

‘Whaddya reckon?'

Rose could taste rich fruit and spices – almost like her grandma's Christmas cake. The wine was smooth and supple on her palate, and the flavour seemed to go on forever. Despite the early hour, it was so delicious that she certainly didn't want to spit it out.

‘Blimey, that's good. I can just imagine it with filet mignon or Chateaubriand.'

‘Or a big, juicy Aussie steak?' he suggested, teasing her. ‘Yeah, I'm pretty happy with this vintage. We'll see how well it does at Melbourne. It's just about ready for bottling, I reckon.'

‘Is that the Johnny Watson thing that you and Charlie were talking about?'

‘Jimmy Watson,' said Mark. ‘Anyway, we'd better get on. I've kept you away from the house for too long and I've got a heap of things to do here.'

Rose knew when she was being dismissed. ‘Sure. Thanks for showing me around, Mark. It was fascinating, really, it was.' Rose wasn't even lying. It
had
been surprisingly interesting to see something of the secret business that went on inside a winery. Even though she'd learnt a bit about French wines as part of her
Diplôme de Cuisine
, and of course Henry had been involved with wine for as long as she could remember, she'd never actually set foot in a winery until now.

And now she knew where the office was. It was probably her best bet for finding out what Henry needed: she'd had time to figure out that Mark almost certainly didn't keep any business papers in the house. She just had to choose a time when she was sure no-one was around and she wouldn't be caught.

Oh, and there was the small matter of getting her hands on the keys, which she'd seen hanging up in the winery office earlier. She'd have to wait for her opportunity – Mark was bound to leave them somewhere when he locked up for the night.

budburst

noun

the emergence of new leaves on plants such as grapevines at the beginning of the growing season

CHAPTER 8

A
s she jogged along Shingle Road, through the clearing early morning mist, Rose noticed that a bright green fuzz had appeared over the valley, formerly brown, dormant hillsides spiked with new growth. Green shoots thrust from the wizened vines and bright golden wattle shone on roadside bushes. The air wasn't nearly as punishingly cold as it had been a few weeks ago, and she was able to ditch the gloves and beanie Astrid had lent her and soak up the sun as it rose over the distant hills.

She stopped to survey the landscape, and a strange feeling welled up within her. For a moment she didn't recognise it. Then it came to her: she was happy. She was really, truly happy. The Shingle Valley was beginning to take root and grow in her heart.

Oh Christ, that's all I need.

The sunshine, however, was short-lived; thick grey clouds blanketed the valley for the next few days, holding the promise of rain but not delivering.

One morning, Astrid had taken Leo to school and Luisa to play with some friends, and the house was unnaturally quiet. Mark was out visiting a grower at the far end of the valley, so Rose finally had a chance to explore the winery. She knew Dan would be there, but she could use the offer of a freshly baked carrot cake as an excuse to nose around. She still hadn't found out anything specific about the financial state of Kalkari, just rumours, and her brother would want something concrete soon, she knew.

Inside the winery, she popped her head around the office door, proffering the sweet treat.

Dan looked up and smiled at her. ‘Hey, Rose, how are you going? Is that for me? Don't mind if I do. Ta.' For a large man, Dan moved surprisingly gracefully. He slid from his chair and moved over to a small countertop that was fitted with a sink. ‘Let me put the kettle on. Will you stop and have a cuppa?'

‘Sure, I'd love one.'

‘How're you getting on up at the house?'

‘Oh, it's all pretty good; although now I've got everything shipshape, I have to confess I've got a bit of time on my hands.'

‘Ah, that's bloody gorgeous,' said Dan as he bit into the still-warm cake, savouring the rich sweetness and licking his lips, which were smeared with icing. ‘How did you know I had a sweet tooth?'

Rose grinned at him. ‘Lucky guess.'

‘Well, if you're bored, you could always make more of these ripper cakes … actually, you know, what we need around here is someone to take the cellar door in hand. Clean it up and start offering tastings again. I think your cakes'd be a hit too, judging by this one. Hey, there's a bit of a CWA competition coming up next week. My missus always does well there, but I reckon you'd give even her a run for her money.'

Rose looked at him in surprise. She wasn't sure what Mark would have to say about her taking on the cellar door as a project, but as she turned the idea over in her mind, it did seem to have definite possibilities. She might be a bit more involved in everything, rather than always stuck at the house. It could also be a good way to get her hands on a set of keys. ‘But I don't know anything about wine – well, apart from how to serve it, of course,' she said doubtfully. She didn't want to let on that she had some knowledge. ‘I've no idea how to talk to people about it, describe how it was made and so on.' That much, at least, was true. ‘And what's a CWA competition?'

‘I could give you some tasting notes, get you up to speed on the wine lingo, no trouble,' Dan said as he handed her a mug of tea. ‘You'd be a natural. And the CWA is the Country Women's Association. They hold an annual baking competition in Eumeralla. Be good for you to go and ruffle the feathers of a few of those old birds. Some of them think they rule the roost around here.' He guffawed at his own joke.

‘Oh, yeah, Mrs B mentioned something about that,' she said noncommittally. ‘But I think perhaps I should check with Mark about it first. About the cellar door, that is.'

‘You're probably right. He doesn't take kindly to people interfering without his say-so, or doing things without him knowing. We haven't really had anyone here who could take on the job of managing it – not since the lady of the house upped and left, that is. Mind you, she didn't care to lower herself to serving customers. Just floated about the place, giving orders to everyone else. About as useless as tits on a bull she was.'

Rose spluttered into her tea. She'd never heard the expression before, but it certainly conveyed its meaning clearly enough.

‘She was all high-falutin', hoity-toity. What do they call it? High maintenance. Yep, that's it. High maintenance. Eeessabella.' Dan drew out the syllables of her name in an exaggerated Spanish accent. He looked suddenly guilty. ‘I shouldn't be talking out of school, but she thought she was too good for the likes of us. She knows all about wine alright, and she's certainly a looker. Things were okay in the beginning, but I reckon the grind of it got her down. There's never been more than two beans to rub together round here, and any money we do make Mark spends on French oak or new rootstock. I don't think we were glamorous enough for her in the end. She was always escaping to Sydney, leaving the little mites on their own with Brenda for days on end.' Dan shook his head at the memory and slurped another mouthful of tea.