The Maxwell Sisters (8 page)

Tash held out her hand to him, regal as a queen. ‘Hi, I'm Tash. You must be Dad's new winemaker. I have to admit I've been rather curious to meet you.'

He took her hand in both of his. ‘Thanks. Good to meet you, Tash.'

Eve envied Tash's confidence but also found herself vaguely jealous that he shook her hand so eagerly. She got up from the coffee table and walked to the couch opposite and took a seat there to watch the scene unfold.

‘Have you been working at Tawny Brooks long?' Tash enquired. ‘About six months.'

‘And how are you finding it?'

He seemed amused. ‘It's taking over my life.'

‘He loves it,' said Anita, grabbing another bottle of the white wine out of the stainless steel bucket. ‘Don't you, dear?'

‘Er … yes.'

She held out a glass to Adonis. ‘Last year's semillon sauvignon blanc?'

A kind of fatalistic resignation settled on his face. ‘Er … all right, thanks.'

‘If he gets one, so do I,' announced John.

Anita poured him some too, though only half the quantity she had given the younger man. While she was doing this, Adonis took a seat on the couch beside Eve.

Seriously? You have to sit next to me?

She hastily averted her eyes from his powerful-looking thighs encased in blue denim.

Just ignore him.

‘I can see you, you know,' Adonis remarked.

‘Huh?' Her eyes flicked up. And to her horror he leaned in closer. ‘You're not invisible,' he whispered and she smelled the tangy, citrus sweetness of the wine on his breath. ‘What's your name?'

‘I – I …' She leaned back away from him and took a gulp of her own wine. ‘I'm Eve.'

He held out his hand to her. Warm and strong, his fingers closed about hers, seeming to draw her in like the smell of chocolate chip cookies in a country kitchen. Hastily, she detached her hand and shoved it back in her lap, finishing the rest of her wine in two gulps.

Now she needed another drink. There were a few bottles in a stainless steel bucket on the coffee table.

‘So how do you tell a good wine?' Graeme asked her father while she got up to refill her glass.

‘It should begin and end with a smile,' John told him airily. ‘Speaking of which, why haven't you both got a glass?'

‘Patricia doesn't drink alcohol,' Anita announced as though her husband had hit upon the heart of the problem.

Eve watched her father blink at this shocking scandal. ‘Not drink?' he demanded. ‘You intend to stay in my house for a whole month and not drink?'

‘I'm allergic to wine.' Patricia's hands fluttered self-consciously about her waist.

John stared at her for a full ten seconds before his features finally softened. ‘Well, I guess that's all right. She can just have sparkling.'

He reached over to the wine bucket and pulled out a bottle of champagne, which he poured into a flute. He stood up unsteadily and held it out to Patricia with a wink. ‘For the fainthearted, my dear.'

‘I –' Patricia didn't seem to know what to say so Graeme took the glass for his wife.

Eve sipped from her own refreshed glass and glanced at Spider, who was looking at the exchange helplessly. She met his eyes and tried to smile reassuringly, understanding passing between them. As her body grew warm, she took a nervous gulp from her own glass again and cut the connection. It was too easy to forget he was no longer her private confidante and that these brief exchanges were between two close friends, nothing more. She was so busy looking at Spider that she hadn't registered the fact that his parents had taken seats on the couch and Adonis had moved over to accommodate them.

She backed up, intending to reclaim her seat and found herself rather embarrassingly in Adonis's lap instead.

‘Oh!' She tried to push herself up quickly but only succeeded in sloshing her wine everywhere.

‘Just a tip,' Adonis said in her ear as he removed the glass from her hand, ‘I'm not invisible either.'

She leapt up as though burned by a poker. ‘Oh, I'm so sorry,' she cried, spinning around to look at the man who had to be her kryptonite. His hair looked wet from her wine. So did part of his shirt. ‘I thought the seat was vacant,' she groaned, grabbing a handful of napkins off the coffee table and holding them out to him.

Everyone was laughing. She had quite successfully created her worst nightmare.

‘Well, I guess technically my lap is,' Adonis smiled.

Her cheeks burned so hot they were almost smoking.

Her family and Spider's seemed to laugh all the harder, making her want to crawl into herself.

She glanced helplessly at Spider, who merely gave her the thumbs up.

What's that supposed to mean?

While her mood didn't lighten, everyone else's certainly had.

‘Oh, Eve,' Phoebe toasted her, ‘we always did say that your rear-view mirrors needed adjusting.'

Eve hastily sank into a nearby red armchair – an antique that her mother had had re-upholstered.

‘Your wine?' She glanced left to find Adonis holding her glass out to her. There wasn't much remaining in it but she took it anyway.

‘Thanks.' She bit her lip, praying for a change in conversation. She got one too. Though not the one that she or anyone else in the room hoped for.

‘All right, enough commercials,' John called the attention of the group. ‘Better to get down to business.'

‘What business?' Graeme asked politely.

‘Do you think your son is ready for marriage?'

‘
Dad
,' Phoebe protested.

‘What?' John spread his hands. ‘I'm entitled to know, I'm about to give you away. A man needs to be sure.'

‘John,' Spider said quietly, ‘I've told you that I'm ready. That I love your daughter, immensely.'

‘Yes,' her father said shrewdly, ‘but it's always good to have a second opinion. Particularly in this case.'

While Eve was glad to have lost the limelight she looked at Phoebe in sympathy. Her sister had stiffened, which was a flashing red light as far as Eve was concerned. Phoebe was never pessimistic or cautious. Bubbly optimism and steadfast faith were her primary characteristics. So it was surprising that she should say nothing in response.

An elbow bumped hers and a voice whispered, ‘What do you see?'

She recoiled at the contact and glanced quickly to where Adonis was observing her with casual interest. ‘I don't see anything.'

‘Of course you do,' he nodded. ‘It's written all over your face.'

‘Seriously?' Her eyes widened in horror, which only seemed to make him smile all the more.

‘Definitely. You have very expressive features.'

Her eyes darted to her parents and sisters. But no one was looking at her or listening to what Adonis was saying. They were all focused on her father, who seemed to be making the faux pas of the century.

‘You know,' John Maxwell was nodding solemnly, ‘decisions like these need to be looked at from all angles before they are set in stone.'

‘What angle are you proposing we look at it from?' Patricia snapped.

‘Perhaps you could enlighten them,' Adonis muttered under his breath without looking at her.

What!

Eve's heart jumped into her throat.

There is no way he knows anything.

She kept her gaze focused forward and replied through gritted teeth, ‘I have no idea what you're talking about.'

‘You seem to know Spider rather well.'

‘He's my best friend,' she whispered hoarsely.

‘I see.' He rubbed his chin languidly. ‘It all makes sense now.' This time she did not feign disinterest and looked directly at him. ‘What? What makes sense now?'

His lips twitched. ‘Why you think you're invisible.'

At her father's challenge, Phoebe's skin prickled defensively.

Go on, say something. Smile. Laugh. You have a love that's built to last a lifetime.

There's nothing that could possibly diminish that.

But her cheek muscles didn't quite respond. In fact, none of her faculties responded. She simply waited for someone else to say something.

In the end, it was Spider who held up his hand. He spoke to his mother reassuringly.

‘It's okay, Mum. I would rather have his reservations out on the table than not.'

Phoebe released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. ‘Spider has nothing to hide, Dad,' she said. ‘And neither do I.'

Yes, you do. Yes, you do. And it's burning a frickin' hole in your right pocket.

Instinctively, her hand moved there, the letter she'd found earlier in the restaurant nestled against her hip. She had almost dismissed its importance. But now, standing here with her father giving Spider the third degree, the letter's significance drew once more into sharp focus.

Is my fiancé ready for marriage?

If there were other unresolved relationships in his life, maybe he wasn't.

‘I find your son a very difficult person to read,' her father was now remarking to Patricia and Graeme, his tone more intrigued than malicious.

‘I assure you, John,' Spider tried to joke, ‘what you see is what you get.'

‘No, no.' Her father was not to be toyed with. ‘I don't think so. I think there is a lot you keep to yourself. If you were a wine, my son, I would describe you as short.'

Given Spider was at least a foot taller than her father, this was a rather strange adjective to use. But by his frown she knew her fiancé understood, and so did she.

Spider's parents, however, were confused. ‘What do you mean?' Patricia demanded.

‘The finish of a wine is one of the most important elements of a tasting,' John Maxwell told her. ‘It is in the aftertaste that you might discover its greatest virtues. If a wine is “short”, it means it leaves the mouth quickly with little sustained flavour.'

Patricia opened her mouth to say something but her husband spoke for her. ‘We trust our son's judgement and his maturity,' Graeme announced. ‘He's always done very well for himself.'

‘Yes, he has.' For some reason, her father looked completely dissatisfied with this assurance. He addressed Spider again. ‘You started a business with my second daughter and let that go. Your commitment to her and your project together fell away after a year and a half. You got distracted by other things.'

‘That's completely different. That was my career,' Spider began, and glanced at Eve, who looked positively stricken. ‘You have to let your career grow and change the way it needs to. The restaurant wasn't a forever scenario. Was it, Eve?'

‘No.' Eve shook her head but couldn't seem to offer much more.

Phoebe had resolved to cut her father some slack but this was ridiculous. She finally found her voice. ‘Why are you bringing this up now, Dad? You gave us your blessing months ago.'

‘I did.' John nodded as though he sorely regretted it. He glanced at Eve, who was keeping her head down. ‘But as a father I must put all my worries on the table. Marriage is not an easy commitment to make. Is it, Tash?' He handballed the question across the room without even taking his eyes off Eve, and Tash seemed to jump where she stood as if she'd been hit by an imaginary bullet. She was standing stiffly by her husband's side and had been looking uncomfortable all evening. For the first time Phoebe wondered why. She glanced from Tash to Heath, who did not make eye contact.

‘No,' Tash croaked, ‘it's not easy.'

‘I'm not suggesting that it is,' Spider interrupted, clearly frustrated. ‘I honestly don't take this step lightly at all.' Phoebe took in his pursed lips and pale face and her heart sank.

He's offended. As well he should be.

Her father was being rude. She really shouldn't have let the conversation get this far, particularly in front of everyone. The whole purpose of having the wedding at home was to bring everyone together. Not drive them apart.

‘Glad to hear it,' her father returned mildly, not in the least perturbed by the disturbance he had created.

All right, this has gone on long enough.

It was time to take the mood of the room and turn it on its head. Phoebe released her fiancé's arm and stepped forward, clasping her hands together and saying in her best, ‘Boy, are you in for a treat!' voice: ‘I'd like to make an announcement.'

‘Announcement?' Spider's gaze flew to her. ‘Did we talk about this? Should I be worried?'

‘Of course not.' She flicked her hand but did not meet his eye. She knew instinctively that Spider may not appreciate his wedding being farmed out to the family but he
did
say she could do what she liked and she couldn't really see another way to repair the distance that had grown between them all. ‘Now, there are a lot of jobs to be done before the 15th of March. Renovating the restaurant is just the starting point. We'll begin on that tomorrow, by the way.'

She turned to Adam, who was seated on the couch. ‘Perhaps you could spare some of the men from the cellar door or the vineyard to give us a hand as well?'

Adam winced. ‘It's the middle of vintage.'

‘I know,' Phoebe smiled. ‘I was born and raised here too, remember. But I wasn't suggesting it be a one-way street.'

Adam raised his eyebrows.

‘You help us this week and we'll help you next week.'

Thankfully, her father embraced this change of subject and nodded in satisfaction. ‘Behold my daughters – maiden, matron and crone, they are the triple goddesses of the vineyard.'

‘I bags not being the crone,' Tash murmured.

‘Dad's very spiritual about his grapes,' Eve tried to explain, reddening in embarrassment under Adam's interested gaze.

‘How could anyone not be?' John scoffed. ‘Every vintage is a piece of our history. A culmination of a year's sweat and tears. And I think this vintage will be one of the best we've had yet because it was so, so … fraught.'

‘Fraught with what?' Patricia enquired.

‘Love,' John said matter-of-factly. ‘Desperate, hopeless, uncanny love.'

Phoebe cleared her throat and tried to get back on track. ‘What Dad is trying to say, Adam, is that all of us are proficient in the ways of a winery. As a teenager I used to work part-time both at the cellar door and in the vineyard. I loved it. I can help you wherever you need help. Basically, you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours.'

‘I liked the cellar door the best,' Tash revealed. ‘Apart from the fact that it was a lot cleaner, you got to showcase everything we'd done for that year. And I loved watching the wine wankers trying to out-do each other with their swirling, spitting and nosing.'

‘And what about you?' Adam turned to Eve, whose colour heightened again, and Phoebe couldn't help but notice how attractive she looked.

‘Me? Of course I'll help out. Wherever necessary.' Eve glanced quickly at Phoebe. ‘For the wedding or with harvest and winemaking.'

‘No,' Adam said, ‘I meant, how do you feel about the vintage?'

‘How do I feel?' Eve glanced about the room as everyone turned to look at her again. Phoebe crossed her fingers behind her back.

Go on, Eve, don't be shy.

Her sister was always so worried about stuffing up. Granted, the restaurant had a lot to do with that but Phoebe really wanted Eve to find her feet again. Especially now.

Eve's uncertain eyes returned to Adam's. ‘I think … I think every vintage is important and every year we need to make sure it's the best one we've ever had because … because every bottle tells a story about us, that someone in turn will share with their friends one day.'

The weight of her words swirled about the room like the mist of fog, shifting the air and making it thicker.

‘Okay,' Adam nodded decisively and turned back to Phoebe. ‘Sold. I'm in.'

Phoebe rubbed her hands together. ‘But there's more. More to do than just that.'

She looked at the gathered group and put on her biggest and brightest grin before going to the bookshelves and pulling down a small box that she had placed there earlier. ‘In fact, I thought we could make a game of it. You know, like a bit of an icebreaker to help bring everyone together.'

Silence.

Okay. Tough crowd.

She squared her shoulders. This technique had never failed her in the classroom.

But your family isn't a bunch of six-year-olds.

They might as well be!

She cleared her throat. ‘This is a box of tasks that need to get done. I've written them twice on a bit of paper in here. So pick a task and the person who gets the same as you is your partner.'

She went round the room and everyone gingerly dipped into her box.

Natasha picked out a thin strip of paper that had ‘Organise the music' written on it.

She held it up and Phoebe was pleased to see that by lucky chance Eve had picked the same one. Maybe these two could work out their differences by doing something together. She dipped her hand in and pulled out her own bit of paper.

‘Hire a photographer,' she read out loud.

‘I believe that's me.' Heath held up his hand.

Spider looked put out. ‘Really? Who am I going to do mine with? I've got the linen and decorations. Isn't that something we ought to be doing together?'

‘I'm not fussy about how we do up the room,' she smiled. ‘It's just wrapping the chairs really, isn't it? And maybe a drape on the ceiling.'

Spider frowned. ‘That's not what I meant.'

She glanced around the rest of the group and when no one owned up to this task, she looked down into the box. There was still one bit of paper left in there. Had everyone in the family taken one already? Then she realised there was an uneven number.

‘Adam,' her eyes turned once more to the winemaker, ‘you must be the person helping Spider.'

‘But –' he and Spider both said at the same time. ‘You can't have one foot in and one foot out.' She handed him the piece of paper that read ‘Linens and decorations'.

‘You're either in the family or not.'

‘Well, actually, I was under the impression that –' Adam began but Anita interrupted him.

‘Here, dear, have some more wine.' She shoved another glass in his hand.

Phoebe turned to the rest of the group to see who was paired with whom. Unfortunately, her mother and Patricia were both charged with organising the celebrant. So far they had been nothing but competitive with each other. She hoped doing a task together might make them find a way to negotiate a truce. Her father was matched to Graeme to organise the flowers. There couldn't be two more different personalities, but her father did not demure. Instead he said, ‘All this talk of work is making me hungry.' He glanced at his wife. ‘What's for dinner tonight, Annie?'

Anita tore her glare from Patricia. ‘Why don't you all come into the dining room and find out?'