Rose's Vintage (9 page)

Despite the hard work the previous day, Rose was up again at dawn and at Windsong before breakfast, joining the local ladies as they rolled out pastry, ground up olives and herbs, and sliced sides of salmon paper-thin.

Returning to Kalkari late that afternoon, Rose found Leo excited at having taught Barnsie to sit, and Luisa chasing Maggie and Nigella back into their palatial chicken coop. There was an air of anticipation about the place; both kids were looking forward to the night's bonfire.

Leo asked Rose if she'd seen it. ‘Is it taller than me?' he asked.

‘It's as big as the Tower of London,' she replied, watching Leo's eyes grow round.

‘Towa!' shrieked Luisa, jumping up and down.

‘Cool,' said Leo. ‘Will it burn really, really hot?'

‘You know, I think it just might. Better be careful we don't melt away like candle wax, hey?' said Rose, teasing him gently. He really was a sweet boy.

Astrid was bringing the kids to see the lighting of the bonfire and then would take them home. Mark would stay on for the dinner. Rose would be helping in the kitchen, but she'd have time to watch a bit of the bonfire.

She arrived just as the sun was setting. After being directed into a nearby paddock that had been set aside for parking, she made her way up the lane towards the Wind-song winery. Vine cuttings – the ‘canes' – had been gathered into a huge pile a safe distance from the buildings; it towered above her head.

She caught sight of Astrid and the kids. Leo was craning his neck upwards to get a better look. ‘Just like Guy Fawkes' Night at home,' said Rose, as she caught up with them. Astrid looked puzzled, but Rose didn't get time to explain, as Mark arrived with a cup of soup for Leo and a smaller one for Luisa. He blew on the cups to cool them down before passing them to the children and vanishing into the sea of people standing around the bonfire pile.

He returned, however, when it came time for the fire to be lit. He hoisted Luisa onto his shoulders, and they all watched as a burning cane was tossed onto the top of the pile.

Whoosh!

The fire quickly spread through the dry cuttings, crackling loudly and lending a glow to the faces of those watching. Heat radiated from the burning branches. Everyone gazed, spellbound, as the fire glowed and flickered.

As the canes continued to burn, Rose slipped away to the kitchen. Walking through the enormous barrel hall, now warmed by an army of large mobile heaters, she marvelled at the transformation. The long tables that had been clothed in crisp white linen and decorated with fairy lights threaded among cane cuttings. It looked like something from a movie set.

She reached the kitchen to find the cooks, now joined by a team of servers, all in a state of controlled panic. ‘If they don't come in soon, the beef 'll be overdone,' wailed Betty, peering into one of the industrial-sized ovens.

‘Don't worry, Bet,' one of the other women replied, ‘I've sent Thommo out to round everyone up. We'll be able to serve up any minute now.'

Sure enough, the barrel room was soon echoing with the sound of boots on the stone floor and the buzz of laughter and chatter as the guests started to file in.

As she delivered heavy platters of salmon and pots of rillettes at intervals along the tables, Rose noticed Mark seated with a pretty blonde to his left and a redhead on his right. He was leaning in to listen to something the blonde was saying, looking intently into her eyes.

‘They'll be swarming all over him tonight,' said Charlie, who'd materialised beside behind her. ‘Quite the local catch he is, now Isabella's out of the picture. The blonde is Amanda Davis, she lives in the city, but her folks own Bellbirds, the boutique hotel across the valley. She's been up here a lot recently, funnily enough.' He winked at Rose. ‘The other sheila is Ben Hamlett's widow, Sadie, and a merry one she is too. Word is she's inherited a fortune and isn't afraid to splash it around.'

Rose blinked. She understood that, despite his bad temper, Mark was attractive in a kind of older guy way, but she'd not really seen him in that light herself. Truth be told, she'd not seen him in much light at all; apart from the time he was with the kids every afternoon, he spent his waking hours at the winery.

‘Could be just what Mark needs,' added Charlie.

‘Oh?'

‘Not really my place to say, but everyone knows he's been doing it tough for more than a while. Running the place on the smell of an oily rag. Word is the bank has been making life very difficult for him lately.'

Charlie moved on, filling up the legions of glasses on the table with pale gold and ruby wines that glowed in the candlelight. Rose tucked the snippet of information away to relay to Henry when she got the chance.

She went back to the kitchen, where Betty was hauling great trays of beef out of the ovens. The rest of the evening was a blur, as Rose helped serve enormous platters of beef and roasted vegetables, slice pies and collect plates and glasses. So many glasses. At least the kitchen was equipped with a cavernous glass washer.

After dinner, a bush band struck up and space was cleared in the barrel room for a dance floor. It wasn't long before most of the diners were on their feet, dancing enthusiastically to the fiddle, banjo and harmonica, narrowly missing taking each other out as they flung themselves around. It was clear that the generously poured glasses of wine had washed away the inhibitions of plenty of the guests. Everyone seemed to be having a rollicking good time.

Rose realised that it was ages since she'd enjoyed herself so much, and she loved being part of something the whole neighbourhood was involved in. She was exhausted though. It had been a tiring few days, and she was ready to drop. She was sneaking down the side of the hall, on her way to the paddock to collect her car, when she bumped into Mark.

‘Oh hey, sorry, I, er —' Rose stumbled over her words. ‘Hi, Mark. I was just leaving.'

His response surprised her. ‘Don't suppose I could grab a ride? Astrid took our car back and I've had too much to drink to borrow one of the boys' utes,' he said.

‘Sure, of course. Just give me a sec, I think I left my scarf in the kitchen,' said Rose, fumbling with her coat. She looked up and spotted the blonde from dinner heading towards them.

‘Give me your keys and I'll meet you at the car,' said Mark.

‘But you don't know where it's parked.' Rose was confused why he was in such a hurry.

‘I'm sure I won't be able to miss it. It's yellow, right?' he said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

‘Yeah, right, it is.' She hadn't even realised he'd noticed. ‘Here you go.' Rose handed over her keys, and Mark strode out of the room before the blonde had time to catch him.

She found her scarf and said goodbye to Brenda and Betty, who were sitting with their feet up, enjoying a glass of wine. As she passed the bonfire, she saw that it had burned down to its embers now. When she arrived at the car, she found Mark was sitting with the passenger seat tilted way back, eyes closed.

He opened one eye as she got in and looked sideways at her. ‘Sorry about that. Needed to make a quick getaway. Awful Amanda was headed our way.'

‘Is she really that bad?'

‘Oh, probably not,' he said with a sigh, ‘but I'm just not interested in dancing to her tune – or anyone else's, as a matter of fact.'

‘Oh right. Okay, well, let's get going,' she said, embarrassed to continue the conversation any further.

As she turned the key in the ignition, Mark closed his eyes again and slept, or pretended to, for the rest of the drive home. Rose stole an occasional glance at him, observing his face in the darkness and thinking how much softer and gentler his expression was when he was relaxed.

CHAPTER 7

T
he next morning, Rose was sweeping the front porch, nursing a headache from the noise of the night before and trying to ignore the added throbbing of a burgeoning zit just above her left eyebrow. She heard a car and looked up to see a ute, with a rust-and-white cattle dog riding in the open tray at the back, pulling up. Barnsie came out with her and started barking excitedly at the strangers.

‘Quiet, you silly mutt,' she mock-scolded him, picking up the over-enthusiastic puppy and cradling him in her arms.

Charlie emerged from the ute, carrying a huge bunch of lilies and pink roses. ‘These are for you, sweetheart: a thank you for all your help with the dinner last night. Those pies were bloody awesome and Betty says they were all your doing. Didn't get the chance to say so last night – you took off faster than a bride's nightie.'

Rose blushed at the attention, and let go of the squirming Barnsie to take the flowers. She was really touched – even Giles at his best had never shown up with a bouquet as gobsmackingly gorgeous as this. ‘Really, it was nothing. I was glad to help out. Everything looked so magical. Such a big event to put on – everyone did a wonderful job.' She meant it. She'd had a great time, had loved the energy of everyone involved and had relished seeing it all run smoothly.

Barnsie was jumping up at the ute and barking at Charlie's dog, despite the fact that he was a quarter of its size. ‘Quiet, Barnsie. Get down,' she scolded him again.

Just at that moment, Mark came down the path from the winery. ‘Not-so-secret admirer, huh, Rose?' he asked, raising an eyebrow at the flowers she was holding, before going over to shake Charlie's hand. ‘Great job, last night. Very impressive. Really liked your new shiraz, too.'

‘Cheers, mate. Yeah, it's coming along nicely. We'll see how it does at Melbourne.'

‘Melbourne?' asked Rose.

‘Melbourne Wine Show. Home of the Jimmy Watson. Trophy for the best one- or two-year-old red. Most prestigious wine award in the country,' Mark explained.

‘Oh.' Rose went inside to look for a vase. Coming back outside again a few minutes later, she saw Charlie drive away, a cloud of dust following his ute.

‘Have you got a minute, Rose? No-one's properly shown you around and explained what we do here, have they?' Mark looked surprisingly chipper given his tired state the night before, and seemed, somewhat miraculously, to be in a good mood for the first time since she'd met him.

Excellent.
She might find out something to report to Henry.

‘Sure, okay, why not?' she replied, trying to sound casual.

Mark led her along the path to the cellar door: it was still shut up, just as it had been when she'd first arrived.

‘We've had the cellar door closed over winter; we get a bit of business at the weekends, but not enough to justify staffing it year-round,' Mark explained as he fished a large iron key from his pocket and put it in the lock.

As they stepped inside the cool, dark space, Rose could see that a thick layer of dust had gathered on the rows of miniature glasses above the serving area. An enormous slab of varnished timber was balanced on top of a couple of old barrels at which she guessed the wines were poured for tasting, and silver buckets were balanced on stands at each end of the room. She looked inquiringly at Mark.

‘Spittoons.'

‘Ah.'

‘Makes sense when you're tasting anything up to a dozen wines. Not everyone spits though.' Rose saw a brief smile flicker across his face. ‘We've got a few different vintages that we open for tasting, and we make a chardonnay, a cab shiraz blend, a single vineyard shiraz – Assignation – from a block at the far edge of Kalkari, and then I've been experimenting with some Spanish varieties: a tempranillo and an albarino. The majority of our wines are made from estate-grown fruit, though we do take some from other growers in the valley. It gives me more control over the whole process.'

Having shown her the cellar door, they headed outside and took the path that led towards the big corrugated iron shed of the winery itself. As soon as they entered the vast space, with its rough concrete floor and towering stainless steel vats, Rose noticed the same yeasty aroma that the barrel room at Windsong had, and she breathed it in, loving the warm, almost alive scent.

‘God, I love that smell. Reminds me of a bakery.'

He gave her a wide grin. ‘Being here every day, you become pretty immune to it, but if I've been away for a while it certainly smells like home as soon as I walk back in here.'

Mark began to show her around, explaining what everything was and how it worked. ‘We ferment all the parcels separately, only using wild yeasts, put them through malo in the barrel and then blend them together to get the finished result.' Rose nodded, not understanding everything Mark was saying but fascinated nonetheless.

He led her to the small office space and introduced her to Dan, the assistant winemaker. She'd seen Dan's car coming and going, but this was the first time she'd seen him close up. He was a crusty-looking old bloke, streaks of grey threaded through his thick brown hair, a bushranger beard that was more salt than pepper, and a checked shirt stretched tightly across his large frame, heavy boots on his feet.