So Far Into You (22 page)

‘But the bank stopped lending?'

She nodded. ‘Like every grapegrower in the country, I imagine. I'm right on my limit. I'm over my limit. That's why I had to dip into Ailsa's cash the last two years to keep things afloat. The bank sends me letters telling me they're drawing money from the account I have in credit to pay my overdraft monthly minimum. They're allowed to juggle their customers' money like that, apparently.'

‘Banks do what they want,' Seth agreed. ‘Okay, that makes sense. I thought you must have got a windfall or—' this time he was the one who baulked.

Remy was on it in a flash. ‘Or what?'

‘Ah, jeez.' Seth ran his hand through his hair and contemplated the empty water glass, shining in his hand under the lights. ‘Buying a property needs money. Rejuvenating a vineyard takes money. Extending a 1890s cottage takes big money.'

She concentrated on the first of the wet spots on his t-shirt, a fifty-cent piece blob right beneath the Lasrey logo on his pocket. She didn't want to look at his face. Looking at him scrambled her wits. ‘How else did you think I got the money?'

His gaze settled on her, eyes blacker than midnight. ‘I figured either Max Montgomery was paying you better than I thought, or telephone sex pays better than I thought—'

Remy got out of her chair. ‘So it couldn't be that I won
Lotto
or something. Oh no.'

He shook his head. ‘You're being ridiculous.'

‘No,
you're
being ridiculous. You're wrong about me, but you're too pig-headed to see it. You told me the other day you believed me about the vines, and then yesterday when we were talking about the blackmail, I thought you believed me then too. But they're just words to you, Seth and they're cheap. In your heart, you've spent so long thinking I'm the bad guy here, it doesn't take much to make you doubt yourself all over again.'

‘Give me a break—'

‘You don't know me at all.'

‘Rem—'

‘No. I can't do this now. I'm tired. It's been a big day. Please, Seth. I'd like you to leave.'

***

So that didn't go well.

Why did he push her so hard? He hadn't been thinking about money, not really. Not until she'd brought it up with the story about the carpenter who ripped her off. Before that he'd been enjoying the way her lips moved when she talked, and how there was a bit of hair she couldn't keep out of her eyes, and the way every now and then she'd realise she was talking with her hands and she'd sit on them to keep them still.

The last twenty minutes couldn't be undone so there wasn't much point dwelling on it.

The dogs huffed at him as he closed the French doors and stepped into the night, but they didn't bother to crawl from their kennel.

It felt like a long drive back to Oakbank, to a lonely hotel room and a lumpy pillow.

Chapter 19

Seth woke to his phone buzzing on the bedside table and flung his hand out for it, half asleep but waking fast.

‘Yeah?'

‘Seth, it's Remy. We made the headlines again and this time they've got my name.'

He sat up, pushing back against the headboard. ‘Read it to me.'

‘It's online. The headline says:
Love Me Tendril,'
and she started to read.

He snickered at the headline—how could you not—then he almost forgot what she was reading because he got lost in her voice.

‘
Confidential can reveal the name of the mystery grapegrower spotted in a clinch with Seth Lasrey at her Adelaide Hills vineyard on Thursday. She is a former employee of Lasrey Estate in Margaret River, and she's now living near Oakbank. She is Eremia Roberts, better known as Remy.

Confidential spoke to several people who knew Remy in Margaret River, who confirmed she quit her job as a vineyard technical assistant at Lasrey more than five years ago after an alleged incident involving a mix-up with vineyard chemical sprays.

“She was there one day, and gone the next. It happened fast as that,” said the source, who continues to work for the company and didn't want to be named. “No one knew she had a soft spot for the boss. We all thought she was chasing the other brother, Blake.”

Blake Lasrey, now a star on the international surfing circuit, was at Bells Beach in Victoria yesterday where he is in preparation for the famous Easter surfing tournament. He wouldn't comment, other than to say he wished his wine tycoon brother and Remy “all the luck in the world.”

We give you the choice ladies. Which Lasrey brother would you pick?'
And then there are two photos of you both.'

There was a pause.

‘Seth?'

She really could read the phone book to him backwards. He'd listen. ‘Sorry. Is that it?'

‘Isn't that enough? Negligence. Blake. And they used my real name,
Eremia.
'

‘I never knew Remy was short for Eremia. You never said a word.'

‘I don't think you're concentrating properly, Seth. Did I wake you?'

‘You did. What time is it?'

‘Almost eight.'

‘Shit. Tell you what. Let me get out of bed and have a shower and buy the Saturday paper so we know if that says the same thing. How about I meet you out at your place in an hour? Is that good for you?'

‘Well, yes. I guess.' Her voice cooled.

‘I want to talk about last night anyway. I'll bring croissants if you make coffee.'

She brightened. ‘Okay. If you insist. There's a brilliant bakery at Balhannah.'

‘See you soon.'

***

‘It's a terrible bloody photo of me,' Seth said, as he opened the side gate, dodged the dogs' madly wagging tails, and found Remy sitting at the patio table.

‘
Hell and Tommy.
That's the least of our worries.' She took the paper from him and spread it out, going quickly to the centre pages, stopping at Confidential. ‘Oh, it's not the same photo of you as they've got online. You're right. I'd pick Blake.'

Blake was coming out of the surf in his photo, all naked chest and muscles, water dripping from his blond hair. Seth looked like he was in the middle of telling the cameraman to fuck off.

‘That entire vote thing is rigged,' he said as he sat.

‘Coffee's hot.'

She had a pot brewed, sugar bowl handy. The bag of croissants crackled as Seth split the paper in half.

‘Butter? Jam?' Remy asked him.

‘I'm good. You help yourself.'

She disappeared inside and came back with those two items and a carton of milk. ‘I wasn't sure if you drank it black.'

‘Sometimes. Milk's good today.' He stirred it in.

‘So who do you think their source is? It can't be Zac. He didn't know any of the stuff about the oxfluorofen or about Blake.'

‘It wouldn't be hard to find someone still at Lasrey who was there then. Pops. Rina. My mother. Allan Dale still works there. It's not that long ago. And if they dug further back they'd find Amanda Laurie too. Blake wouldn't have said anything, so I'll rule him out.'

‘Can it do any permanent damage? This sort of writing?'

‘Nah. It's just gossip. It's a pain in the arse but it doesn't mean anything. It'll stop when they run out of new stuff to say.'

Remy bit into the croissant. Buttery flakes crumbled into the hand she raised to catch them.

‘About last night, Rem.'

‘I don't really want to talk about it. You made yourself clear.'

‘Look at it from my side for a minute, without getting huffy.'

She waved him to continue. Even that had attitude, the kind of wave you do when you're faking the Queen.

‘We only ever had that one weekend together five years ago. We had the day at Vintage Festival and the picnic. I had to get past a lot of things in those two days: I had to work out whether or not you were seeing Blake. Then there was the whole employee/employer thing. That's not saying that weekend with you wasn't one of the best of my life … but, then that Monday, I come to see you at your house and overhear you on the phone—'

‘Eavesdropping,' she added.

‘Whatever … You're the only person I've ever heard put dripping wet pussy in a sentence, who wasn't talking about washing their cat.'

She giggled, covered her mouth. ‘People wash their cats?'

‘I made a judgement call that afternoon based on what I heard you say on the phone, and I got it wrong. I always thought I was such a good judge of character.' Looking up, he met her eyes, clouded grey with concentration. ‘When everything happened later: there's my mother on the phone and I'm in France and Ailsa's saying Remy did this and Remy did that, and by the way, she says you sexually harassed her and she'll go to the police? I didn't believe it for a long time, but I kept coming back to that Monday when I heard you on the phone. It's the only day that I heard you myself, with
my
ears, rather than take someone else's word for it. I thought: if Remy could sell phone sex for money, she could do anything, right? So yes, that stuck. And yes, if someone told me tomorrow you had a bunch of sugar daddies visiting here every Sunday and you fucked them to help pay your rent—I can't promise I wouldn't think the worst.'

‘Then we don't have anywhere to go, Seth. There's nothing else to say.' She hugged herself with her arms, hating how his words made her feel. ‘If you think I could do that …'

‘The point is, Rem, dammit,
listen
… Even if those sugar daddies came up the road right now, I'd expect you to stay and talk to me, and not run away.'

‘Talk is cheap, Seth. My father spent years telling my mother: I'll quit drinking. I'll quit gambling. I'll be a better father. I'll pick Remy up from school and I won't forget. I won't be late home. I'll be a better husband.' There were tears in her eyes and she swiped them away. ‘They were just words. He never meant any of them. Just once if he'd followed through with something, it would have meant so much more: one day, where he actually did come and get me from school on time so I didn't have to sit on the bench outside the classroom, telling the teacher, “
Dad's coming to get me today,”
and see that pity in their eyes every time they walked past and I was still sitting there, clutching my schoolbag. Don't talk to me about words.'

‘You chose action five years ago rather than words, Rem. You chose to take that money, and you chose to run. I'd already told you I would have helped you. I'd asked you to trust me.'

‘You don't know how many times I've wished I never took Ailsa's money. That's why I'm going to pay her back.'

‘She doesn't expect it back.'

‘I know. But that's the only way I'll be free of her.'

He nodded, because he understood, and for the morning at least, they left the past right there.

***

Seth stayed most of the day. Remy had used his $200 to buy a four-litre tin of Indian-Red paint and a new set of wide-bristle brushes at the hardware store, and between them they'd painted the verandah posts, downpipes and fascias of the patio in a dark burgundy red: the colour of a rich wine sauce.

Between coats she fed him lunch and more coffee, and told him more about the Menzel family and the history of the farm as she knew it, and how she caught Bernie the tiler with his hand down her mother's shirt on the garden bench one afternoon when they thought she wasn't home.

‘Mum was mortified. Bernie never knew what all the fuss was about. It's impossible to embarrass Bernie. He's one of a kind.'

It was easy. It felt natural. Having something to do eased the tension that usually wanted to escalate whenever they spent time together, and possibly, at least for the moment, they were all talked out.

Remy felt drained. In a good way. She was tired physically from yesterday's brick-laying and today's painting, and for the first time in a very long time, felt at peace emotionally.

‘That looks good,' she said when they finished, stepping back to admire their handiwork.

‘It does.'

‘After we rinse these brushes, I think it's time for a beer.'

‘I can't, Rem,' he said. ‘I wish I could. There's a dinner at the restaurant. Lewis Carney hosts it. It costs $130 a head. I can't pull out. I want to see how Lewis handles himself in front of a crowd.'

‘He'll be good. You'll see,' Remy said. ‘He has a good way with people.'

‘I think so too. He underestimates himself. I'm looking at him hard for a general manager role at Montgomery in the new financial year. Don't say anything to him.'

‘I won't.'

Seth took the ladder to the stable. It was getting late and he needed to get back to the hotel, clean off the paint spots that he could feel in his hair and on his skin, and get himself in host mode for the evening.

‘You don't look particularly enthused about tonight,' she said.

‘I'm not particularly enthused about many things right now, if they don't include you.'

She patted his arm, leaned in close. ‘You can always come back and poop scoop later.'

That was so Remy. He gave her something heartfelt and she came back at him with a joke. ‘You could always come to this dinner with me.'

Remy let go of his arm, standing back so she could meet his eyes. ‘Oh, no.' She drew out the two words. ‘I'm gonna have a beer and a hot bath and I think I'll make pasta. Dessert will be ice-cream, straight out of the tub. I'm too tired to bother with anything else.'

‘I'll think of you when I'm having crab, and poached scallops and whatever else is on the menu.'

‘You do that. I'll think of you when I'm in the bath.'

He grinned at her and she blushed beet-red and looked at her feet. ‘Hold on. That didn't come out right.'

‘No, Rem. That came out perfect.'