Sundown Crossing (5 page)

‘Hope the music doesn’t make you homesick,’ Rolfe said as he handed Marta a glass of red wine. Born and raised in Baden-Baden, Marta was an only child, with one parent still living. Her father, Johan Gronow, had recently remarried and was involved at an executive level in the automobile industry. Rolfe believed Marta liked life at Stenhaus for two reasons—she was being treated like a princess and she enjoyed the larger family atmosphere in the house.

‘Not at all. I am having too good a time in my adopted country to be lonely for Germany,’ Marta said firmly. She sipped the wine. ‘Very refreshing. What is it?’

‘Sparkling burgundy. It cleanses the palate, according to Seppelts’s advertising campaign,’ he added a touch drily. ‘Australian women are fond of sparkling wines at the moment. I’ve heard that some tend to drink it as if it were a soft drink.’

‘That must give them a hangover. Do you know, I never get hangovers.’ She took a long drink of her wine. Marta tilted her head to one side to give Rolfe a more thorough look. ‘You and Kurt know so much about wine. I’m hoping both of you will teach me all about the wine industry. I want to learn and be able to join in discussions on the various aspects of it.’

‘I’d be pleased to.’

‘Perhaps,’ she continued to sip the wine, ‘I could come to Krugerhoff and observe the process.’

‘I’m sure Kurt would be happy to show you at Rhein Schloss.’

She pulled a face, but in the next instant smiled beguilingly. ‘These days he is always too busy. We have not even had time to sit down and properly plan our wedding.’ She pouted as she stared at her almost empty wine glass. ‘I am a little cross with him about that.’

Rolfe shrugged as if it wasn’t important but it was good to know that his brother wasn’t perfect. ‘It’s harvest time, which is the busiest
time of the year for the vineyards. In a few weeks, Kurt will have plenty of time for you.’

He didn’t want to talk about Kurt, or about weddings, particularly their wedding. Just thinking of Marta and Kurt in the marriage bed, their arms entwined, left an unpalatable, bitter taste in his mouth.
Mein Gott!
No, he definitely did not want to think about that.

Do something! he told himself. He saw the owner of de Bortoli’s Wines, who’d flown down from Griffith, no doubt to sniff out any new wines being produced, and to glean a little inside industry information. ‘Come, let me introduce you to a few people. You may remember some of them from your engagement party.’

Marta saw a waiter passing by with a full tray of drinks. ‘But first another wine, yes?’

He gave an inward sigh. Keeping Marta stonecold sober was going to be a challenge. ‘Of course.’

For someone who’d probably drunk wine with dinner from an early age, as Rolfe and his siblings had, that Marta was more than a little inebriated by the time the wine-tasting wound up surprised him although she was far from being falling-down drunk. Even so she had to cling to his arm to control her wobbly legs as they walked back to the car. An evening breeze that rustled through a small stand of gums made Marta move her head from side to side to catch the wind in her hair. Rolfe took off his suit coat after he’d closed the door on her side of the
Mercedes, glad to be rid of it. And after putting the vehicle’s top down because it was cooler now, he slid behind the wheel. Marta put her hand on his shirt sleeve.

‘I had a lovely time. Thank you, Rolfe. I…I think you and I are going to be
gute freunde.’
Sighing, she leant her head back against the leather seat and closed her eyes.

With her eyes closed he was able to look his fill at her and he did until the tightness in his chest grew to being almost unbearable.
Good friends.
He knew he wanted more than friendship. His jaws clamped together until the muscle hurt. Yes, much more. Agitated by the progression of his thoughts he ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair. He found her watching him thoughtfully through a veil of half-lowered lashes.

‘I like your hair, Rolfe, the way it curls around your neck and its waviness. It’s not like Kurt’s, his is so straight and short.’

Her words were slow and slurred, then she reached up to finger comb several locks back off Rolfe’s face. He drew back, retreating from her intimate gesture, and cleared the huskiness from his throat. It broke the sense of intimacy between them and, embarrassed, he turned the key and started the engine.

It was pleasant listening to the sound of her laugh as he drove down the darkened, dirt road. Her laughter sounded so free, with an undertone of sexiness to it. ‘Go faster, Rolfe. I love speed. I
love to feel the wind racing through my hair. It’s so exhilarating.’

He glanced at her, saw her expression, how lovely she looked and though common sense told him not to, the urge to impress, to please, took hold of him. He pushed his foot down harder on the accelerator and the Mercedes leapt forward.

‘Wheee!’ Marta squealed.
‘Wunderbar.’

One of the back wheels hit a depression in the road. The steering wheel spun sideways and for a few seconds he lost control. The car slid off the verge of the road and as he applied his foot to the brakes, hard, the car came to an abrupt stop but not before the front fender made contact with a fallen tree branch. Angry, Rolfe hit the steering wheel hard with his hands. Several seconds later he got out of the car to inspect the damage but even with the headlights on it was difficult to see any scratches or dents. He would need the cold, hard light of day for that. ‘Damn. Kurt will kill me.’

‘I’ll tell him it was my fault, that I made you speed.’

He rolled his eyes at her. ‘I don’t think that will impress him.’ Nor his father! They would both be angry with him.

Marta patted his knee, just once.
‘Nein,
it will be all right, you’ll see.’

He didn’t know why but he believed her. His gaze narrowed as he turned his head to stare at her, wondering…was he seeing another dimension in Marta, an ability to manipulate things to her point of view? He was beginning to
see that there was more to her than the surface glamour, the charm. And, agonisingly, he found that made her all the more intriguing to him.

Oh, Dad…
Carla looked up from the journal. She had been concentrating so hard on reading that her eyes were sore, then, with a tiny gasp of surprise she realised that she was more than halfway through the journal. It didn’t take much imagination on her part to see where the entries were heading—to a one-sided love affair. Was that why he’d left the Barossa, she wondered, because he grew to being unable to bear the sight of Kurt and Marta together? But she shouldn’t presume…Her gaze dropped to the next page.

In his navy singlet, rolled-up shorts and muchworn workboots he looked no more the owner of Krugerhoff than his workmates, Otto and Ernst. The sweet-sour smell of the continuing fermentation process was enough to take one’s breath away in the confines of the large tin shed jokingly called the winery, as opposed to a distillery where brandy and other fortified alcohol was made. The three had racked the clean juice away from the sediment and were checking and debating how much yeast should be added. He listened intently to Otto and Ernst, and had to trust their collective judgement after years of experience in winemaking.

Marta’s unexpected arrival was enough of a distraction to end their debate. She stood at the
doorway to the winery and the men stared at her like love-struck schoolboys. She looked beautiful in her figure-hugging slacks and a light wool sweater. The weather had cooled down rapidly after the wine-tasting at Seppelts.

‘I have come to see how the wine is made,’ she said simply. ‘You promised to show me, remember,’ Marta spoke to Rolfe, adding in a soft tone, ‘It is convenient, yes?’

‘Umm, oh! Of course. I’d be delighted…’ He frowned as he thought of something. ‘Kurt knows you’re here?’

‘No.’ She shrugged her shoulders as if it wasn’t important that he should. ‘He told me last night that I must learn to amuse myself but,’ she pouted in a manner similar to Lisel, ‘it is hard to. Greta does not need help at Stenhaus because Lilly and the occasional daily help take care of things there. Lisel, who I am very fond of, is at school most of the day, and Kurt and Papa Carl are always at Rhein Schloss. They leave early in the morning and don’t return until after dark. I play with Luke, read him stories and that sort of thing. He is a dear little boy but…’

‘I understand,’ Rolfe nodded. ‘Come, we’ll go and see the vines, that’s where it all starts. They’re just beginning to lose their leaves. Then we’ll walk and I’ll talk you through the winemaking process.’

‘Sehr Goot,
Rolfe. I was afraid you would be too busy to bother with me, and I do want to learn the business so Kurt and I can discuss matters.’

Then he came up with an idea. ‘Perhaps,’ he hesitated. Should he ask? Why not? ‘Perhaps you would like to do some work here for me.’

An hour later they’d toured the winery and seen the vats, pipes, racks for the bottled wine and other paraphernalia involved in the winemaking process. Marta’s expression showed some alarm when Rolfe asked again if she wanted to help. ‘Not to work in the winery, but in the office. I’ve made one of the bedrooms in the cottage my office but I’m way behind with the paperwork. In fact, the whole office needs to be properly organised.’ His smile was meant to be reassuring. ‘It would only take a little of your time. I’m in the process of designing the wine label for Krugerhoff too—some of it’s bottled but not labelled.’ In truth, he had designed the label but not had any printed and she was an arts student. Perhaps she would have better ideas than he had.

Marta smiled with delight. ‘I would love to help you design the label.’

Rolfe grinned at her enthusiasm but tempered it with the proviso, ‘So long as Kurt approves.’

‘Oh, that will be no trouble,’ she waved her hand about airily. ‘He will be glad that I am—how do you say it?—occupied, until work at Rhein Schloss slows down and he has time for me.’

His grin widened at her animated expression. ‘Good.’ He wasn’t going to think about how hard it would be seeing so much of her, having
her close. No, he was not going to allow himself to dwell on that.

For the next three weeks Marta came for approximately three hours a day, three days a week. She surprised Rolfe by being an industrious worker and he only had to tell her something once and she was able to do it. After she had organised the office she set about humanising the rest of the cottage with odds and ends brought over from Stenhaus. A rug for the living room floor. Ornaments here and there and on the mantelpiece. A set of crockery for the kitchen and cutlery too. A selection of wine glasses, and curtains—she’d found old ones packed in the basement at the big house—for all the rooms.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he liked things plain, few fancy things and flounces, because adding the womanly touches gave her such pleasure and in turn it delighted him to see her happy. They settled on the design for the label: a shield on which lay a diagonal wavy line depicting the creek that flowed through Krugerhoff, a bunch of grapes and two wine glasses, one in front of the other. That had been Marta’s suggestion and he’d thought it a good one.

One Friday, late in the afternoon, they were among the vines. He was showing her how to tie the vines and run the thin branches horizontally along the wires, fixing them every nine feet with strands of wire to keep them secure. Above, the sky was heavy with dark clouds. A storm was approaching from the south. The wind had
dropped but it had a moist, earthy smell to it and an ominous stillness pervaded the vines and the bush. No birds were twittering to each other; there were no insect sounds.

‘We’d better head back,’ Rolfe decided, after glancing up at the sky. The clouds had turned a dark greenish-grey and were heavy with moisture. ‘If we run we probably won’t get wet.’

‘I will race you. Come on,’ Marta said and with a challenging laugh she took off.

Rolfe pushed his secateurs and the wires into the back pocket of his trousers, and ran after her. There was just one warning clap of thunder followed by a slash of forked lightning and the storm was upon them. Droplets the size of two shilling pieces hit the earth in rapid succession and in seconds the shower became a deluge, soaking them to the skin before they could reach the cottage’s back door. Inside, and through the kitchen and down the hall, they left a rivulet of puddles all the way into the living room.

‘I’ll light a fire.’ He moved to the fireplace where logs and kindling were stacked beside the grate: the Barossa could get very cold in winter. He saw Marta hug herself, her lips quivering with cold. ‘In the bathroom you’ll find towels to dry yourself. Take your wet things off, and we’ll dry them by the fire. There’s a few blankets in the linen cupboard. You can wrap one around you till your clothes are dry.’

He saw her indecision and that her shivering was getting worse. ‘Go on, you don’t want to
catch cold, do you? After I’ve lit the fire I’ll put the kettle on. A hot cup of coffee and a brandy will warm us up.’ At that she nodded in agreement and turned towards the hallway.

Flicking wet hair back off his forehead, Rolfe knelt near the fireplace and reached for the box of matches that rested on top of the basket of firewood. In next to no time, the fire had struck. He stripped off his boots and sweater and dropped them on the floor, then padded out to the kitchen, lit the gas on the stove, filled the kettle with water and put it on to boil. He didn’t have a coffee percolator so instant coffee would have to do. Spooning the dark grains into two cups, he searched through the small pantry cupboard for the bottle of brandy he kept, strictly for emergencies. Half-filling two wine glasses with the brandy, he waited until the water boiled, made the coffee, found milk and a bowl of sugar and put it all on a wooden tray which he took into the living room where the fire was burning well, crackling and spitting.

‘Marta, are you okay?’

‘Ja.’
She stood in the living room doorway, the blanket clutched to her in American Indian style. ‘But I am freezing. The rain was so cold.’

‘Sit close to the hearth, you’ll soon warm up. I’ll bring your clothes out so they can dry.’ It was important to be doing something physical, he thought as he followed Marta’s wet footprints down the timber-floored hallway into the bathroom. He wrung as much moisture out of
her clothes as he could and carried them back to the fire. Moving and rearranging the dining-table chairs into makeshift clotheslines he draped the wet garments over them and moved the chairs closer to the fireplace.