Sundown Crossing (13 page)

T
he promise of spring was evident in the clear blue sky, and a warmer breeze as, one Saturday morning late in August, Carla and Sam wandered between the rows of vines towards the creek. After winter rains the creek was flowing strongly, so much so that Carla insisted that when Sam wanted to explore it an adult had to accompany him.

Although no expert when it came to vineyards, she thought the vines looked healthy as she walked between the rows. Spring growth had begun to burst—the new leaves, light green in colour, were still curled and delicate, and vine tendrils were already reaching out for support to assist them as they sought the warmth of the sun. Angie said she was pleased with what had been accomplished. Heavy pruning during winter had made the vines strong and eager to grow. Almost spring. Carla stood still for a moment, reflecting…

It was the time of year her father had loved the most. Spring—renewal, the affirmation of nature’s cycle of life, he’d called it. For a second or two she squeezed her eyes tightly up. The mist began to lift near the creek, and if she stretched her imagination, she could picture him striding down a row, as he’d done for years, stopping to finger the vines, almost caressing the leaves, and winding tendrils around the wires. A tightness invaded her throat and she swallowed hard. She missed him. Angie and Sam missed him too. That’s why Angie was driving herself so hard; her way of dealing with the grief, the sense of loss and emptiness.

‘Mum, come on,’ Sam called impatiently from the edge of the field where it ran up to the thicker growth of shrubby bush and taller trees that edged the top of the creek.

Carla jogged up to him and ruffled his hair. ‘I’m here.’

Sam looked up at her. ‘Josh said he saw a platypus in the creek once. I’m gonna find it.’

‘Really!’ Carla exclaimed. They pushed their way through scrubby bushes and down to the creek’s bank. There were a liberal number of rocks to climb over—a task Sam enjoyed. ‘I’m no expert on Australian fauna, love, but I think the creek is running too fast for platypuses. I think they prefer calm waters.’

His mention of Josh turned her thoughts towards Rhein Schloss’s operations manager. To her surprise, and Josh’s ability to be persuasive, they’d had several dates, two with Sam
accompanying them during which Josh had made a huge fuss of her son which had pleased him no end. The way Sam had responded to Josh brought home to her that, since her father’s death, her son had no significant male role model in his life although Paul often came to the cottage, visiting and for dinner. Sam and Josh had played football, thrown and caught a Frisbee in the park, and Josh had pointed out birds he recognised and, once, they’d come across a large goanna rummaging through a turned-over rubbish bin.

Clearly, Josh was making an effort, with her and with Sam, which made her feel a little guilty because, after the second date she’d known there was no chance of a deeper relationship developing between them. She simply wasn’t physically attracted to him. Even so she had used him to ferret out information about the Stenmarks, which he’d obligingly divulged. She learnt that her grandfather was something of a recluse, because although he spent his working day at the Rhein Schloss office, he then went home and rarely appeared in public, doing so only if it was required for business. Josh also told her that Greta, Luke Michaels’s mother, was the easiest Stenmark to get along with and that Lisel…Josh, who had an opinion on everyone and everything, said very little about Lisel, which whetted Carla’s curiosity to know more about her sharp-tongued aunt.

The problem was, who could she ask? Paul, maybe. Or the Conrads. At Angie’s invitation they
were coming over for dinner tomorrow night. Yes, she decided as she hopped from one rock to another trying to keep up with Sam, the Conrads might prove more informative than her boss.

It was hard for her to think of Paul as her boss; he was so laid-back and easygoing. Patient when she made mistakes on a drawing, happy to inform when she asked questions, and supportive of her dream to become a winemaker. She glanced ahead to check on Sam. He’d found a long stick and was poking it about in the water. ‘Be careful, Sam, the creek’s running pretty fast.’

‘I’m okay, Mum,’ he called back confidently. ‘I thought I saw a yabby.’

Moving towards him she went back to her ruminating. It was a pity that…what? Paul had his own problems to deal with. Such as getting over the death of his fiancée. His fiancée, Lisa McNee, working for the International Red Cross, had lost her life in a rebel skirmish in Botswana just over a year ago. Carla thought Paul was remarkably stoic about the tragedy when he’d told her about Lisa. He said that talking the grief out helped him get through the days, and the nights. She knew all about grief! With Derek and now her father.

‘Come on, Mum,’ Sam entreated again. ‘There’s a quiet pool of water up near the bend.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘A platypus might be there.’ Using the branches of several bushes to steady himself, he climbed over a series of rocks towards an area where the creek was
about three metres wide. The sheer volume of water made it splash and crash over rocks on the opposite side but on their side of the creek the water flowed more sedately.

‘Sam, be careful. Wait for me.’ Carla glanced at the water in the creek as she followed the path Sam had taken. The water was dark, almost black and though tall trees gave the creek shade, she gauged that where the pool was, the water could be more than two metres deep. Increasing her pace to catch up to Sam, she almost slipped on a patch of moss, but saved herself by grabbing a tree branch. Then, as she looked ahead, she saw Sam. In his rush to find a platypus he wasn’t being careful,
and
he wasn’t waiting for her. His five-year-old legs were rushing over the slimy lichen-covered rocks.

Carla saw Sam lose his balance. He groped the air as he tried to grab the closest shrub but his arms were too short to reach anything. He fell sideways and began to roll off the wet rock into the water. Propelled by his body’s momentum he hit the water and went under straight away.

Carla went rigid with shock, then panic took over. She rushed over the rocks, uncaring of the grazes, the slipperiness. Above the gurgling sound of water cascading downstream all was silent around the creek but when he didn’t resurface, she screamed…
‘Sam!’

C
arla was about four metres from where Sam had fallen in. For several seconds a spasm of fear squeezed her heart, immobilising her. Sam wasn’t much of a swimmer yet and his wet clothes would drag him down. His head surfaced, he spluttered, his arms flailed about and he sank again. Carla straightened and plunged into the water. It was freezing. She broke the surface and trod water—it was almost two metres deep. Her head swivelled this way and that, looking for Sam. Where was he? A series of bubbles and tiny ripples eddying out to the creek’s bank were the only clues to his location. She breast-stroked towards them then dived under.

Churned up by the volume flowing downstream the water was murky and she could see very little. Fear escalated as her arms threshed about under the water, seeking him. Why couldn’t she find him? Oh, Sam, Sam…Desperate, splayed fingers touched something
soft—his sleeveless nylon vest. She tugged with all her strength but he didn’t move. Something was holding him down. Her other hand grabbed the vest and she tugged, harder this time, managing to wrest him from near the bottom of the creek, where part of his leg had been stuck under a submerged tree branch.

Her lungs were almost bursting when she resurfaced supporting Sam in one arm. She opened her mouth and gulped in a mouthful of air, then she shook her son’s body, trying to get a response. ‘Sam, are you all right?’ Relief flooded through her when he coughed and spat out a mouthful of water. His eyes opened and so did his mouth. Coughing and spluttering water, he tried to fill his lungs with life-giving air. She gathered him close to her, hugged him and pushed the hair back off his face.

‘Oh, you’re all right. Thank God.’

‘A bit early in the season for a dip, isn’t it?’ a laconic voice from the creek bank asked.

Dashing the water from her eyes, Carla saw Paul van Leeson wade into the water to help. Rolling Sam onto his back and telling him to relax, she cradled him in one arm as she swam towards Paul. Rebel, Paul’s red setter, sensing the drama unfolding, barked and ran backwards and forwards excitedly on the creek’s bank.

‘That was a bit too close for comfort,’ Carla panted. Near exhaustion herself from the physical effort of locating Sam and the emotional drain of the accident she gave Sam to Paul. He carried the
child to the bank and sat him gently on the grass. Carla swam after them, struggling against the drag of the current. Paul helped her out of the water and she collapsed next to Sam, both arms wrapped around her son, holding him close.

‘I was taking Rebel for a walk, or rather she was taking me,’ Paul explained. ‘We were following the creek ’cause Reb enjoys a bit of a splash around.’

Sam looked at his mother. ‘I’m s-sorry, Mum. I didn’t know the rocks would be so slippery. I thought I was being careful but I slipped…’

‘I know. It’s okay, Sam. You’re all right and that’s what matters.’ She stared over the top of her son’s head to where Paul crouched on his haunches near them. ‘Accidents happen.’ She gave him a watery smile. ‘Thank you for being here.’

‘Just a bit of luck, really.’ He smiled sympathetically at her. ‘Didn’t expect anything quite so dramatic, did we girl? Our walks are usually pretty uneventful unless Rebel spots a bird or a rabbit.’ He patted the dog’s head to calm her down.

Carla dared not think about what might have happened had she not been with Sam. ‘From now on, Sam, any part of this creek is off-limits. Understood?’ On previous excursions an adult had accompanied him and Su Lee but today her being with him hadn’t prevented the accident so it was wiser to make the creek area off-limits permanently.

‘Yes, Mum,’ a chastened Sam agreed, his expressive face showing that he’d got the shock of his life.

She looked at Paul. He was giving her a thorough assessment from head to toes, which made her aware that her wet lightweight slacks and sweater were clinging to her body and leaving little to his imagination. Her cheeks warmed at his level of scrutiny. Had Josh been staring at her like that she’d have had no qualms about telling him where to put his gaze, but Paul! She wasn’t used to him staring at her in an interested, speculative way, as if…She breathed in, held her breath as a lick of sexual awareness invaded her senses then her entire body. The thudding of her heart began to move to a faster beat, increasing the tension between them. But—was this heightened awareness only coming from her, or was he similarly affected? His grey eyes, his set features, his posture gave nothing away. Becoming embarrassed by what she was feeling she scrambled to her feet to loosen the folds of the sweater from her body so it was less revealing.

Her movements made Paul blink, and shattered the mood. Both Carla and Sam were shivering from being wet and cold. Paul got up, stripped off his sweater and draped it over Sam then he lifted him, straddling the young boy’s legs over his shoulders and holding them against his chest to keep Sam secure.

Glancing at Carla, Paul’s features remained inscrutable. ‘Let’s go. I think you both need a hot
shower and a cup of cocoa to warm you up and settle the nerves.’ With confident strides he began to climb up the creek’s bank, through the thick scrub and between a row of vines, leaving Carla to bring up the rear and trying not to think about or analyse that discomfiting moment at the creek.

No matter which way Angie worked the figures for Sundown Crossing—the estimations on income and outgoings—she could not get them to balance. Since finishing dinner she had been in the office going through the paperwork, the business plan, the invoices, doing calculations to arrive at a reasonable expenditure figure for the vineyard, one they could cope with. And having kept the books for Valley View and other vineyards in her youth she was confident that she’d allowed for everything.

For weeks she had been playing
catch up
—one of Carla’s phrases—with accounts. Her first priority was to make sure that the Loongs were paid for their labour. The vineyard couldn’t afford to lose them, not that she thought they would go because the three—even Tran who was a restless spirit and had a weakness for gambling—were content with their present life. For the first time in their lives the three had a decent roof over their heads, regular money, they could afford to eat well, and knowing Kim’s ability to squeeze value from every dollar earned, Angie believed they were probably saving a good percentage of what they earned.

In frustration she threw the pen onto the writing pad where she’d been scribbling figures and rubbed the weariness from her eyes. She had tried every which way to stretch their funds but she couldn’t continue to give Carla a false sense of security and imply that all was well when it wasn’t.

As if tuned into her thoughts Carla appeared in the office doorway dressed in a blue, overlong nightshirt that reached down to her knees. ‘Still at it! It’s almost midnight.’ She came in and sat in the chair near Angie’s desk. Her gaze locked onto Angie’s drawn features. Something in the older woman’s expression communicated concern. She frowned. They had mutually agreed to leave the financial arrangements regarding the vineyard to Angie because she had the experience, but as Carla studied the figures on the writing pad, there appeared to be lots of calculations and scribbling, which caused Angie’s concern to transfer itself to her.

‘What’s up?’

Angie’s mouth tucked in at the corners, something she did when anxious. ‘I’ve been tracking the vineyard’s finances. The improvements we’ve made have cost more than I estimated even though I allowed a ten per cent fluctuation figure in the estimations.’ She picked up a piece of paper that bore the National Bank’s letterhead. ‘Our bank balance has dropped to just over a thousand dollars. We’ll have to stop ploughing the fields up near the Oakland Estate’s boundary. We can’t
afford the driver and the tractor, and put a hold on the planting program.’

Carla absorbed Angie’s words with remarkable calmness. ‘Okay, but the mature vines are doing well, aren’t they? They’re loaded with grapes. You said we could expect a bumper crop.’

‘We can, but not till the end of summer. Then we have to decide whether to sell the harvest to a larger winery for blending, which would bring in funds quickly or go ahead and do our own bottling. If we choose the latter option we might not have an appreciable income for another year.’

Concentrating, Carla ran the fingers of her left hand through her hair to push the red-gold curls off her face. ‘I thought we’d already decided on the second option because everything in the winery is in working order and the profits would be greater.’

‘That was when I thought our funds would stretch to cover us for another year. Your income from the job with Paul helps immensely, he pays you a little too generously, I think, but it still isn’t enough to cover the shortfall.’

Carla’s shoulders slumped, her disappointment at this turn of events was obvious. ‘We’ve come so far, Angie, achieved so much.’ Her well-shaped mouth tightened appreciably. ‘Are you saying that we should give up? The Stenmarks would love that.’

‘I know.’ Angie reached across and patted Carla’s hand in an attempt to ease the pain of the truth. ‘I’ve given the problem a lot of thought
and there are options. We could bring in a partner, a silent partner. Someone who might want to invest in the vineyard.’ Angie glanced at Carla’s face, and saw her negative response. ‘Okay. We’ve got seven or eight acres in their natural state. We could offer five to Oaklands. They might be interested in purchasing and adding the land to their holdings.’

‘No!’ Carla’s head shook vehemently and when she spoke her voice was steely with resolve. ‘I will not forfeit a single acre—it’s not only my inheritance, it’s Sam’s and Dad wouldn’t have wanted me to. He held onto it for all those years for a good reason, so that we could rebuild it.’ Then she intercepted Angie’s well-what-else-can-we-do look. What could they do? They had no more assets to sell. Even the shares Derek had left Sam had been cashed in. ‘How much do you think we need to get over this hump, until we can produce a proper income?’

Angie was ready for that question and she wrote a figure on the pad and turned it around for Carla to see.

‘That much!’ Depressed, Carla sucked in her lower lip as the fingers of her right hand drummed on the desktop. She racked her brain trying to come up with an alternative plan to the two Angie had suggested. What would her father do? Then another question came into her mind spontaneously, what would her grandfather do if in the same situation? Through her growing years she had not been overly interested or
sympathetic towards her father’s passion for the land, for the grapes. But in these last few months living in the cottage he had built, resurrecting the vines he had planted with his own hands, restoring the vineyard to how it had once been, had given her a sense of achievement and an affinity with and passion for winemaking that she had previously not had. Under Angie’s tutelage she was absorbing knowledge like a thirsty sponge about the difference in wines, methods of production, of bottling, of ageing, and of marketing.

‘The bottom line is, Dad wouldn’t give up. He’d find a way—I will too.’ She gazed at Angie steadily, challenging the older woman to contradict her intention. Her friend didn’t.

Angie yawned, no longer able to hide her exhaustion. ‘Okay. Look, I’m bushed. Let’s sleep on it and who knows, in the morning, the answer might come to us.’

Carla nodded, though she was sure that neither of them would get the sleep they needed. ‘Yes, let’s do that.’

Basil Coulthard, the National Australia Bank’s branch manager in Nuriootpa, dialled Luke Michaels’s private line at Rhein Schloss. His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed nervously in his skinny neck as he waited for an answer.

‘Mr Michaels—Luke. Basil here.’ Pause. ‘Yes, I’m fine thank you.’

‘Did you like that last case of Bordeaux, Bas?’

‘It was superb. The wife lapped it up.’ Basil’s mouth twisted in a cynical grin. ‘A few wines over dinner puts Roslyn in a much more pleasant mood.’

‘That’s good.’ As if he cared! Luke schooled himself to be patient, to wait for Basil to continue. The bank manager never rang unless he believed he had important information to pass on.

‘Luke, Carla Hunter’s just been in. You said previously that you were interested in her business. Well, her account is pretty low at present. She’s made an application for a loan, using the deeds to Sundown Crossing as collateral. I…thought you’d like to know.’

Luke’s expression suddenly became intense. He stopped fiddling with his ballpoint pen. ‘Go on.’

‘Well,’ Basil cleared his throat noisily, ‘I assume you, um, that Rhein Schloss wants me to reject her application.’

‘How much has she asked for?’ He whistled under his breath when Basil gave him the figure, his gaze narrowing on one of his golf trophies. The sun’s rays were glinting on it, throwing a prism of light onto the plush carpet. ‘Can she service the loan?’

‘Just. If the payments are spread over the maximum period. It’s really a kind of tide-over loan until the first harvest is in, bottled and aged long enough to retail. After that she’ll have the wherewithal to pay the loan back more quickly, so she said.’

‘I see.’ Interesting. Carla’s money was running out. He’d known it would, just as he was sure Carla and Angie had thought through their options and decided a bank loan was the only option open to them. He could tell Basil to say
no
and bring matters at Sundown Crossing to a head. Being low on funds would increase the pressure she was under. Perhaps it would be sufficient to make her accept his offer which, according to Grandfather, was too generous but Luke considered it to be fair.

‘So?’ Basil tired of waiting for an answer and prompted. ‘Do I tell her no?’

Luke’s business head told him to say yes but, curiously, his heart was saying no. Christ, what was wrong with him? He didn’t want Carla to succeed; it was in his best interest for her to fail utterly and quickly, get her out of the Barossa and out of the Stenmark family’s life forever. His resentful grandfather wanted that and would be grateful to him if he delivered on it. Contrarily though, his thoughts ran in a different, more subtle direction. If she had the loan and it still wasn’t enough, she’d be backed into a corner with no way out but to sell. In the long run that might work out better because she could walk away from Sundown Crossing now, and do so without selling, but if she owed money and couldn’t pay it back that would force an outcome which would be better for Rhein Schloss.