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“SO HOW DID YOUR RESEARCH go into the B&B and restaurant?” Mac asked Ginger and Sandi while they all tucked into their curries.
“Good,” Ginger mumbled through a mouthful of rice and naan. “There’s huge potential here. The kitchen’s not in bad nick—some of the equipment could do with replacing, but it’s not essential. The biggest issue is the menu, and the sourcing of local produce. And I’d love to get trained waiters and waitresses rather than local teens who don’t know a dessert spoon from a soup spoon, or at least train the local teens to the proper standard. And of course, the restaurant itself needs bringing into the twenty-first century. Not in its look—I love the flagstones and the kauri wood bar—but fresh paint, new tables and chairs, new cutlery and crockery, that kind of stuff. It all costs money, though.”
“What has to be done?” Fred asked her. “As opposed to what you’d like to do.”
“None of it has to be done, I guess. But I’m not sure I’m prepared to settle for mediocre.” Ginger frowned and poked at a piece of chicken with her fork. Mac understood what she meant. There was no point in doing anything by halves. If she couldn’t bring the restaurant up to the standards she’d been hoping, she’d be better off returning to the UK and taking over an already-performing restaurant.
“What about the B&B?” Fred asked her other sister.
“Much the same,” Sandi said. “There’s plenty I’d like to do. New linen and curtains, a complete re-decoration throughout, a fresh look for the dining room, a new washing machine and tumble dryer for the laundry. Plus of course the pool could do with a new fence, and the garden needs quite a bit of work done to it. Doesn’t have to be done. But if we don’t do it, we’re starting off half cock, so to speak.”
Mac watched Fred lay her fork on the plate and push it away, her appetite clearly disappearing. “Yeah,” she said, somewhat listlessly. “It’s a similar story with the vineyard, and of course, as we said, if the vineyard is failing, there’s little point in getting everything else sorted.”
“Don’t lose heart.” Sandi rested a hand on Fred’s. “Not yet. Give us another day to think about it. I’m not done yet and neither is Ginger. We’re going to come up with a series of plans—what absolutely must be done, what’s next, what’s not so important, that kind of thing. Then we’ll have a better idea of cost.”
“All right.” Fred pushed away from the table. “I might go for a walk. Don’t do the washing up—I’ll tackle it when I get back.”
They watched her go, and then Ginger and Sandi looked at Mac.
“She really wants this,” Ginger said.
“Yeah.” Mac started to gather together the foil containers. “I can see that.”
“She’s had a tough time, that’s all,” Sandi said, “we all have, actually, and we were hoping that this would be the answer, you know? I don’t mean to guilt you, I’m just saying it like it is.”
“I understand. Fred explained that things have been difficult for you.”
As one, their eyebrows rose.
“Really?” Ginger said.
“Yeah.” He frowned at their surprise.
Sandi exchanged a glance with her sister. “Only... she never talks to anyone. We’ve never been able to get her to see a counsellor, and even her friends, such as they are, don’t know the full story.”
“I’m not sure I know the full story,” he admitted, “but she told me about your mum’s illness, and that she’d burned Harry’s letters to you, and hidden the ones that Fred wrote him.”
“Wow, you must be something,” Ginger said, “to get her talking.”
“Not really.” He shifted in his chair and concentrated on stacking the plates. “We shared a moment, I guess.” He finished tidying, then leaned back in his chair. “I get the feeling she’s not told me everything.”
The girls exchanged a glance. “If Fred didn’t want to tell you, it’s not our place to say,” Sandi said quietly.
Disappointed, he gave a reluctant nod. “You’re a long way from home, and you had quite a shock yesterday when you discovered the full extent of what my father had done. I’m aware you all set your hearts on the place, and it’s been a disappointment for you.”
Ginger scratched at a mark on the table. “A bit.”
“We did all have high hopes that this would be the answer to what was missing from our lives.” Sandi leaned forward, catching his eye. “And we’ve all had it hard, there’s no doubt about it. But I think it’s been hardest on Fred.”
Harder than losing your partner, and then discovering he’d been married the whole time? Or having your ex accuse you of stealing from your company and getting you sacked? Mac stared at her, puzzled. “Do you think so?”
Both girls nodded. “She’s the definition of the word stoic,” Sandi said. “She looked after our mother for years, and never complained. Did she tell you that she didn’t go to university but went out to work so that we could both go?”
“No,” he admitted.
“She gave up so much for us. I feel ashamed now.” Sandi’s cheeks flushed red. “I just didn’t realize at the time. It must have been so hard for her. She missed out on the chance to have a career.”
“She wanted to be a nurse,” Ginger added.
“Really?” Mac could see her in the role, patient and kind. He tried not to dwell on the uniform.
“She never really had the chance to have a decent run at a relationship either,” Sandi said. “She went out with guys occasionally, but they never lasted very long, probably because they weren’t prepared to play second-best to our mother. But she never complained. She gave Mum everything, and then she found out Mum had been lying to us the whole time. It was such a betrayal, especially for Fred, because she can remember Dad. But all three of us missed out on a chance to know our father because of our mother.” Sandi’s voice was bitter. Ginger said nothing, just stared mutely at her hands.
“You’ve all been through a lot,” Mac said gently. “And I’m glad you came to the bay. We’ll do our best to work something out. Fred wants to give it another day for you to think about the B&B and restaurant, and for us to try to come up with a plan. So take your time, and try not to worry.”
“Yes, Dad,” Ginger said.
He gave her a wry look. “I’m just trying to help.”
Her expression softened. “I know.”
“I’m going to find Fred.” He rose and tucked his chair under the table.
“We’ll clean up,” Sandi said. “Take your time.”
Ginger nudged her with her elbow. Sandi nudged her back.
Mac pretended not to have noticed. “Okay, thanks.”
He headed out and crossed the garden, Scully at his heels, looking toward the vineyard to see if he could spot Fred. He thought about how her sisters had nudged each other. They thought that Fred liked him. Well, he liked her too, so that was something. When he remembered how he’d dreaded the girls arriving—had thought there would be screaming and tears and cursing—he couldn’t have wished for a better outcome. The sisters were lovely, Fred especially, and their attitude toward him had been much more than he deserved.
The vineyard glowed in the setting sun, the grapes plump and rich and ready for harvesting, which would begin in the next week or two. The weather had been perfect, dry and warm with just the right amount of rain, so at least it should be a decent vintage.
As he rounded the buildings, he saw her, walking away from him along the edge of the vineyard on the Pacific side. He jogged down to catch her up, Scully bouncing beside him, not considering until he neared her that she might want to be alone.
“Hey,” he said, slowing down when he reached her.
She looked up at him, eyebrows rising. “Hi.”
“I wondered whether you wanted company, then realized when I got here that you probably didn’t. You want me to leave you to it?”
She smiled. “No, that’s okay. I just wanted to stretch my legs.”
He fell into step with her, and they walked in silence for a while, the only sound coming from the German Shepherd as she snuffled amongst the leaves. The ocean glowed a deep russet with gold-topped waves.
“It’s so beautiful here,” Fred said eventually. She took a sip from a glass, and he saw then that she’d brought her wine with her.
“I think so.”
“In his letter, Dad said something about the bay being his place to stand.”
“Turangawaewae?”
“That’s the word—I didn’t realize you pronounced it like that. Too-ranga-why-why,” she repeated. “I didn’t really understand what he meant before, but I feel it here, Mac. I feel as if I belong here. I know it’s probably dramatic and pretentious considering we only set foot here yesterday, but...”
“It’s not,” he said quietly. “It runs in the blood, resides in the heart. Have you read or seen Gone with the Wind? ‘The land is the only thing in the world worth working for, worth fighting for, worth dying for, because it’s the only thing that lasts.’ Margaret Mitchell understood. People and money and success and failure come and go, but the land is always there.”
Fred’s eyes glistened, and she gave a small laugh and rubbed her nose. “You’re an old romantic at heart, aren’t you?”
“Hey, less of the old.”
She grinned. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-two. You?”
“Thirty in a few months. The big three-oh.” She pulled a face.
“It’s not so bad. Think of it as a celebration. In the medieval period, you’d probably be dead by now, after having had fifteen children. You’re thirty! You made it!”
She laughed. “Thanks. I think.”
They walked a little farther in silence.
“So...” he said eventually. “You’re not leaving anyone behind in the U.K.?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “No.”
“I’m surprised.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s sweet of you. But men weren’t exactly climbing over each other to get to me. Not that I wanted them to. I’m going to be a crazy cat lady. An old maid, crocheting and making jam until I pop my clogs.”
“Pop your clogs? I haven’t heard that one.”
“Until I snuff it. Give up the ghost. Kick the bucket. Push up daisies.”
“Shuffle off the mortal coil,” he said.
“Sleep with the fishes.”
“Do not pass go, do not collect two-hundred dollars,” he said.
“Check into the horizontal Hilton,” Fred finished, and they both laughed.
“I always thought I wanted to be buried here,” Mac said. “In the middle of the vines.”
“It would give a nice earthy touch to the Chardonnay.”
“Ha! Yeah.”
She hesitated. “Where’s my father...”
“He was cremated, as per his wishes, and his ashes were scattered at the local crematorium. There’s a plaque there. I’ll take you all to see it, if you like.”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything.
They turned the corner at the bottom of the vineyard and started heading back up the hill.
“I like that you don’t mind talking about dying,” she said. “I know that sounds odd, but I’ve never met anyone who has the same... I dunno, pragmatic view, I suppose, as me.”
He shrugged. “Maybe it’s spending so much time outdoors. Working with the vines, it gives you a cyclical view of life. Seeds are planted, they grow, bear fruit, then they die, but death is just a big sleep in nature, isn’t it? A kind of hibernation. That’s how I like to think of it, anyway.” He gestured at the vineyard. “Harry’s still here, somewhere, watching you now. I bet he’s thrilled to see you here.”
“Maybe. It’s a nice thought.” She blew out a long breath, then finished off her glass of wine. “Life’s so short, isn’t it? It’s easy to tiptoe through it, trying not to make waves. I’ve spent my life being a good girl, doing what I thought was right, and look where it got me. I’m tired of it, Mac. Of doing what other people want me to do. I want to be selfish, for a change. Not to worry about what people are thinking of me.”
“Sounds fair to me.”
She turned to him. “I want to put my dreams first. I don’t know how yet, but I’m determined to make this work, even if I have to put in twelve hours, seven days a week.”
It wouldn’t be enough, but he loved the way her eyes were blazing, filled with a light that he was certain hadn’t been there for a long time. “Then we’ll do it.”
“I mean it. I’m not going without a fight. Ginger, Sandi, and I—we’ve gone through too much, suffered enough. Other people have made our lives a misery, and we’re all tired of it. If we want happiness, we’re going to have to find it ourselves. Nobody’s going to hand it to us on a plate.”
None of the girls would find it easy to trust again. It made him sad, but he could understand why they felt like that. Once again, he felt a flare of anger toward his father, who had selfishly ridden roughshod over these girls’ lives, not thinking about what his destructive behavior was doing to their inheritance, to their spirit, or indeed, to his own son. Fred was right—you made your own happiness in life, and he admired the girls for recognizing that and acting on it.
“Just tell me what you want me to do,” he said, “and I’ll do my best to help.”
She gave a firm nod and looked across the vineyard. Her gaze turned briefly wistful, and he thought she might be thinking of her father, and his own words about Harry’s spirit watching over her. Then he saw her chin lift, and knew determination was setting in.
“Let’s go back to the house,” she said. “There’s something I want to do, and you’re the man to do it.”
