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Maria rolled her eyes and threw her arm around Anthea. “You’re not the boss of me, big sis. Let us help more. Give us stuff to do.”
I sniffed. “Fine, I’ll give you work to do.”
We all chuckled.
Anthea took a plastic tray of invoices to sort in between cellar door guests and Maria volunteered to take care of the mowing before the marquee arrived for set up for our opera event.
I hunkered down to check ticket sales, make social media graphics to promote Opera in the Vines and email a media release to the Stanmore Star. The last thing we needed was for ticket sales to plummet after word got around about the fire.
Hours later as I processed wine order, Maria came back to the office to retrieve a warranty booklet and a purchase invoice for the slasher from our ancient filing cabinet.
“Slasher’s on the blink, and, as I thought, it’s out of warranty. Was going to give Ryan a call and see if he can rig something up with it. But to be honest, I think it’s beyond repair and we need a new one. We should’ve got a new one years ago.”
“Shit. Where’s Dad? Does he know?”
“Waist-deep in the slasher trying to pull it apart again.” Maria threw her hands up with a sigh. “Can I be honest, sis?”
My sister looked worried. “Absolutely. Give it to me straight.”
Maria looked down at the paperwork in her hand and back at me. “This is the tip of the iceberg. Dad won’t listen to me because ‘I’m just his FIFO daughter who left him for the mines’. Seriously, he said after he banged his thumb with the wrench just now. His FIFO daughter knows heaps about plant and machinery. Well, mining plant anyway.”
She cleared her throat and waved the paperwork. “Most of our equipment is out of date. It keeps failing. Spare parts can’t keep our slashers and mowers moving. I suspect Ryan doesn’t charge us full price for the servicing either. Actually, there’s no way he is based on these invoices from Turners Mechanical with the warranty. And, I’ll add, Dad’s filing system is a mystery wrapped in an enigma.”
Maria paused to scan the warranty. “As I suspected, the slasher is out of warranty by seven years, and I’m pretty sure it’s completely stuffed. The small amount of rain recently has been enough for the grass to grow tall. I don’t know how we’re going to get the grass down in the vineyard before the opera in two weeks other than beg, borrow or steal. But everyone is also using theirs out in the field, so stealing is really our only option.”
I sat back in the office chair and stared at the corkboard at a poster for our annual Opera in the Vines.
“Things aren’t great.” I stated the obvious. “I’ve been looking over the financials, and it’s a mess. I can’t find half of the receipts Dad thinks we have. I’ve been advocating that we need to overhaul everything.”
Maria sighed. “I gotta get Dad out of the slasher before he stuffs himself or it, most likely both.”
I stared at the door for a long while after my sister had left the office, giving in to the thoughts of ageing equipment, loss of orders, problems in the field and the future of the business, and thoughts of Tom.
I’d always talked to Tom. Confided in him about how things really were under the surface of their smart labels and social media campaigns and local paper write-ups. Maria had figured it out after three days of being home—things were on the brink with machinery and plant failing. And Mum and Dad were getting older.
My chest tightened, and I scrubbed my face.
More than ever, I wanted to be able to talk to Tom. Talk to someone who really listened and saw things from a fresh perspective. Richard hadn’t cared about the business side of running a vineyard. Filing systems and warranties were subjects for admin people or hired help.
No matter how hot our kiss had been at the shearers’ quarters and how hot it had been between us so briefly in the past, what I missed the most was Tom as a friend.
I didn’t even have the guts to apologise properly to him at his vines.
How could I even ask him to sell us his grapes come summer after my behaviour?
My phone pinged, breaking me out of my maudlin thoughts.
Amanda: Mum said you have your boudoir shoot photo book. Want to have some wine tonight and look at our sexy selves??
Me: I do?
Amanda: Mum said Tom dropped it off with some of your clothes?
My eyes landed on the shopping bag at the end of my desk.That had not been there earlier.I peeked inside. My boudoir photo book was indeed in there, along with a pair of work pants and a tee shirt of mine.
My thumb hovered over the screen. Drinking wine and looking at near-naked photos were low on my priority list of things to do.
Me: Stuart not around? Sure you don’t want to have a private viewing with him?
