Sundown Crossing (15 page)

Kim, sitting on Carla’s left, leant towards her. ‘Main courses very expensive. Yes?’

‘You’re not to worry about the price, Kim. It’s my treat.’ Carla smiled at her. ‘My way of saying thank you to you, Tran and Su Lee for the support you’ve given Sundown Crossing. Order whatever you fancy. I insist!’ And she made sure that everyone did.

‘One day we have restaurant, not like this, but we have one,’ Kim said to Tran and Su Lee.

Tran, quiet when in mixed company, was moved to add cockily, ‘Ours will be better than this, Kim.’

‘What type of restaurant do you envisage, Kim?’ Paul asked with interest.

‘I like to cook Vietnamese food for customers. What I know best, and some English dishes too.’

‘Well, with what I’ve seen of the Barossa there’d be more scope for your kind of establishment in Gawler or Elizabeth because of their larger population,’ Angie said.

On the other side of the restaurant a party of five were tucking into their entrées. The Stenmarks rarely dined out and were only doing so because Greta had ordered a new kitchen for Stenhaus and it would be another twenty-four hours before their cook could work in it.

The Stenmarks, all immaculately and expensively dressed, made an imposing tableau at their table which overlooked the garden. Lisel stood out in her pink, shoestring-strap frock. On arrival Carl insisted they have the best table in the restaurant and had, naturally, considering the Stenmarks’s importance in the Valley, been given it.

From his seat near the outdoor section Luke was the first to notice Carla and her entourage. He deemed it wise to say nothing, deciding that ignoring the potential awkwardness of Carla being in close proximity to his grandfather was the best way to go. His mother, he knew, was more eager to see and speak to her younger brother’s offspring but she hadn’t been game enough to approach Carla because she knew that Grandfather would be annoyed if she did.

‘You seem preoccupied tonight, Luke,’ John Michaels said. ‘Something on your mind?’

‘Sorry. Just thinking about the harvest, how close it is.’

‘It’s going to be a bumper year. Josh reckons we’ll exceed 1993’s production,’ Lisel chimed in.

‘That was a very good year,’ Carl agreed. ‘The best ever in the Valley, though some growers might dispute that.’

Waiters brought the main course and the conversation around the coming harvest continued.

‘All the growers are optimistic about this year’s harvest,’ John passed on what he’d heard at the most recent Winegrowers Association’s meeting. ‘Conditions have been perfect for all grapes, table grapes included.’

Greta Michaels, bored with talk about the coming harvest, rolled her eyes. She put her knife and fork together and pushed her plate away. Glancing towards Lisel, she said, ‘I’m going to powder my nose before dessert. Coming?’

Lisel nodded. ‘Why not?’

The women left the men to their discussion.

On the way back from the ladies’ room Lisel, always on the lookout for an attractive, unattached male, happened to glance into the outdoor section of the restaurant. She came to an abrupt halt on seeing Carla Hunter, Paul van Leeson and others at a table near the back wall. Greta, following close behind, cannoned into her.

‘Heavens, what’s the matter?’ Greta queried as she righted herself.

Lisel stared expectantly at her sister then at the table where Carla sat. Her features tightened with annoyance, her mouth twisting into a derisive line. ‘Over there,’ she whispered, pointing towards the table. ‘It’s Carla and,’ she saw the boy sitting next to the subject of her ire, ‘her bloody son. Eating with Paul van Leeson and the help, by the look of the other guests.’

‘Don’t be such a snob, besides, you couldn’t say that Paul is hired help,’ Greta chided. She moved around the side of Lisel to look at the table Lisel had pointed out. There was a sharp, indrawn breath then, ‘My God…It is true.’

‘Don’t say it,’ Lisel hissed crossly. ‘She does look like Mutter. So what! Wouldn’t need a paternity test to tell that she was related to us, would we?’ Lisel’s tone was sarcastic.

‘It’s a remarkable likeness and…she’s beautiful,’ Greta’s tone betrayed that she was impressed. ‘I didn’t expect her to be so…No one, neither you nor Luke said she was…lovely. And the boy, he’s so much like,’ her voice became softer, more emotional as her gaze met Lisel’s dark, unfathomable eyes, ‘Kurt.’

‘I know.’ Lisel’s eyes, almost black in the subdued restaurant lighting, stared intensely at her sister. ‘We’re not going to tell Papa,’ she said decisively. ‘He’ll want to leave if he knows Rolfe’s daughter is enjoying herself on the other side of the restaurant. We know how he feels about her.’

‘But…’ Greta frowned. Clearly she was not in favour of their father not being told.

‘Papa will get upset, Greta, you know he will.’ Lisel’s mouth pouted impatiently. ‘It’ll bring back the memories, of Kurt, of Marta, of what Rolfe did.’

Greta glanced again at the table where Carla and Sam sat, then across to their own table. Her expression implied that she wasn’t in total agreement with Lisel’s logic but, with a sigh, she let herself be persuaded. ‘All right.’

Had Lisel not been wearing the eye-catching pink frock, perhaps Carla would not have noticed her, but as she looked up, she did. Recognising her immediately, her gaze was then drawn to the woman walking behind Lisel. She was shorter and had different colouring but there was enough of a resemblance for Carla to assume that she was Lisel’s older sister, Greta. Still, she would like to be sure…she touched Paul’s sleeve to get his attention. ‘Over near the door, that’s Lisel Stenmark. The other one, is that her sister?’

She watched Paul nod that she had guessed correctly. How interesting. She reached for her wine glass and took a long swallow, trying to diffuse the anger, the sense of injustice that all too quickly began to take hold. They were her flesh and blood relatives, and they wouldn’t acknowledge or speak to her. Squinting as she concentrated, she followed the women’s path back to their table. Luke was there and his father—she knew John Michaels by sight though she had never spoken to him and another man, a man with pure white hair. A big man with
squared shoulders who, why, yes, he looked as her father might have had he lived into his eighties. It was her grandfather. Carl Stenmark. The shock of seeing him for the first time made her grip the stem of the glass so hard she almost snapped it. Recovering, she drained the liquid and held it towards Paul for a refill.

‘I didn’t think you were much of a drinker,’ Paul commented as he filled her glass again.

‘I don’t normally but with
them
being over there, I have a reason to.’

Angie, her attention caught by Paul filling the wine glasses, followed Carla’s gaze. She saw the Stenmarks. Oh, no! Warning bells jingled inside her head as she summed up the situation. Carla was onto her third glass of wine and she was only a social drinker at the best of times. That fact, combined with dealing with the Stenmarks and their hostility was a recipe for what? Disaster. Even before she glanced at Carla’s face and recognised the gleam of battle in her eyes, she knew there would be trouble. Carla didn’t have red hair or a percentage of her mother’s hot Italian blood for nothing and she had railed more than once about the injustice and stupidity of the Stenmarks’s attitude towards herself and Sam. Now that sense of unfairness, inflamed by a little alcohol, could make a frustrated Carla do something she might later regret.

Licking the taste of wine off her lips, Carla rose from the table. ‘Think I’ll go and say hello to the rellies.’

‘That’s not a good idea,’ Angie shook her head at her friend. It was a decidedly bad idea! Having known Carla since she was twelve, she knew her moods and her passion well. She could read the signs of Carla’s growing anger. The flicking back of hair from her forehead, the squaring of her shoulders, the clenching of her hands into fists, the way her gaze narrowed in concentration. Oh, yes. Rolfe’s daughter was working herself into a straight-talking frenzy, and God help the Stenmarks if she really let fly.

‘The waiter is about to bring Sam’s cake,’ Paul told Carla. He was intuitive enough to latch on to Carla’s mood. ‘Look, it’s coming now.’

People at surrounding tables smiled, as did the Loongs, oohing and aahhing as a waiter brought the cake with its six lit candles to their table.

Distracted by the presentation of Sam’s cake Carla sat down as ‘Happy Birthday’ was sung. An excited Sam had no trouble blowing the candles out—he even allowed Su Lee to help—the cake was then sliced up and pieces put on plates and passed to everyone at the table.

Angie allowed herself a sigh of relief. Carla appeared to have forgotten about the Stenmarks. Her sense of serenity was short-lived. As members of the Stenmark family rose from their table, preparing to leave, Angie realised that Carla had only been biding her time. Jumping up before Angie could say a word to distract her, Carla began to move through the aisles between tables towards her objective. Angie and Paul exchanged glances.

‘This will not end well,’ Angie prophesied, helpless to change the course of events. Months of hard work, of putting up with Valley people’s attitudes towards their vineyard, the slights and the annoyances, had built a mountain of grievances in Carla’s mind and like it or not the Stenmark family was about to be castigated.

‘If you like, I’ll run interference,’ Paul offered, ‘but I must say I have some sympathy for what you’ve both been put through.’ After getting Angie’s agreement he stood up and followed Carla but he wasn’t fast enough to reach her before she attracted the Stenmarks’s attention.

Lisel was first to see Carla bearing down on them. Her hands rose dramatically and she exclaimed as if she was only just aware of Carla’s presence. ‘Goodness, look who’s here! Must have a word with the maître d’. He’s lowering the restaurant’s standards by letting just
anyone
in to dine.’

‘And a good evening to you too,
Aunt
Lisel.’ She wasn’t going to let Lisel’s sarcasm rattle her. Inside she was buoyed by the wine she’d consumed, by her rising anger and the Stenmarks’s attitude towards herself and Sam. She turned to Luke. ‘You too, Luke. I see that the Stenmarks are out in force tonight.’

‘Hello, Carla,’ Luke replied quietly. His gaze became fixed on her, his expression betraying that he was concerned by what she might do or say.

Lisel moved so that she stood directly in front of Carla, as if protecting her father who was
behind her, and following John Michaels to the restaurant’s front door. Her malicious gaze ran over her niece, cataloguing the value of the clothes Carla was wearing. ‘You might look like a Stenmark. Some people might have told you that, but that isn’t going to make you one,’ she sniped.

‘From a legal point of view, you’re wrong,’ Carla returned. ‘You know, I know, in fact everyone in the Valley knows that the same blood runs through both our veins, and that what happened between my father and yours, so long ago, has nothing to do with me or my son.’ She turned to her other aunt. ‘My father kept a journal and in it he wrote good things about you, Aunt Greta. He said you were a fair-minded, reasonable person. If that’s so, surely you see how outdated and foolish this,’ she sought a suitable word, ‘feud is.’

Clenching her jaw against Lisel’s bitchy look, Carla held out her hand to Greta. ‘Aunt Greta, I’m Carla.’ She smiled when a startled Greta, reacting spontaneously, shook her hand in return but wasn’t surprised when Greta remained mute. Her challenging gaze moved from one Stenmark to another until she locked onto her grandfather’s back. There was an obvious appeal in her voice as she addressed him, ‘Grandfather…’

Carl turned as Carla spoke. In seconds the expression on his face changed, from surprise to amazement at her resemblance to Anna Louise, and then restrained fury. When he regained control his features tightened into an unreadable
mask. His blue eyes, wide with an anger that was mirrored in Carla’s eyes, speared into hers. It seemed ages, but in real time only a few seconds passed as he stared at his son’s daughter. His head shook from side to side as, wordlessly he rejected her.

‘Grandfather,’
Carla said again. This time she did not have the courage to smile with the address.

‘How dare you speak to him,’ Lisel, almost beside herself with rage, hissed at Carla. ‘Are you so thick-skinned, or stupid, that you can’t see that we want nothing to do with you?’

‘If my grandfather says so, then I’ll believe him.’ Carla pointed towards Lisel. ‘When you say it I don’t believe you.’

‘You bitch. Are you calling me a liar?’

Paul, standing behind Carla, put restraining hands on her shoulders just in case the situation became physical.

‘Lisel, Carla,’ Luke tried to calm the women down. ‘This isn’t the time or the place for such a discussion.’

‘I agree,’ Carla responded. Her chin rose defiantly at Lisel but her words were directed to Luke, ‘Name the time and the place…’

Carl Stenmark spoke. ‘Enough, all of you.’ His gaze raked over Carla. ‘I know who you are. You are a brazen upstart who has deluded herself into thinking the Barossa can be her new home, and that she’s welcome here.’ His voice, authoritative and loud when he chose, drowned out all others.
‘My grandson tells me that you’re intelligent.’ His gaze flicked momentarily towards Luke then back to Carla. ‘I don’t think that can be true. An intelligent person knows when to advance and when to retreat, when to cut their losses and move on.’ He pointed the index finger of his right hand at her to emphasise his words. ‘It’s been inferred that you’ll not be accepted in the Valley,
and
it’s only a matter of time before your pathetic venture fails and you’re bankrupted. If you leave now you might salvage something from your misadventure. Stay and you’ll lose everything.’

‘Easy, Carl,’ Paul interceded. ‘That sounds a bit too threatening for my liking.’

‘Stay out of it,’ Carl stared imperiously at the architect. ‘This situation is none of your concern. Stick to what you’re good at, Paul, designing buildings and wineries, not Valley politics.’

‘I’m your son’s daughter, Rolfe’s child. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’ Carla, to her shame, couldn’t keep the pleading tone out of her voice. She moved closer to her grandfather, until they faced each other, and she was aware that Paul had moved too, and that his hands were still placed lightly on her shoulders. Somehow, the thought lodged in her subconscious, it was a comfort to have him there, being supportive.