Between the Vines (30 page)

She wondered what Ed was up to. Perhaps Pete wasn't the only brother covering something up.

It was well after Taylor's seven o'clock meal time as Pete walked from his back door to the quarters, a bottle of cab sauv in his hand. He was tired but far from being able to sleep. The day had gone well. They'd got all the grapes off in good time and even though he and Antoine had been putting all of today's grapes through the crusher they'd still managed to join in with the picnic.

Pete had been expecting Ed might turn up, but he hadn't. Taylor's report of running into him in Coonawarra with Lister and a Chinese man had Pete worried but whatever Ed was up to it had bought Pete time.

He came to a stop outside the quarters and took a breath. It was done. The hand-picked cabernet was now safely tucked away in the fermenter. The last of their cabernet would be harvested over the next week as machines became available and that would be vintage over for another year.

He knocked and Taylor called come in. She was sitting with Antoine on the couch. They had a bottle of beer each and the laptop open between them.

“Welcome.” Taylor smiled up at him.

“Am I too late for dinner?”

“Of course not.” Taylor put the laptop aside and struggled out of the saggy couch. “We've been waiting for you.”

“Can I get you a beer?” Antoine also got to his feet.

“Thanks.” Pete put the red on the table and unscrewed the cap. “We can have this later.”

Taylor put plates of frittata on the table and they all sat.

Antoine raised his beer. “Here's to a successful day.”

They touched the necks of their bottles together.

“Now the real fun begins. The dream becomes reality.” Pete took a swig of beer. “Years of work have gone into these grapes. Starting with the team who came up with the original grafts, to my parents, Howard, Ed and me and you, Antoine, and even you, Taylor.”

She chuckled. “That's kind of you but I can't lay claim to doing anything towards bringing this dream to reality.”

“You helped today.” Antoine wagged his fork at her. “Hand-picking is an important part of the journey to producing a fine wine. Now it is up to Pete to complete the process.”

Once more Taylor's musical laugh echoed around them. “No pressure.”

“This is the part I love. I'm sorry Dad's not here to share it but we have Howard. I respect his opinion.”

Antoine clasped his hand on Pete's shoulder. “But the final decisions must always rest with you, my friend. There can only be one head winemaker.”

Pete picked up his beer. “I'll drink to that.”

They finished Taylor's frittata, did the dishes together and settled back at the table with a glass of red each.

“Show Pete your photos, Taylor.” Antoine beamed at Pete.

“I'd like to see them.” Pete's gaze met Taylor's across the table. Time paused, then she was getting to her feet, the moment gone.

Antoine said something but Pete missed it. He forced himself to concentrate.

“Pardon?”

“Taylor has captured the essence of hand-picking with her photographs.”

“Antoine can be very effusive in his descriptions. At least with my good lens I didn't have to get too close to the spiders.” Once more Taylor's chuckle filled the air as she squeezed in between them with the laptop.

Pete was glad she could laugh about her fear. He enjoyed the
feel of her warm shoulder pressed against his.

Taylor opened the laptop and brought up the internet site for a neighbouring winery. “I've been checking out the websites of some of the other wineries in this region. Some are very simple like this one.” She pointed to the screen, scrolled down then flicked to another. “And some are quite complex – with newsletters, wine clubs, news items and stories about the wineries – but most of the other websites are static.” She paused.

“Static?” Pete turned to her. She was talking another language.

“Once the original site goes up nothing much changes.” Once more Taylor scrolled through some sites then brought up Wriggly Creek's. “There's nothing that gives a regular update about what's happening in the region. Not a lot here to keep people coming back to visit your site.”

Pete had to agree with her. The Wriggly Creek site looked rather shabby in comparison to some of the others.

“That's why I like blogs,” Taylor said. “They're newsy and chatty and fun and keep people interested.”

“Show him.” Antoine urged from Taylor's other side.

She closed the window and opened another.

“This is just an idea.”

The new window had the heading ‘Picked with love' and underneath there was a close-up of a hand cradling a bunch of grapes as the snips cut the stem. Below it were more words. ‘Modern vintage can be full of machines and noise and rush but this week at Wriggly Creek the winery took a breath and paused to hand-pick our newest cabernet sauvignon, destined to become a new standard amongst the unique red wines from Coonawarra.' Another photo followed of bunches of grapes piled high in buckets.

“We've only just picked it.” Pete looked from Taylor to Antoine, worry worming in his stomach. “You know so much can go wrong. This is like counting your chickens before they hatch.”

“Or your wine before it's bottled.” Antoine chuckled at his own joke.

Taylor placed a hand on Pete's arm. “I can change the words.”

He raised his gaze to her concerned look.

“This is just my ideas,” she said. “You can tell me what you would like to say.”

“It can be less serious.” Antoine picked up his glass and grinned. “How to make a jaunty little red.”

They all took a sip.

Taylor raised her glass. “A red for the picking.”

Antoine raised his. “A red affair.”

Pete ignored them. No matter what they called it he'd be putting his life on the internet for all to read. “I'm not sure I'm ready for this yet.”

Taylor and Antoine glanced at each other and burst into laughter. He looked from one to the other. “What?”

“You're not ready.” Antoine laughed louder.

Pete shook his head.

“You're not ‘red-ee'.” Taylor emphasised the
red
and wiggled her fingers at him making the quote-marks sign.

Pete smiled. They kept laughing. It was infectious. He laughed too.

Finally they drew breath. Pete relaxed. He held up his glass. “Thanks,” he said. “Here's to good company.”

“Good food,” Antoine chipped in.

“And good wine,” Taylor added.

Once more they tapped glasses and drank.

“What are you going to call it?”

Pete tipped his head to one side and looked at Taylor.

“Call what?”

“Your new red. It's just that other wineries seem to have names for their wines. This one will have to have a different name from your other cab sauvs.”

“Wriggly Creek's sparkling shiraz is called Pearl's Starr,” Antoine offered.

“Dad named it after Mum.” Once again Pete wished his parents
were here enjoying this moment. He was sure they would have liked Taylor and Antoine.

“There must be a story there,” Taylor said. “Several of the other wineries have their family stories on their websites. We need something unique.”

“Nothing much to tell,” Pete said. “Dad and Mum planted the vines with the help of Howard. The winery grew. Ed and I were just starting to be useful in the family business when Mum and Dad were killed. We've been trying to hold it together ever since.”

Taylor snapped her fingers. “There you are. Two orphaned brothers left with a legacy. And there's that wonderful photo hanging in the back room at the cellar door of your family planting. It's a great story, it just needs more filling.”

Pete couldn't imagine how anyone would be interested.

“People who drink your wine want to know the story behind it. Was there anything else your dad was passionate about?” Taylor asked.

“They were involved in the community. They played sport. They helped raise funds for community projects. They were involved in local wine industry committees. Ed and I still do that.”

“Perfect.”

Pete frowned at Taylor. He felt exposed.

“She's right, Pierre. People like to meet the team behind the wine. You know yourself at the cellar door they're always more interested when you're there – the man who makes the wine.”

“I guess.” Pete still wasn't convinced that laying bare his family history to the world would be good for business. “Dad was very fond of old cars. He had a red Triumph he liked to drive around the district. Mum called it his midlife crisis.”

“You still have it, don't you?” Antoine asked.

“Ed mentioned it when Cass was here,” Taylor said.

Pete hadn't given the Triumph a thought for years. Ed was always going to do something with it. “As far as I know it's still in the garage at Ed's.”

“That's it.” Taylor clapped her hands. “That's the name for your
new red wine. You've got Pearl's Starr and now you can have Neil's Triumph. You could put a picture of the car on the label.”

Pete looked at Taylor. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement and her eyes sparkled.

“I like it,” Antoine said. “Deluxe cars and good wine go well together.”

Pete nodded. “I like the idea of having Dad's name on the bottle. It was his work that started it.” In fact it was perfect.

He put an arm across Taylor's shoulders. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Antoine topped up their glasses. “Another toast.”

They raised their glasses again but Pete kept his arm around Taylor. She leaned into him. She was warm and soft and fitted against him perfectly.

“To Neil's Triumph,” Taylor chirped and he and Antoine repeated her words.

The door flew open and Ed stepped into the room. “Well, isn't this a cosy party. I guess I wasn't invited.”

Pete dropped his arm. Taylor pushed her chair back. “I kept some food for you.”

“Donella's leftovers or your own?” Ed glared at her.

Pete stood up. “No need to be rude, Ed.”

Ed shifted his dark look to Pete. “I'm not interested in food,” he said. “It's you I've come to find. Where the bloody hell are our NS18 grapes?”

Edward stood legs apart and hands on hips in the middle of the room glaring from one to the other of the three accomplices. He'd had no idea Peter would have the gumption to do something behind his back. No doubt it was Taylor who'd somehow put him up to it. Although even as he thought it he knew he wasn't being rational where she was concerned. He'd seen Peter's arm slide from her shoulders as he'd burst in on them, lined up at the table like the three musketeers. He was disappointed with Antoine. He usually did his job and kept his nose out of any differences between the brothers.

“Let's go to my place.” Peter moved out of the kitchen.

“I'm guessing you've all been involved in this so why not tell me all about it here?”

“This is between you and me.”

Edward stared into Peter's eyes. Usually he backed down but Edward could see a resolve there he'd not noticed before.

“Don't tell me my little brother's grown some balls.”

Peter's brow creased in a small frown but his eyes didn't waver. “That's not necessary, Ed.” He turned back to the other two. “Thanks again for the meal, Taylor, and for your help today. Both of you.”

Edward turned his glare on Antoine and Taylor.

“Come on, Ed.” Peter headed for the door. “You want to talk, we'll do it at my place.”

Edward stood his ground. Peter went outside leaving him to stare at the other two, who watched him in silence. Taylor's look was not angry but a mixture of sadness and disappointment, he assumed for Peter. Antoine turned away, embarrassed and picked up their glasses from the table. Edward glared at Taylor a moment longer
then spun on his heel and went out into the chilly night.

Up ahead of him he could see the silhouette of Peter as he neared his back door. Edward marched after him. All was not lost. He'd get to the bottom of this and phone Angus to organise collection. He'd barely made it inside the cottage when Peter flicked on the light. The sudden brightness made him falter. Peter blocked his way.

“You were going to sell the NS18.” Peter's voice was low but not soft.

“You wouldn't come at the partnership.”

“So this was some kind of payback?”

“What?” Edward screwed up his face. “No. It's to raise the capital to buy the land.”

“We agreed not to go ahead with that for now.”

“You did. It was too good an opportunity to miss. I've been working on a way to raise the capital.”

Peter shook his head slowly. “You might have the majority share but we make big decisions like this together.”

Edward ignored the phone buzzing in his pocket. If it was Angus or Cheng he didn't want to talk to them right now. “Where are the NS18 grapes, Peter?”

“I'm not selling the crop that our parents worked so hard to bring to life.”

They glared at each other. Edward blew out a long, slow breath. “As you said, I have the majority share and we need to raise the capital.”

Peter took a step towards him. Anger oozed from him. His face was red, his eyes blazed. Edward had never seen him like this. Frustrated and annoyed, yes, but Peter rarely got angry.

“You can't do this, Ed.” Still his voice was low, controlled.

“Yes I can. I've had everything organised and as soon as my back's turned you whisk them away. Where are the grapes?”

“In the bloody tanks. All you had to do was walk into the office and
look at the board.” His anger burst. “Where else did you think they'd be? Do you think I'd be so stupid as to sell them to someone else? They're going to make the wine that will put us on the map as one of Coonawarra's finest cabernets. Wriggly Creek will come of age. We even thought of a name for the wine tonight. Neil's Triumph. We could put a picture of Dad's car on the label.”