Rose's Vintage (41 page)

Later, as she was preparing Leo and Luisa's dinner, the heavy scent of Isabella's perfume wafted into the kitchen. Rose looked up to see her framed in the doorway, arms folded, the talons of her nails blood-red, crimson lipstick a warning slash against her olive skin.

‘Ah, Rose, there you are.' Isabella's tone was condescending. She walked over to the dresser and leant casually against it.

‘Isabella.' Rose was wary. ‘Can I get you anything?'

‘I think it is time we had a talk, no? It is an uncomfortable situation, I think?'

You're not wrong there.

Rose was silent, not wanting to give Isabella an inch. She continued chopping the onions in front of her, blinking her eyes against their pungency.

‘Mark. My
husband
.' Isabella stressed the word. ‘He is not serious about you, you know. He has – how do you say – an itch to scratch.' Isabella looked pleased with herself at the expression. In fact, Rose thought, she looked like the cat that had the cream, and not just a bowlful, but a cat that had licked the whole bucket clean. ‘He is a simple man. He will take whatever is offered to him, what is put in front of him. On a plate. He is not too fussy, you know what I mean? But the fun is over. I think we know that it is time that you left us. Mark and I, we have a
partnership
.'

Rose was lost for words.

‘This is not your home, but Mark, he is just too weak to say it. I heard that your brother is here. Perhaps it is time for both of you to leave, eh?'

Rose stopped chopping. She barely registered Isabella's words about leaving; she was more upset by her casual dismissal of Mark. The man Isabella was describing wasn't the man she knew, the man she loved. Mark was a thoughtful, considerate man, a man who loved his kids and his land and who always tried to do his best for those around him.

A red haze came over her and she gripped the handle of the knife tightly to steady herself. She could almost feel her blood boiling. ‘I don't believe you. That's complete and utter crap and you know it. You just can't stand to see him happy. You can't stand the fact that he's found someone else, can you? Now that he's successful, now that someone else wants him, you want him back. Well you can't just click your fingers and expect him to come to heel. Life doesn't work like that, not anymore, not here. Things have changed.'

Isabella looked astonished at Rose's outburst. ‘So the kitten has claws … Meow.'

Rose turned back to the chopping board. In one hand she held the knife, in the other a glass of wine. She knew which would do to the most damage. It would be so satisfying to plunge the knife in – not into Isabella's bitter heart, she wasn't a complete psycho – but she could stab the soft flesh of an arm, hold the point under her delicate chin … She reined in her inner Dexter and did the next best thing. With a graceful flick of her wrist, she turned and hurled the contents of her glass at Isabella's immaculate snowy shirt.

Waste of a good red, but still, satisfying nonetheless.
This was one time Rose wasn't going to regret acting on impulse.

She fled the room, Isabella's outraged gasps of horror ringing in her ears.

‘Hey!' Jake protested as Rose burst onto the verandah and slammed into him. She'd been running to the barn, knowing she had to get as far away from Isabella as possible.

‘S — s — sorry,' she blurted, hot angry tears springing to her eyes.

‘Whoa there.' Jake grasped her with both arms and led her towards the barn.

He closed the door behind them and gave her a hug. ‘I overheard it all. Jeez, she's a piece of work. God knows what Mark ever saw in her. Good on you for standing up to her. You know she was spouting absolute nonsense? Blind Freddy could see how besotted Mark is with you. Nice work on the red, too, by the way.'

Rose gulped. She was horrified at what she'd done. ‘You think?'

‘Uh huh. Take it from me, she's just trying to get you out of the picture in any way she can. I reckon someone must have told her just how serious things were getting between you and Mark and she came back to remind him of his obligations.'

‘Obligations?'

‘She still owns half of Kalkari.'

Suddenly everything made sense. The hold Isabella had over Mark, why she so obviously had the upper hand, why she was so sure of herself. Rose groaned. What
had
she got herself into? It was hopeless. Mark would never be free of Isabella, no matter what he said to the contrary, and Rose would always be caught in no-man's land. While Isabella still had a share in the winery, she'd always be calling the shots, showing up without warning, poisoning everything. Was this really what Rose wanted for her life?

As it turned out, Isabella got exactly what she wanted.

After she'd calmed down, Rose began to think. The situation was always going to be complicated, she had accepted that, but this was too much. She didn't want to live her life in the shadow of a vengeful megalomaniac.

She briefly considered calling Mark to hear what he had to say about it all, but she felt in her heart there was no point. There was nothing he could say to make the situation any better. There was nothing that would change it. She knew what she had to do: it was time to cut her losses and get out of the valley. She rang Henry instead.

Reaching the barn, she began throwing things into her backpack. She could barely squeeze all her stuff in – it seemed to have multiplied in the time she'd been at Kalkari – and regretfully had to leave the glamorous dress that Astrid had given her hanging in the wardrobe. No matter, it would only have reminded her of happier times.

Barely fifteen minutes later, she was all packed up. Just as she was fastening the last strap, Jake walked in to the empty bedroom. ‘What the bloody hell! Rose? What's going on?'

‘I just can't do it anymore, Jake. I'm sorry. I'm in the way here. It'll be so much easier for Mark if I'm not around to complicate things. He's got enough on his plate. It's for the best, really.' Jake went to interrupt her, but she held up a hand to stop him. ‘There's nothing you can do to change my mind. I'm leaving with Henry and going back home to England.'

Jake looked at her in surprise. ‘I thought you were tougher than that,' he said quietly.

‘Yes, but I'm not an idiot. Now, please just let me go.'

He sighed, resigned. ‘I'll not get in the way of a woman whose mind is clearly made up. But I think you're making a big mistake.'

‘No, the only mistake I've made is hanging around here far longer than I should have done. I've been a fool.'

Jake shrugged. ‘No, Rose,' he said gently. ‘You're far from a fool.'

‘Whatever. Would you be able to do me a favour? Do you think you could let Mark know? He's over at the far end of the valley and there's no coverage. I've tried, but I can't reach him.' She was lying. She hadn't tried to call, but Jake didn't need to know that.

‘Of course.' He looked at her sadly. ‘But I'm sure he'd rather hear this from you. Can't you wait a few more hours?'

‘No, I'm afraid not. I've a flight to catch later today.' Rose was lying again, but now the decision was made, she wanted to get out of Kalkari as soon as she possibly could.

Rose heard the beep of a horn. She took a last look at the place that had been her home for the past few months. She refused to cry, but inside she felt like the door was shutting irrevocably on something that had been so good – the truest thing she'd ever known. Feeling a knot tighten in her stomach, she did her best to breathe through the pain.

Henry loaded her backpack into the boot of her car and they drove in convoy to New Bridgeton, where he offloaded his hire car.

‘You're sure about this, sis? You're not being too impulsive?' he asked as he settled himself in the passenger seat next to her.

She bit her lip and nodded. ‘Absolutely.'

CHAPTER 43

‘C
herie! C'est magnifique
to see you.' Philippe's welcome was enthusiastic.

She had shown up at Rustica, Philippe's new restaurant, straight from dropping Henry at the airport. She'd lied when she told Jake that she was going back to the UK. She wasn't quite ready to leave Australia, and was hoping to hang out in Bondi with her friends for a while before setting off to see more of the country.

She tried in vain to stop the tears from pricking her eyes as Philippe hugged her. ‘Hey, Rosie, what is it? Why do you look like you are about to cry?'

‘Nothing, really,' she said, brushing her hand over her swollen eyes. ‘Just pleased to see a familiar face. Can I come and crash with you for a few days?'

‘Of course! But why are you here? What about your job?'

Rose poured out the whole story.

‘Well, I am so very sorry to hear this, poor Rose, but his loss is my gain. If you're not busy tomorrow, do you think you could help us out? My pastry chef just quit and I am – how do you say – up the creek,' he looked hopefully at her. ‘In fact, I need someone permanently if you think you might be interested.'

‘Really?' Rose couldn't believe her luck. ‘Are you sure?'

This was just what she needed: working in a busy kitchen might be the best way to take her mind off things. It was a much better plan than going sightseeing, which would leave her way too much time to dwell on the mess she'd got herself in. In the state she was in, the scenery would doubtless be blurred by tears in any case. A small part of her worried that she would be completely out of her depth in Philippe's kitchen, but she quickly dismissed the fear.
To hell with playing small
, she thought defiantly.
Time to jump in, boots and all
.

‘
Je ne vinaigrette rien
,' she said with a weak smile.

‘
Pardon
?' asked Philippe, puzzled.

‘Never mind,' she grinned. ‘Okay, I'm in. If you think I'm up to it.'

‘Never a doubt.'

‘So, what's on the menu?'

‘I'll fill you in tomorrow,' Philippe tossed a set of keys at her. ‘You can crash at my place for now. Frostie's moved out and there's a spare room – if you don't mind sharing it with a few surfboards, that is.'