Sundown Crossing (6 page)

Outside the storm raged, pelting sheets of rain against the window panes and onto the roof, hitting with such force that Marta and Rolfe had to speak loudly to each other to be heard over the noise.

‘Does it rain like this very often?’ Marta asked. She ran her slate-coloured gaze over the room and her drying clothes, then stared, almost hypnotically, into the fire’s flames as she sipped the hot coffee.

‘It’s a seasonal thing. That’s why it’s important to know weather patterns and when to pick the grapes. If they were still on the vines, half the fruit would be ruined by now.’

‘But won’t the storm still damage the vines?’

Bare-chested, he sat on the sofa next to her, then he remembered his wet trousers and stood up again. ‘It will. Especially the finer tendrils of the smaller vines. Some of the trellises will come down too but that damage can be repaired. It’s not like losing half the harvest.’ Uncomfortable in his wet pants he said, ‘I’ll go and change.’

The wardrobe in the one furnished bedroom had an assortment of work clothes he had gradually brought over from Stenhaus. He chose blue jeans and a lightweight zip-up jacket and put them on. When he came back to the living
room Marta was kneeling in front of the fire, one hand around the blanket while the other lifted her long straight hair towards the fire, trying to get it dry. The blanket had slipped off one shoulder, revealing her creamy, lightly tanned skin to his gaze.

He remembered how she looked in a bathing suit, having seen her in the pool with Kurt, but now his imagination and sense of arousal rose several degrees because he
knew
that she was naked under the blanket. It was a mistake to glance at her lacy bra and lace-edged panties drying over one of the chairs. A rush of heat blasted through him. He tore his gaze away and glanced at the window, noting that it was getting dark. Kurt, if he were home, would be concerned as to Marta’s whereabouts.

Damn, her being here was no good. He had to get her out of the cottage before he did or said something stupid. ‘It’s getting late. I have some clothes you can wear home. I-I’ll get them for you, and, and as soon as the rain eases…’

She glanced across at him through a veil of sable hair, parting the locks to see him more clearly. Her gaze ran over him again, assessingly this time and lingered on the breadth of his shoulders and the tautness of his chest under the half-zipped jacket. His hair was mussed up too from where he’d roughly towelled it dry. He watched her free hand reach for the brandy. The glass was already almost empty. She downed the rest of it.

‘So, you are tired of me being here?’ She blinked several times and her lower lip trembled. Averting her gaze she said in a little-girl voice, ‘I understand.’

‘No, it’s not that.’ Damn. Now he had hurt her feelings. Repentant, he knelt by the fire opposite her, anxious to appease. ‘I-I just think it would be better. Your clothes, the sweater in particular will take ages to dry.’

Marta didn’t answer. Licking the residue of brandy off her lips, she inched closer till she could reach across and touch his face. ‘Dear Rolfe. You are so sweet.’

It was her touch that did it.

All the pent-up feelings he had been repressing for weeks, the nights he’d spent dreaming about her, imagining her in his arms, pushed his control over the edge. Involuntarily his hand reached up to hold hers against his cheek, then slowly he moved it to his mouth to kiss it. He saw her eyes widen with surprise and…something else, delight. Her mouth opened in a silent ‘oh’. She moved closer till their torsos were almost touching…

He was only a man and he was in love, so he did what men have done throughout the ages. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her even though he knew it was foolish, that his behaviour would destroy the friendship they had, that if she told Kurt there would be repercussions beyond his imagining. However, at this special moment in time he was only vaguely aware of all
that—he didn’t care. He wanted, needed this moment with her because, fatalistically, he knew that it would have to last him a lifetime.

Anticipation turned to amazement when she didn’t pull away when, in fact, she kind of melted against him and…kissed him back with equal fervour. It was, she was, magnificent! So soft, so warm, so giving. How could he resist? He knew he couldn’t. Aware of their trembling, his hands slipped beneath the blanket and began to stroke her body. Oh, how wonderful that was. Fingertips found her breast, circled it, rolled the nipple between his fingers, felt it harden with arousal, just as another part of his own body was hardening in response to his tentative lovemaking.

The feeling was intense, heady, overpowering. Suddenly she pulled back from him and in her dark eyes he saw the reflection of his face and the passion he was betraying—the desire, the need. She gave him a little smile and while he was not worldly in the ways of love, he could not mistake its meaning. There was a sensual encouragement in the way her lips curled at the edges and her own breathing had become as hoarse as his own, especially when his hands found other tantalising parts of her body to caress beneath the blanket.

‘You are so beautiful,’ Rolfe whispered.

He ran a trail of kisses from her ear lobe down her cheek to the side of her throat, but that wasn’t enough, he wanted more. He got to his feet, bringing her with him and in the doing the
blanket fell away completely…because she let it go. Marta arched against him, invitingly, and the fingers of her right hand traced along his jawline, up into his hair and then ran through it, combing it back from his face.

‘I love you, Marta…’

She smiled at him; it was an age-old, knowing smile. She whispered back, ‘I know.’

She cupped his face with her hands, and kissed him again, running her tongue between his teeth until his tongue met hers in a brief, passionate duel. ‘I want you, Rolfe…’ She took hold of his hand and, still smiling, pulled him towards the hallway that led to the bedrooms. ‘Right now.’

Thinking sensibly was impossible, he was too caught up in the moment and so he did what he’d been wanting to do for weeks. He swept her up in his arms and in response she flung her own arms around his neck. Her laugh was joyful and sexy as he strode quickly down the hallway to the bedroom that contained the only bed.

Something was banging. The noise woke him from the exhausted sleep he had fallen into after making love with Marta—gorgeous, wonderful, sexy Marta. He opened his eyes to look for her. She wasn’t there. Blinking himself to wakefulness, he rolled off the bed and reached for the blue jeans. By the time he’d zipped up the fly the banging had stopped, and he noted vaguely, so had the rain. But…where was Marta?

The cottage was in near darkness and, with only the glow from the table lamp to light his way he walked towards the living room. He heard voices as he approached. Just one voice, Kurt’s, and it was raised in anger!

‘I have been looking everywhere for you. I thought you’d had an accident of some sort…’

‘No,
liebling,
I, I mean, we, Rolfe and I got caught among the vines in the storm. It was quite frightening, Kurt,’ Marta said in a little girl voice. She sat on the sofa, legs crossed, and dressed in her own clothes. The blanket she’d used was neatly folded over one of the chairs.

‘Do you know the time? It’s after eight in the evening. I rang here, three times! No one bothered to answer the phone.’

With a calm that amazed him, considering what had just occurred between Marta and him, Rolfe entered the room and joined in the conversation. ‘Hello, Kurt. Maybe the line was damaged during the storm,’ he improvised while internally praying that it was so. Trying to act naturally, he moved to stoke the fire and added another log or two so he didn’t have to look directly at his brother. Already the guilt was building inside him for what he, what
they
had done. He glanced furtively at Marta then away again. She looked composed, calm. An amazing woman, in so many ways.

Glowering at both of them, Kurt’s anger receded a little. ‘Let me check that. If the phone’s working I’ll call Stenhaus and let Papa know that Marta is safe and sound.’

‘Yes, do that.’ Something tightened in Rolfe’s gut, fear that Kurt would find out what had happened. He would be sorry if it were so but he had no regrets. Holding Marta, making love with her more than once, had been the most glorious experience of his young life. He waited until Kurt was well down the hallway towards the office to whisper to Marta. ‘Are you all right? What are you going to tell him, about us?’

‘About us?’ Her expression was bland as she queried. ‘Nothing.’ Her smile was cool and controlled. She arched a questioning eyebrow as she added, ‘There is nothing to tell, is there?’

He couldn’t stop the frown and his gaze narrowed as he asked, ‘What do you mean? You and I, we’ve…’ He had difficulty finding the right words. ‘What we’ve done.’

‘We have done nothing,’ she hissed in a low tone. ‘Do you understand, Rolfe?
Nothing.
We got caught in the storm, and we waited here for it to stop. If Kurt asks any more questions I will tell him that you fell asleep on the bed and I dozed on the sofa. That is why we didn’t hear the phone.
Verstehen? Ja?’
Her smile turned to one of confidence when she saw him nod dumbly that he’d got the message.

Kurt came back into the living room. His features still looked tight and angry. Rolfe knew Kurt’s moods well and that he wasn’t going to be fobbed off as easily as Marta believed he would be. As was his way Kurt would niggle and pry until he was satisfied and, for the moment Rolfe
could see he was a long way from being satisfied by anything they had said.

‘Odd. The phone
is
working.’ His hard-eyed stare focused on his fiancée. ‘I let Papa know you were safe. Come.’ His hand reached out towards Marta. ‘We should go. Lilly has saved dinner for you.’ He said a terse, ‘Good night, Rolfe,’ and the two of them left.

Alone, Rolfe sat heavily on the sofa, and stared into the fire’s flames. He let his shoulders slump forward as he went over the last two hours and how his life had changed. There had been no intention on his part to make love to Marta because he had accepted that the best he could expect was to adore her from afar. But…she hadn’t rebuffed him when they’d kissed, she had been as keen as he, and as passionate! His face reddened as he recalled their mutual threshing, the unbridled lovemaking on the single bed.

God…what had he done?
Betrayed his brother’s trust.
He shook his head, unable to control the wave of self-loathing that was beginning to weave through him. But…he loved her and, Marta must surely harbour some feeling for him or she wouldn’t have behaved as she had. That was logical, wasn’t it? Perhaps…she had fallen out of love with Kurt. He wasn’t paying her much attention and Marta, Rolfe having observed her for almost two months, was the type of woman who needed attention and affection. She had certainly responded to that from him.

He would, his square chin firmed with determination, ask her to marry him. Yes, that’s what he would do. His sombre features softened in a smile, but then his heart contracted with anxiety as he thought about his father. What would Papa think of that? What would the reaction be if he took Marta away from Kurt, the favoured son? Rolfe swallowed hard and had difficulty clearing the sudden lump in his throat, because the answer was obvious. Papa would be very angry…His head shook from side to side because he couldn’t, didn’t want to think about Carl Stenmark’s fierce temper, but his decision had been made.

He would ask Marta to be his wife and if she said yes, and he believed that after how she had responded to him today, she would. And, he made up his mind, he would worry about Papa and Kurt later.

Carla looked up from the journal. There were tears in her eyes because she had never known that her father had gone through such agonies as a young man. She cast her mind way back to her childhood, remembering the father she had known since she’d been small. He had been stern, serious, but also loving, and devoted to his vineyard once he’d had the means to buy and develop Valley View.

She supposed, knowing what she knew now, that he had an ingrained need to prove that he could be the winemaker he’d always wanted to
be but had been denied in his youth. Still, how was it that neither she nor her mother had gleaned anything of the burden he’d carried for years? Rolfe Kruger had built an impenetrable wall around that part of his life and never let them see a glimpse of it. He had fabricated the occasional story of his youth to satisfy their curiosity. That was so sad.

She fingered the few remaining pages, almost finished. In the depths of her heart was a sense of foreboding but instead of guessing what had come to pass, she had to read to the very last page.

F
or more than a week Rolfe stayed away from Stenhaus, claiming that getting the current harvest through to its next stage was his prime concern. Kurt had spoken to him the day after the storm, saying Marta would no longer be helping out at Krugerhoff—he had expected that. As the days passed and there was no contact with the family, Rolfe tried to quell the alarm bells that had begun to ring in his head, choosing to believe that Kurt’s reaction and the family’s silence was natural because everyone was still annoyed about having to search for Marta on the night of the storm.

Not seeing Marta, even fleetingly, was hard on him. For the last two months he had seen her, sometimes only briefly but almost on a daily basis. Now he wanted to confirm his feelings for her and to ask her to marry him. However, he knew it was equally important to put some distance between each other and what had happened. It was a time during which they could explore their feelings for
each other and be sure. In Rolfe’s case he was sure. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Marta Gronow, and each night, lying in the single bed in Krugerhoff’s cottage, remembering how perfect their lovemaking had been, he dreamt about her.

Saturday night at Stenhaus was the one night the family dined together formally in the long, wide dining room. The room housed a table that could seat twenty people comfortably. It had been furnished with reproduction Louis XIV pieces of furniture because Mutter had fallen in love with such furnishings during a holiday spent revisiting relatives in Germany and France, two years before her death.

With some trepidation Rolfe returned to Stenhaus to shower and change for dinner. The only good thing as far as he was concerned was that Marta would be there, and if luck was with him he might have the opportunity to say a few words in private to her.

The three-course dinner was an unusually quiet affair. Kurt remained stony-faced. He wouldn’t talk and when Rolfe looked in Kurt’s direction all he saw in his eyes was a well-defined but suppressed anger. Marta dared not make eye contact and even Lisel, known for her tendency to chatter on about everything and nothing, was strangely silent. That Papa refused to talk to him too but made a point of talking to everyone else at the table, even little Luke, added to his growing concern. The undercurrent of tension,
emanating for the most part from Papa and Kurt, was something of which everyone was aware.

When, as a long-established family tradition demanded, came the time for coffee and brandy, usually taken in European fashion in the drawing room, Papa turned his gaze towards Rolfe.

‘Come to the study, Rolfe. We have to talk.’

Instinctively Rolfe knew they would not be discussing how the harvest was going at Krugerhoff or Rhein Schloss. The glare in his father’s eyes and his scowl, added to the sense of foreboding within him that all hell was about to break loose.

As the study door closed behind them Carl Stenmark walked to his desk and sat behind it. Rolfe went to sit too, until his father growled at him, ‘You will stand.’

For at least a minute Carl’s blue eyes subjected his younger son to a baleful stare and, it was clear that he was mentally preparing what he wanted to say. That fact was emphasised by the intermittent drumming of the fingertips of his right hand on the embossed leather-topped desk. Rolfe felt a sense of relief when his father finally broke the tense silence.

‘It is painful for a father to have a son he is ashamed of, who has let the family down. That’s how I feel about you, Rolfe. Ashamed. More than ashamed of your behaviour.’ Carl attacked straight away. ‘How could you? You were in a position of trust. I trusted you, Kurt trusted you and you betrayed us.’

Rolfe knew what his father was talking about but, suddenly afraid of the anger he saw building, he shrugged and acted dumb. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Papa.’

‘Don’t insult my intelligence,’ Carl thundered. ‘Marta. I am talking about what you did to Marta the night of the storm.’ His upper lip curled with disgust. ‘You seduced her, made love to her in your cottage. And, if I were ten years younger I’d thrash the living daylights out of you for having done what you did.’

Retreating from Papa’s anger Rolfe took half a step backwards, but then, recalling how it had been, he tried to defend himself. ‘That’s not quite right, Papa, I did not seduce Marta. I don’t know what has been said but Marta, she actually…’

‘Don’t!
Mein Gott im Himmel!
Be man enough to own up to what you’ve done instead of cowardly trying to shift the blame onto an innocent young woman. Kurt and Marta have talked.’ He cleared his throat noisily, more than moderately embarrassed. ‘I have talked to her. Marta says you seduced her after she’d taken off her wet clothes and while she was sitting by the fire with a blanket around her, trying to get warm. Disgusting behaviour.’ His head of grey hair shook with reproach. ‘Your brother’s fiancée. For God’s sake, man, what were you thinking?’

Rolfe swallowed another lump in his throat before it choked him. He could hardly believe that Marta had said he’d seduced her but then, it was possible that she had been coerced by Kurt into
making a false confession. He
knew
there had been no seduction and, in fact, she had encouraged him to…to…

‘It was no seduction, Papa,’ he repeated quietly.

‘Is that so? You are calling Marta a liar then?’ a third male voice said from behind.

He turned to look at his brother. Kurt had slipped quietly into the room and stood with his back against the closed door. Their eyes met then both glanced away. ‘Kurt, I apologise for hurting you, your feelings. For…the way things happened but not for what happened. I love Marta.’ Kurt took a step towards him, his fist half raised in anger then stopped as Rolfe continued. ‘I am sorry it happened this way. I…I want to marry Marta, if she will have me.’

‘Pah,’ Kurt spat at him. ‘Not only are you a liar, you’re also a fool. Marta is mine, she is going to marry me.’

‘Rolfe,’ Papa spoke again. ‘You don’t deny the charge? You did um…make love to Marta?’

‘Yes.’ He stood up straight and stared into those older, questioning blue eyes. And, under pressure said as firmly as his taut throat muscles would allow. ‘Made love, yes; seduced, no.’

Carl shook his head. ‘I cannot believe a son of mine has behaved so…abominably.’

‘He did it because he is jealous of me, Papa, of what’s mine. Everyone knows Rolfe has always envied me. Being firstborn, the right to inherit. He seduced Marta out of spite because he’ll
never be able to get anyone as beautiful as her.’ Kurt spat the accusation at Rolfe, and as he did he moved around Rolfe to the side of Papa’s desk so that he was facing his brother.

‘None of that is true, and I did not seduce her,’ Rolfe repeated though, fatalistically, he knew it was a waste of breath. It hurt him, immeasurably, but neither Papa nor Kurt believed him—they believed what made them more comfortable, that he had behaved without conscience, without honour. ‘Let me speak to Marta. I want to hear from her own mouth that I seduced her.’

‘No. She doesn’t want to see you or talk to you again, ever,’ Kurt said nastily. ‘Neither do I.’

Papa held up his hand. He studied Kurt for a little while then trained his gaze on Rolfe. ‘Marta should be allowed to speak, Kurt. If only to once and for all dispel Rolfe’s illusion that she has feelings for him.’

Rolfe watched Kurt shake his head. The gesture clearly said he was opposed to the idea. ‘What? Are you afraid you might hear something you don’t like, Kurt?’ he challenged. ‘That Marta prefers me to you.’

‘Bastard.’

The next instant Kurt was on him, pummelling his head with his fists, flailing, striking wherever he could but Rolfe was quick and covered his face with his hands so that the damage done was minimal.

‘Stop.
I will not have my sons brawling in front of me like common labourers,’ Papa
roared. ‘Kurt, I understand how you feel but,’ he added forcefully, ‘you will control yourself. Get Marta. We will have an end to this now.’

After Kurt left Rolfe dared not make eye contact with his father and once more the silence in the room became oppressive. The scuffle with Kurt had set his heart wildly racing but all he could think about was Marta. And, all he could do was hope and pray that she would be strong enough to stand up to Kurt, telling everyone where her true feelings lay. But deep down he knew something else, that no matter who Marta chose, an emotional wedge had been hammered into the Stenmark family, splitting it, and nothing would ever be the same again. Rolfe resigned himself to the knowledge that he, not Marta, would be seen as the perpetrator of the split. He was prepared to accept that if it meant that the woman he had fallen in love with would be his. Somehow, they would survive this ordeal and he believed he could do anything, become anything, with Marta by his side.

The door clicked open. Kurt came in with Marta.

The awkward silence continued until Papa broke it with, ‘Marta, my dear, you have been through a lot but two things need to be set straight. Come, sit by my desk.’ He motioned for Kurt to pull out a chair with side-arms for her to sit in.

Rolfe watched Marta sit and fold her hands in her lap. She looked pale and tense as she glanced at each of them in turn. He smiled at her but she
didn’t return his smile, and he noted that Kurt stood at the side of her, his hand resting possessively on her right shoulder.

Papa did not mince words. ‘Marta, Rolfe is under the impression that, according to his memory, on the night of the storm there was—this is awkward for an old man to say—no seduction. That the two of you willingly and mutually made love.’ Thick eyebrows forked together in a frown. ‘How do you respond to that, Marta?’

‘That isn’t how it was, Papa Carl. W-we were alone. I was…naked under the blanket. Rolfe began to kiss me. He was so strong, I was frightened…’

‘Bastard…’ Kurt repeated again half under his breath but loud enough for everyone to hear.

‘I-I didn’t know what to do.’ Marta’s tone faltered. ‘He gave me
three
brandies. I was—how do you say it?—fuzzy in the head. It was all, like a dream…’

‘Marta, that’s not true and you know it,’ Rolfe interrupted. ‘Just tell them the truth,
liebling..’

She stared at him with her upslanting eyes. Tears welled in them and her mouth trembled at the corners. ‘I…I am telling the truth, Rolfe. Y-you seduced me. Oohhh…’ Bowing her head, she began to cry quietly.

Kurt nodded decisively, as did Papa.

For several seconds Rolfe remained in shock, unable to think of what to do or say. What he didn’t realise was that the true nightmare was about to begin. ‘But…Marta, I love you.’
Desperate, he dropped down on one knee and reached for her laced hands.
‘Liebling,
I love you, I want us to be married. Tell me, honestly now, you do have feelings for me, don’t you?’ His heart, his mind, his soul begged her to say yes to his proposal, to his question about feelings. Her head lifted and she looked into his eyes.

‘I…I wish I could say that I hate you for what you did, but I am not the kind of person who hates. I don’t know how or why you thought I might have feelings for you. I don’t. I love Kurt and,’ her head tilted further to look at Kurt. She smiled weakly at him. ‘If he will still have me, he is the man I want to marry.’

‘Of course I will,’ Kurt said staunchly. He looked at his brother, his expression one of triumph and justification.

Shaking his head in disbelief, unable and unwilling to accept the words that had come out of her mouth, Rolfe cried out, ‘No! Marta…you can’t mean it.’

‘She means it,’ Kurt said, without a skerrick of doubt in his voice.

Papa sighed and when Rolfe looked in his direction, his expression, the way he stared back, made the blood in his veins curdle.
He had lost.
Marta, his father’s respect, his brother’s affection—everything. But, the question continued to hammer through his brain—why had Marta lied? Was it through fear? Was it a matter of survival or…? Then another horrible thought lodged in his head and would not go away, had
she been amusing herself with him because Kurt was unavailable? As quickly as the disloyal thought came he rejected it. He didn’t want to think that the woman he was in love with could be so calculating.

‘Kurt, take Marta out, this has been enough of an ordeal for her,’ Carl said quietly.

When they’d gone Carl turned his full attention to Rolfe and from his stare Rolfe knew there was little point in trying to persuade his father that Marta, whatever her reason, had not told the truth. Papa had decided that he would side with Kurt and Marta. All of a sudden Rolfe became curiously detached from everything, as if he were living someone else’s bad dream. Rolfe stood very still, and waited. He watched his father rub his temples as if his head ached, and shift about in the chair for a more comfortable position. Those were the only outward signs of his agitation.

‘You…have shamed the proud name of Stenmark. You’ve made me ashamed to call you my son.’

Rolfe said nothing. In a strange way it was as if he was listening to a judge render judgement in court. He scarcely dared to breathe and saw a myriad of expressions transform his father’s face. Instinct told Rolfe that he was remembering him as a child at his mother’s knee, growing up and learning the whys and wherefores of winemaking. The trials, the triumphs, becoming a man, becoming independent. Finally his father shook his
head and Rolfe waited for his pronouncement, the punishment intended for him.

‘Because of what has happened, the thought of you living at Stenhaus is untenable. Your brother will never forgive you, nor will I or Marta. You are no longer welcome here.’

Banishment. He had expected that and why would he want to stay where Papa and Kurt would remind him daily of the injustice of their accusation? He saw that Papa wasn’t finished and that what he intended to say next brought him much pain. Still, Rolfe remained silent, all the fight had drained from him since Marta’s utterings.

‘In fact, you are no longer welcome in the Barossa Valley.’

That made Rolfe respond. ‘Papa, what about Krugerhoff?’ It was his lifeline. All he had left. But his father didn’t bother to answer his question. As vineyards went Krugerhoff was small and unimportant to him.