Читать книгу How To Trap a Parent - Joan Kilby - Страница 7

CHAPTER FOUR

JANE TURNED into Cole’s driveway and motored slowly between rows of vines heavy with clusters of ripening grapes. Finally the house appeared; single-story cream-colored brick with a wraparound veranda and pale green roof.

She parked behind Cole’s car, the older-model convertible Porsche. Interesting, the solid family man had a rakish streak. She grabbed her tote and knocked on the front door. When there was no answer she walked through the carport to the back of the house. A stable stood off to the right and beyond it was a fenced paddock. In the other corner of the yard was a concrete shed shaded by a gum tree. The door to the shed stood open.

“Hello?” Jane called, shielding her eyes from the slanting afternoon sun. “Anyone home?”

Cole appeared in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the space. He’d changed out of his suit into casual pants and a forest-green polo shirt that brought out the color of his eyes and showed a vee of tanned skin. “I see you found the place.”

Jane walked across the short dry grass. “Where’s Mary Kate? Is she ready to go?”

“They’re back from their ride. But I don’t know if she’s ready to leave.” He glanced over to the stable just as the door opened and a pair of giggling girls tumbled out. “They’re getting along like a house on fire.”

Mary Kate saw Jane and bounded over, beaming from ear to ear. “Mom, I had the best time. Riding is, like, brilliant! This is Stephanie.”

“Hi, Stephanie. We’ve met but it was a long time ago.”

Despite her misgivings Jane had to smile at Mary Kate’s enthusiasm. With her tangled hair and grubby jeans, she looked less like a would-be Paris Hilton and more like a happy, healthy young girl. Which was wonderful, as long as she didn’t get too attached to Red Hill.

“We’re going to listen to music on Mary Kate’s MP3 player,” Stephanie said. Before either Jane or Cole could object, the girls ran toward the house.

Jane turned to Cole, one eyebrow raised. “Brilliant? What have you, like, done to my daughter?”

“Hey, don’t blame me. I just live here.” He motioned inside the shed. “I was about to open a bottle of wine. Would you care to join me for a drink?”

“I just came to pick up Mary Kate but okay, thanks,” Jane said. “We do need to talk about the farm.”

“Among other things.” Cole led the way into the shed.

Once she was out of the sun, the temperature dropped about ten degrees. The pleasantly cool air was filled with the sweet musky scent of fermenting grapes. Shelves stacked with bottles of wine on their sides lined the back wall. A covered stainless-steel vat stood waist-high off to one side, and near it, an oval oak barrel rested on blocks. A heavy wood table held wine-making paraphernalia—beakers and thermometers and other items she didn’t know the names of. Another barrel, on which two wineglasses sat upside down on a tray, provided a makeshift tasting counter.

“This is quite the hobby you have here.”

“I like to experiment.” He turned over the glasses and went to the fridge for a bottle of white wine. “I’ve got a hectare of Chardonnay and Shiraz grapes. Two years ago I put in Pinot Grigio.”

There was a wistful note in his voice and he ran his hand lovingly over a row of wine-making books.

“You planned to study viticulture and own a commercial vineyard. What happened?”

Cole unscrewed the Stelvin closure and poured the wine. “I counted on taking over the farm someday. But then Dad had the car accident and died, leaving a lot of debts. My mother had no training and Joey was only a kid. When Dad’s partner offered me a job at the real estate agency, I considered myself lucky.”

“It’s too bad. If anyone should have gotten out of Red Hill and made something out of himself, it was you,” she said. “You had talent and ambition.”

“What makes you think I don’t still?” He handed Jane a glass. “What shall we drink to?”

“World peace?” she suggested.

He met her gaze with a wry smile. “I’d settle for détente in Red Hill.”

Jane touched glasses, her glance shifting. His eyes, his smile, still had the power to make her stomach take a tumble. She held her wine up to the light coming through the doorway. It was a clear straw-yellow.

“The color will deepen to gold with age.” Cole swirled the wine, put his nose inside the glass and breathed deeply.

Jane took a sip and rolled the perfumed liquid around on her tongue. “I love that buttery nutty flavor.”

“That’s the malolactic fermentation,” Cole said. “It’s out of fashion these days but I like it.”

“There’s fashion in wine?” Jane took another sip. “I don’t know much about it but this is seriously good.”

Cole tasted the wine, rolling it around in his mouth. “It’s getting there.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Jane picked up the wine bottle and studied the plain white sticker on which the year, the variety of grape and a catalog number was handwritten. “You could flog this at the Red Hill market. Day-tripping Melbournites would buy it by the caseload.”

“Who has time for that?” he asked, leaning against the table. “Real estate agents are on the job 24-7.”

“Maybe you’re in the wrong job.” Her cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” she said, unclipping it from the side pocket of her purse. “Jane Linden speaking. Rafe, hello! Thanks for returning my call.” She smiled with pleasure at hearing the gravelly two-packs-a-day voice of her old friend. “The movie premiere is in a few weeks,” she told him. “Red-carpet walk at the theater. After party at the Botanical Restaurant. You put in an appearance for a couple of hours and then you can disappear. Mia will be there. Oh, don’t be like that. In public you have to at least pretend to like her. Thank you, darling. Ciao!”

Jane folded her cell phone and tucked it into her bag. “It wouldn’t do to have our male lead not show up at the Australian premiere.”

“Rafe Baldwyn? Was that who you were talking to?” Cole said. “He’s one of the hottest actors in Australia. I just read somewhere that he’s going to be the next big thing in Hollywood.”

“He already is,” Jane said. “Swept Away was a smash hit in the U.S.”

“Is that what your job entails, chatting with the stars?”

“Mostly I deal with the media, putting out press releases. When I arrange interviews or appearances I usually speak with agents or personal assistants. But I met Rafe years ago when he was an acting student in Sydney. We’ve been friends ever since.”

Cole’s eyebrows rose at that. “Just friends?”

“Just friends,” Jane confirmed. “I was five months pregnant, for God’s sake. We met at an improv theater in Sydney. Esther’s friend, the woman I was staying with, knew him, and he and I hit it off. Later, when he headed to Hollywood, I tagged along to try my luck.”

“A couple of Aussies, far from home,” Cole commented sardonically.

“That’s right,” Jane said, refusing to rise to his jibe. “Rafe’s risen steadily from small parts to the top of the A-list.”

“Whatever happened to your acting career?” Cole demanded. “You wanted to be a star, as I recall.”

Jane twirled her glass by the stem, avoiding his gaze. “I got a couple of decent roles but in the end, nothing came of it.”

“I don’t understand,” Cole persisted. “You were very talented. The hit of the high school play.”

“I was a big fish in a small pond.”

“But you wanted it so badly.”

“What do you care? It’s ancient history.” Changing the subject, she asked, “Have you had a chance to put a value on the farm?”

“That depends.” Cole sipped his wine. “If you’re willing to hold out for what the land is worth, you could probably get a million for it. But if you’re after a quick sale I’d suggest asking eight hundred, maybe eight hundred and fifty thousand. If you fix the plumbing and wiring it might sell faster.”

“Fixing things takes time,” Jane objected. “I don’t want to wait for major repairs. List the property as is for one million.”

“Okay. You can always come down if it’s not selling.” Cole swirled the last of his wine and drained it. Then he set his glass on the barrel and straightened as if getting down to the real business at hand. “Now, about Mary Kate.”

Jane stiffened, her fingers curling tightly around the stem. “What about her?”

“I want a definite arrangement between us, something binding, about when I can see her.”

Jane felt herself go cold all over. “Are you talking about a legal arrangement?”

“Yes. Joint custody. How do I know you won’t up and disappear across the Pacific again?”

“I didn’t return to Australia because Esther died,” Jane said. “I was planning on coming home anyway. Mary Kate’s at a transitional age and I think Melbourne is a saner and safer environment than where we lived in L.A.”

Red Hill was even better in that respect than Melbourne, but she’d be crazy to put herself through the anguish of seeing Cole on a regular basis. Not that she cared, but he was a constant reminder of the unhappiness he’d caused her in the past. And though she hated to admit it, he still had something that attracted her.

“It’s going to be difficult—” Jane began.

“Even so, I want something binding,” Cole said, cutting her off. “The girls are fast friends already. If you discourage Mary Kate from seeing Stephanie it could set off consequences you may not like.”

“Consequences?” she repeated, alarm bells ringing. “Is that a threat?”

“Just a suggestion to consider everyone’s feelings,” he said with a grim smile. “I got the feeling you expected to blow into town and out again without causing a ripple in any of our lives.”

That was exactly what she’d hoped to do. Clearly it wasn’t going to work. Stalling, she said, “Why don’t we ad-lib while I’m in Red Hill? When I move back to the city we can hammer out something more concrete.”

“As long as you understand I’m not going away. I’ve had a chat with my lawyer about my custody rights.”

The phrase pushed Jane close to panic. She wasn’t a clinging mother, but Mary Kate was all she had. Already her daughter was growing up, growing away from her. Add a father, a new sister, horses—and a lawyer—how could she compete? “I suppose she could come out occasionally on weekends,” Jane said reluctantly. “But I’m not sure she would like being away from me.”

“I’ve got room here for guests,” Cole replied.

The thought of staying overnight in his house brought heat surging to her cheeks. “Oh, sure, like that would work,” she scoffed. “You and I under one roof?”

“I’m willing to do anything for my daughter.”

Was he suggesting she wouldn’t? “While I appreciate the offer, no thank you.” She set her empty glass on the wine barrel and started toward the door. “It’s getting close to dinnertime and I don’t want to hold you up. Mary Kate and I need to get going.”

Cole stopped her with a hand on her forearm. “You told your friend Rafe he had to pretend to like Mia. We need to at least pretend to like each other. For our daughter’s sake.”

Though his hand burned her skin, his words were like a wash of cold water. The old days truly were gone. She was nothing more to him than an annoying impediment to his relationship with his daughter.

“We have a daughter together,” Cole said, his voice softening fractionally. “I don’t want us to be enemies.”

How could they be friends when he was trying to take her baby away from her? “I’m sure we can work things out,” she said stiffly, adding, “Our relationship has to be strictly business.”

“Fine,” he said, his voice tight. “Business, it is.”

Even though she was pushing him away as hard as she could, deep inside, a tiny piece of Jane’s heart chipped. Funny, she hadn’t thought there was anything left to break. “Excellent. I’m glad we understand each other.”

SHOWING PROSPECTIVE customers around Cockatoo Ridge filled Cole with a peculiar mixture of pride, longing and bitterness. He knew exactly where the daffodils his grandmother had planted around the grassy lawn would peek through in early spring. He knew where the veranda deck had been repaired after he’d backed the utility truck into it while learning to drive. If he was very quiet he could almost hear the lambs bleating. Except that they’d been gone for fifteen years now.

The farm was in his bones and in his blood. As a ten-year-old he’d imagined he would always live here. Now, as a thirty-one-year-old, it was still where he wanted to put down roots. Gazing out over the valley he could picture grapevines growing in long neat rows, down to the creek, then up the other side of the hill. But he would plant around the massive old gum tree where the sulfur crested cockatoos that gave the farm its name nested in the hollow trunk.

“Cole, dear?” Audrey O’Keefe appeared at his elbow, resplendent in a fuchsia blouse worn over emerald pants. She and her husband, Bert, had followed him from the office in their car. “How many acres did you say were here?”

Cole emerged from his reverie to focus on the woman who captained his mother’s lawn-bowling team. Audrey wore chunky rings on every finger, and a pair of oversize sunglasses perched in a nest of bright orange hair. As if to compensate for her gaudiness, her husband, Bert, wore plain brown shorts and a beige shirt. His thinning hair was a nondescript shade somewhere between pale blond and gray.

“Five hectares or about ten acres in the old measure,” Cole said as he led the couple to the house. “The house was built by my grandfather in the 1800s. But you know that.”

The O’Keefes were the fifth couple he’d shown the house to that week. So far he hadn’t gotten even a nibble and he wasn’t expecting one today. Audrey and Bert were so different it was hard to please both.

“It’s gorgeous,” Audrey said as Cole rang the doorbell. “I’ve always loved the Victorian trim on the veranda.”

“Are the plumbing and wiring up to code?” Bert asked.

Jane opened the door. In a pale pink top over a white denim skirt she looked as cool and sweet as peppermint ice cream. His impulse as a man was to try to charm her. But that was not on. If she wanted a business relationship, that’s exactly what she was going to get.

He nodded to her formally then answered Bert’s question. “There was no code when this place was built, and the plumbing and wiring are original. They’ll need complete redoing before the place is livable.”