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“It’s like ten hours a month or fortnight.”
“It is betrayal!” Angelo threw his hands up and let them fall.
I sucked on my lips and then shook my head. “No, it’s not.”
Angelo scowled and I continued. “Rosie has always loved wombats ever since she was a kid. You’re acting like you never noticed until now. And she graduated with a viticulture degree. Rosie’s as committed to the family business as always, if not more. She’s always wanted to bring together her love of environmental science, especially wombats, with the running of the vineyard.”
Mama Z’s face softened but Angelo was unmoved. “She’s distracted. This business with Richard.”
I looked away. I’d distracted her enough the past twenty-four hours.
“I have no doubt she’s got the winery under control and the opera will go ahead.”
“They made claims about us in the paper.” Angelo huffed, waving to a folded newspaper on his mobile hospital table.
“Read that this morning. Rosie dealt with the journo’s questions really well.”
“She did,” Mama Z agreed.
Angelo nodded once, but said nothing.
Rosie walked into the ward and baulked upon seeing me.
“Rosalba, who is at the winery?” Mama Z asked, rising.
“Maria and Anthea have got it covered. They will visit dad this afternoon and I’ll take over. And we have two casual cellar door staff to cope with numbers.”
Rosie eyed me warily, but I smiled. “Told you Rosie has it all covered.”
She placed a shopping bag on the end of her dad’s bed. “Here are your toiletries, and spare clothes.”
“Can we talk?” I asked, and all the Zanettis had eyes on me. I cleared my throat. “Outside, quickly.”
“You go. I shower now.” Angelo waved us off and Mama Z used the remote control to elevate his bed.
I led the way out to the corridor and sat in one of the hard plastic visitor’s chairs placed there. Rosie took a seat beside me.
My knee bounced, suddenly nervous.
“This summer, the grapes are yours for your vintage.”
Rosie gasped in surprise.
“We’ll pay for the tonnage—”
“No. Don’t. They’re yours. I don’t expect any money.”
Rosie huffed, a mannerism just like her father’s. Her mouth fell open. “Why? The money could help with paying the bank.”
“While I work on my vines, your father likes to sit in the shade and tell stories from his childhood and the time before he met your mother. I enjoy his stories. The grapes were never some sort of game or to compete with you. It just evolved with your dad. You have my word that the harvest is yours and no payment is expected.”
“Why are you being nice to me?” she snapped and then blinked. “I’ve been … erratic. Awful. You owe me nothing.”
I paused. “It’s a gift. It’s what neighbours do.”
“I’m sorry, so sorry. I’m too proud and I couldn’t even bring myself to say it when I saw your grapes.”
“Tell you what, I’ll keep your pruning shears as payment.”
