Rose's Vintage (3 page)

‘So when do I start?'

‘Now, of course,' said Astrid sternly. ‘How did you get here? Do you have a car?'

‘Um, yes, I'm parked around by the cellar door. I wasn't sure where to leave it.'

‘No problem. I'll show you where to drop your stuff. There's a room for you in the barn.' Astrid drained the last of her tea, stood up and grabbed her coat from the back of one of the chairs. ‘Come on then.'

Rose perked up at the sound of a barn. She followed Astrid, who had swept Luisa and her manky bunny up into her arms, to the back door and across the garden. A barn. How romantic! She had visions of a New England-style conversion, all soaring spaces and white walls, overstuffed loose-covered cream sofas and thoughtfully placed glass bowls of blousy peonies in shades of blush pink …

Hmm, perhaps not.

Rose surveyed the dilapidated structure in front of her. This barn stretched the definition of habitable and clearly hadn't been occupied for quite some time. Its roof was a cobbled-together patchwork of rusted corrugated iron, and the plaster on the walls crumbled at her touch.

Walking inside, she discovered that a thick layer of dust coated the windowsills, the floor – any horizontal surface, actually – and the windows were cobwebbed and grimy. There was a cavernous white-walled sitting area with a couple of faded sofas; the far end of the space had been sectioned off to form a couple of bedrooms; and there was also a small bathroom with a deep, claw-footed rust-stained tub and a shower over it. Rose peered into one of the bedrooms and found an unmade bed with a lumpy mattress, several curling paperbacks on the bedside table, and an ancient, very dusty dresser. It lacked the
Home Beautiful
touch, that was for sure.

‘I'll leave you to get settled,' said Astrid, hurrying out of the door with Luisa still in her arms, back to the relative warmth of the main house.

Rose sat for a moment on the bed, shivering in the chilly air, torn between a desire to drive back to Sydney as fast as four wheels could take her, and the lure of huddling up under a blanket and sleeping off the last vestiges of her jet lag.

She did neither.

Silently cursing her brother, and kicking herself for agreeing to his plans, Rose walked back to the cellar door. Retrieving her car, she followed a track that wound around the back of the winery to the barn. Arriving at her destination, she popped the boot, grabbed her backpack and threw it into the barn's living room.

She needed clean sheets, a broom and plenty of bleach, so she set out purposefully towards the house again. If she was going to stay, even for only a few weeks, she might as well have somewhere halfway decent to sleep.

As Rose made her way back she caught sight of a tall, rangy figure striding towards her. He had his head down, his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans, and as he got closer she could see a definite scowl on his face. Rose knew immediately who it was: Mark Cameron. But he didn't appear to notice her until they were almost shoulder to shoulder. She was just wondering if she should say something to him when he glanced up and blinked at her. He looked as if he had been a million miles away.

‘Hello, can I help you? I'm afraid the cellar door's not open today.'

His voice was low and husky and Rose gave an involuntary shiver. She found herself staring into eyes as green and as dark as bottle glass. She realised they were on a level with hers, not something that she encountered all that often – she was used to being taller than most men. It was a little unnerving to gaze directly into such a forbidding scowl.

‘Er … um, actually, I'm not here for the cellar door.'

‘Well, we're not running any winery tours at the moment either,' he said abruptly. As he finished speaking recognition dawned on his face, softening its harshness. ‘Oh, you must be Rose. Of course. Sorry, I completely forgot that you were coming today. Have you met Astrid? Been shown around?' He held out his hand and she took it in hers. She felt a prickle of electricity at his touch. His grip was firm, his skin dry and smooth, though his nails were ragged and stained purple. ‘Always judge a man by his hands,' her nanna had insisted. ‘His hands and his shoes.' By shoes, Nanna had meant brogues, from Loake or Lobb, no doubt. Rose briefly wondered what she'd have made of Mark's rough-and-ready hands and his mud-encrusted boots.

‘Yes. Thanks, Mr Cameron. I was just getting settled in the barn.'

He grimaced. ‘It's not in the best state, but at least it's dry.'

‘It'll be fine.' Rose didn't know what else to say. She didn't want to be a stuck-up princess and complain about her digs when she'd barely been there five minutes.

‘Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get on. I'm off to a conference for a few days – bloody inconvenient – but Astrid will fill you in on everything.'

Rose nodded. She wasn't sure if the conference was inconvenient for him or her.

‘Oh, and it's Mark by the way. Mr Cameron is my father,' he said with a brief wink as he turned to leave.

‘Well he wasn't so bad,' thought Rose to herself later as she returned from the house with rubber gloves, mop, bucket and an industrial-sized bottle of disinfectant, and set about sanitising, dusting and de-cobwebbing her new home, rehousing several daddy longlegs in the process. Thankfully there were no enormous arachnids of the kind Australia was famous for.

Finally satisfied, she wiped her hair away from her cheek and glanced at her watch. Two o'clock. No wonder her stomach had been growling for the past hour. She looked around at the now spick-and-span room – all her clothes were neatly put away, her backpack stowed under the bed. Stepping into the living area, she confirmed with satisfaction that she could now at least see out of the windows, the cushions were plumped and the floor swept.
You could almost eat off that now
, she thought.
Speaking of which …

Heading back to the kitchen, Rose bumped into Astrid and Luisa. They had their coats and boots on again.

‘We're going to feed the chooks,' said Astrid.

‘Shooks!' repeated Luisa, eyes wide with excitement. ‘Shooks! Shoooooks!' she shouted at the top of her voice.

‘Can I come too?' Rose asked, thoughts of food momentarily forgotten. The faster she got to know her way around Kalkari the better. The first step was to get her bearings on the sprawling vineyard estate.

‘If you like. Lead the way, Luisa.'

Rose followed them meekly out into the yard.

Luisa toddled across the scrubby lawn towards a wooden chicken house. Astrid shook a carton of feed, and several of the rusty-coloured birds Rose had seen when she first arrived began to strut jerkily towards her. ‘That is Maggie,' Astrid said, pointing to the largest chicken. ‘Then there's Stephanie and Nigella. And over there is Nugget.' Bringing up the rear, marshalling his hens, was a fine-looking rooster with colourful tail-feathers. Rose laughed to herself. Only Australians would call a chicken Nugget.

Luisa was excitedly chasing the hens around the yard, trying in vain to catch one. Astrid got closer, scooped up Nigella and placed her in the little girl's arms. Luisa beamed with joy, dimples denting each chubby cheek.

‘Shooks!' she cried excitedly.

‘Don't squeeze her. Be gentle,' warned Astrid, as she leaned into the hen house.

‘Do you get many eggs?' asked Rose, addressing Astrid's petite bottom, which was now sticking out of the hen house.

‘Yes, they lay well. We are never short of eggs,' Astrid replied. After a moment she asked, ‘Have you eaten?'

‘Actually, I was on my way to the kitchen when I bumped into you. I'm so hungry my stomach thinks my throat's been cut – I didn't really have time for breakfast this morning.' Rose placed her hand over her belly.

Astrid gave her an odd look.

Perhaps she doesn't understand the English idiom
, thought Rose.

‘Well, there's not much in the fridge, but there's a loaf of bread, some cheese and a jar of Mrs B's chutney in the pantry, if you like.'

Rose left the two of them playing chase around the yard and made her way back to the kitchen. Astrid had moved the breakfast dishes, but there were now the remains of lunch on the table. Rose piled everything up to one side of the still overflowing sink, resolving to deal with all the dishes after some sustenance. Making herself a doorstop cheese-and-pickle sandwich, she sat down and grabbed an old magazine that had been hidden under the debris on the table. As she slowly flipped the pages, absorbing the mouth-watering photos of lavish food, she began to wonder exactly when Mrs Cameron – Isabella – would make an appearance.

She finished her sandwich and decided to put the kitchen to rights. Hidden behind a cupboard, she discovered a cleverly concealed dishwasher – praise the Lord! – and began to scrape dishes and stack them into it. Peering into the cupboard under the sink, she found detergent, sponges and everything else she needed, and set to work scrubbing and polishing, wiping sticky surfaces and sweeping the stone floor.

When she'd set off from Sydney early that morning, she'd not imagined that her day was going to pan out quite like this, and she shook her head, as much at herself and what she was getting herself into as at the state of the place. It had sounded like an easy task when she'd been sitting in Henry's London flat as he explained what he needed her to do. Now she was actually here though, it was all too real. And involved far too much washing up for her liking.

Astrid and Luisa had gone out after feeding the chooks, and Rose was just sitting down with a cup of instant coffee, having finally cleared up the kitchen, when she heard a car pull up in front of the house. She heard Astrid's strident tones, a giggle from Luisa, and then another voice too.

They came tramping into the kitchen and Rose saw that the third voice belonged to a scruffy-looking dark-haired boy of about six or seven, wearing grey school trousers that stopped several inches above his ankles and a red V-neck sweater that looked equally shrunken. His big toe poked through a hole in his sock. This must be Leo.

‘Hullo,' he said.

‘Hey, Leo, I'm Rose,' she said, giving him her best fake-cheery smile.

‘Rose has come to help us out because Mrs B's sick, Leo,' said Astrid. ‘She's from England.'

Rose wasn't altogether sure she liked Astrid's emphasis on the word ‘England'. She made it sound like a communicable disease. But perhaps Rose was just being over-sensitive. Best to give Astrid the benefit of the doubt – she wasn't here to make an enemy of the nanny.

Leo's eyes, however, lit up. ‘Cool. Have you seen Tottenham play? Harry Kane's
awesome
! I really, really want to see him play. Would you take me there?' His words tumbled out in a rush.

Rose liked his enthusiasm. He seemed like a nice kid. ‘Actually, Leo, I have been to White Hart Lane. More than once in fact. They're my dad's favourite team. And mine too.'

Leo's eyes grew wide. ‘That is so cool! Wait til I tell Joe.'

‘Joe?' asked Rose.

‘Best friend,' explained Astrid.

Luisa, not wanting to be left out, came over to Rose and held her arms up for a cuddle. Rose hoisted her onto her knee as Astrid opened a sweet-smelling white paper bag.

‘Bakery treats,' she said, piling glossy jam tarts, coconut-flecked sponge and caramel squares topped with a thick layer of dark chocolate onto a plate. ‘You have been working hard,' she said grudgingly, casting her eyes around the now spotless kitchen and lifting the heavy kettle onto the range. ‘I didn't think you'd do so much today.'

Rose helped herself to a slice of fudgy caramel and chocolate shortbread and self-consciously adjusted the waistband of her jeans, which was biting into the flesh around her stomach. Astrid hadn't exactly rolled out the welcome mat, but it was nice to have her efforts acknowledged at least. The cakes weren't bad either.