Lewis Carney had gingerish hair that was thinning on top and a gingerish moustache that clung to his upper lip like the mess from a kid’s toffee ice-cream. He was a tall guy, slender, and up until the buyout he’d worn jeans to work every day. Max Montgomery had described him to Seth as a good worker. A winemaker who never groaned about the night shift during vintage or got so high on the whole ‘winemaker’ status he forgot how to clean an oak barrel. He was in this game for the long haul, and Max had seen him well rewarded. On that count, Max had seen all his staff well rewarded, which compounded his eventual financial shit-storm. One thing was sure, Carney was a talented winemaker. Otherwise Seth wouldn’t have been so keen to keep him on the payroll.
Carney got to Seth’s office first, with Rina less than a minute behind. The door wasn’t shut and she didn’t knock. Seth took one look at his senior winemaker, marching in with a notepad in her hand, and thought: here’s trouble.
When she was pissed off, Rina carried it in her mouth and chin. Her lips would tighten like she’d downed a shot of vinegar when she’d asked for lemonade.
Carney took the seat nearest the window, crossed his legs, uncrossed them. The new uniform khakis rode up his hairy shin. Rina took the other chair, near a cabinet that used to hold Max’s treasures but now had nothing in it. Seth wasn’t a hoarder, nor he did he keep treasures, and this wouldn’t be his office for long. When vintage was over and he and Rina let go of the day-to-day, he’d appoint a general manager or operations manager to look after the Montgomery profit centre and he’d visit once a month to keep the lot of them honest. That’s how it usually worked.
This latest acquisition was a bit different. This was Lasrey’s first interstate expansion and Seth wanted it to go smoothly. It would pave the way for other negotiations he had in the pipeline for South Australia and Victoria come spring.
Yeah, and Montgomery Wines came with a package deal called Remy Roberts. That made this acquisition a bit different, too.
‘Okay. What are we looking at here, Lewis?’ Seth began when Carney stopped with the leg crossing, and Rina flipped her notepad open. ‘You look like you need to get a few things off your chest.’
‘I didn’t think there was any need to take notes,’ Carney said, eyeing Rina’s poised pen.
‘I’m not taking notes,’ Seth said. ‘Don’t worry about it. What’s up?’
‘Rina says you won’t be making Chameleon this vintage. I know you’ve been out Red Gum Valley Road this week. Max and I used to earmark the fruit from Remy’s farm and the Hackett’s block every year for Chameleon. What did you think? Did you taste it?’
‘Yeah. It’s good. They’re both good blocks,’ and he thought about it some more. ‘Really good.’
‘So she hasn’t poisoned all her grapes this time then?’ Rina muttered.
Both men ignored her.
Carney said: ‘Rina said the two of you think you can’t make a dollar from high-end Adelaide Hills sauvignon blanc. You can’t compete with what the Kiwis are pumping out.’
‘Rina and I usually are on the same page, but that doesn’t mean we don’t disagree now and then on how best to write the book. New Zealand sauvignon blanc outsells Australian two, pushing three, bottles to one, and that share’s growing. There’s a restaurant market though.’
Rina made a note in her pad. Carney saw it and didn’t like it. Seth could tell by the way the tall man looked at her pen like he wanted to rip it from her and ditch it across the room. Seth didn’t blame him. Rina’s note-taking made him want to throw her pen across the room all the time.
‘You told me part of your deal with Max was that I guaranteed you at least a year in the job ’cause you wanted continuity, and to be a bridge between the new guard and the old. I think I’ve been doing that okay, under the circumstances.’ He glanced at Rina’s pen.
‘You have, Lewis. I won’t bullshit you. You’re a valuable part of the team. You have a big part here moving forward. We see you in all of it.’ What he’d seen of Carney so far had him thinking the guy might just be that general manager material he’d be looking for.
Carney took a big breath, sat forward, and everything rushed out fast. ‘You guys are moving too quick. There’s been too much change. If you ditch Chameleon you’re dropping our flagship brand. We’ve got more workplace policies all of a sudden than you can poke a stick at—’
‘That’s because Max didn’t have any policies at all, except the one about knocking-off early for Friday drinks,’ Rina said.
Seth flicked his finger at her and she shut up.
‘I told you I won’t bullshit you, Lewis. I meant it. I had thought we couldn’t justify the input costs on Chameleon. Not this year. But that was before I assessed those blocks. Both those vineyards are premium. I’d hate to lose that by mixing it in with the middle-tier stuff. Rina’s not spinning you a line. She and I did talk about pulling Chameleon from production. I’m not thinking that way anymore.’
Rina stabbed the tip of her pen at the page. Her lips were like prunes.
‘Thank God,’ Carney said, putting both feet flat on the floor, hands on his thighs. ‘Honestly. This will mean a heap to the guys. They’ve all been thinking you’re just trying to turn us into another mid-size winery, churning out cheap and cheerful wine for the masses.’
‘I’m not saying that long-term Chameleon is the best use of resources,’ Seth qualified. ‘But for this year I agree with you. There’s more upside in keeping it. I’d like to see what you do with it.’ He glanced at Rina, sitting so straight-backed she could have been a chair, and added: ‘what both of you do with it.’
The mention of working with Rina dimmed the smile on Carney’s face but not by much, then he stood and leaned across Max Montgomery’s old desk to shake Seth’s hand.
‘I’ll get to it then,’ Carney said.
***
It had taken a while for Rina to calm down after Carney left and it meant their afternoon meeting took longer than it should. On the fruit assessments, Rina had finished her list. Seth still had a couple of places to visit. Rina offered to do those for him because he had back-to-back meetings tomorrow.
After he finished with Rina there were reports to work through, budget figures to comb, expenditure to sign off. His email inbox was a nightmare and Sally wouldn’t let him ignore it anymore. Sally Deering had gone back to the West after the merger excitement died, but that didn’t stop her haranguing him twice-daily with colour-coded bullet-point lists of all the things he hadn’t done.
It was after eight when he left the winery to drive the fifteen minutes into Mount Barker, pack up his room, and check-out. Without a dog, there was no point paying for a room at the only dog-friendly motel in town. So he’d decided to book into the motel units at the back of the Oakbank pub.
***
By nine o’clock that night, Remy was tired of jumping every time the dogs twitched at some mystery noise in the night and sick of flicking through television channels that couldn’t hold her interest.
Then a growl from the dogs had Remy off the couch in a flash.
It was dark outside, but the house lights shone through the windows, throwing light into the patio. Occhy and Breeze were at the gate, heads up, on alert.
Remy clicked the television off. From the front, above the trill of cicadas, she heard the sound of a car engine and a few seconds later, headlights played across the garden.
She opened the patio doors, flung them harder than she wanted on a burst of adrenalin, and waited at the gate with her heart thumping.
The sensor light switched on and Seth came round the corner carrying a bulk bag of dog food under one arm. He had a shiny silver dog bowl in the other hand. She thought he looked tired.
‘Hi,’ he called. ‘I hope reception isn’t shut yet?’
She smiled even as she told herself not to. ‘No. But I was getting close to putting the no vacancies sign out the front.’
The corner of his mouth twitched and Remy had the feeling they’d called a truce. At least for now.
She opened the gate. ‘I made a bed up for Occhy just there. See?’ She indicated a big cushion on the pavers near Breeze’s kennel. ‘Put his bowl so it’s a bit separate from hers. I don’t want them fighting over food.’
‘Okay. Thanks, Rem. I appreciate this.’
‘I’m not doing it for you, Seth. I always loved Occhy, he’s a great dog. I don’t like the idea of him being chained up all day where people might tease him.’
‘No. I don’t like it either. That’s why he’ll be so much happier here.’ He passed her the bag of dog food. It was a bulk eighteen-kilo bag, but it must have been more than half empty. It wasn’t heavy.
‘So where are you staying?’
‘I thought I’d try the Oakbank Pub.’
‘Have you eaten? They might have shut for meals now.’
‘I didn’t think of that, but I’m okay, thanks. I had a late lunch.’
‘Okay.’ She looked him up and down, and made a decision. ‘Hey, when you come here, don’t park under that big tree at the front, okay? It drops sap. It’s a bitch to get off.’
‘Thanks for telling me.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
Occhilupo and Breeze crawled into Breeze’s kennel, ignoring the cushion she’d put out. Occhy was a black burr in the dark. The white of Breeze’s chest was a clearer target. She had her head over Occhy’s back.
‘Good to see he’s made himself comfortable,’ Seth said.
‘He’s a male and he’s a dog. They’re good at making themselves comfortable.’
Seth laughed and they stood looking at each other, with Remy holding the bag of dry food and wishing she could keep the same tight grip on her heart when Seth was near.
‘I’ll let you go,’ he said. ‘Have a good night.’
‘See you for poop-scooping duty tomorrow.’
‘Now there’s an invitation I haven’t heard before.’
She smiled sweetly at him. ‘And here I was thinking you must have heard them all.’