‘Morning, Margaret,’ Seth said the next day as he entered the admin area, where Margaret Castle was already behind her desk looking remarkably efficient.
‘Morning, Seth,’ she said, and she smiled, like they’d shared a private joke. Which in a way, they had. ‘Rina’s been looking for you. She asked that I let her know when you get in.’
‘I’ve got two conference calls this morning first-up then I’ll touch base with Rina,’ he said. ‘Can you hold any other calls till nine?’
He was in the middle of the first conference call when Rina knocked on his office door and entered. He waved her in, because she brought coffee.
Rina closed the door behind her. That in itself was unusual enough to make him notice. Rina liked other staff to know she was part of the inner sanctum and had his ear. She rarely closed the door when she came to see him.
She put the coffee on his desk, sat on the same chair as yesterday and crossed her legs, sipping at her coffee in silence. He couldn’t see a notebook, but she had a pen behind her ear. When he finished the call, he said: ‘I’ve got five minutes till the next one. Thanks for this. I needed it.’
‘You might need something stronger in a minute,’ she said, resting the coffee cup on his desk. ‘The newspaper says it wasn’t just grapes you were tasting out at Remy Roberts’ place.’
‘Yeah?’
‘The Advertiser has a segment in today’s Confidential—’
‘Ahh. So that makes it true. Confidential …’
‘What’s going on, Seth?’ Rina leaned forward, cutting to the chase.
‘Remy’s neighbour sprung me out there yesterday morning. I guess he must have blabbed.’
Rina went statue-still. ‘Sprung you doing what?’
‘Kissing Remy.’
‘Kissing her!’ She jerked hard enough to dislodge the pen from her ear. She caught it against her thigh before it hit the floor. ‘Bloody hell.’
‘It’s not so strange. Remy and I … had something together years ago.’
‘What? Before or after that bit where she poisoned your vines? I gotta hand it to you, Seth. You’re the king of moving on.’
‘Remy tells a different story, Rina. She says she never did it on purpose.’
‘She would. Ailsa always said she’s a compulsive liar.’
‘Keep it down, hey? The walls aren’t that thick.’ He had to add some heat to the words, almost growl it at her to cut through.
‘When Ailsa hears about this, and she will,’ she pointed her pen at him and stood up to leave: ‘Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘That’s enough, Rina. Butt out. It has nothing to do with you.’
‘She’s one of our growers. That makes it business. I’m a board member these days and that makes it my business, and your mother’s. Don’t you remember what happened last time you got involved with this girl? Doesn’t that mean anything?’
Margaret Castle buzzed his internal line then, and he knew she was calling to let him know the next conference call was waiting.
‘Rina, there’s a line you shouldn’t cross, and you’re right on it.’
‘If I can’t tell you when you’re being a total dick, who can?’ She left the room.
Seth snatched his phone up and had to force himself back to the topic at hand. Retail wine sales to supermarket chains. Beating the bastards into a better deal.
After the phone conversation finished, Seth googled the Adelaide online newspaper. He found the item in Confidential. It was a small headline link in the sidebar that said: ‘The Hills Are Alive With The Sound Of Love’.
Seth clicked and waited for the story to load. It didn’t take long.
Is it love in them there Hills for Aussie wine tycoon, Seth Lasrey? Confidential heard Seth’s been paying vineyard visits to some of our local grapegrowers in the last week, and spent extra time at a property on Red Gum Valley Road yesterday, rekindling auld acquaintance.
Long labelled one of Australia’s most eligible bachelors, Seth’s been on the Adelaide A-list in the month he’s been in South Australia, since his wine company merged with Montgomery Wines in January.
Confidential’s source said the lucky local lady grower is from the Margaret River wine region originally, and that she and Seth ‘go way back’.
What we’d like to know ladies is: does this mean another bachelor bites the dust?
Seth finished his coffee in a disgusted gulp. It must have been a bloody slow news day.
He should phone Remy. Give her the heads up. She wasn’t used to the media scrutiny and she might not know the mantra he used: deny, deny, deny.
Plus who was he kidding? He wanted to hear her voice. Last night when he’d watched Occhilupo cuddling up with Breeze, it occurred to him how much he’d like to be camping out at Remy’s place too, and not in a kennel.
***
Rina walked out of Seth’s office fuming, amazed she had enough control not to slam his door off its hinges. The mix of caffeine and adrenalin in her system had her buzzing like a wasp in the window.
She knew this would happen. She’d known when she’d seen Remy at the growers’ meeting, popping up like a bloody weed that wouldn’t die.
Shutting the door of her office, sinking into her chair, Rina put her hand to her temple and tried to massage away the headache threatening there. God she wanted a drink.
Leaning across her desk, Rina picked up her office phone and dialled Ailsa’s number.
‘Ailsa? This is Rina,’ she said, as the Lasrey matriarch answered the phone.
‘What’s happened now?’ Ailsa said without preamble.
‘There’s an article in the local paper today that links Seth with Remy. It doesn’t name her, but I know that’s who it’s about. Someone saw him kissing her out at Remy’s property. Seth is her vineyard liaison.’ And because it felt like she should, she added: ‘I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve let you down.’
‘I would have thought you’d find a way to make sure you were Remy’s liaison officer, Rina?’
‘How could I? I had no idea she was even here,’ Rina defended.
Ailsa stayed silent. Rina let her think.
‘You said it was in the paper?’ Ailsa asked.
‘Yes. The gossip column. I’m sure it will all blow over.’
‘It might help us if it doesn’t blow over. Remy isn’t used to the media pressure that comes with Seth. She has no idea how much attention he gets.’
‘You think we can use that?’
‘I do. She won’t like it. It might make her reconsider whether she wants to get in too far with him. Especially if the press hears some of her dirty little secrets.’
‘Secrets?’ Rina said. ‘Not the sexual harassment or the blackmail, Ailsa, Seth would be furious if the media got wind of that.’
‘No. Not that,’ Ailsa agreed. ‘That looks as bad for us as it does for her. There’s plenty of other things. Her relationship with Blake for a start. We can suggest to the media she was involved with him first.’
‘Blake will deny it.’
‘Maybe, but it will make a good story anyway.’
They talked it over some more, and Rina’s headache was gone when she hung up the phone.
***
After the third phone call before 10.00 am from a news reporter trying to confirm whether she was the Hills grapegrower linked in the newspaper with Seth Lasrey, Remy stopped answering the phone.
One journo had even gone so far as to ask if she could come up to the farm that afternoon to take a few pictures. Remy told that caller she had a dog that would eat Cujo for breakfast and she wasn’t afraid to use it. The reporter thought she was joking.
The phone rang again. Remy listened to her answer machine run through its message: ‘Hi, this is Remy. I’ll get back to you.’
‘Remy, it’s Seth. I’m calling because—’
She leapt for the phone and got there before his next words. ‘Seth, it’s me! What’s going on? I’ve had three reporters call so far today.’
‘We made the news. Well, I did. You didn’t, which is a good thing.’
‘How? What news? Why?’
‘I’m not certain, but I think your friend Zac might have told someone what he saw yesterday at your place. Journos don’t need much more than a rumour these days to publish.’
‘But Zac didn’t see anything. You’d already kissed me at that point. It was all over.’
His voice dropped a notch. ‘I hope you’re not complaining about the length of that kiss, Remy. You’re the one who kicked me. I could make it longer next time.’
Hell and Tommy. ‘I am most definitely not complaining about the length of that kiss.’ The intensity in it. The fire, maybe. The way I think it means so much more to me than to you. Not the length.
‘Good.’
‘So what does it mean? Can I leave the house? Will there be photographers stalking me at the post office?’
‘I just own a few wineries, Remy. I’m not a rock star.’
‘There’ve been enough pictures of you in the paper in the last few weeks for a rock star,’ she grumped.
‘It will all blow over. Don’t worry.’
‘If my mother hears about it, she’ll have a fit.’
‘Your mother? What about what happens if my mother hears about it? She’ll have a stroke.’
‘Ailsa won’t have a stroke. She’s too mean to die.’ Then: ‘Oh bloody hell, I didn’t mean that, Seth. Not really.’
‘Yes you did,’ but there was a smile in Seth’s voice as he said it. ‘Where is your mother anyway, Rem?’
‘She’s driving around Australia in a caravan with Bernie. He was my tiler. He was working on the splashback in the kitchen when my mum was visiting and they hit it off. That’s great. He’s a good guy, but the bummer was, he goes gallivanting off around the country with my mum and I was hoping I could rope him into helping me redo my bathrooms.’
Seth didn’t ask, but she was on a roll, and she couldn’t seem to stop talking, so she said: ‘They’re getting married in spring. They want to get married in the garden here. Bernie figured if they could travel for four months in a caravan, they could cope with married life. That’s why I was trying to fix the step yesterday … so it will look nice for them in the photos. I’ve got a lot of jobs to do before October.’
There was a pause, which Remy didn’t know how to fill.
‘So you’re alright then, Rem? About the media? If any of them ask you anything, just deny it or say “no comment”.’
‘I’ll tell them it’s a really bad connection and I can’t hear them. That’s what I do with telemarketers. They hang up pretty quick.’
‘As long as you’re okay. I’m used to them coming after me, but you’re not. I don’t want anyone to scare you.’
‘It’s nice of you to care.’ Remy drew a careful breath. ‘I’m not about to fall to pieces. I’m okay. I will, however, be ringing Zac Williams to give him a piece of my mind.’
‘Don’t give him a piece you’ll need.’
‘Oh, ha, bloody, ha.’
Seth’s internal line buzzed. ‘I’ve got to go, Rem. I’ll see you later. Have that poop scoop ready.’
‘I will.’
He hung up.
Remy ended the call and glanced around her house. There were magazines everywhere, letters on the bench, remotes trying to fall off the couch; books, bills.
If she had company coming, she should tidy up. Shouldn’t she?
Yes.
***
It was after seven by the time he got to Remy’s. She met him at the side gate in a blue dress with a darker navy swirl through it, and no shoes. Her hair was in a high ponytail, and she’d missed a chunk at the back when she pinned it.
He said hello, or something equally enthralling, and she told him where to find the shovel. It felt a bit like the story of their lives.
‘Where do you want me to throw it?’ he asked.
‘Over the back fence is fine.’
It took him two trips. When he finished he propped the shovel against the stable wall.
That stable was interesting. He could have spent longer inside. There were teapots with various cacti spilling out of spout and holes; seedlings and cuttings, pea straw bales and stacks and stacks of wooden pallets. Some of those were pulled apart, with timbers painted white, others blue. He had scores of the same pallets at the winery and had no idea why Remy would need so many, or why she’d paint them.
She came out into the yard to hang a load of washing while he was snooping and when he looked up and his eyes found her, the sight of her hit him like a punch. There was a gentle breeze that blew the dress into her body, outlining it for only his eyes to see. She had more curves than the Remy of his memories. She’d been a girl back then. She was all woman now.
She threw a ball for the dogs, which only Breeze was interested in chasing. Occhilupo chased Breeze.
Seth came out of the stable and joined her on the lawn. ‘Did you get any more calls from the press?’
‘Only one. They stopped after lunch.’
‘Good. Did you read the riot act to your neighbour?’
‘Yes. He said he told his mum and his sister, Clea, and he reckoned none of them would have said anything to the paper. Clea and I are the same age. We used to hang out a bit when I first got over here. Then she met a tuna fisherman and moved with him to Port Lincoln. Zac’s mum doesn’t mind a good old chinwag either. Sheila could have told anyone and not given it another thought.’
For a long time they played with the dogs. She’d pinned sheets on the line and he watched them billow and sway, brushing the lavender bushes planted around the base, imagining the sweet lavender scent in the cotton. He admired the bare curve of Remy’s neck and her cheek, the grace of her shoulders, ponytail bouncing as she threw the ball.
Breeze brought the ball to Seth. He picked it up and launched it toward the silver birches and they listened as the dogs crashed after it. It was lucky Remy’s garden wasn’t delicate.
‘I think they’ve given up,’ he said, when the dogs didn’t return.
‘Breeze will look for it all night. When I wake up in the morning, she’ll have put it on the mat.’
‘Yeah?’
Remy shivered and hugged her arms with her hands. Seth didn’t think it was cold. He was still getting used to daylight saving in South Australia. It stayed light so much later.
He dug in his pocket. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘This is for you.’
She looked at it. ‘I don’t want any money. I’m happy to have Occhy here. It’s fine.’
‘I was paying to keep him at the motel. I’d have to pay if I put him in a kennel. Take it.’ He waved the cash at her. ‘It’s $200. A hundred a week. Is that enough?’
‘Hell and Tommy,’ she muttered. ‘Of course it’s enough. This is hardly the Ritz. He’s not at doggy day care. I don’t have a dog spa, and you’re scooping his poop.’
He picked up her hand and pressed the money into her palm, closing her fingers around the notes. ‘Take it.’
‘Okay, then. Fine.’ She waited, arms wrapping her ribs then she looked at him and said: ‘Do you have to be anywhere tonight? I made soup. It’s nothing much, but if you’re hungry, you’re welcome to have some before you head off.’
‘That would be great,’ he said, and it was only as he said it, and they walked toward her house, he realised how much the simple invitation meant to him.
Remy opened the French doors and stepped through onto the floorboards. Seth followed.
‘Sure smells good in here.’
‘It’s lentil and curried vegetable.’
No, it’s you. Rich timbers and home-cooking and spices.
‘You’ve got a nice place.’ He looked at her and waited until her grey eyes met his. ‘Thanks Remy. It’s good of you to take Occhy like this. I really appreciate it.’
She waved the compliment away but it left her all flustered. She hadn’t expected to be thanked for her dog-sitting, or her soup.
Remy ladled soup into bowls and made toast. Seth pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat. She joined him, sitting opposite, one chair along so he wouldn’t feel like she was in his face.
The spoon seemed so small in his fingers. It felt so surreal having Seth here. But man, he looked good in her house.
‘Tell me about this place,’ he said, glancing around. He tore a piece of toast in half and dunked it through the soup.
‘Well … The front rooms, the bedrooms, and that nook there where the TV is, they are all part of the original 1890s cottage. My bedroom has an ensuite off it, going down the other side of the verandah.’
She pointed as she talked and when Seth’s gaze wasn’t on his soup or his spoon, it was on her face.
‘The kitchen and this part we’re sitting in are new. If you keep going round there,’ she pointed to where the corridor disappeared behind a built-in pantry: ‘there’s the second bathroom and the laundry and a door to get outside.’
Seth mopped his bowl with the last of the toast before pushing the dish into the centre of the table. ‘That was great. Thanks.’ Then he shoved his chair back and relaxed, splaying his legs comfortably, while he watched her finish. Her foot bumped his beneath the table.
‘I’m doing too much talking. I’ve got heaps to go.’
‘Don’t rush.’
Remy tucked her feet under her seat so he wouldn’t think she was playing footsies. She took a couple hasty spoons of soup.
‘Eventually I’ll whack the bathrooms off too and rebuild that entire side. I was going to do that—’ she hesitated.
‘And?’ He prompted, eyes on her face.
‘I ran out of money.’ Remy’s skin grew warm and she hoped she’d dimmed the lights enough that he wouldn’t notice the flush in her face. ‘I told you I got ripped off by my carpenter? It cost me heaps.’
Seth rubbed toast crumbs off his chest, then cupped his hand at the edge of the table and swept up the specks.
She hoped he didn’t ask about the carpenter because she sure didn’t want to bring Andrew Straw into her living room.
Seth stood, flicked the crumbs from his hand to his bowl and took his crockery to the sink. He rinsed it and packed it in the dishwasher, along with the spoon. He asked her where she kept her glasses and she half-rose from her seat, thinking he was the guest and she should get it for him.
‘I’ll get it,’ he said. She sat her butt back down.
He was the first man who’d ever helped himself to a glass of water in her kitchen. If she didn’t count Ryan Gosling, he was the only man she’d ever dreamed of in this house, too.
Seth poured a big glass of water and drank. A trickle overshot his mouth and when he’d finished, he wiped moisture from his chin. There were drops on the t-shirt. He wiped at those too.
They were quiet for a while and then Seth said: ‘Can I ask you something? I don’t want to wreck the mood.’
‘It’s okay.’
He put a hand on her kitchen bench, flexed his fingers on the wood. ‘When you left Margaret River, you had our hundred grand—’
They’d been playing nice before, well, she had been, but those words were sandpaper across her spine.
Seth saw her stiffen, and quickly qualified: ‘What I mean is: how did you do all this on that hundred, less what you had to pay that loan shark? I can see it might have been a deposit on the land, but you’d still have needed a loan to do up the house.’
Briefly, Remy debated whether that was any of his business. She didn’t like the way he continued to talk of Ailsa’s money as something she’d sought and taken. Ailsa had written her that bloody cheque. Till the day she died Remy would remember those lines of lilting zeros. Under the lights, they’d dazzled her almost as much as Ailsa’s rings.
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ he said softly.
His interest seemed genuine and Remy made her decision. ‘My Grandma Roberts—mum’s mum—died a few years back. She never had much money, but she owned her house. It’s in Vic Park in Perth on one and three-quarter acres. You know how Perth property has been … Mum was an only child, and the property sold to some developers for a good price. Mum and her parents were estranged because of my dad—they never liked him. Not long after I came here, Grandma Roberts had a fall and broke her hip and she couldn’t live alone again after that. Mum moved to Perth to care for her. When Grandma died, Mum helped me out. It gave me enough equity that the bank would lend me some more. That’s how I had money saved toward paying Ailsa back.’
‘But the bank stopped lending?’
She nodded. ‘Like every grapegrower in the country, I imagine. I’m right on my limit. I’m over my limit. That’s why I had to dip into Ailsa’s cash the last two years to keep things afloat. The bank sends me letters telling me they’re drawing money from the account I have in credit to pay my overdraft monthly minimum. They’re allowed to juggle their customers’ money like that, apparently.’
‘Banks do what they want,’ Seth agreed. ‘Okay, that makes sense. I thought you must have got a windfall or—’ this time he was the one who baulked.
Remy was on it in a flash. ‘Or what?’
‘Ah, jeez.’ Seth ran his hand through his hair and contemplated the empty water glass, shining in his hand under the lights. ‘Buying a property needs money. Rejuvenating a vineyard takes money. Extending a 1890s cottage takes big money.’
She concentrated on the first of the wet spots on his t-shirt, a fifty-cent piece blob right beneath the Lasrey logo on his pocket. She didn’t want to look at his face. Looking at him scrambled her wits. ‘How else did you think I got the money?’
His gaze settled on her, eyes blacker than midnight. ‘I figured either Max Montgomery was paying you better than I thought, or telephone sex pays better than I thought—’
Remy got out of her chair. ‘So it couldn’t be that I won Lotto or something. Oh no.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’
‘No, you’re being ridiculous. You’re wrong about me, but you’re too pig-headed to see it. You told me the other day you believed me about the vines, and then yesterday when we were talking about the blackmail, I thought you believed me then too. But they’re just words to you, Seth and they’re cheap. In your heart, you’ve spent so long thinking I’m the bad guy here, it doesn’t take much to make you doubt yourself all over again.’
‘Give me a break—’
‘You don’t know me at all.’
‘Rem—’
‘No. I can’t do this now. I’m tired. It’s been a big day. Please, Seth. I’d like you to leave.’
***
So that didn’t go well.
Why did he push her so hard? He hadn’t been thinking about money, not really. Not until she’d brought it up with the story about the carpenter who ripped her off. Before that he’d been enjoying the way her lips moved when she talked, and how there was a bit of hair she couldn’t keep out of her eyes, and the way every now and then she’d realise she was talking with her hands and she’d sit on them to keep them still.
The last twenty minutes couldn’t be undone so there wasn’t much point dwelling on it.
The dogs huffed at him as he closed the French doors and stepped into the night, but they didn’t bother to crawl from their kennel.
It felt like a long drive back to Oakbank, to a lonely hotel room and a lumpy pillow.