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Gianni nodded. “I’ve told my uncle so many times, as well as my parents, that I can’t ever see myself tied to the land like this. I’m just not a farming type, despite growing up surrounded by rows of tomatoes. Can’t convince my mother that.” He laughed, but there was a look of terror in his eye.
We stared out over the vines in silence for a long moment.
“He listens to you, you know?”
“Who? Angelo?”
Gianni nodded. “Talks a lot about you. With pride.”
“He was a great help after my dad died—”
“It’s cool, mate. Don’t feel guilty or anything. I think it’s great you have a bond.”
“But he should see that Rosie is perfectly capable and outstanding in what she does to run the business as well as her studies in wildlife management.”
Gianni considered me for a long moment. “Yeah, she is.”
“She has innovative methods for the vineyard to make it viable in the future for her family. And has great ideas for expanding the winery into events and ecotourism. And her ideas on sustainable agriculture are great. Surely he can see that?”
A slow smile spread across Gianni’s face.
“What?”
“It’s just—nothing.” Gianni frowned for a second and then added, “He’ll listen to you if you talk to him.”
It was my turn to frown. “About what?”
“Rosie needs someone in her corner. I am, don’t get me wrong. One hundred and fifty percent in her corner. But everyone thinks I’m the heir apparent and they’re not listening. But Angelo will listen to you.”
Gianni stood and I followed, still confused. “Why would he listen to a twenty-two-year-old who hasn’t even finished his degree?”
“Trust me, he will. And Mama Z.” Gianni clapped me on the back. “Good luck.”
9
ROSIE
Ballydoon Community Group:
Hayley posted 10.01 a.m.:
Hi, it’s Hayley from the Stanmore Star. We are running a snow memories double page spread in the page next week and would love to see your photos from the past snow events around Stanmore. Weather bureau is predicting snow to 600 metres, especially around the national park and Ballydoon.
“He was such a lovely man, Rosie. Charming and smart,” my mother wailed, flopping onto the lounge in our winery office. “I cannot believe that Richard would do this cheating.”
Anthea rolled her eyes from the doorway, keeping an eye on the cellar door for any midweek tourists wanting a tasting. Dad sat on another office chair, impassive.
“He did, Mum. You saw the evidence at the awards night. He’s been sending text messages and emails seducing other students and staff, and he’s been getting away with it.”
Mum wrung her hands and hung her head. Dad scoffed.
“I know what you’re both thinking and feeling right now. You’re doubting what you know. You’re convinced your daughter would lie about her role in that awards night scandal. I did nothing. He conned you, and he conned your daughter as well. Richard did a great job covering his tracks and finally slipped up.”
“So, if I believe you”—Dad’s hands gripped the desk—“you’re saying you’re easily conned?”
“What?”
“How can I trust you with the business when this happened?”
