Vine by Fearne Hill

Author:Fearne Hill [Hill, Fearne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-10-10T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

CASPIAN

Flinging the last vestiges of winter aside, our vines came alive. The fertile soil warmed; nutritious sap scaled the twisted roots. Buds burst open as more leaves unfurled. I caught a snatch of a light delicate fragrance wafting on the wind. Emma said this was a critical stage in the wine-making calendar, and I nodded like I cared. She had come alive too, returned from her weekend in Amsterdam with a spring in her step and a list of Australian wineries advertising viticulture jobs.

Selfishly, I hoped she wasn’t too successful too soon.

I shouldn’t have embroiled Max in the farce I called living, but somewhere along the line, I’d accidentally pressed the like button. As I swayed in his arms with my head against his chest, during one of our quiet evenings together, breathing him in, I nearly spilled everything about Leigh and Jonas.

Soon, I would, but at that moment, I didn’t want them spoiling the safe little haven of Max’s gatehouse. Like hugging a tree or a welcome lighthouse in a storm, he soothed me. He even stopped me cutting—once, before a hellish meeting, his cute, abrupt texts had me giggling long enough for the addictive urge to pass. Jonas and Leigh seemed lesser foes after his hugs and kisses. Shadows seemed smaller, tomorrow seemed lesser, my future brighter. My heart stopped racing. He performed a minor miracle on my libido.

Then, like front-line soldiers issued rare weekend passes, Leigh and I flew back to the UK.

Miraculously, Jonas stayed behind. With the advent of bluer skies, he wanted to capture some backdrop pics of the island. Also, abreast of the rumours Emma might not stay the course, he wanted to persuade her to compare and contrast French versus New World vines.

Leigh and I didn’t add much to that, so we travelled alone. Leigh’s thick leg touching mine through denim on the narrow seats of the small plane felt like the flesh of a stranger, and I tried to occupy my mind by imagining it belonged to Max instead.

“That Emma’s a nice girl,” he commented as the plane taxied on the runway. The early morning flight was half empty. A nervous flier (naturally), I used to grasp his hand for take-off and landing.

Now I just gritted my teeth and hoped no one spotted the dark circles of sweat forming under my armpits. “Woman.”

“What?”

“Woman,” I repeated irritably. Flying never improved my mood. “She’s in her late twenties.”

As the flimsy aircraft gathered energy and courage to take off, I pictured Max in his blue jeans pottering about his tiny blue kitchen. Fuck knows what he saw in me. Another pet, perhaps, like his dog or his, oh fuck, his snake. No matter how comfortable I became in his home, no way would I ever be opening any of the lower kitchen cupboards.

“We’re meeting Libby at two.” Leigh’s strident tones cut through that weird grinding noise small aircraft made when the wheels retracted, as if an important rivet was working loose and the whole thing was seconds from falling apart.

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