‘Jennie Grey from Channel 7, Mr Lasrey. Can you tell us what it was about Montgomery Wines that first caught your interest, in terms of your latest merger?’
Seth turned his attention to the journalist sitting in the second row of restaurant chairs. She had straight blonde hair parted fiercely on top of her head, and bright pink lipstick on a mouth that seemed to frown, ever so slightly.
Merger sounded so much better on a journalist’s lips than buyout, or takeover, or acquisition, Seth thought. That’s why he instructed his communications team to use ‘merger’ in their press releases about Lasrey’s buyouts, takeovers and acquisitions.
‘We thought it was a good match for us right now, Jennie,’ he said, waiting a beat: ‘Max was ready to sell and the price was right.’
‘Dammit, I knew I should have held out for more,’ Max Montgomery, standing by Seth’s side during the press conference, said. The journalists huffed with laughter and Max’s ruddy cheeks reddened.
Seth laughed with them.
They were almost finished and the media had lapped the story up. South Australia needed a good news story. There’d been lay-offs in the local car manufacturing industry, plus the wine industry was in freefall.
‘On a serious note, if you like: Montgomery Wines is a jewel in the Adelaide Hills. I couldn’t ask for a better introduction for Lasrey into South Australia. We think there’s a lot of upside for us here and we can’t wait to roll our sleeves up and get to work.’
‘So this year’s vintage? Will we see a Lasrey style of wines, or Montgomery’s?’ Jennie Grey followed her first question.
‘Max’s people and ours will work hand in hand through this vintage so we can get a good feel for how they do things. Then, if we don’t stuff everything up, they’ll let us go it alone.’
‘I’m sure you won’t stuff it up.’ Max smiled again, but the sweat had begun to glint on the bald patch on top of his head. The old guy was feeling it and fair enough, Seth thought, Max wasn’t used to fronting a camera.
Not like me.
Whenever Blake rang from Brazil, or Hawaii, or Jervis Bay, or wherever the latest surf competition was being held—as long as it was a place with internet—he’d say: ‘Saw you made the news again, bro. You make such a great talking head.’
‘What about local grapegrowers, Seth? Are their contracts with Montgomery safe for this year?’
Seth turned toward the new voice. It was a woman who asked the question. He recognised her as an editor of one of the wine trade publications based in Adelaide. He’d spoken with her before and like most of the questions he’d been asked so far, he’d anticipated this one. Fruit pricing and grower contracts were the hottest topic in the industry.
‘We’re still working through all the fine print,’ Seth said. ‘Max has been very strong throughout the negotiation process that his growers get looked after, and we’re certainly amenable to that. At the same time, it’s tough in this industry. Everywhere we can, we have to tighten our belts. That’s just the way it is.’
The woman nodded, and added seriously: ‘The latest price estimates coming out of the Riverland are down on last year …’
‘That’s the Riverland. That’s different to here,’ he said.
Beside him, Max shuffled his feet. He’d put shoes on in honour of the press conference, tan lace-up ones that had probably never been out of the box.
‘I’m sure you’ve done your due diligence, Seth,’ another journalist, male this time, spoke. ‘But I wouldn’t be the first to suggest you might be overextending. How many acquisitions is that in the last three years?’
‘We have done our sums and as I said before, we obviously see a lot of upside to this new merger,’ Seth said, ignoring the second part of the question. ‘Sauvignon blanc is going to be the wine of the next decade—now there’s a tip for you.’ He laughed and clapped Max on the back as a camera clicked. ‘The Adelaide Hills makes great sauvignon blanc. We can give the New Zealanders a run for their money.’
That was about it. He fielded a few more questions as the sweaty patch on Max’s crown expanded, and when the questions dried he thanked the journos for coming. Maggie Castle from Montgomery’s admin team, along with Seth’s PR manager, handed each journalist a two-pack of Shiraz. The show was over.
‘Thank God for that,’ Max said, pulling at the tie cutting into his neck. ‘Thought I was gonna expire. Now I know why these news things make me nervous. Guess you’re used to them?’
‘Pretty much,’ Seth said. ‘Most of the time journalists don’t know anywhere near as much as they’d like you to think they do. The trick is only to answer the questions with stuff you want them to know.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Max wiped his hand over his head. ‘Shit. I need a drink. Is it beer o’clock yet?’
‘Must be near enough.’
Seth let Max lead him out on the balcony toward a table beautifully laid for the lunchtime trade.
‘Can’t quite believe it’s the end of all this, you know?’ Max indicated the landscape that fell away beneath them. White-puffed pampas grass bordered the edge of an enormous dam where a jetty had been built out into the middle. A young couple was out there, slowly making their way back to the shore. The guy had his arm around the girl and cuddled her close.
‘Think of it this way, Max. No more call outs in the middle of vintage when the bloody filter clogs or the press breaks or some idiot driver’s bogged a tractor up to the axle because he went too close to the bloody dam …’
‘Yeah, I won’t miss that.’
‘Yeah,’ Seth agreed … and waited, because he could tell Max was working up to something. He’d spent enough time with Max Montgomery in the last few months to read the man’s signs.
‘Jeez. I don’t know, Seth. I just hope I’ve done the right thing. Wine’s a young man’s game. It was easier twenty years ago. Now it’s all about the branding and marketing as much as what’s in the bottle. What do I know about that? I thought I did it right. Got good advice … Every man and his dog planted grapes as a tax dodge in the nineties and now look at it. No one’s making a dollar.’ Max squinted at Seth. ‘Well, except for blokes like you. You must be doing something right.’
The waiter arrived carrying a bottle of Montgomery’s sparkling white and Max sat heavily in his chair. ‘Thank God for that, my feet are killing me.’
‘You and me both,’ Seth said, although his feet felt fine.
The waiter poured two bubbling glasses.
‘Your health, Max,’ Seth said, tipping the glass in a toast. ‘And a happy retirement.’
‘To you and your team, Seth. I hope this venture brings you every success.’
They drank.
Seth could see Max tasting the liquid on his tongue, testing for flaws. It was a winemaker thing; Rina always did the same.
‘So now we’ve done the three-ring media circus, where do you want to start?’ Max said.
‘Rina’s meeting with your winemaking team today. They’re showing her around.’
‘Lewis Carney is a good bloke. You won’t have any trouble with him.’
‘Good,’ Seth said. If I do have trouble, Carney will be out on his arse.
‘And what about you, Seth?’ Max said, putting his glass on the table. ‘I have to admit you’re not what I expected.’
‘How’s that?’ Seth said.
‘When I told people I was thinking about selling out to you, they told me I had rocks in my head. They said you were hard as they come.’
Seth shrugged. ‘Not sure what I should say to that, except maybe I’m getting soft in my old age.’
‘You’ve got a few years left yet, mate.’ Max sucked down the rest of his glass and refilled it. Then he shifted his weight to the side and dug into the pocket of his pants, pulling out a sheet of typewritten paper. ‘Here’s the grower list I promised you. All up to date.’
Seth reached for the pages but Max resisted, and their eyes met. ‘You will look after them, won’t you? There are people on this list who are like family to me.’
‘I’ll do the best I can by them, Max. That’s a promise. As long as no one on there is unreasonable about anything, we should be right.’
Max released the pages. Seth tucked them in the inside pocket of his jacket without looking. He didn’t need to look. There was only one name on the list he cared about. One name he knew.
Remy Roberts, Red Gum Valley Road, via Oakbank.
Four months ago when he’d first started discussions with Max Montgomery’s business broker, after word came through the industry grapevine that Max was ready to sell, he’d seen the name Remy Roberts on this same list. ‘Remy’ was unusual enough that he had to ask the question.
Max told him Remy had been in the Adelaide Hills for five years and had come from over West. ‘Great grapegrower—there’s never any problems with her fruit. She’s pretty easy on the eye too,’ Max had said. ‘You wait till you see how all the blokes at work find stuff needs doing at the winery whenever Remy comes around.’
Roberts, he’d discovered, was her mother’s maiden name.
So he’d found her. Accidentally, after all these years.
Seth took a sip of his drink. He didn’t drink before noon as a rule, but hell, it was five o’clock somewhere and if Max was in a mood to celebrate, so was he. It was that kind of day.
‘You look pleased with yourself,’ Max said.
‘I could say the same.’
‘Yeah. I guess so. It’ll take a while to sink in.’
‘It’ll help when the money hits your account,’ Seth said.
‘Only if the wife hasn’t spent it yet.’ Max laughed.
Seth laughed with him, but privately his mind skipped to Remy.
He’d thought about her less over the years, of course. Life moved on and he’d been busy building an empire. But it didn’t take much to remind him. He stayed away in the wildflower season because he didn’t want the memories of the picnic they’d shared at Ellen Brook. He hadn’t been to Vintage Festival in four years, either. Left it to Ailsa or Rina to present his father’s trophy.
Did Remy know he’d bought Montgomery Wines?
He would love to be a fly on the wall when she found out.
She wasn’t there when he got back from France. He’d told her he’d help her deal with her debts. He’d begged her to trust him, and she’d gone without a word. Worse, she’d gone with a hundred grand of Lasrey money in her pocket.
He didn’t even know if those debts were real: a story to put him off his guard. Make him feel sorry for her. Make him want to help her.
He’d been such a fool.
Remy Hanley/Roberts—whoever she was—she’d never needed help. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she’d used him to get her there.
‘What’s up?’ Max asked. ‘You’ve gone quiet.’
Seth sat back in his chair, swirled the liquid in his glass. ‘You got me thinking about first impressions, Max. That’s all.’
Through the glass windows of the restaurant, Seth saw Rina near the serving counter. Lewis Carney beside her.
‘I’ll ask them to join us, shall I?’ Max said, gesturing to the restaurant.
‘Sure,’ Seth agreed, then as Max made to get up he said, ‘you stay here, mate. I’ll go.’
Max sat, muttering about his blisters. Seth strode along the balcony, feeling the resilience of the boards under his feet. The sun was shining, it was a beautiful day.
All in all, an auspicious start to Lasrey Estate’s new venture into South Australian wine.