The Grass is Greener (16 page)

Bianca's eyes shot sparks. ‘
Where?
'

‘She doesn't want you to know.'

‘You will tell me immediately.'

Claudia had never been one to hold her temper in check, and, still sore from her earlier humiliation, she reacted more sharply than she probably should have.

‘Bronwyn doesn't owe you an explanation and neither do I.'

‘I'm her
mother
,' Bianca sneered.

‘That's right. Not her keeper. She's a grown woman, Bianca. Let her live her life how she sees fit.'

‘After today's embarrassing blunder, one would think you would learn to hold your commentary, Claudia.' Bianca
released her arm in disgust. ‘Your influence over my daughter has always been irritating but this time you have gone too far. Bronwyn has responsibilities here and no one appreciates her neglecting them.'

Claudia gritted her teeth, all desire to be respectful gone. ‘That's where you would be wrong.'

‘Explain yourself.'

‘I know you would love to blame me,' Claudia returned bitterly, ‘but this was entirely Bronwyn's idea and decision.'

‘Really?' Bianca's tone could have cracked glass. ‘It seems convenient then that the job that was meant for her has fallen to you.'

‘I took nothing from her she wasn't willing to give,' Claudia retorted.

Bianca was buying none of it, and she stabbed her pointed finger inches from Claudia's face. ‘I don't know how you stole my daughter's position, you presumptuous piece of work, but I will make you pay for that. Make no mistake. I will take great pleasure in removing you from the legal profession, and my daughter's life, for good.'

Claudia shuddered as she stalked out of the room, just in time to notice that Seb was still standing in the shadow of the doorway.

‘Curious,' he said silkily. ‘It would appear that the woman who gave you such a glowing recommendation doesn't even know that she did. It seems to me, Claudia, that this spirit of honesty you were talking about earlier is as fictional as the tooth fairy. Next time, don't try to draw me into your web, because I'm the spider, Claudia, not you.'

He turned and walked out then, leaving her feeling like a boxer who couldn't get off the mat after the referee had stopped counting.

Oh fuck, Claudia. You're in deep shit now.

In the week that followed her arrival, Bronwyn made it her mission to discover exactly what was wrong with Oak Hills. And what a mission it was.

While outwardly agreeing that she should help with the business, Chris and Lydia actively put obstacles in her path.

‘You sleep in, sweetie,' Lydia told her that first evening. ‘No need to be up at sparrows with us. You'll be wanting a rest after coming off all that stress.'

It felt like she was being told that she was on holiday. And she supposed that, as a family friend, that had always been her place. It was what the Franklins were used to, what they were comfortable with. Yes, she had made the announcement that she was there to work. However, their acceptance of it was definitely still up for debate. Chris and Lydia would not admit it directly but she was positive that they were finding the concept just as difficult to digest as Horace was.

I don't know why you thought it would be so easy just to walk in and take Claudia's place. Even with her permission.

You're not family.

Why should they give you that much responsibility?

The large pot of tea, dish of homemade jam and plate of warm buttery English muffins that greeted her in the kitchen that first morning seemed to confirm it. Chris and Lydia were nowhere to be found. They had clearly already started work for the day and left her to relax. One of them, she suspected Lydia, had left her a note which read, ‘Make yourself at home, sweetie. It's probably been a while since you've had any real food.'

It was true.

In the city she would have downed a cappuccino and breakfast bar by now, but still, it was clear that the note was code for
Stay here, don't interfere.

She lowered herself into the tall-backed pine chair and stretched out a hand to grab a muffin. In all honesty, it was such a temptation to just sit there in the dining room in her PJs and gaze out the large window that overlooked the vineyard. What a gorgeous day. Not a cloud in the sky. She bit into her muffin and nearly died of ecstasy.

God bless country living.

When had life got so fast she didn't have time to stop and taste the strawberry jam?

Okay, Bronwyn, focus.

As cunning as Lydia was to ply her with food, she could not allow herself to be sidetracked. Claudia wouldn't. And she couldn't let her friend down, otherwise she'd land the Franklins in a worse mess. She'd taken away their manager with no replacement. It would be the final blow that killed their business. She nibbled nervously on her muffin. They had to let her help … one way or another.

The problem was, Bronwyn had never been big on confrontation or trying to force her way. She didn't think fast on her feet, she avoided people who disliked her and she was a chronic peacemaker who hated fighting more than anything else in the world. She laughed mockingly at herself as she poured a cup of tea, the steam rising out of the cup and filling the room with a delicious herbal aroma.

Why on earth did you become a lawyer then? You delusional person!

The answer to that question was completely wrapped up in her mother and what she wanted for her daughter's life. This was the first time in forever that she'd actually allowed herself the simple luxury of making her own choices.

So what are your strengths?

She grabbed another muffin, deciding already that she was going to eat three of them at least.

Well, you're reasonably intelligent.

Otherwise, she wouldn't have got through law and graduated in the top ten per cent of her class as her parents duly expected.

You're also stealthy.

She'd been hiding who she really was from Bianca Hanks, Robert Eddings and the legal profession for years.

And … you're so desperate
.

She sighed. Yes, she was absolutely desperate to be somebody else – to be good at something else.

There was certainly enough to cut her baby teeth on here, if only somebody would let her. Perhaps her first mistake had been asking. One did not ask for trust, one earned it. Clearly, her first and most obvious method of attack was to start performing, which was far easier said than done. After eating her third muffin, she dusted off her fingers and ran back up the stairs to her room to have a shower. Donning jeans and a T-shirt, she pulled her hair back into a no-nonsense ponytail and motored out the front door.

The landscape stretched out before her, the ocean on the horizon. The heady smell of ripe, sun-warmed fruit hit her senses before she saw the swollen globes peeping from beneath large tri-pointed leaves. Bronwyn shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun as she crossed the top of one block of vines. The plantation was so neat, laid in stripes of green and brown – rich and vibrant. Insects and birds chirped and
tweeted harmoniously from the vine. A golden whistler seemed to be the lead singer. He perched on top of one of the nearby trestles singing his little heart out, his bright yellow chest like a waistcoat for his stately olive-green back and wings. As soon as her shadow crossed his perch, he flew away. Bronwyn was sorry to see him go.

She knew from past visits that the bird was male. The female ones were so boring by comparison. Their feathers were a dull greyish brown and they were much shyer. For some reason, the thought made her think of her and Jack. He'd always been the golden whistler to her dorky insecurity. She did not want him back at Oak Hills. He'd just make things incredibly tense. The mere mention of his name had thrown Horace and Chris into such a dark argument the day before. And the awkwardness she still felt ran so deeply between him and her. She shuddered. Jack had not given a stuff about any of them for years. Having him stroll back into their lives now would just add insult to injury and toss this sinking ship right into the storm.

She had a niggling worry that Lydia had already sent the email she'd threatened to yesterday, and it had reached its destination. Jack had always been such an enigma. Hard to read, even more difficult to predict, though he always seemed to have her number. She remembered the day they met with a cringing embarrassment. She'd only been eighteen at the time, next to his twenty-three. He was the skilled winemaker while she was very much the shy, dull-coloured bird, hopeful to blend into the background. It had been her first night away from the family home in the city. She'd had no self-esteem to speak of and was totally in awe of her best friend's life, which seemed like Neverland. Everything at Oak Hills was magical – the surrounds, the house. And there was certainly one male resident who had never grown up.

Claudia had been out when she'd arrived, so Mrs Franklin had advised her to go exploring and get acquainted with the estate. It was late in the day and the sun had begun to sink.
A warm orange glow had spread fingers of light through the leafy vines on the path beside her. At the time the grapes had been plump and purple, ripe for the picking. The clusters were so heavy the vine drooped under their weight. The pose was almost seductive, like biblical temptation. That day a younger, more innocent hand had reached towards the vine. Curiosity and the sudden rush of the forbidden had made her brave.

I wonder if they just taste like ordinary grapes.

No one will miss it if I just try one.

‘What do you think you're doing?'

She'd nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the voice. Quickly, she'd composed herself and spun around to register dancing green eyes and the flash of white teeth. At the time, Bronwyn didn't have much experience with men, let alone ones this good-looking. In blue jeans, a collared shirt rolled up to the elbows and broad-brimmed hat on his head, he looked much like a cowboy who had lost his horse and gun holster. Mischief was written all over his face. But then wasn't it always with Jack?

She'd pressed a hand to the middle of her chest. ‘You scared me half to death.'

‘Did I?' He raised innocent eyebrows. ‘You looked so devious, I couldn't resist calling you out.'

She glared at him. ‘I didn't mean any harm. I was just –'

‘I know what you were doing,' he chuckled. ‘Go on. Have as many as you like. They're good.'

Bronwyn put her hands behind her back, unwilling to let him patronise her. ‘No, that's okay. I was only looking.'

‘Come on.' He sauntered over to the vine, plucked a few, and before she knew what was happening had popped two in her mouth, his fingertips brushing longer than necessary against her lips. She jumped back, startled at the familiarity of his touch before he gave her a rather unsettling grin and put the rest of the grapes in his hand into his own mouth. She forced herself to eat, if only to free up her lips to speak. The
skin puckered and burst between her teeth, filling her mouth with sweet, hot juice.

‘This is shiraz,' he informed her. ‘Our best crop yet.'

Her voice responded at last. ‘It's good.'

‘I know.' He hooked his hands in his pants. ‘They're mine, after all. I'm Jack.' He tilted his head to look more closely at her. ‘Who the hell are you?'

She shoved both hands awkwardly into the pockets of her jeans. ‘Er … Bronwyn, Claudia's friend.'

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I'm her older brother. She's never mentioned you.'

‘Oh,' she responded, telling herself the uncharacteristic hurt she felt was an overreaction. As he continued to stare at her expectantly, she shuffled from one foot to the other, wondering whether she was supposed to somehow prove that she really did know Claudia.

Suddenly he lost his seriousness. ‘Just teasing.'

It was the first of many times he used that phrase on her. She didn't know why he thought announcing it made it okay. If possible, it took it to the next level of irritating. However, just as a mixture of relief and annoyance enveloped her, someone else burst through the vines. A tall, leggy blonde with way too much hair and not enough skirt. She launched herself at Jack, throwing both arms around his neck.

‘Found you!' Her voice was sing-song, high-pitched and definitely unaware that there was anyone else about.

What was this that she'd stumbled upon?

An adult game of hide and seek?

‘Oh –' The newcomer belatedly seemed to register Bronwyn standing there. ‘Who's this?'

‘Bronwyn Eddings.'

To her surprise, Jack gave her full name without even blinking. ‘My sister Claudia is forever going on about her and her family. Eddings this and Eddings that.' His lips quirked at her. ‘You come from some real fancy digs, don't you?'

‘Oh, I –' Bronwyn didn't know which was worse, to be completely anonymous or have her city reputation to live up to in the one place she thought she was free of it.

The blonde's hand seemed to tighten around Jack's neck as she gave Bronwyn a thorough once over. ‘You don't look very fancy.'

Bronwyn felt her cheeks redden. She didn't. Skinny as a stick, no sense of fashion and glasses as thick as telescopes. She was the worst class of dork.

‘Claws in, Becky.' Jack tickled the woman hanging off him, who giggled girlishly. ‘She's our guest, after all,' he nodded to her. ‘I'll see you at the house.'

The embarrassment she felt then jolted Bronwyn out of the past. She'd been nothing but a joke to Jack back then. She couldn't see how six years of no communication could have changed that much. As the flashback faded from her mind, the grapes in front of her came sharply back into focus. They were as heavy as the ones in her memory.

Vintage was almost upon them. It wouldn't be long before these succulent bulbs turned purple. Oak Hills needed a winemaker, and soon. Her first port of call would be to find out what they were doing about that … besides sending Jack emails, of course.

The gravel path she was on widened and the Oak Hills cellar door and restaurant came into view. It was an attractive building and clearly much better kept than the Franklins' residence. It was mostly stone and surrounded by an array of native trees that did much to emphasise the rustic style of the building. A cobbled path led up to the double doors, which opened into a large room accommodating floor-to-ceiling glass windows on one side. These looked out across the vineyard, giving the space an air of tranquillity. Polished dark timber floorboards supported a few burgundy-coloured couches and armchairs, set apart from the cellar door bar itself, which was a long ‘S' shape. Stainless-steel spittoons sat in the curl at each end of the polished, chestnut-coloured counter.

She had expected to see a short Italian man called Marco, whom she had known since her university days. However, it was two strangers who stood behind the bar in black Oak Hills shirts. A young woman of slim build and perhaps Italian origin, and a tall gangly man with long fingers and dancing blue eyes. He was definitely the more charismatic of the two, and the first to capture her attention. He had one of those faces that was so alive it drew your focus immediately … that is, if his strong French accent and tendency towards theatrics failed to arouse your interest first.

‘
What light through yonder window breaks?
' he quoted, stretching out his hand to her with all the drama of the Shakespearean tragedy from which he quoted.

It was so over the top that she couldn't help but giggle.

‘Hi, I'm Bronwyn.'

‘An angel come to relieve me of my boredom,' he corrected her. ‘My name is Antoine.'

‘And I'm Maria,' the girl beside him said. She had a shy smile and seemed uncommonly nervous at Bronwyn's arrival. ‘I've heard so much about you from Chris.'

Bronwyn raised her eyebrows. ‘All good, I hope.'

Maria's expression grew wistful. ‘You're one of his oldest friends.'

‘I guess I am.'

‘Are you here for zee tasting?' Antoine drew her attention back to himself.