Blackpeak Vines Page 24

  ‘What do you think,’ Jules asked wonderingly, ‘they’ll say to each other when she walks in the door?’

  ‘I know … I keep trying to imagine it. But I can’t.’

  ‘Well.’ Jules raised her glass. ‘I guess Ella could start with “thanks for the genes”.’

  Lizzie laughed. ‘She did get the best of both of us, don’t you think?’

  ‘What girl wouldn’t be happy with that? It’s a pretty stellar package.’

  ‘Evening, all.’

  They both jumped as Seb strolled in through the door.

  ‘You know, a sensitive chap could start to get offended when you two stop talking every time he walks in.’ He grinned. ‘Lucky for you I’ve got the hide of a rhino.’

  ‘Lizzie, my love.’ Richard followed Seb in. ‘How were your grapes this morning? Still sour?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ Lizzie laughed. ‘Completely, I’m told.’

  ‘What? He wouldn’t even let you try one yourself?’

  ‘Oh, I daren’t.’ She shook her head ruefully. ‘The way we’re going, we’ll only ripen three. I wouldn’t want to waste one.’

  Seb patted her shoulder.

  ‘How’s it looking?’ Richard nodded at Jules’s laptop.

  ‘Great,’ Jules said firmly, resting her hand on the lid. ‘And no, you can’t see. You might not think you look pretty enough. I’m not having you calling your agent on day one.’

  ‘It’ll be pretty hard to top what we got today,’ said Seb. ‘But I’m told we’re about to. We’re heading up to the Opal Lakes tomorrow.’

  ‘Only if it’s fine,’ Jules said, with a pointed look at Lizzie. ‘Cross your fingers for clear skies.’

  Having checked the frost forecast earlier, Lizzie was already hoping for the reverse. ‘I’m afraid my fingers are otherwise engaged until 7am — then you can have your clear skies.’

  ‘Sorry, darling.’ Jules looked alarmed. ‘God forbid we should damage the pinot.’

  ‘Speaking of which,’ Lizzie smiled, ‘though we may not make wine this year, I do still have a little in the bottle.’

  The next morning, the sheltering cloud that Lizzie’s hopes had summoned up in the night rolled back right on cue to reveal a glorious autumn day. Having watched the others drive away, she looked up enviously at the clear blue sky. God, she’d love to be flying today. She’d love to be— Lizzie re-gathered her thoughts as they accelerated down the road to Glencairn and its inevitable conclusion. She could see the homestead, the old stone warming under the morning sun. She could see Carr. She closed her eyes. It was just the shoot; that was what was getting to her. In another few weeks it would be over, Jules and Seb would go, and she would have no reason to think of Glencairn every morning. Then, surely, she could get on with the business of forgetting all about Carr and his house and his hills and his helicopter. Things would go back to being the way they had been before. Before the Opal Lakes meant a thing to her. Before just the thought of a rotor rising over the top of a ridge brought tears to her eyes.

  Filing back in at the end of the day, Jules, Seb and Richard parked themselves at the bench and stared at Lizzie in unison. Even Richard looked exhausted.

  ‘What?’ she asked. ‘Do I have salmon scales stuck to my face?’

  Seb shook his head. ‘We are in awe.’

  ‘That you could spend a night in that place …’ Jules let out her breath. ‘Alone … OMG, Lizzie.’

  ‘I nearly died of fright just thinking about it,’ said Seb.

  Lizzie shifted uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t, really.’

  ‘Meaning, I suppose,’ Richard grinned, ‘that you didn’t quite spend the whole night — and, strictly speaking, you weren’t alone.’

  ‘Dickie has been dragging the story out of Carr,’ Jules explained.

  ‘It isn’t easy,’ he sighed, ‘but I’m getting there.’

  God forbid. Hurriedly, Lizzie looked for something to do on the other side of the kitchen. ‘The lakes are incredible,’ she said, hoping to shift the conversation to safer ground, ‘aren’t they?’

  ‘Breathtaking,’ Jules agreed. ‘No wonder you seem different these days. I can see how a night in a place like that could change your life.’

  Well, Lizzie supposed that it had, though not, perhaps, for the reasons Jules expected.

  ‘It’s like something from another planet up there,’ Seb said.

  ‘Even if you weren’t paying me’ — Richard held up his hand as Jules opened her mouth — ‘it would have been worth taking this job to see what we saw today.’

  ‘I’ll remember that when I get your invoice,’ Jules said. Reaching out her laptop, she looked at Lizzie. ‘Want to see what we got?’

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘You know, I think I’d rather wait until it’s edited up. I don’t want to spoil it.’ She looked around. ‘Glass of wine, anyone? There’s a bottle of pinot gris in the fridge.’

  ‘I’ll get it.’ Richard got up. ‘Oh …’ He picked up the invitation he’d dislodged from the door of the fridge. ‘So Charlie and Rob are getting married, eh?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I meant to say.’

  ‘In “the old woolshed”?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘How very romantic.’

  ‘It will be, I think,’ she smiled. ‘Apparently it hasn’t been used in a hundred years, so the smell might have gone by now.’

  ‘And this is at Blackpeak?’ Jules’s eyes lit up. ‘When?’

  ‘The Saturday before I leave,’ Richard answered, before Lizzie could get in a word. ‘Are you going?’

  ‘Yes.’ She shot a look at Jules. ‘But—’

  ‘Who are you taking?’ he asked quickly. ‘Can I come?’

  ‘Yes, if you want—’

  ‘We don’t have anything down for that Saturday,’ said Jules. ‘And, unless we run into problems, Dickie’s clear — it’s the second contingency day for his links.’

  ‘They don’t want any cameras there,’ Lizzie told her, firmly.

  ‘Not even just Seb?’

  ‘I’m sorry, darling. I tried.’

  Jules didn’t look too disappointed. ‘We’re shooting there for the next few days,’ she pointed out. ‘Maybe they’ll change their minds.’

  ‘Shall I light the fire?’ Seb asked. ‘There’s a nip in the air tonight.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Lizzie shuddered, ‘use that word.’ She threw him a box of matches. ‘The air is not to nip until my grapes are ripe.’

  ‘Sorry, darling. How is the frost forecast tonight?’

  ‘The temperature’s due to get down there,’ she said grimly. ‘But the cloud should roll back in before midnight, they say.’

  ‘That’s damned sporting of the cloud,’ Seb smiled, ‘don’t you think?’

  ‘Please,’ Lizzie raised her eyes to the night sky outside, ‘just a few more weeks — that’s all we need.’

  But how much hope of that could there really be?

  Two nights later, the alarm penetrated Lizzie’s sleep slowly, winding into a sinister dream in which she was flying low over dark water. Where the hell was that noise coming from? Rolling over, she checked the time. 04:00. Was the house on fire?

  Oh … shit! Shit, shit, shit! Scrambling out from under the duvet, she threw open the sliding door and stuck her head out into the frigid night. She could see every star in the sky.

  Not bothering to take her pyjamas off, Lizzie threw on her warmest clothes and raced out into the kitchen. She had to find the keys to the shed. Where were they? Hanging up on the hook where they always were. Okay, she needed to calm down …

  ‘Lizzie?’ Jules wandered in, rubbing her eyes. Seb followed behind her. ‘What the hell is that awful noise?’

  ‘Frost alarm.’

  ‘I thought the wind was meant to come up and drive it away?’

  ‘It was. But apparently, it didn’t.’

  ‘God — so it’s freezing now?’

  ‘It’s just about to.’

  Jules snapped into action mode. ‘What do we do?�
��

  ‘Light the burners and pray.’

  Within half an hour, the vineyard had taken on the appearance of a war zone. Shrouded in white, and lit by the burners’ glow, its neat rows looked like the ranks of some ghostly army. An army that, Lizzie thought bitterly, hunched below the nets with her temperature gauge, was losing the fight. The air temperature around the canopy was still falling.

  ‘Is it working?’ asked Jules excitedly, when Lizzie emerged.

  She shook her head. ‘The burners aren’t doing enough. They’re not shifting enough air.’

  ‘So what do we do now?’

  Lizzie’s phone rang. It was Guy.

  ‘How bad is it?’ he asked her.

  ‘Pretty bad.’

  ‘You’ve managed to get all the heaters going?’

  ‘Yes, but they’re not working.’ She ran her hand over her face. ‘You told me they wouldn’t.’

  ‘Hey, this is the sort of stuff that happens when you try to make wine. Don’t beat yourself up. There are no easy answers.’

  She let out a long breath.

  ‘Lizzie, I’m sorry. It’s bad all around. I can’t get anyone to you.’

  ‘Right.’ She closed her eyes.

  ‘What did he say?’ Jules demanded, as Lizzie ended the call.

  ‘That I’m on my own.’ She stuffed her phone back into her pocket. ‘The winery has other priorities. They’re not going to risk money protecting a tiny crop they already think might fail.’

  ‘There must be something else we can do.’

  ‘There isn’t. Not now, not in time.’

  ‘So we just’ — Jules looked shocked — ‘watch the grapes die?’

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘The grapes don’t die, the leaves do. Without leaves, the grapes can’t ripen any more. They stay just as they are — unharvestable.’

  Richard and Seb walked up, their faces shadowy and grim in the orange light of the burners.

  ‘Tell us what to do,’ Richard said.

  ‘We might as well go back inside.’ Lizzie wiped the diesel from her face with her sleeve. ‘It’s over.’

  ‘What’s that noise?’ Seb frowned.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Listen.’

  Above the burners’ roar, another sound was growing. Turning, Lizzie shielded her eyes against the sudden blaze of light.

  ‘It’s Carr,’ yelled Jules, squinting up at the call-sign emblazoned on the belly of the helicopter hanging in the air above them.

  ‘What the hell’s he doing?’ yelled Seb. ‘Is he trying to land?’

  Lizzie stared as the helicopter repositioned overhead.

  ‘Lizzie?’ Jules turned back to her. ‘What’s happening? Is he in trouble?’

  ‘No. He’s …’ Lizzie stopped, unable to speak for the lump in her throat. ‘He’s trying to … to push the warm air down into the vines.’

  ‘He’s saving them?’ Jules seized Lizzie’s shoulder. ‘He’s saving the grapes?’

  ‘Yes.’ She bit her lip. ‘He’s saving the grapes.’ She pressed both hands to her face. ‘He’s saving the vineyard.’

  ‘When did you call him?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Then how did he know about the frost?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Not taking her eyes off the chopper, Lizzie shook her head. ‘I guess he must have been …’ Her voice broke again. ‘He must have been watching the sky.’

  Jules put her arm around Lizzie’s shoulders. ‘So that’s it.’

  ‘That’s what?’

  ‘What’s happened to you. It’s him.’ She touched her head to Lizzie’s. ‘I should have guessed — he’s the only person around here who looks more miserable than you do.’

  Lizzie barely heard her. She checked the time. It was a quarter to five. ‘You should go back inside,’ she smiled. ‘Get some sleep.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’ll stay out here for a while.’

  ‘There’s no way of talking to him?’

  Lizzie shook her head.

  ‘So, you’re just going to sit out here and watch?’

  She shrugged. It seemed the very least that she could do.

  ‘You want me to sit with you?’

  ‘No, it’s okay.’

  ‘You sure?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Okay, we’ll leave you alone.’ Jules touched her shoulder.

  As Jules walked away, Lizzie made an effort to pull herself together. Should she be doing something? What? She headed back under the nets. The air there was moving now. In each row she checked, the temperature was holding.

  Walking back to the house, Lizzie sat on the edge of the terrace and hugged her knees. She wondered if Carr could see her. Outside the beam of the helicopter’s lights, the sky was still pitch-black — dawn was a couple of hours away. But she couldn’t go back inside. She needed to be out here with him. Lizzie sat and watched the helicopter hover as though she could keep it hanging there — keep it safe — by the force of her will. As though she could send a message to him. As though she could tell him thank you.

  The sky had begun to lighten a shade when Richard came out to drop a blanket over her shoulders.

  ‘Lizzie,’ he said gently, ‘come on. Come inside. You must be freezing.’

  ‘No.’ Shivering, she shook her head. ‘Two degrees above.’ She held up the temperature gauge. ‘And rising.’

  ‘Here.’ He handed her a steaming mug. ‘I made you a coffee.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Looking up at him, she realised he was still dressed. ‘You didn’t go back to bed?’

  ‘Couldn’t sleep.’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘The noise.’ She tried to sound sympathetic. But the helicopter was Mozart so far as she was concerned — she could listen to it forever.

  ‘Something like that,’ Richard said.

  Lizzie sipped her coffee — she’d had no idea he knew how to work the machine — and wished he would go back inside so she could get on with the job of watching the helicopter. Instead, Richard sat down and put his arm around her.

  ‘Do you … want to talk about it?’ he asked.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘That.’ He nodded at the chopper.

  Lizzie shook her head. Not ungrateful for the extra warmth, she leaned into his shoulder. The hills around them, she noticed, were finally starting to grey. The helicopter was more, now, than lights in the sky — she could make out its shape, the markings on its side, and the full stretch of the vineyard below.

  ‘Look,’ she said, as the first tinge of pink appeared above the eastern horizon. ‘The sun’s coming up.’ She checked the time. ‘You’d better get ready for work.’

  ‘Okay.’ She could see Richard’s smile. ‘I’ll go.’ He got up stiffly. ‘Jesus, it’s cold — you want me to bring you another blanket?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ She checked the temperature gauge. ‘It’s warming up.’

  He kissed the top of her head. ‘I’ll see you inside.’

  Lizzie watched the sun hit the top of the range. The temperature was climbing. As the first finger of sun touched the vines, the helicopter rose. She got to her feet. No. Surely he wasn’t just going to—

  The chopper banked, gaining height and speed as it headed back into the hills. Lizzie stood and watched it disappear, her ears ringing in the sudden quiet.

  ‘He’s gone?’

  She turned to find Jules, showered and dressed, standing on the terrace behind her. Lizzie nodded. Suddenly, she felt exhausted.

  ‘Did he …?’ Jules rubbed the bridge of her nose. ‘Did either of you say anything? Do anything?’ She sighed. ‘Did you wave to him, at least?’

  ‘Doesn’t waving mean don’t try to land?’

  ‘Jesus, Lizzie. Only if you do it with both arms over your head.’

  Lizzie swallowed hard.

  ‘Well.’ Jules shook her head and smiled. ‘You’d better go and find him.’

  Lizzie pulled up outside the homestead to find that
Carr’s ute wasn’t in the drive. She rang the doorbell. She’d already tried looking down at the woolshed, but there was no sign of anyone there. She knew Carr wasn’t working for Jules that day: the crew was off at the other vineyard. Lizzie eyed the closed garage doors. Was he really not home?

  When his phone had rung unanswered, she’d hoped he might just be asleep. He’d been in the air for hours — he had to be exhausted. She was exhausted herself, but she’d barely been able to sleep. There was too much unsaid. Too many unknowns. Before she did anything else, she needed to talk to Carr, and this time — taking a deep breath, Lizzie pushed open the unlocked back door — she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  The kitchen was empty. A rinsed-out coffee cup sat in the sink. Lizzie touched the pot. It was still warm. She wandered out into the hall.

  ‘Carr?’ She flinched at the sound of her voice in the quiet house. ‘Are you there?’

  There was no reply but the tick of the clock, and, through the old glass, the sound of the birds in the garden outside. Shit. He really wasn’t here. Disappointment rose in her throat. How could that be, when she needed to see him so badly?

  The treads of the staircase creaked beneath her heels. What if he were asleep? Did she dare go in? Lizzie tapped on the bedroom door.

  ‘Carr?’

  She opened the door.

  The bed was made, the room empty — just as they had been the last time she saw them. Fighting the urge to go in and bury her face in the pillows, Lizzie shut the door again and walked back downstairs.

  As she passed through the hall, she heard a click behind her. She whirled. But it was only the clock beginning to strike the hour.

  Lizzie heard the chimes through. Then she went out, got into her car, and — after one last look around — drove back to the vineyard.

  Chapter TWENTY

  Ella looked around the airport for her mother. There she was — gliding through the bumbling tourist crowd like an elegant knife through butter.

  ‘Darling.’ Lizzie folded her into her arms. ‘There you are.’ She held Ella back at arm’s length. ‘You’ve got a tan.’