CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

‘Ungggh…’

Mattie could hear a mumbling on the other end of the line. ‘Is that you, Car? You sound like you’ve got a mouth full of marbles.’

‘Nup, a lamington,’ Cara replied.

‘Where are you?’

‘At the parentals. Though it’s driving me crazy. Mum’s treating me like a teenager, wants to know what I’m up to all the time. Keeps trailing me around the house. Honestly, Mats, I don’t think I can stand it for much longer.’

‘Good,’ said Mattie.

‘Good?’

‘Yeah. Listen, I’ve been thinking …’

‘Un-uh …’ Cara’s mouth was still full of cake.

‘Well, the thing is, I was wondering if you fancied coming back down here for a while and helping us out? The cellar door manager quit and they’re about to open up again for the season and, well, we’re desperate. I can do some of it, but I can’t be on my feet for too long and I’m also working on the website and a few other things. It really needs someone full-time. I remembered that you said you used to waitress way back when, and thought you might be interested. Of course, it’s not quite the same as styling celebs and photoshoots in the big smoke …’ There was silence on the other end of the line. ‘Oh, forget it, it was just a thought.’

Mattie heard Cara swallow her mouthful. ‘Is a frog’s arse watertight?’

‘Really? Is that a yes?’ said Mattie, thrilled by her friend’s response.

‘Yep, you heard me. It’ll be fun. I love working with you, and I’m a bit over Sydney, to be honest. And I adore the Shingle Valley, it’s so gorgeous.’

‘Not to mention some of the people who live here, huh?’

‘Well, there is that added attraction,’ Cara said drily. ‘What’s not to like? Hey, I won’t have to wear a ghastly uniform, will I?’

Mattie laughed. ‘No, of course not. An apron maybe, but not a uniform. And Dan can train you up in all the wine lingo – he’ll give us both a session on the Kalkari varietals. Even I don’t know as much as I should.’

‘Right then. When do you need me to start?’

‘How about yesterday?’

Cara arrived at Kalkari as the babydoll sheep, which had been introduced to keep the weeds down in between the vines, were lambing. She and Mattie watched, captivated, as the newborns gambolled in the orchard behind the winery, jumping on all four legs like springs.

‘Oh, they’re so cute and fluffy, look at their little noses!’ Cara said, leaning against the fence.

‘I know,’ Mattie agreed as she snapped some shots. Being out and about with a camera had ignited a long-forgotten passion and she rarely went anywhere without taking photos these days. She’d also been spending her evenings reading books about technique, borrowed from the New Bridgeton library. ‘Though sheep muck still stinks,’ she added.

Cara wrinkled her nose. ‘Don’t they ever get any bigger?’ she asked, pointing to one of the ewes.

‘Nup. They’re an ancient English breed, I think – you should ask Jake, he brought them here. They’re brilliant for keeping the grass down, apparently.’

‘Speaking of Jake, where is he? I’m looking forward to seeing a certain spunky viticulturist again.’ She smiled lasciviously.

Mattie gave her friend a knowing look. ‘Settle down. Mark said he’s taken some personal leave. Gone back to Adelaide. I think his dad is a bit crook.’

Cara’s face fell.

‘But he’s due back at the end of the week, so cheer up, sunshine. Now, enough of admiring the pretty sheep, we’ve got work to do.’

And work they did. The Kalkari cellar door closed over winter; there weren’t enough visitors to their part of the valley to make staying open worthwhile. Anyone who did arrive unexpectedly was ushered into the winery and, often as not, treated to a private tasting. Spring, summer and autumn, however, were a different story, and the northern end of the valley especially was jammed with visitors all keen to taste a wine or three, kick back on the lawn with a bottle and a platter of cheese and salami, or barbecue at one of the fire pits Mark had dug on a rise above the winery. The views from there were spectacular, with a panorama over almost the entire valley and across to the Shingle Hills.

That day the girls went over to the winery, where Dan had agreed to give them a tour of the place, and then a tasting of the wines that were going to be on offer at the cellar door. ‘Over there you’ve got the tanks,’ he said, pointing to the hulking stainless-steel cylinders that towered over everything else in the winery. That’s where we keep the younger whites – your pinot gris and your riesling.’

Mattie and Cara nodded.

‘And then here’ – he indicated the rows of oak barrels, stacked sideways on racks on top of each other, each with chalk scrawls on the base – ‘these are the reds. Your cab sav, shiraz and pinot, as well as some chardonnay. We use a mix of old and new oak, and then Mark and I make up the final blends before bottling. This is where you might have heard the term “the angels’ share”.’

‘The angels’ share?’ asked Cara.

‘It’s what we fondly call the small amount of wine from each barrel that gets lost to evaporation – it means that what’s left is all the sweeter so we gladly give up a fraction to the heavens.’

‘Cute,’ said Cara.

‘When I was a kid, I thought that angels really did fly down and siphon off some of the wine,’ laughed Mattie. ‘I kept asking my dad when they were going to come so I could stay up and try to see them.’

‘Now, come along to the office and I’ll run you through the wines. There are some tasting notes for you to study, but you’ll find that most people want only a little bit of info about the wine as they taste. You’ll soon learn to spot those who want to know more, but the key is not to overwhelm them to begin with – it’s a social thing, mostly, and usually people are with their friends, or their partners. Of course you do get the odd show-off, the ones who think they know it all and try to catch you out. Mostly blokes, by the way.’ He took a closer look at Cara. ‘But I’m sure you can more than handle them.’

They reached the office, where two rows of small tasting glasses were lined up, with a spittoon at one end. Dan poured the first bottle. ‘Right, ladies, let’s begin.’

‘Could there be any more dust?’ Cara complained later as they steamed and polished every single one of the cellar door’s hundred-odd tasting glasses, most of which were cloudy from lack of use.

‘I reckon the spiders were worse,’ Mattie shuddered. She’d discovered a nest of hundreds of the tiny wriggling black things behind the tasting bench. It was enough to give her the heebie-jeebies for a week. She and Cara had called for backup, and Dan had been persuaded to come in with the Mortein. It was several hours before they ventured back to the cellar door, and only after his assurances that all traces of the offending eight-legged creatures had been removed.

‘Do you think Mark might spring for some new furniture?’ said Cara as they looked at the dated wrought-iron chairs and dark wood tables, some of which had most definitely seen better days. ‘Perhaps something a bit more contemporary? Bring the place into the twenty-first century?’

‘I’ll see if I can pin him down tonight. What do you reckon we ought to change?’

Cara needed no further encouragement. With her stylist’s eye she quickly assessed the place, taking in the fusty curtains at the large windows that looked out over the valley, and the ochre-coloured walls. ‘At the very least give the place a coat of paint – soft grey with white trim, I reckon. And get rid of those curtains. It wouldn’t hurt to add some bench seating out on the front verandah either.’

That evening Cara showed Mark some images she’d put together of how she thought the cellar door could look. Mark was surprisingly quick to agree to their suggestions. ‘I’d been meaning to do something about it for a while, but hadn’t had the time to get around to it – or the imagination. And I’ve got bigger things to worry about now.’ He sighed. ‘Okay, it’s all yours, girls – stick to the budget and you’ve got free rein.’

Cara looked at her friend with excitement. ‘Nothing thrills me more than making things over, people or places.’

‘Don’t I know it,’ said Mattie with an easy grin.

By the end of the week, the girls were covered in paint and completely exhausted, but the cellar door was sparkling. Light streamed in from the windows, bounced off the newly painted dove-grey walls, and Rob the chippy had been commissioned to construct two long tables and benches to go either side of the front door. Cara had sourced a bolt of charcoal linen and arranged for it to be made up into cushions for the benches, and found new lighting for inside the cellar door.

‘Golly, it looks so much larger and lighter in here,’ said Rose, admiring their work, ‘and I love these fittings. You’ve done a brilliant job. Wait until Mark sees it, he’ll be thrilled.’

‘It might help put him in a better mood too,’ added Mattie hopefully, thinking of Leo and Luisa’s impending departure and the mining worry hanging over all of them.