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And she could see he was laughing because his grey eyes were creased at the corners and his lips were twitching, but before she could tell him she didn’t think it was very funny—and how could she? She was still stinging from discovering her student was truly a gun pruner—her mobile buzzed in her pocket. ‘Pop,’ she said turning away, ‘I was just about to head back—
‘You’re kidding,’ she said a moment later, glancing again quickly at her watch. ‘Okay, let them know I’ll be there in an hour.’
‘That’s it for the day,’ she said as she swung around, gathering up snips and gloves in a bucket.
‘Already? It’s still early.’
‘I’ve got an appointment down at Port MacDonnell. A wine order to finesse for a wedding happening next weekend. Only they’ve brought it forward to lunchtime so both bride and groom can be there.’
‘They couldn’t just phone an order in?’
‘They want at least ten dozen of our best sparkling, recently disgorged, and that’s just for the toasts. No, Franco, they could not just call it in. That’s not the way we operate.’
‘Fine. You go then. But I can’t see any need for me to stop.’
Did he really think she was going to let him loose on her vines without her being around? Besides, what was wrong with him? The man had arrived after twenty-four-plus hours in the air and been thrown the very next day into laborious physical work. What was he trying to prove?
Rhetorical question. She knew exactly what he was trying to prove.
‘You really don’t have to try to prove that you’re better than your average Chatsfield, you know. You’re not going to impress anybody with those tactics, least of all me, so there’s no point. And anyway, you’ve got the deal you wanted, so why not just take the afternoon off and celebrate?’
His eyes narrowed and she wondered what nerve she’d hit. Then again, with a family like his, he’d probably have a few raw ends rattling around. She was bound to hit one sooner or later.
‘The deal was six weeks’ work. I’m here to work.’
‘So go help Josh in the cellar door if you like. Friday afternoons can be busy with early weekend traffic. But maybe Gus has a better idea.’
Gus didn’t. His idea was much, much worse. ‘Why not take Franco with you to the Port?’ he said. ‘You can show him Mount Gambier’s Blue Lake on the way.’
‘We won’t have time on the way.’
‘So show him on the way back.’
‘I thought Franco could help Josh in the cellar door.’
‘Josh’ll be just fine.’
‘But Franco could learn the ropes. He is here to work. No passengers, remember?’
Gus raised his hands in the air in question. ‘Since when has visiting clients not been work?’
And it would have been churlish for Holly to keep arguing even if she could think of another argument, but suddenly she could see her Franco-free afternoon evaporating as completely as the morning mist hanging between the trees had done.
‘Fine,’ she huffed as she headed for her bedroom for a quick freshen up. ‘He can come.’
‘I’ll drive,’ Franco offered.
She regarded him suspiciously, remembering the last time she’d driven him. ‘I don’t always kangaroo hop at the start, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
He smiled and she found herself wishing he wouldn’t do that. It was much easier to remember not to like him when he didn’t smile. It was much easier to be at war when there could be no peace. ‘I like driving. It’ll be a change to drive on the right side of the road.’
‘We drive on the left side here,’ she warned before she let go of the keys into his hand, wondering afresh if she was doing the right thing.
His smile widened. ‘Like I said, the right side.’
And too late she realised what he’d meant all along and what she should have clicked to straightaway except that it was him and that he tied her so far up in knots that she couldn’t think straight. She clambered up into the high passenger seat feeling a beat behind, and not just because he’d been burning up the rows faster than she had.
The highway to Penola was long and straight and lined either side with vines and she’d seen it all before many times anyway. So was it any wonder that her eyes were drawn to the way his hands worked the steering wheel and gearstick instead?
Good hands, she decided, long-fingered hands that could wield a mean pair of snips one minute and caress a cranky old four-wheel drive into submission the next.
She looked out of her window as they passed block after block of vines and sighed and wished those hands belonged to somebody else.
