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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
'Anna Jacobs' books have an impressive grasp of human emotions' Sunday Times In the aftermath of a heart-breaking accident, Kirsty is shocked to discover that she has inherited a vineyard in Western Australia from Ed James, a lonely old man she befriended at the library. But there is a condition to his legacy: Kirsty must give up her quiet life in England and live at the vineyard for a least one year. How will a shy librarian cope on her own in a strange country? As she is forced to take her life off hold, one thing is certain, Kirsty's life is about to change for ever.
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Seitenzahl: 484
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
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5
Kirsty’s Vineyard
ANNA JACOBS
Contents
Prologue
Lancashire, England
Kirsty took a lot of care choosing a new dress, bright red and, she thought, very flattering. At least, Mike’s eyes said so when he saw it. It was their eighth wedding anniversary and they’d booked a table at their favourite restaurant, going there by taxi because they wanted to share a bottle of champagne. She reached out for Mike’s hand, smiling at him. He gave it three squeezes, their secret signal for ‘I love you’ and she responded in kind.
Sirens suddenly wailed and a blue light flashed ahead of them. The driver cursed and yelled, ‘Hold tight!’ He braked hard, trying to avoid a speeding car that was coming round the corner on the wrong side of the road.
As tyres screeched, Kirsty was flung against the seat belt and the car side-swiped the taxi. The world seemed to explode around her as they rolled over. Everything happened so fast it was over before she do more than scream.
It took her a few seconds to work out that she was upside down and something warm was trickling along her face. She tried to move and moaned as pain sliced through her arm, so fierce, so all-consuming she felt sick. After that one attempt to free herself, she kept perfectly still.
‘Mike? How are you?’
There was no answer, but his warm body was pressed against hers. He must be unconscious. She prayed he wasn’t badly hurt.
She found it hard to concentrate. Lights flickered and blurred around her, voices told her to lie still and she did. She wished desperately for Mike to regain consciousness.
After what seemed a very long time, someone got the car door open and put a collar round her neck.
‘Don’t touch my left arm!’ she gasped.
The man muttered something to the person behind him, then said gently, ‘We’ll have to strap it, love. Can’t give you anything for the pain yet. I’m sorry. What’s your name?’
She told him, then gasped. It hurt so much she couldn’t hold back her moans.
‘Nearly there now,’ that soothing voice said. ‘We’re cutting you free, then we’ll ease you out.’
‘See to my husband first. He’s unconscious.’
‘We’ll look after him, love, don’t worry. We need to get you out of the way so that we can reach him.’
That made sense, if anything did tonight. She tried not to whimper as they laid her on a stretcher trolley and wheeled her through a barrage of blinding lights into an ambulance.
When they shut the rear door, someone started up the engine and she pleaded with them to wait for Mike.
‘There’s another ambulance for him, love,’ a female paramedic told her.
At the hospital they wheeled her straight through the emergency department to a cubicle at the rear, where a doctor was waiting.
‘You’ve broken your arm, Mrs Miller. We’ll have to operate. When did you last eat?’
She had trouble working it out. ‘It was – I can’t – oh, yes, at lunchtime. We were on our way to the restaurant when the crash happened.’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘It’s our wedding anniversary today.’
‘Tough luck, eh? Now, let’s get you prepped. You’ll feel a lot more comfortable when they’ve sorted out that arm of yours and given you some proper painkillers.’
‘What about my husband? How is he? Surely they’ve brought him in by now?’
‘Not arrived yet.’
‘Can’t I wait, see him first?’
‘He wouldn’t want you to lie there in pain, now would he?’
When Kirsty woke it was still dark and she couldn’t think where she was. Her eyelids felt so heavy she let them close and didn’t wake again until daylight.
Her sister was sitting by her bed. She’d been crying.
‘Sue?’
‘Kirsty. How do you feel?’
‘Dopey. And thirsty.’
‘I’ll fetch a nurse.’
They gave her something to drink and checked her arm, which was now in plaster, then the nurse looked at Sue, who nodded.
Kirsty watched the nurse leave then looked at her sister. ‘How’s Mike?’
Sue took her hand. ‘He didn’t make it, darling.’
Kirsty couldn’t think what she meant for a minute, didn’t want to understand those words, then stared at her sister in horror as the meaning sank in. ‘No.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘No.’ Someone began to scream and only when the nurse came rushing in to help hold her still did Kirsty realised it was herself screaming. Only she couldn’t stop. They gave her an injection and she drifted away.
Her last thought was that this was a nightmare and she’d wake up soon.
It was the worst nightmare she’d ever had.
She was alone when she woke up. She looked round to see a hospital room. It wasn’t a dream, then. She really was here.
A shadow fell across the bed and she looked up to see her brother standing there, solemn-faced. She couldn’t think what to say to him and to her relief, he simply sat down beside her without speaking.
‘What about the taxi driver?’ she asked.
‘He died too. That side of the car got the worst of it.’
‘Poor man.’ She swallowed hard, trying not to burst into tears. ‘I can’t believe Mike’s dead.’
‘No. Sorry. It’s – bad.’
A nurse looked in and immediately came to stand by the bed and take her pulse. ‘Do you want another sedative, Mrs Miller?’
‘No.’ It would only postpone things.
‘Call me if you need anything.’
When the nurse had gone, silence fell. Kirsty had never been so thankful that Rod was a man of few words. It was comforting to have him there, but she didn’t want to talk. What was there to say? She reached out for his hand.
Two days later they said she could go home if she had someone to help her.
‘I don’t want to go home,’ she told her brother, who was spending another mainly silent hour by her bedside. ‘I can’t bear the thought of that flat without Mike. I just – can’t.’
‘You can come to my place if you like. I’ve got a spare bedroom.’
‘Thanks. That’d be … better.’
A few tears escaped but she was getting used to ignoring them, hadn’t given in again to the urge to howl aloud in sheer misery. It’d not do any good. Mike was dead and nothing would ever bring him back.
A month passed and she was still at Rod’s house. He’d fetched her clothes and books, but she hadn’t gone back to the flat.
‘Why don’t you live here permanently?’ he suggested one evening after tea. ‘We can share expenses.’
She stared at him for a moment. ‘I thought you liked living alone.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t. But no one else wants to live with me.’
She could understand that. Her brother had a communications disorder, which affected his interpersonal skills. He was brilliant with numbers, so had found a job without too much trouble, but had no idea how to deal with people. He understood this, but could do little about it. He’d learned to be quiet sometimes, but mostly he said the first thing that came into his head. She got on all right with him, though.
‘OK. Thanks.’ She’d be glad to economise. Mike had let his life insurance slip and the funeral expenses had been hefty. They’d been saving to buy a house, but hadn’t got very far. People who worked in libraries weren’t well paid and Mike had always said life was too short to live meanly. She was glad now about that, but wished they’d done more together before she lost him.
She realised Rod was beaming at her but couldn’t manage a smile in return, didn’t feel as if she’d ever smile again.
Chapter One
October, four years later
Kirsty escorted this month’s speaker to the side area of the library, casting a quick glance over the audience, assessing it. Enough people to make a respectable showing, thank goodness. She introduced the elegant older woman and sat down at the front, not at all interested in the topic, which was ‘Getting the Best out of Life’. But it was her turn to babysit the speaker today, so she tried to look interested.
It was quite a coup to have Catherine Kintley. They’d booked her to speak six months ago, but since then her second book had hit the bestseller charts and she’d appeared on television, been featured in articles in women’s magazines, had become a celebrity, as people called it these days.
In spite of her reservations about motivational speakers, Kirsty was quickly caught up in what the woman was saying. Catherine had lost her husband when she was thirty-two, just as Kirsty had, and at forty had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. At sixty, Catherine was vibrant with life and enthusiasm, and communicated it so well the audience sat up straighter, smiled, laughed, nodded – putty in her hands.
Afterwards they queued up to buy Catherine’s book. She took the time to speak to everyone and make them feel special.
When it was all over, Kirsty picked up a copy of the book and surprised herself. ‘I’d like to buy one as well.’
While the bookseller took the money, Catherine signed the book then smiled at her. ‘I hope it helps. You look rather quiet and sad.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes. Just when you relax your guard. I saw it happen a couple of times during my talk. You’re too young to have such a guarded expression.’
‘I lost my husband too,’ Kirsty admitted.
‘Recently?’
‘No, four years ago.’
Catherine held Kirsty’s hand in both hers. ‘You’ve not really moved on, dear. I can see it in the way you hold yourself; quiet, tight, shut away. Sorry. I shouldn’t be so personal, but I hate to see lives wasted, when there’s a big world out there full of exciting things to do. I hope my book helps you.’
The warmth of Catherine’s smile lingered long after Kirsty had waved goodbye to her at the library door.
She looked at the book and wondered what had got into her. She never read this sort of thing, preferring gentle romances or family stories. Nothing violent, nothing miserable or extreme.
And she had moved on, of course she had. She’d made a whole new life for herself with Rod and it was very … pleasant. She had friends, family she loved, good books to read, didn’t need or expect any more than that from life now.
But Catherine’s words lingered in her mind all day.
When she got home, Kirsty found Rod in a much more cheerful mood than usual. ‘There’s a new job advertised at work,’ he announced before she’d even got her coat off. ‘It’d be a promotion for me and I could do the work standing on my head.’
She made all the appropriate noises, but he went on and on, so in the end she escaped to her computer. But she spent more time staring blindly at the screen than she did answering emails or getting on with her genealogical research into their family history.
At sixty, Catherine Kintley had been glowing with life. Kirsty’s eyes went inevitably to the photo she kept on her desk: her and Mike on their wedding day. In it, they both radiated happiness. She stared across her bedroom at the mirror. From a distance she might have been a well-preserved fifty, not thirty-six. The woman in the mirror was … she searched for a word and came back reluctantly with ‘colourless’. Why had she never noticed that before?
Oh, she was being silly! And she might have been stupid enough to buy the book, but she wasn’t going to read it.
She did, though, and couldn’t put it down. Every word seemed meant for her.
But how did you do it? How did you break out of your comfort zone? Catherine said it would be a different way for each person and you had to find your own route – and that was the challenge.
Kirsty truly enjoyed her job, loved helping people, hearing how much they’d enjoyed a book she’d recommended. She certainly didn’t intend to change that.
And she didn’t fancy going out on the hunt for a new guy, either, whatever her friend Neris said.
So what could she do to change things? She racked her brain, but came up with nothing.
Two weeks later Kirsty parked her car and began walking towards the library. Her shift didn’t start for half hour but she always liked to arrive early. As she turned the corner, she saw an old man stagger and sag against the wall for a moment or two. He looked so like her beloved grandfather, it stopped her in her tracks. She still missed Pops dreadfully, ten years after his death.
She hurried across to help the stranger to a nearby bench.
He gave her a faint smile as he eased himself down. ‘Sorry to trouble you. Came over dizzy for a minute or two. It must be the new medication.’
‘If you like, I’ll stay with you till you feel better, in case you need help.’
‘That’s very kind of you. Are you sure I’m not keeping you?’
‘I’m on my way to work at the library but I’m early.’ She sat down beside him. ‘Is there anything I can get you?’
‘No, thanks. I just need a minute or two to pull myself together then I’ll call a taxi. I’ve got one of those mobile phones, but it’s fiddly to use and the keys are too small for these.’ He held out a hand whose fingers were gnarled with arthritis.
The way he spoke was strange, basically northern like hers, but with a hint of something else as well. ‘I was just trying to place your accent.’
‘I was born round here, all my family were, but I’ve been living in Australia for the past sixty years.’
‘Oh, so you’re visiting.’
‘No, I’m here to stay this time. I’ve an urge to hear the sounds of my childhood, see the places where I was young. It’s a sentimental journey, I suppose, but I’ve only myself to please now because my wife’s dead.’ He shook his head as if baffled. ‘Can’t believe I’m nearly ninety. I still feel like a lad inside my head sometimes.’
His colour was improving but he still looked frail, and that resemblance to Pops kept her by his side. ‘Do you want me to call you a taxi?’
‘Yes, please.’ He fumbled in his pocket and held the little phone out to her. ‘Show me how you do it again. To tell you the truth, I’ve not quite got the hang of it. I didn’t need one of these at home in Australia, you see.’
So she showed him, but turned off the phone as soon as it rang. Then she made him turn it on himself and dial for a taxi, to reinforce the lesson. ‘There. You did it.’
‘You explain it better than that uppity young fellow in the shop.’
She smiled. She was used to explaining things to elderly people at the library and really enjoyed their company.
The taxi arrived five minutes later and she helped him into it. He held the door open and looked up at her. ‘My name’s Ed James, what’s yours?’
‘Kirsty Miller.’
He offered his hand, looked down at hers, then glanced at her left hand. ‘Thanks for your help, lass. Your husband’s a lucky man.’
She didn’t spoil the moment by telling him she was a widow. She didn’t know why she continued to wear the wedding ring. Habit, probably. After watching the taxi drive away she thrust her hands into her pockets and walked briskly across the car park to work. The weather was getting chilly now, soon be winter. She was going to miss the warmer weather.
It turned out to be the sort of day that brought one minor crisis and irritation after another.
And when she got home, there was a crisis of another sort – Rod. One look at his face and she knew he’d not got the promotion.
‘What do they want from me?’ he demanded, thumping the table. ‘I couldn’t have worked harder. What do they want? This is the third time I’ve been passed over for promotion.’
Kirsty tried to listen patiently because she knew how bitterly disappointed he was. She could have told him exactly why he hadn’t got the job in management – because he wasn’t good with people and was so pernickety about details he drove people mad. He irritated her too sometimes. She’d have found a flat of her own by now, only she knew how much that’d upset him. He had no friends, no one to socialise with except her.
Most of the time they rubbed along together quite well, but lately she’d been feeling restless. It was partly the fault of that book.
She sighed. There must be more to life than this placid existence, only what? How to find it?
Two days later, the old man she’d helped walked slowly into the library. He looked a lot better today, but was leaning heavily on the stick. He saw her and smiled, such a warm smile she murmured to her friend Neris, ‘Can I deal with this customer? I know him slightly.’
‘Sure.’
He took a chair at the queries desk. ‘Hello again, Kirsty Miller. I’d like to join your library, please.’
‘And we’d love to have you, Mr James.’
‘Ed. We don’t go mistering people in Australia.’
By the time she’d helped him fill in the forms and choose some books, it was her lunch break. The sun was shining, so she ate her sandwiches quickly and went for a walk in the park. Ed was sitting there in a sheltered spot, face turned up to the weak wintry sunlight, both hands resting on his walking stick. His expression was so sad, she couldn’t help stopping.
‘Hello again. Want some company?’
‘I’d love some, but what’s a pretty girl like you doing with an old fogey like me? Why aren’t you meeting that husband of yours?’
‘Mike was killed four years ago.’
‘Ah. That explains the sadness in your eyes. I lost my wife ten years ago. You never stop missing them, do you?’
Why did people keep telling her she looked sad? She wasn’t – well, not more than any other widow.
They sat for a minute or two in a companionable silence, then he harrumphed and pulled his scarf more tightly round his neck. ‘There’s a nice little café on the corner. It’s warmer there. Have you time for a cup of tea?’
‘Yes.’ She’d make time.
When they were sitting with steaming cups in front of them, she said, ‘Will you tell me about Australia? I’ve always wanted to go there.’ She’d read several travel books about it.
She was late getting back to work, but no one worried because it was give and take, and she often worked more than her set hours if they had a rush on. She’d thoroughly enjoyed her chat. Ed’s body might be frail, but there was nothing wrong with his mind and he had a way of describing things that brought them to vivid life. He seemed a lot like Pops in nature as well as appearance.
After that he came into the library regularly, borrowing only novels, largely romances, which he said reminded him of his wife. If Kirsty wasn’t free, he’d wait to be attended to by her and have a quick chat. Once or twice they went out for a coffee in her lunch break and one Sunday she drove him out to a little village where he’d lived as a lad and he bought her lunch at a pub. She was worried he couldn’t afford this and tried to pay her share.
He placed his hand over hers, stopping her opening her purse. ‘I can well afford it, Kirsty. I’m not on the old age pension.’
‘Oh. Well, all right, then.’
Another day, the wind was raw and he looked chilled to the bone. She looked at him in concern. ‘Surely you’d have been better staying in the Aussie sun until our summer started, Ed? The weather’s awful at this time of year.’
He hesitated, then gave a little shrug. ‘I shan’t be here then. Got cancer. They can’t help me any more.’
She didn’t know what to say, feeling tears well in her eyes. It seemed as if she no sooner grew fond of someone than she lost them.
He patted her hand. ‘Don’t grieve for me, Kirsty. I’ve had a good life, longer than most, and I don’t want to linger on till someone has to change my nappies.’
‘How can you face it so cheerfully?’
‘Sometimes you get no choice about what you face, only about how you face it.’
That was so true, she thought.
Of course, her brother didn’t approve of her new friendship and complained bitterly that she was always out these days. Rod had become very short-tempered since failing to get that promotion.
Kirsty sometimes popped in at Ed’s flat after work for a coffee and chat. It was small but comfortable, with a pleasant view over a public garden, and he had all sorts of services to make his life easier.
But she couldn’t help noticing that he was looking even frailer these days, with that translucent, other-worldly look to his eyes that people sometimes got towards the end of their lives.
So she made the most of their time together and ignored Rod’s complaints that she was never home.
Ed answered the door and sighed when he saw his great-nephew, Noel, standing there. His sister’s grandson – and as unlike Ed’s sister as any direct descendant ever could be.
‘Aren’t you going to invite me in, Uncle Edward?’
With a sigh, Ed held the door open. ‘How did you find me?’
‘It isn’t hard to track someone down with a computer and the Internet. I knew you’d be somewhere round here because it’s where you and Gran came from. I was worried about you.’
‘I don’t know why you should be.’
‘You’re ninety and living on your own. How could I not worry? You should have come to stay with us, as I suggested when you phoned from Australia, so that my wife and I could look after you properly.’
Ed went across to his chair and sat down, shaking off the too-firm grasp on his arm. ‘I don’t need looking after and I value my privacy.’
‘I’m concerned that you’re still holding what my dad did against me.’
Ed was fed up of being polite to his great-nephew. ‘What you’re really worried about is that I won’t leave you anything.’
‘I am the last surviving member of your family, so it’d be a fair thing to expect, surely? And I’m prepared to help you as much as I can while you’re … ill.’
‘Dying, you mean.’ Ed smiled. ‘You’re in the will, Noel, but only if the main beneficiary rejects my terms.’
‘What the hell do you mean by that? Who else is there to leave your money to?’
‘Friends.’ Suddenly he was a little afraid of the ugly look on Noel’s face. The fellow’s father had been a bad ’un and the son was just like him, only not as clever.
‘Look, uncle—’
There was a knock on the door and Ed yelled, ‘Come in!’
His cleaner used her key to enter. ‘Oh? Are you busy, Mr James? Shall I come back later?’
Noel glared at her. ‘Yes. We’re having a private discussion.’
Ed looked at her pleadingly. ‘No. Please don’t leave, Dorothy. Just show my great-nephew out and then get on with your work as usual.’
Noel breathed in deeply then stepped back. ‘We’ll talk another day, uncle.’
When he’d gone, Ed said, ‘Would you lock the door, please? I don’t want him coming back in.’
Dorothy came to stand beside him. ‘You look upset. Are you all right?’
‘If you’d just get me one of the pills in the blue bottle, I’ll be all right in a minute or two. I’m going to change my will. That fellow isn’t going to have a chance to inherit a thing.’
He waved a hand in dismissal. ‘I’ll just have a little rest, then I’ll ring my lawyer. You get on with your work.’
Dorothy came back a few minutes later and found him slumped in his chair. She bent to feel for a pulse but found only a faint, irregular fluttering. With tears in her eyes, she picked up the phone and called an ambulance, then got the piece of paper out of the kitchen drawer and called the lawyer.
Ed had made certain things clear when she came to work here.
Chapter Two
January, Australia
Sam Brady picked up the phone and wished he hadn’t when he heard his ex-wife’s voice at the other end. He knew what to expect and sure enough, after the most cursory of enquiries as to how he was, out she came with it.
‘Tina needs some more money for living expenses. She can’t manage at university on what you give her.’
‘I told you last time, I don’t have any more to spare, Lorraine.’
‘You would if you got yourself a proper job. It’s disgusting, a forty-four-year-old man living like a hippie.’
He breathed in deeply, trying to control his anger.
Lorraine didn’t wait for him to speak. ‘Your only child needs at least fifty dollars a week more. It’s your duty to help her.’
‘I don’t have it. Tina will have to get a part-time job. Most students do.’
‘If you’re going to be unreasonable, I’ll ask my lawyer about this.’
‘Ask who the hell you want. I don’t have even ten dollars a week to spare at the moment.’
‘Tell her yourself that you’re going to let her down, then.’
There was some fumbling and the phone was passed to his daughter.
‘Dad?’
‘Yes?’
‘I don’t want to be a pest, but I really can’t manage on what you give me. I’m not being extravagant or anything, but you know how much it costs to run a car.’
‘Tina, they put up your tuition fees this year and that wiped me right out. If I didn’t grow my own vegetables, I’d be scratching for something to eat, that’s how short of money I am at the moment.’
‘But Mum says you’ve got lots of land and could easily sell some.’
It hurt to hear his daughter talking like that, as if she was prepared to strip him of the main thing he had left. She was old enough to understand that money didn’t grow on trees – or anywhere else convenient, either. It had to be worked for.
‘I’m not allowed to subdivide my block and if I sold it, I’d lose my home. Would you be comfortable with that?’ He didn’t think Lorraine would have any legal grounds for getting more money out of him, but it was the sort of threat she made sometimes.
‘Things can’t be that bad, surely, Dad.’
‘They are. Have I ever lied to you?’
Silence, then an aggrieved sigh.
‘If you’d come to visit me after Christmas, you’d have seen for yourself that I’m not exactly living in luxury.’
‘I had a chance to go to Bali with friends and—’
This was the first he’d heard of it. ‘How did you pay for that?’
Silence, then, ‘I had some money saved from last year and Mum helped out a bit.’
That only made him more certain it was time to pull back from supporting his spoiled brat of a daughter. Going off on overseas holidays then claiming she was short of money! At twenty, she should be budgeting properly and standing on her own feet. ‘Well, you’ll have to find a part-time job now to make up for the holiday. I do not have any money to spare.’
The phone was passed back without a word of farewell and he heard a murmur of voices.
Then Lorraine came back on, her tone sharp and vicious. ‘I think emotional blackmail is a very low thing to do, Sam Brady. Lose your home, indeed! It wouldn’t kill you to give her another fifty dollars a week.’
‘That’s more than I have to live on at the moment.’
‘Which just goes to show what a fool you are. You used to earn really good money – and could again.’
‘And the stress of that job nearly destroyed me.’
‘Well, you’ve had a couple of years now to do your own thing so it’s clear your painting isn’t going anywhere. It’s just a pity your daughter has to suffer for your laziness. I can’t imagine what gave you the idea that you were an artist. I reckon you simply wanted an excuse to get out of working.’ She hung up.
Sam put his phone down carefully because he couldn’t afford to replace it if he slammed it down and broke it. Then he went outside, took his sledgehammer and smashed up a couple of rocks. Only when they were crushed to tiny pieces did he stop and put the sledgehammer away.
The activity might have taken the edge off his anger, but it didn’t get rid of the feeling of unfairness. After he and Lorraine had split up, he’d been generous in what he let her take from their marriage and had continued working at a job he hated to pay Tina’s private school fees until she got into university. He’d saved hard and could still remember the utter joy when he had enough to cover the cost of three years’ university fees for his daughter and could resign from his job. He’d sold his flat and bought this tumble-down shack on a small country property.
And he loved living here. He felt so much happier, and his health and energy had improved by leaps and bounds. No, he could never, ever go back to the stress of corporate life. If lack of money forced him to get a job, then he’d find something that didn’t exhaust him mentally and physically, something that still left him time and energy to paint. There was plenty of casual work in the Margaret River district in the holiday season and he didn’t have expensive tastes.
Knowing that in this mood he’d be no good at painting, Sam strolled up the track to his neighbour’s property. He was caretaking Whitegums for a modest weekly sum while Ed was overseas. The garden needed watering and he liked to check regularly that the house was all right.
He smiled as he passed the little vineyard Ed had planted many years ago on a sunny slope. It was only an acre or so, not big enough for commercial production, but provided generously for its owner by producing a nice Cabernet Merlot style of red. Sam liked to see the neat rows of vines and had shared many a bottle with Ed and their neighbours.
As Ed had grown older and frailer, Franco, who owned the next property, had taken over the management of the vineyard, making wine every year for Ed and himself. Franco had proved to be as much of an enthusiast as the old man.
Sam always helped with the harvest and received a couple of crates of wine afterwards.
The bunches of grapes were showing now but wouldn’t be ready for harvesting until March, probably late March, but Franco would judge exactly when.
Sam reached the house and unlocked the front door. Caretaking Whitegums provided his main source of income at the moment and was a godsend, but the old homestead didn’t seem the same without its owner and it always felt a bit sad to go there. He really missed the old man, who’d been like an honorary grandfather to all who knew him.
One cold, rainy evening in late January, Kirsty popped round after work to make sure Ed was all right. He usually came to the library every day or two, but hadn’t been in for over a week, nor had he answered his mobile phone. There hadn’t been anyone at the flat on her last visit, which was unusual, because Ed got very tired by teatime and rarely went out in the evening.
The previous week he’d insisted on taking her out for a lavish dinner, but had eaten almost nothing himself. Come to think of it, he’d thanked her for her friendship too.
Was he … getting worse? In hospital again? Had he known that and been using the dinner as a way of saying farewell?
There was no answer at his flat, no lights on inside either. She hesitated, then knocked on the next door and asked if anyone had seen him during the past week. But the elegant woman who answered it said she didn’t believe in living in neighbours’ pockets and shut the door. When Kirsty got home, even more worried now, her brother greeted her with, ‘We were supposed to be going to the movies tonight.’
‘That was tomorrow, surely?’
‘It was tonight, but it’ll be too late by the time you’ve had your tea and you know how I hate rushing.’
She stifled a sigh with great difficulty. It was harder to deal with Rod when you were feeling a bit down yourself. ‘Sorry. I was late leaving work, then I called in to see Ed on my way home. But no one was there and he’s not answering his phone, which isn’t like him. I’ve been wondering if I should ring the police, ask them to check on him. What do you think?’
‘I think you’re a fool to fuss over him like that. The closer you get to him, the more grief you’re building up for yourself when he dies.’
She bit back a sharp reply and got their tea ready.
Rod started on the washing up afterwards, but she couldn’t settle to watching TV, so in the end went upstairs to play on her computer, something which would put her even deeper in her brother’s black books. She wished he had friends and a social life of his own. That dependence on her made things very difficult at times.
Her sister Sue said she was crazy living with him. Perhaps she was right. Sue had no patience with Rod. But he did his best, poor love, didn’t mean to upset anyone.
At work the next day Kirsty tried to discuss her worries with Neris, but all her friend said was, ‘Ed’s probably gone into hospital again for a short stay, like he did just before Christmas. He’ll have forgotten to tell you, that’s all.’
‘But what if he’s—’
‘Honestly, Kirsty, you should be getting out and meeting guys your own age not spending your time with that weird brother of yours and an old man. I keep telling you to join a dating website. I met this great guy on one last week. We’ve emailed every day since and I’m thinking of meeting him in person.’
‘No, thanks. I’ve no desire to marry again.’
It was her stock answer, but after Neris had moved away she frowned. Catherine’s book told you to be honest with yourself. Since reading that book, Kirsty had admitted to herself that she would like to marry again. Only she couldn’t face going on an Internet manhunt – or any other sort of manhunt, either.
If fate didn’t bring her a man, she’d do without.
The next morning, Kirsty rang the local hospital before she left the house. They hadn’t had a Mr James admitted in any area. She didn’t know who Ed’s doctor was, so she called in at the police station on her way to work and explained the situation.
‘We’ll send someone round to check, Mrs Miller. Have you a phone number where we can contact you?’
She received a phone call from the police at work that afternoon.
‘Mr James no longer resides at the flat.’
‘Did you find out where he went?’
‘Yes, but he left instructions with his lawyer that no one was to be informed where he was. That’s all we can tell you, I’m afraid. We’ve made quite sure nothing untoward has happened to him so I hope that sets your mind at rest, madam.’
She put the phone down but didn’t move. Suddenly she was quite sure that Ed was dying. He’d said once that he intended to do that in private. He’d probably gone back to Australia, where he had close friends.
But she wished she could see him just one more time to say a proper goodbye.
Rod remained scornful. ‘That man was just using you, Kirsty, and now he doesn’t need anyone to do his shopping or bake him cakes, he’s up and left without a word of thanks. You’re too gullible and soft-hearted. It’s a good thing you’ve got me to look after you. He’ll have gone back to Australia.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
One day Sam’s daughter turned up with a friend. He hugged her and gestured to the veranda.
‘What are you doing down here?’
‘Oh, we were out for a drive and I thought I’d visit you, Dad.’
‘Bring your friend to join us. I’ll get you a drink. It’ll have to be coffee. I don’t have any tea.’
She beckoned to her friend and stayed where she was, studying the shack. ‘I don’t know how you can stand living in a hovel like this, Dad, after the sort of home we used to have.’
‘I like it here. It’s very peaceful.’
‘Have you done any more paintings?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I see them?’
He hesitated, puzzled by this. ‘You don’t have to pretend you’re interested.’
‘No, I want to see them, really. And Darren does too. He’s an art lecturer, so he knows about paintings.’
Sam stared at her in surprise. When she shifted uncomfortably, he grew suspicious. ‘What’s this visit really about, Tina?’
She turned to her companion, who was looking distinctly embarrassed. ‘I need to talk to Dad privately, Darren. Would you mind waiting for me in the car?’ When they were alone, she turned back to Sam. ‘Mum said I should talk to you in person, try to make you see sense. And she said I should get an expert opinion on your paintings. She can’t afford to give me any more money, because she’s finding the mortgage repayments hard going. This is my final year, you know, Dad. My whole life may depend on my results. I don’t need any hassles with jobs this year.’
‘Tina, have you been listening to me? I don’t have any money to spare. None.’
‘You could get a job.’
‘So could you.’
Tears filled her eyes. ‘If I’m working, I won’t be able to go out with the others. Darren might find himself another girl who’s more available. I’m really keen on him, Dad. And it’s my final year, so I need to study hard as well. I’m not a top student, you know that, never have been.’
‘You’ve never really stretched yourself.’
‘People have to have some leisure. Dad, surely there’s something you can do to help me, take out a mortgage or – or … ?’
He tried to keep his voice calm, but it grew sharp in spite of his intentions. ‘No chance.’
‘You’re so selfish! Parents are supposed to give their children a good start in life, not shirk their responsibilities.’ She turned and stormed off back to the car, getting in and slamming the door without a word of farewell. Her mother had primed her to do this, Sam thought wearily. He stood listening to the noise of the engine throb away into the distance, feeling wretched, a failure as a parent. He and Lorraine had quarrelled several times over the years about the way she spoiled Tina, but the girl had chosen to live with her mother, so he’d been helpless to do much about it.
At first after they separated, he’d taken Tina out regularly, but the older his daughter grew, the shorter the time she was prepared to spend with him. Half the time Lorraine had rung up to say Tina didn’t want to see him this week. He’d been surprised when his daughter got into university, given her lack of hard work at school. As for the English and fine arts degree, that seemed no way to find a job, unless she went into teaching and she didn’t seem the sort to do that. He couldn’t imagine her standing up to a class of stroppy teenagers.
He wandered into the freestanding metal garage which he used as a studio and stared at his latest painting, then shook his head and wandered out again, unable to settle.
He was going to have to toughen up about Tina or he’d never get any work done. But it hurt to be at odds with his only child. He should have spent more time with her when she was younger and they were sharing a home, and less time on his job.
He wondered if he’d see her again this year, even.
Cursing, he went out to work on his vegetable garden, yanking up the weeds with vicious twists.
Sam was sitting on his veranda drinking a beer in the cool of the evening when Penny from up the road dropped in. It was impossible to remain depressed when she was around, because she was always full of energy and happiness.
‘We’ve got a glut of tomatoes and zucchini, Sam. Do you want any?’
‘Yes, please. I never seem to have Franco’s touch with tomatoes.’
‘It’s his Italian ancestry. They take one look at him and flourish.’ She pulled a plastic bag out of the car and thrust it into his arms, then paused and stared at him, head on one side. ‘Something wrong?’
‘My daughter came to see me today and we quarrelled.’
‘Tell me about it. I’m always quarrelling with my two. I’m glad they’ve gone to live with their father in Perth while they’re studying. They’re so selfish at that age.’ She patted his arm. ‘Your daughter will come round once she starts working and gets a few reality checks. Give her time.’
As Penny turned to leave, she hesitated. ‘Why don’t you come round for a barbecue tonight? Just a casual meal with me and Franco.’
‘Thanks, but I’ve still got a lot to do today.’ He hadn’t, but he didn’t want to take advantage of Penny’s generosity. He’d accept a meal at their place every couple of weeks, especially if he had some spare produce or flowers from his garden to take as a gift. But that was all he’d accept. He wasn’t a charity case yet, thank you very much.
She came back to kiss him on the cheek. ‘You’re too proud for your own good, you know that?’
‘And you’re very generous. Say hi to Franco for me.’
Sam waved as she drove away, then cheered up a little as he went back inside the studio to stare at the two paintings he had to deliver to a gallery in Margaret River the following day. The owner there loved his work and had recently sold a painting.
It was the most hopeful sign in a long time. He was running low on paint and canvases, really needed an injection of money to buy more.
Chapter Three
On a bleak day in February, Kirsty arrived at work for the afternoon and evening shift. The first person she saw was Neris, who was standing at the counter looking upset.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘We’ll talk after you’ve seen Peter.’
Their manager came out of his office as soon as Kirsty went into the staff area at the rear. ‘Have you got a minute?’
She followed him inside his office. From Neris’s expression this wasn’t going to be good news. With all the staffing cuts to libraries lately, they’d been wondering if they were going to be hit with the big axe.
Peter waved her to a chair, one popularly supposed to have been chosen for being so uncomfortable that no one would willingly sit on it for long. ‘I won’t beat about the bush, Kirsty. They have to make some staffing cuts to branch libraries and unfortunately, we’ll be losing one member of staff. This—’
She couldn’t stand the way he took ages to come to the point. ‘Am I the one to be chucked out of my job?’
‘There are three of you at the same level. I don’t mind which one goes, so I suggest you discuss it among yourselves in the first instance and see if you can come to an agreement about who should look for other employment. I’d certainly not call it “chucking out”.’
No, he’d use one of his euphemisms, but it amounted to the same thing. She couldn’t help scowling at him.
‘No use looking at me like that, Kirsty. It’d be much better to settle this amicably, democratically. If you three can’t decide which one is to go, I’ll simply draw lots. You’re all – um, good workers and well qualified, but because of the cuts, there won’t be any transfers available to other branches. There will, of course, be a redundancy payment.’
‘Is a one-off payment supposed to make losing a job more palatable? We’re none of us close to retirement and we all need to earn a living.’ She looked at him angrily, and as he said nothing more, tossed at him, ‘Is that the best you can do to protect us, as our manager?’
He spread his hands and tried to look sympathetic. Failed, as usual. The man was a po-faced robot.
‘You’ve all got roughly the same years of experience, Kirsty, and you all need your wages.’
He was like that, Peter, avoiding anything that smacked of conflict or controversy. He was well in with the district manager and you could bet that his job would be safe.
‘I suppose you didn’t consider protesting, gathering evidence to show that we really do need three members of staff to run things properly here or—’
He held up one hand like a policeman stopping traffic. ‘It’d make no difference. There have to be cuts across the board and that’s it.’
‘But services to the public will suffer.’
‘We’ll do our best to minimise that. Only the most peripheral services will need to be cut.’
She opened her mouth to argue then shut it again. You got nowhere arguing with Peter. He just gave you his bland, soapy smile and continued to toe the head office line.
‘Right.’ She walked out to have a word with Neris before getting ready to serve the public.
‘He’s told you, then?’
‘Yes. We have to decide among ourselves who’s going to lose their job or he’ll draw lots. Isn’t it great when your supervisor sees you all as interchangeable spare parts?’
They looked at one another unhappily.
‘At least you won’t lose your home for non-payment of the mortgage,’ Neris said glumly. ‘I might.’
‘No, but I was thinking of getting a flat of my own. Now I won’t dare to, even if I’m not the one who gets axed.’ Kirsty sighed. ‘I’d better go and tidy myself up. It’s blowing a gale outside and my hair’s a mess.’
Neris went with her, muttering, ‘I don’t care if the front desk is left unattended. I need a few minutes to myself. He told me out there, the rat, not even in private.’ She stood back as Kirsty combed her hair. ‘It looks better loose and fluffy, sexier. I don’t know why you always pin it back.’
‘Because it’s more comfortable. And I don’t care whether I look sexy or not.’
‘Well, you should. You’re only thirty-six. Anyone would think you were an old woman to hear you talk. And as for the way you always wear navy, well, it’s visually boring.’
‘I wear different-coloured accessories!’
Neris made a scornful noise in her throat.
Kirsty sighed and bent her head, pretending to search for something in her handbag, though at the moment she didn’t give two hoots what she looked like. What she needed was time alone to come to terms with this blow. Fat chance of that here!
John Berringer went to his client’s funeral, partly because he’d grown fond of Ed and partly to make sure everything was done properly. There wasn’t a service but John held up one hand to stop the funeral attendants from sending the casket too swiftly on its way. He bowed his head and prayed, saying a personal farewell, then looked up in surprise as someone walked in late.
It was Ed’s nephew. The fellow had come to see him to ask about the will the day after his great-uncle died. John’s lips tightened as he watched Noel Porter bow his head very briefly, then flick one hand towards the attendant as if to say ‘get on with it’.
John took great satisfaction in the enquiring look the attendant cast at him. He shook his head, looked down at his hands and held a mental conversation with Ed. You were right about that nephew. Just out for what he can get.
When five more minutes had passed, John raised his head and gave the signal to carry on. Then he turned and walked out. But of course he heard footsteps behind him, hurrying to catch up.
‘Just a minute, Berringer.’
He turned to wait, not saying anything.
‘I think you owe me an explanation now about the will. I’m the old man’s last surviving relative and surely he’s left things to me?’
‘Ed said he’d already told you that you’d get nothing.’
‘Not quite. He said I’d only get something if the principal legatee didn’t agree to his conditions.’
‘That’s not likely to happen. And you’re too distant a relative, not dependent on him, so you have no claim otherwise.’
‘Who is the principal legatee?’
‘I’m under no obligation to tell you that.’
‘I’ll find out and contest the will. My uncle had obviously lost his marbles towards the end.’
John smiled. ‘I can find you several witnesses to prove that he hadn’t. You’d be wasting your money.’
‘At least I’d waste the legatee’s money too.’
‘No, you wouldn’t. If you contest the will, I’ll represent the legatee without charge because of my high regard for Ed. It’d be an open and shut case anyway.’
With a muttered curse, Noel spun on his heels and stormed off.
John watched him go, shaking his head. How that fellow could be related to a man like Ed was beyond his comprehension.
The three of them went round to the pub after the library closed to discuss the redundancy situation. But there was nothing to discuss as far as Kirsty was concerned. Yusef had a wife and family to support, and Neris lived on her own, with no family in a position to help her.
She looked at them unhappily, her stomach feeling hollow. She knew without asking that Rod would let her stay on rent-free, if necessary, and she’d have unemployment benefits till she found a new job. Surely she’d be able to find something quite quickly?
But she loved her present job, didn’t want to do anything else, so it took her a while to pluck up the courage to say, ‘I suppose it’d better be me who leaves.’
Yusef stared down into his orange juice, stirring the pieces of ice with his straw. Neris examined her nails.
Then they both looked up and the relief in their eyes was more than Kirsty could bear. She pushed her chair back. ‘I’ll tell Peter tomorrow.’
They both called, ‘Thanks!’ at the same time.
When she went outside to the parking area, she found that someone had vandalised her car, slashing the tyres and spray-painting the bodywork and windows with garish impartiality.
It was the last straw. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she went back inside.
Neris and Yusef came rushing across to her. ‘What’s happened?’
‘It’s my car.’
Her colleagues waited with her for the police to arrive. The landlord of the pub tried to offer her a brandy. Tears were welling up and overflowing, even though Kirsty kept telling herself it was only a car.
But the vandalism was the final straw in a horrible day.
The police were very polite but held out little hope of catching the culprits. They called a tow service and she took her bits and pieces out of the car and put them in Neris’s, who gave her a lift.
They sat outside Rod’s house for a few moments.
‘It sucks,’ Neris said at last.
‘Everything sucks lately,’ Kirsty agreed. ‘I suppose I’d better go in. Thanks for the lift.’
As she walked along the path she saw her brother through the window. He was looking depressed, staring into space, had been doing a lot of that lately.
He made such a fuss about her car that she didn’t tell him about the coming redundancies. She knew he’d be angry with her for volunteering to leave and would start off again about the lax way the country was run, so that people who worked hard and gave their all, weren’t valued any more. It frightened her that she was beginning to agree with him.
Kirsty’s shift at the library didn’t start until later the following morning, so first she phoned up to find out how soon her car could be put to rights, then set about hiring a car for a few days, because she didn’t fancy going home by bus after the late shifts. It took longer than she’d expected to arrange for a car, but why should she care if they had to manage without her at work today? It’d give them a foretaste of what the future would be like.
It was terrifying to think of having no job at all, no money coming in, being dependent on social security … Stop thinking like that, she told herself. You’ll find something else. You’ve got a degree, years of experience.
In an area where job numbers were shrinking.
As she walked into the library past the main desk, Peter strolled out of a side area. ‘Are you all right, Kirsty? Neris told me about your car.’
‘I’m fine, thank you.’
He gave them both one of his tight smiles. ‘Why don’t you take your break now, Neris? I can watch the desk.’
Closing the staffroom door, Neris muttered, ‘I don’t know whether I dislike him most when he’s being his own horrible little self or when he’s playing at being a supportive and caring manager.’
‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. It’s given us a few minutes together. Another couple of weeks and we won’t even have that.’
Neris gave her a quick hug, then went to switch the kettle on. Suddenly she slapped her hand to her forehead. ‘I nearly forgot. This arrived for you earlier, delivered by courier, no less.’ She picked up an envelope and held it out.
What next? Kirsty wondered as she took it. She examined the printing on the envelope. ‘It’s from a firm of lawyers, but I’ve had nothing to do with any lawyers. I wonder what it is. And why did it come to the library instead of my home address?’
Neris gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘You’ll never find out unless you open it, will you?’
‘I suppose not.’ She slit it open and read it quickly.
Dear Mrs Miller
We’d be grateful if you’d make an appointment to see us at your earliest convenience concerning a bequest.
John Berringer
She blinked in surprise and read it again.
Neris nudged her. ‘Well, what is it?’
Kirsty held out the letter, watching as her friend read it. ‘This has to be a joke,’ she said when Neris looked at her questioningly.
‘It doesn’t look like one. It’s on proper headed notepaper. Give them a ring and make an appointment.’
‘I’ll do it later.’
‘Aren’t you curious?’
‘Not very. I think it’ll prove to be a case of mistaken identity. There’s no one left in my family to leave me a bequest. The lawyer’s rooms are just a few streets away, so I can walk that way at lunchtime and check that it’s a bona fide business.’
‘There’s that old man you were friendly with.’
‘He probably went back to Australia. And anyway, I only knew him for a few months. I don’t think he would leave me anything.’
She didn’t tell Neris, but she felt reluctant to deal with these lawyers. A bequest meant somebody had died. Who could it be? She’d have to ring her mother and find out if there were any old aunties unaccounted for.
Her friend gave her a sudden hug. ‘You’re not usually so negative. Are you feeling upset about losing your job? Maybe we should just have tossed for it. I feel awful about letting you volunteer to take a redundancy.’
Kirsty shrugged. ‘It made sense and it’s done now.’ She watched Neris half-open her mouth then close it again. Shortly afterwards her friend started talking about the new guy, whom she’d met in person now and really liked.
It was a relief when a prolonged buzz from the front desk sent them both hurrying out to face a sudden rush of customers.
