Blackpeak Station (8 page)

The prospect ahead of the ute was less welcome. Zoe was coming for dinner tonight. Charlotte had invited her herself. A thank you for helping Kath cook for the shearers — help for which, it had occurred to Charlotte too late, Zoe might well expect to be paid. She was hoping to fob her off with a celebration roast and a bottle of Andrea’s best chardonnay.

To her surprise, the evening went well. Everyone was
relaxed. After two weeks of non-stop slog, they had the day off tomorrow. Asked to make things special, Kath had dusted off the formal dining room, got the silver out and put on some music instead of the news. The fireplace crackled, and the wine and stories flowed. When the plates were cleared, Charlotte even managed a little team-building speech before she presented Zoe with her bottle.

‘Oh, how lovely,’ Zoe said, seeming genuinely touched. She eyed the cluster of emptying bottles on the table. ‘I’ll put it in the car right now so I don’t forget it.’

Charlotte refilled Rex’s glass. ‘Here’s to a great year ahead.’

They’d barely finished clinking glasses when Zoe, still clutching her wine, stuck her head back round the dining room door. Her eyes were shining. ‘Come and look, everyone!’ she breathed rapturously. ‘Everything’s white — it’s snowing!’

They scrambled to the trucks through snow already
calf-deep
, fat flakes of it whirling from the sky to settle on their shoulders. Even as they went, it began to fall faster, sweeping horizontally now, carried on the rising wind.

‘Come on, come on!’ Charlotte banged the steering wheel as the Hilux refused to start.

Even the dogs were slow to move, lying huddled in their kennels, looking out as surprised as anyone at the growing blizzard outside. In the bay shed behind, Charlotte could hear Rex trying to coax the ancient bulldozer into life, the starter motor whirring again and again before, at last, the engine turned.

Rex headed out, blade down. Charlotte and Jen followed in his cleared track, snow swarming in their headlights. Charlotte could barely make out the silhouette of Matt
standing on the back of the dozer up ahead, spotlighting the way.

The wind was driving straight at them, and they had to stop and dig out the first gate. Not far past it, the bulldozer swerved and lurched to a halt again, and Charlotte, forced to brake, swore as the Hilux skidded. Rex and Matt leapt off, grabbing for their shovels. Charlotte and Jen followed. There were sheep lying on the track ahead, snow piled over their heads and backs, their eyes glowing in the spotlight. Quickly, they worked to dig the mob out, setting the groggy hoggets back on their feet on the packed snow behind the truck. They were doing the sheep no favour — the deep snow was an insulator — but they needed to clear the track down to the breeding ewes, and it was that or run them over.

It took them a desperately slow and miserable hour to get as far as the next gate. Beyond it, the track dropped steeply off the terrace to the irrigated river flats, fording the river before reaching the gentle, north-facing slopes where the most valuable stock — the stud ewes and those carrying twins — were set on the last of the winter feed.

‘We’re at the top,’ Matt trudged back to yell through the window. In these near white-out conditions, it was hard to tell. The freezing wind blasted into Charlotte’s face, and she wondered grimly how far below zero it was — ten degrees now? Fifteen? Below his hood and beanie, Matt’s eyebrows were covered in ice, and his skin was blue. Even in all their best winter gear, there was only so long they could keep working out here.

‘You want to head down?’ Matt was saying.

Charlotte hesitated. Even if Rex could find the track down — a big if — they could lose more stock than they saved trying to bring the ewes back across the river in this. While behind them, for the moment, they had a paddock
full of hoggets and a clear track back to the covered yards — but it was filling in fast. She had to make a call.

Her brain was foggy with exhaustion and cold. She tried to think quickly. The breeding ewes had been on the best feed the station could offer for five days now. Their
north-facing
block was in the lee of the storm. They had the thick belt of willow along the river to shelter in. The hoggets behind her had nothing — and it was only a day since they’d been shorn.

‘Get in,’ she yelled at Matt, sliding over, as a wave of hail slammed into the cab. ‘You and Rex take the truck — Jen and I’ll take the dozer back. Let’s get these hoggets into the yards.’

It was three in the morning before they got back to the homestead — they’d been working for almost six hours. Torches and candles blazed in the kitchen. ‘Power’s out,’ said Kath cheerfully, ladling out soup from a monstrous pot on the wood stove.

As Charlotte crawled into her cold bed, a deafening rattle of hail hit the front of the house. The wind had shifted to the north. Oh Christ. Surely it was just a rogue gust? If it held, the breeding ewes would be fully exposed to the teeth of the storm. But even as she tried to think what to do, her exhausted body called time, and Charlotte drifted under.

The storm raged for three days. When it was over, Blackpeak had lost nearly half of its breeding ewes — to the cold and to the old river willows that had toppled under the weight of the snow. The stud was all but wiped out — John Black’s vision for Blackpeak’s future, over seven years’ work, now rotting in the mud.

Blackpeak’s future? Charlotte, taking stock of the damage,
found it difficult to see one. They hadn’t been able to reach the wethers — their walking cash crop — on the higher block, but losses there had to be heavy. As for the remaining ewes, if they managed to lamb at all, birth weights would be down, and the stress of the cold and lack of feed would ruin next season’s wool.

The day the power came back on, Charlotte got in from burying sheep to find seventeen messages blinking at her on the answer-machine. Rob, Nick, Andrea, Carr Fergusson, someone from
Morning Report
… Nick, Andrea, Rob … The phone started ringing. With a sigh, she picked up.

‘Thank God,’ came Rob’s voice. ‘I’ve been trying to call.’

‘Yeah — nobody’s been home much.’ For the last
seventy-two
hours, it had been all hands on deck, and they didn’t waste generator power on the digital phone.

‘You okay? How bad is it? Do you want me to come down?’

She thought about it. ‘Actually, yes. I could do with a shoulder to cry on.’

The next call was Nick. Charlotte gave him the figures, tired of repeating them already. For once, her brother was speechless.

‘Nearly half?’ came Nick’s voice at last. ‘Jesus Christ.’

To her horror, Charlotte felt tears beginning to rise. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.’

‘Hey, don’t be stupid. It’s not your fault. Come on, Charles, don’t cry … we’ll work something out, I promise.’

That just leaves Mum, she thought, after Nick had hung up. The phone rang again. Charlotte let it. She didn’t think she could make it through another call.

Rob arrived after dinner, looking worried and exhausted. ‘Half the firm’s clients could go under on the back of this storm,’ he told them grimly.

‘Have you eaten?’ Kath asked him. He shook his head. ‘I’ll get you a plate.’

‘You should go outside,’ said Jen, who’d popped in for a word. ‘There’s plenty of mutton going spare.’

‘You know,’ he said to Charlotte later that night, as they lay curled up in bed, ‘if you do have to … if the worst comes to the worst …’ He stopped, and kissed the top of her head. ‘I’m here for you, that’s what I’m trying to say. Always. In whatever way you want.’

What’s he offering me? Charlotte wondered — but she was already half asleep, drifting against Rob’s broad, warm chest. For the first time in too many days she felt safe and relaxed, and she could almost believe that Nick might be right and things really would be okay. There’d been Blacks on this land for a hundred and fifty years. They’d work something out. Somehow, some way.

Chapter
EIGHT

‘Something’, the subject line of Nick’s email read. Charlotte opened it.

Charlotte shook her head. She tried not to feel too angry — Nick was the boss, after all. But a helicopter? Who was going to pay for that? She couldn’t help feeling that despite being in the final year of an agricommerce degree, her brother had very little grasp of the maths of their situation. Rex and Jen were offering to take pay cuts. Did Nick even read the reports she sent him?

She flicked back a terse ‘ok — see you Saturday’, and stomped off to ask Kath to make up the posh guest room and have a rummage through the freezer.

The helicopter touched down briefly just before noon, depositing Nick and his guest on the lawn before
high-tailing
it back to Christchurch. As the air settled, Charlotte got her first good look at the figure following Nick up the slope to the verandah. Wow — if that’s what girls looked like in Palmerston North, no wonder Nick hadn’t come home all year.

Her brother’s ‘someone’ was almost as tall as him, with long glossy black hair and clothes that looked as if they’d come straight out of one of Andrea’s posher magazines. Soft brown suede boots encased the considerable length of her legs to mid-thigh, and over skinny jeans and cream cashmere hung the most beautifully tailored coat that Charlotte had ever seen.

‘This,’ said Nick triumphantly, a hand to the visitor’s back, ‘is Flavia Sammartino.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Charlotte lied. Impressive as Flavia was, this was hardly a time in the station’s history for showing off to trophy girlfriends.

‘
Piacere!
’ Dazzled momentarily by Flavia’s smile, Charlotte found herself kissed on both cheeks. ‘Nick has told me so
much about you.’ An elegant arm slid through hers as Nick ushered them into the house. ‘He didn’t tell me you were so beautiful, though. And this place!’ There was a flash of gold as Flavia waved her other hand. ‘
Bellissima!
I don’t know how your brother can bear to leave it.’

In the kitchen, Kath received much the same treatment. Charlotte, watching her reaction, wondered if her own jaw had dropped as much. Rex, when it was his turn, actually blushed. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to ask Rob to come for dinner.

‘So, er, how did you two meet?’ Kath asked.

‘At uni,’ said Nick. ‘Flavia’s over here doing her masters in textile science.’

‘I am so interested in your sheep,’ added Flavia, by way of explanation.

Across the table, Charlotte caught Rex’s eye. ‘That’s nice, dear,’ said Kath.

After lunch — a creditably tender roast beef — Nick announced he was taking Flavia on a quad bike tour.

‘We’d better find you some gumboots,’ Charlotte said, with a dubious look at Flavia’s clothes.

‘
Grazie, cara
,’ Flavia patted her hand. ‘But I come prepared.’

She re-emerged from her room a few minutes later, looking only slightly less glamorous in a glossy pair of Hunter boots and a Barbour.

‘Interested in sheep?’ said Rex wonderingly, as they watched Nick and Flavia head out to the bay shed. ‘Girls like that weren’t interested in sheep in my day.’

‘Don’t be silly, dear,’ said Kath. ‘When did you ever meet a girl like that?’

He shook his head. ‘My dad always said I should have gone to agricultural college.’

When Charlotte got in at dusk from shifting sheep, there were voices coming from the formal sitting room — a room so seldom used she’d almost forgotten what it looked like. She stuck her head round the door. Nick had the fire blazing, and an empty bottle of Andrea’s touch-it-and-die pinot noir stood next to their great-grandfather’s cut crystal decanter on the sideboard. Flavia, back in her brown suede boots, had her long legs tucked up on the chesterfield.

‘It’s perfect,’ she was saying, her dark eyes flashing in the firelight. ‘My father will love it.’

‘Hi.’

‘Charles!’ Nick turned. ‘Good timing. Come and join us’ — he peered at her as she came into the room — ‘after you’ve washed up.’

‘Thanks.’ Charlotte brushed at her filthy moleskins. ‘Won’t be long.’

She showered as quickly as she could, hoping they’d save her some pinot. Then, remembering Rob was on his way down and Flavia was draped over the couch, she decided she’d better drag out her best jeans and put on some make-up.

‘There you are,’ said Nick, looking her up and down with an approving smile and handing her a glass.

‘
Bella
Carlotta,’ smiled Flavia, spearing an olive — of all things — from a bowl on the coffee table.

‘We want to talk to you about something,’ Nick went on.

God. That sounded serious. Charlotte sat down. ‘Okay.’ She took a mouthful of pinot.

‘My father,’ Flavia said, ‘would like to invest in Blackpeak. At least’ — she waved her olive airily — ‘he does not know this yet, but he will. I am going to tell him.’

Invest? Charlotte shook her head in confusion. What the hell was all this about?

‘Flavia’s father is Massimo Sammartino,’ explained Nick. She stared at him blankly. He sighed. ‘Fratelli Sammartino? The most exclusive suit makers in the world?’

‘One of the most,’ Flavia demurred with a shrug of her cashmere shoulders.

Impressive. But Charlotte was struggling. ‘So … why does he want to invest in a farm?’ Especially, she added to herself, one with no stock and zero chance of a profit in the foreseeable future?

‘My father’ — Flavia raised her eyebrows at Charlotte conspiratorially — ‘likes control. He wants a fabric no other suit maker in the world can have. One made from fibre grown specifically for us, to our exact requirements.’

‘Ultra-fine.’ Nick sounded excited. ‘Twelve microns or less. It’ll make the best cloth money can buy.’

‘But we’re nowhere near that,’ said Charlotte. ‘We don’t even run super-fine.’

‘We don’t run anything much at the moment,’ Nick reminded her.

Flavia sat forward. ‘You have a clean slate,’ she said, looking into Charlotte’s eyes. ‘That’s what makes it so perfect. Other farmers, they do not want to change for us. But here, you are starting again. We will help you buy in the best breeding stock, give you all the tools you need to develop the ideal wool for Fratelli Sammartino. It will be for only our very best suits. The client, when he orders this suit, he knows everything is bespoke — not only the tailoring, but every step of the process, right down to the unique fibre of the Fratelli Sammartino bloodline.’

She paused, took a sip of wine. ‘Of course, we will shoot each season’s collection here at Blackpeak, with your beautiful mountains and your beautiful home. With each suit will come a
certificato di origine,
the story of the year and
the place — its very own pedigree and vintage.’

Charlotte stared at her, entranced.

Flavia shot her another dazzling smile. ‘And you,
cara
, will look
bellissima
in the brochure. What man would not want a suit grown by you?’

‘But,’ Charlotte stammered, pushing that terrifying prospect aside, ‘it would take years to build up a flock like that.’

‘But of course.’ Flavia shrugged again. ‘We Italians are patient people. What is it you English speakers say — Roma was not built in a day?’

‘What do you think, Charles?’ Nick scanned her face anxiously. ‘The deal is, they buy a share in the station—’

Flavia waved her hand. ‘A minority stake, that is all.’

‘—and put up as much development capital as we need. Once the ultra-fine clip starts coming through, they’ll buy the lot on forward contract.’ He smiled. ‘No more wait-
and-see
for what price we can get at auction.’

Wow. Charlotte didn’t know what to think. Selling part of Blackpeak — that wasn’t great. But it was a whole lot better than losing all of it to their creditors. And as for the rest of the deal — a blank cheque to build a new stud? A guaranteed income year-on-year? She’d never dreamed the future could look so good.

‘Carlotta, it is important that I know you’re onboard,’ Flavia was saying, ‘before I go to my father.’

‘It’ll be you who has to see this thing through,’ added Nick.

‘Me?’ Charlotte frowned, even more confused. ‘But you’re the one about to get a degree in this stuff.’

‘Yeah.’ Nick sat down beside Flavia. ‘About that.’ He took a long drink of wine. ‘The thing is …’

‘Tell her,
caro
,’ ordered Flavia.

‘My degree isn’t
exactly
in agricommerce.’

Charlotte stared at her brother. ‘So what is it in?’

He flashed her a guilty grin. ‘Fashion and business.’

She blinked. ‘At Massey?’

‘The Wellington campus, actually — yeah.’

Double wow. Charlotte pressed her hand to her mouth. Their father must be revolving in his grave so fast he could power the Mackenzie Basin.

‘You see’ — Nick put his hand on Flavia’s thigh — ‘unlike Flavia, I’m not so interested in sheep.’

‘When were you going to tell Dad?’ Charlotte asked, in awe.

He grimaced. ‘I thought I’d wait till I got my first job.’

‘Which he has,’ Flavia put in.

Charlotte raised her eyebrows.

‘I’m going to be a pattern cutter,’ Nick explained, with ill-concealed glee, ‘for Fratelli Sammartino. In Milan.’

Milan
?

Flavia raised a theatrical hand to her mouth. ‘My father likes Nick very much,’ she whispered, with a flash of her eyes. ‘It is a tradition that men in my family start on the shop floor.’

Nick smirked. ‘So you see, Charles, we need to know that you’ll be around — you know, long term — to handle things at this end.’

Flavia searched her face. ‘This afternoon, I was talking to your Kath, and I understood … how shall I say? … in not so long, perhaps, you might have other plans?’

Charlotte was baffled. All this information was making her brain hurt. What other plans could Kath possibly think she might have?

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she said firmly. ‘There’s nothing I’d ever leave Blackpeak for. You couldn’t get me
off this place if you tried.’

Flavia’s eyes flicked up, over Charlotte’s shoulder.

‘Hi,’ said Rob, leaning down and kissing her cheek. Charlotte smiled up at him. His eyes, she thought, looked a little bit sad — he must have had a bad day. Just as well they had such good news to tell him.

‘That’s fantastic,’ Rob said, when all was explained. He pulled Charlotte to him, smiling into her upturned face, his blue eyes crinkling in that way she loved. ‘I’m so happy for you.’ He turned back to the others. ‘Of course, you’ll have to clear the Overseas Investment Office.’

‘Oh,’ said Flavia airily, ‘our people will handle all that.’ She looked Rob over again.

‘Rob happens to be the station’s accountant as well,’ Nick explained.

‘
Madonna!
’ Flavia flashed her eyes at Charlotte again. ‘It’s true what you Kiwis say — this really is God’s zone.’

‘Flavia’s very beautiful,’ Charlotte observed, as she and Rob lay in bed later that night.

‘Yeah? I hadn’t noticed.’

‘Liar.’ Charlotte flicked his chest.

Rob grinned. ‘Well, maybe she is.’ He kissed the hollow of her neck. ‘But I prefer girls with blue eyes …’ He ran a hand down her thigh. ‘… and red-top gumboots.’