Page 78 of Somewhere Only We Know

I’d been here nearly a week and had slipped into an easy morning routine. I’d get the breakfast and then enjoy a cup of coffee under the shade of the porch. This morning Jono had joined me and was endeavouring to revive a weary bumble bee with a teaspoon of sugar water.

For a large man, he was surprisingly gentle. I’d been instantly attracted to him that first day, and getting to know him had only strengthened my feelings towards him. I hadn’t met Pierre, but I was instinctively on Jono’s side and wondered what on earth Andrea could have been thinking.

‘Dad!’ Daisy called, holding out his mobile to him. She was in her school uniform ready to leave for the day. ‘Tim McGuinness is on the phone for you.’

‘Thanks, love.’ He kissed her cheek, picked a flower from a bush and tucked it behind her ear before taking the phone from her. ‘Have a good day, gorgeous.’

‘You too,’ she said, and gave me a brief hug on her way towards the gate. ‘Bye.’

A school bus picked her up from the end of the road every morning and dropped her off later. She was inevitably late, and seeing her sprinting to meet it – rucksack bouncing on her back, her hair flying – made me smile every morning.

‘G’day Tim, mate, what can I do for you?’ Jono listened and frowned. ‘You’re kidding? I’m sorry to hear that, buddy.’

Daisy stopped in her tracks and turned back. ‘What’s wrong?’

He covered the microphone with his hand. ‘Sickness bug. The whole team has come down with it.’

She looked at me and we both grimaced.

‘A wine tour?’ Jono continued into his phone. ‘No can do, I’m afraid. Don’t have the manpower, Nora’s away. Sorry about that. No worries, get well soon.’

‘What did he want?’ Daisy wanted to know.

‘He’s got a wine tour booked in for today and he’s going to have to cancel. He wondered whether we could take the booking instead.’ Jono turned to me to explain. ‘McGuinness winery is a couple of miles from here. The guy who runs the tour is a mate and Tim doesn’t want to let him down.’

I’d seen the minibuses full of day-trippers from Sydney on my forays to the nearest supermarket in the neighbouring town of Cessnock. They followed a route around the Hunter, stopping off at several wineries sampling the wines on the way. Jono had told me that they can be big business for the smaller wineries if you made the tasting experience fun.

‘I’ll do it if you pay me.’ Daisy’s eyes lit up with hope.

‘You’ve got school.’ He laughed. ‘And your mother would kill me if I started letting you bunk off to work for me.’

‘Since when did you care what Mum thinks?’ she challenged him, tilting her chin up defiantly.

Jono exhaled. ‘Where you’re concerned, your mum and me will always be on the same side.’

‘Are under-eighteens even allowed to serve wine?’ I pointed out.

‘No, they’re not,’ Jono replied.

‘Maggie!’ Daisy pretended to pout.

‘So, get going then!’ Her dad gestured towards the driveway. ‘Vamos. Scoot.’

‘Ugh, so unfair.’ She rolled her eyes but did as she was told.

I was conscious that the pickers were loitering, ready to start work. There were six of them today: four boys and two girls. The girls were Swedish, attractive and aloof. The boys were younger, full of fun and clearly infatuated with the girls. We needed to round them up and get them out to the Merlot vines, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that wine-tasting tour. I liked a challenge, and it seemed a shame to turn away business.

‘I’ll handle the wine tasting for you, if you like?’ I suggested.

I’d tasted all the wines produced at Ruby Creek. Each evening we’d sit outside with a couple of opened bottles, and Jono would tell me a little bit about the history of the winery and about the wines we were tasting. As darkness fell, we’d listen to the birds tweeting their evening tunes, and watch the bats swooping through the warm night air. I’d fallen under the spell of this place; it was vast and beautiful, and I loved the contrast of the neat vineyards set amidst the wilderness of the bush.

Jono looked sceptical. ‘That’s kind of you, but some of these folks can be real wine snobs. They get a hint that they know more than you about wine and they can be patronising suckers.’

‘I’m a professional sales executive,’ I told him with a glint in my eye. ‘Awkward customers are my favourite.’

‘You’re a better man than me.’ He gave me a lazy smile. ‘Thanks for the offer, but I’ve already turned him down.’

‘Call your friend back!’ I nodded to his phone. ‘Come on. How long will it take, an hour? I’ll set up, you can waft in, talk about the wines and go back to the vines, and I’ll work my charm on the punters, and everyone leaves a happy bunny.’