Rose's Vintage (21 page)

When she was relaxing at the hairdresser later, Mark called and confirmed that he'd meet her in the hotel lobby at six o'clock sharp.

At the appointed hour, she walked to the elevator, aware of a fluttering feeling in her stomach like the beating of a pair of butterfly wings. She steadied herself, but as the elevator pinged and the doors opened, Rose gasped. She almost didn't recognise herself: the elevator's full-length mirror reflected a tall, willowy beauty. Astrid's swirling sea-green dress floated like gossamer over her shoulders before clinging to her hips and running-honed rear. She turned around to check out the view from the back.

Pippa Middleton, eat your heart out!

Astrid was quite a few inches shorter than Rose, and the dress, which must have been knee-length on her, barely made it to mid-thigh on Rose. The new sandals had delicate diamante straps and made her legs look endless. Her hair, tamed into a sweep of glossy waves, cascaded over her shoulders. If only Giles could see her now, he'd think twice about buggering off to Brussels, she was sure. She wasn't sure even Henry would recognise her for that matter.

Her brother had always teased her for never bothering to make the most of herself, telling her that she spent far too much time in chef 's whites with her hair tucked away. Seeing herself like this – as she'd only ever thought girls who were born to be elegant looked – she had to restrain herself from taking a selfie and messaging it to him there and then.

As she walked through the lobby, trying not to trip in the heels she was so unaccustomed to, she caught sight of Mark. He was deep in conversation with a rather portly man who had thinning strands of grey hair combed over a balding crown. Both were wearing dinner jackets and black bowties.

‘Hello, Mark,' she said shyly as she approached. Mark did almost the same double-take that she'd done in the mirror earlier, widening his eyes as he took her in.

‘Look at the legs on that,' boomed the portly man, giving a low whistle.

Mark recovered himself, ‘Rose, I'd like you to meet Angus. Angus McGilligot is probably Australia's most important wine writer.' Mark's tone was jovial, but Rose thought she could detect a faint undercurrent of sarcasm, not something that someone who didn't know him well would have picked up on, but she'd heard it before, at home when he was teasing Luisa.

‘Less of the probably, old man!' boomed Angus. Up close, Rose could see he had a network of red veins in his cheeks, and an alarmingly bulbous nose that sat on his face like a squidge of poorly placed playdough.

‘My mistake, Angus, gotta keep you humble,' Mark laughed and slapped him on the back, ‘Gus is sharing a cab to the restaurant with us.'

‘Pleased to meet you, Angus.'

‘Pleasure's all mine,' said Angus looking at her legs again before diving in to plant a wet kiss on her cheek. ‘Bonza dress.' Rose wasn't sure she liked being assessed quite so blatantly, but she was a bit miffed that Mark hadn't bothered to comment on her appearance. He might at least have said something nice about the way she looked – she'd made a special effort and he could at least have noticed.

CHAPTER 20

T
he restaurant was already buzzing when they arrived, and the air of anticipation was palpable as they walked up to the bar. Rose noticed several guests interrupt their conversations when they recognised Mark. She found a flute of bubbles pressed into her hand as Mark slipped one arm gently around her and leant in to whisper in her ear. ‘Don't feel that you're being abandoned, but there'll be a lot of people after my time tonight. You'll be okay, won't you?' Rose, acutely aware of the warmth of his touch, nodded her assent, although she didn't feel that confident as she looked out at the growing sea of unfamiliar people. Mark's arm left her back and she shivered at its absence.

‘Don't worry Mark, I'll look after her,' said Angus. ‘Come with me, Rosie darling.'

Rose took a deep breath and allowed herself to be led over to a group of suited men and their wives.

‘This little sweetheart is Mark's guest,' Angus said knowingly, with emphasis on the word ‘guest'. Rose didn't much care for the implication in his tone of voice, but decided to ignore it and be pleasant as she was introduced to the men and women gathered around the wine writer.

Several glasses of champagne later and having listened to a long-winded but, she had to admit, amusing anecdote from Angus that involved a tractor and a pump and several gallons of grape juice, she saw that people were moving towards the snowy-clothed tables. Rose couldn't wait to try the food. It had been so long since she'd eaten out anywhere smart, and she was looking forward to seeing if Sydney fine dining was all it was reputed to be.

Sitting diagonally across from Mark, at a long table, and thankfully some distance from the leering Angus, she leant back as the waiter theatrically unfurled starched a white napkin over her lap.

The first course, tiny petals of pearl meat and beads of caviar surrounded by foaming green sauce, didn't disappoint.

Oh, this is going to be good.

The accompanying Kalkari chardonnay was a perfect match for the rich but delicate dish, its light oak and stone fruit flavours in balance with the seafood. She almost moaned aloud with pleasure as she took a first bite, oblivious to the conversation going on around her. She closed her eyes for a moment, surrendering to the textures and tastes. As her eyelids fluttered open, she caught Mark watching her, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. She found herself grinning back at him, fluttering one eyelid in the faintest of winks, knowing her pleasure in the dish was evident.

As the dinner flew by, each course offering new sensations and flavours, Rose found herself relaxing and enjoying herself, chatting happily to her neighbours and sipping on the delicious wines.

Before she knew it, coffee was being served, and Mark was called upon to speak. She and the rest of the dinner guests listened, spellbound, as Mark described the wines, the different vintages, and what he was aiming to achieve in the vineyard this year. She'd seen flashes of his passion when they'd chatted in the barn, but it was something else to see him, dressed in a suit that would put James Bond to shame, standing in front of a crowd as they hung on his every word. As he finished speaking, she wanted to stand up and cheer. And then drag him away to a room with just her and a king-size bed … The wine had loosened her inhibitions, and in a flash, she suddenly realised that she had fallen head over heels in lust with her boss.

Oh Christ, that's all I need.

Amid a sea of clapping hands, Mark made his way down from the podium. He walked around the tables, stopping to chat and share stories. As he neared Rose's side, she had to restrain herself from leaping up, hugging him and recklessly kissing him full on the lips.

‘That was wonderful, Mark.'

‘What? The food, the wine, or me?' he asked cheekily, all traces of the grumpy boss she was used to nowhere to be seen.

She blushed.

‘Just kidding, Rose. I could see how much you enjoyed the food. We can head off now though, if you like. We had an early start this morning and I'm pretty beat.'

Feeling elated by the evening: the food, the wine and the surprisingly congenial company – Angus hadn't turned out to be as lecherous as she'd initially feared – Rose could have danced on the tables all night, but agreed that they probably should get going. She wanted to get away from everyone, to have Mark all to herself, to loosen his tie, slide her fingers through his shirt, undo his buttons, put her hand over his heart and feel it beating faster …

‘If we're quick, we'll miss old Gus there.' Mark nodded towards the wine writer, who was holding court over several bottles of Assignation.

Rose snapped out of her reverie. ‘Yes, of course. Let's go then.'

They said a quick farewell to Mark's distributor and thank you to the maitre'd, and then slipped quickly into a waiting cab. The ride back to the hotel was mercifully short. She could feel a rising tension in the car, but there was also a closeness that did away with the need for words. At that moment, anything seemed possible.

‘Care for a nightcap?' Mark asked casually, as they walked through the lobby of the hotel.

‘Love one.' She didn't want the evening to end.

As they headed towards the bar, Rose ducked off to the bathroom. She saw a flushed, sparkling stranger in the mirror, eyes glittering from the wine she'd drunk earlier.

Be careful. This is dangerous. Really not a good idea at all. Don't go doing something stupid that you'll regret in the morning.

But there was a glint in her eyes that told a different story. She wasn't ready to listen to the voice in her head, the one that told her to be careful, to be cautious, to stay away from trouble. She preferred the message her heart was thrumming out.

She found Mark lounging on a low sofa in front of the fire. In front of him were two cut crystal glasses, each filled with a generous measure of rusty-looking liqueur. ‘My guilty pleasure,' he said, no hint of apology in his voice.

Rose began to imagine other guilty pleasures too, and felt a warmth spreading through her that wasn't just from the whisky. She sat down next to him, clinking her glass against his. ‘Thanks for a wonderful evening. I really enjoyed it.'

‘Even with Gus McGilligot eyeing you up and down?'

Rose laughed. ‘He's a pussycat.'

‘Oh really?' Mark raised one eyebrow. ‘I hope you know that he can make or break a winery with just a few column inches. He's not a man to take lightly.'

‘Neither are you, Mark,' she said recklessly.

How had her mouth just run away with her like that? Rose was quietly horrified and thrilled, all at the same time. She was obviously far too relaxed from the wine and good food.

‘I'm glad you think so,' Mark looked at her, amused, holding her gaze. Rose found she couldn't tear her eyes away. She felt the colour mounting in her cheeks and a warm flush rise through her directly from her groin. Warning bells sounded far away in her brain. She knew that what would surely happen next was going to be a mistake whichever way she looked at it, but she was powerless to stop as Mark leaned forward and gently touched his lips to hers. Time stood still. All she could hear was the thudding of her blood in her veins. All she could feel were Mark's lips on hers. She moved towards him, circling the back of his neck with her arm, feeling his hair, unexpectedly soft to the touch, and pulling him towards her for a long, hungry kiss.

He broke away, and Rose caught her breath.

Oh dear God.
The man could kiss for Australia.

‘You looked stunning tonight by the way,' he murmured and, with a finger on her chin, tilted her lips towards his again. She surrendered to the insistency of his lips …

SMASH!

They jumped away from each other as if they'd been scalded.

The barman had dropped a tumbler on the glass countertop, causing it to shatter into hundreds of glistening diamonds. The sound sobered them both and Rose found she couldn't meet Mark's eyes. She felt suddenly clear-headed again. And scared. Scared of what might happen if she let it.

‘Thanks for the drink and everything. I'd really better go now,' she stammered, gathering up her bag and turning towards the lobby. She didn't give Mark a chance to stop her.

Back in her room, Rose eased off the sparkly shoes and unzipped her dress, letting it fall in a puddle on the carpet. She pulled on an old t-shirt, wound her hair up into a knot and fell back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her sensible side knew she'd made a lucky escape. For once she hadn't acted on impulse. So why did she feel so goddamn miserable?

CHAPTER 21

R
ose watched Astrid as she wriggled back and forth and then sighed with frustration. They were in Astrid's bedroom, Rose having cleared a space for Astrid to lie on the bed as she tried in vain to do up the zip on her jeans.