The Grass is Greener (19 page)

Elsa scrambled up quickly from her prone position on the timber decking and shoved her head under Bronwyn's hand. It seemed like the expectant mother was putting on weight at an increasing rate lately.

Bronwyn looked at her sternly. ‘I've heard you've been very naughty.'

Elsa barked and tried to jump on her but Bronwyn caught her paws before they landed. She was actually getting quite good at handling Elsa's rough displays of affection. ‘Don't try to change the subject. I'm onto you. You've got to start being good or we're going to get into more trouble than we already are.' Grimacing, she put Elsa's paws down and stepped back,
gazing out across the property. There was nothing like looking at a wide expanse of land to make frayed ideas knot together.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was Claudia's caller ID. She answered, ‘Claud?'

‘You haven't called your mother yet, have you?'

‘My mum?' Abruptly she lifted her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh no! I completely forgot.'

‘No shit, Bronwyn.'

‘Well,' Bronwyn frowned at her best friend's terse manner, ‘I have a lot on my plate here, you know. And your family hasn't exactly been … transparent. Your mum and Chris are trying to hide problems instead of dealing with them.'

Claudia grunted. ‘What did I tell you?'

‘Yes, well, what you didn't tell me was your plan to downgrade Oak Hills's reputation to get on the lower end of the market. Claudia, that makes me very sad.'

‘It would keep our business afloat.'

‘I guess,' Bronwyn agreed reluctantly. ‘For a few more years, but then what?'

‘Well,' Claudia said cheerfully, ‘I'm sure you'll think of something.'

‘Thanks a lot.' Bronwyn sighed but was secretly pleased. ‘I'm certain your mum's got Jack on board. She's trying to get me back into the legal profession. Found me a new client this morning.'

‘Who?'

‘John Maxwell.'

‘Oooh,' Claudia pounced. ‘Why don't you get the info and then toss the job my way? I'd love to tell Seb I'm bringing in clients
and
it'll appease my mum for you.'

Bronwyn's lips curled in amusement. ‘Ambitious much?'

‘Always! But that's not really the point, is it?' Claudia briskly moved on. ‘It's not my mum that's our biggest worry, it's yours.'

Bronwyn had absolutely no trouble believing that. ‘Has she threatened you or something?'

‘I ran into her in court, she was opposing counsel.'

‘Ouch.'

‘She's mad, Bron. She's really frickin' angry. She wants me out of the legal profession.'

‘Well,' Bronwyn tried to put a positive spin on it, ‘that's not actually that bad. I'm enjoying being out of it. Don't tell me you want to swap back?'

‘No. Do you?'

‘Not yet.'

‘Then tell me how to deal with your mother.'

‘Do you think if I knew that I'd be in Yallingup?'

‘So what you're saying is, I'm screwed.'

‘Not necessarily.' She heard some papers rustling and clicking on a keyboard.

‘Sorry,' Claudia apologised breathlessly. ‘I gotta go. Seb's summoned me to his office. Can I call you back in five?'

‘Sure.'

They hung up and Bronwyn went back to patting Elsa's head. It was typical how just the mere mention of her mother's name had the adrenaline coursing through her veins again.

‘I can't go back to that world, Elsa,' she sighed. ‘And neither can you. We need to be right here. Both for us and for Oak Hills. What do you reckon?'

Elsa pushed her head more firmly into Bronwyn's hands.

‘Yeah, I know,' Bronwyn agreed. ‘But that's what proving yourself is all about, isn't it? If I don't step outside my comfort zone for a minute I'll never find out who I need to be. And Bianca Hanks wins.'

Her phone buzzed in her pocket again and she immediately lifted it to her ear and said reassuringly, ‘My mother can't touch you. Uncle Cyril calls the shots at that office now.'

‘My dear Bronwyn,' came the sleek, steel tones of the woman who had raised her. ‘You'd be very surprised about what I can do.'

Bronwyn froze. ‘Mum?'

‘I don't know why you're so surprised to hear from me, darling. Did you think I wouldn't take offence after you completely ignored my instructions?'

‘Mum, you didn't even ask me whether I wanted to work for Uncle Cyril,' Bronwyn tried to explain. ‘If you had –'

‘That question is irrelevant. Of course you do. What lawyer in their right mind wouldn't?'

‘This lawyer.'

‘You don't know what you want,' her mother snapped at her. ‘You're too blinded by idealism. I know you think running away is very romantic but reality
will
sink in. As for installing that country hick from Backwater Creek in your family's firm –'

‘Her name is Claudia Franklin.'

‘I am fully aware of her name and her origins. That
family
,' Bianca's voice seemed to crack, ‘has brought you nothing but problems for nearly a decade. How dare you foist her on your uncle. You need to cut that connection now, Bronwyn. Once and for all. And if you can't do it then I will just have to do it for you.'

For so many years, Bronwyn had kept a lid on her true feelings. Glossed over details, nodded her head while she thought something different on the inside. It was easier to pretend she agreed to spare Bianca disappointment, to avoid her anger and the fight that would follow. Anything to keep the peace. Bianca Hanks's will was like a tidal wave. Better to hide her little boat than face her head on.

This time, however, her chest was too full. Her ribcage strained against the force of her feelings.

‘I'd like to see you try.'

‘Don't test me, Bronwyn,' Bianca warned.

‘Or what? You'll pull another stunt like you did last time? I'm sick of your manipulations and your power plays. The Franklins have given me more love and support than you and Dad ever have.'

Her mother gasped. ‘You are delusional. I fed you, clothed you, gave you the best education, the best opportunities. Raised you to mix in the highest circles. How can you be so ungrateful as to toss it all back in my face?'

‘It's not that I'm ungrateful,' she protested. ‘It's the fact that
your society
is yours, not mine.'

Bianca Hanks snorted. ‘Where are you?'

‘I'm not telling you.'

‘Of course you are. Give me your address.'

‘I can't think of a single good reason to do so.'

‘Stop playing games, Bronwyn.'

‘This isn't a game,' she warned. ‘This is reality. I don't want to be a lawyer anymore and this time you need to just accept it. I'm moving on to new horizons.' She blurted out the words and shut her eyes.

There was a stunned silence but no explosion.

The voice that came back to her after the pause was quiet and deadly. ‘Are you out of your mind? You're an Eddings. You have everything going for you. You are cream of the crop. You are my daughter!'

‘Really, because I feel more like your pet or your ornament or the picture you hang on the wall for your friends to see when they come over for dinner. Hey guys, look what I got, a lovely carbon copy of myself so that my legacy might continue.'

‘It's not my legacy,' Bianca hissed. ‘It's your father's. Your family name. Don't you have any pride? Your father will be devastated.'

‘Maybe for one minute. Then I'm sure he'll put me out of his mind like he does the rest of the year.'

‘I'm not done with you, young lady. And your father will hear about this.' The phone went dead.

She wasn't quite sure what this was supposed to signify, unless Bianca was implying that her relationship with Robert was going to disintegrate further. How you could reduce something that was already at zero was a mystery to her.

The honourable Justice Robert William Eddings was a judge of the Supreme Court of Western Australia who, like her mother, had started his illustrious career at the family firm. He had been the managing partner before his brother, Cyril, and far more of a tyrant. It was where her parents had originally met. Theirs was an office romance, though Bronwyn could hardly picture the clandestine meetings, stolen lunches or suggestive office memos that had probably
not
passed between them.

Her father was as straight down the line as they came. If anything, her parents' union had been more of a marriage of convenience. Perhaps not so convenient as the years went on. Her mother had harboured hopes he might pass on the reins of the firm to her when he left to pursue his dreams of becoming a judge. Divorce had shortly followed when he'd passed her over for his brother. Bianca's pride hadn't allowed her to stay under Cyril's rule and so she'd left to join the bar, a move that had only solidified her notorious cutthroat reputation.

Whatever the case, when Bronwyn called Claudia back later that same evening, she was not able to allay her fears.

‘I really don't know what she's going to do. I don't think she'll say anything about you not being Uncle Cyril's niece. She would never besmirch the name of the family firm, which is hers as well. Then again, she and Uncle Cyril have never been on good terms.'

‘Hmm,' Claudia murmured. ‘I don't feel safe.'

Bronwyn agreed. ‘You shouldn't.'

She had found it very difficult to fall asleep that night with so much flying around her head. In fact, oblivion had finally claimed Bronwyn in the wee hours of the morning so it was no wonder that she slept through her alarm clock.

She awoke a few hours later to the feeling of sunshine streaming across her face and sat up abruptly to glance at her clock. It was almost nine am.

Oh shit.

She threw back the covers, cursing her mother's name. The truth was, she was worried for both herself and Claudia. Bianca Hanks was a force to be reckoned with and all Bronwyn felt she'd done yesterday was load her mother's guns with ammunition. God only knew who she was going to fire at first. That said, if her mother was up to no good, then Lydia Franklin wasn't too far behind.

Against everybody's advice, Lydia wanted to bring Jack home. What better way to do it than with the element of surprise?

If that's her plan, you better be prepared, Bronwyn.

She couldn't wear her heart on her sleeve, that was for sure.

A sudden chill caused Bronwyn to stand up and rub the goosebumps on her arms. Abruptly, she walked into the walk-in robe to choose what she was going to wear for the day. There was no use procrastinating.

Might as well face the day head on.

Jack Franklin had no idea if he was doing the right thing, but it sure felt like a good day for it. Sunshine streamed through the tree leaves, dappling the dash of his car and warming the knuckles of his right hand as it rested on the steering wheel. He drove unhurriedly up Rickety Twigg Road through a forest of Karri trees to his childhood home. The Karri rose up along the road like soldiers marking his entrance. How he missed their familiar watch – their long grey trunks unencumbered by branches until quite high up. There, their arms intermingled protectively over the road, giving him safe passage as he passed into their magical realm. Jack's mouth twisted.

If only it were that simple.

There was no security for him here.

Despite the picturesque tranquillity of the landscape, he knew he was travelling straight into the lion's den. There would be nothing but accusation waiting for him on the other side.

His mother had only contacted him because she was desperate. The business was going under, his father could no longer work, Claudia had finally given them all the finger and Chris, even with his determination, could not do it alone.

They needed him.

Ha! He didn't know whether to feel honoured or rejected that he was their last port of call. Neither his father nor his brother had tried to reach out to him these past five years, and the hurt in him ran deep. He knew he was no angel but hadn't he been punished enough?

The truth was, he'd known for months they were in trouble, before his mother had made contact to give him ‘the news'. He had been biding his time. Oak Hills, with the exception of one other pretty face almost forgotten, had been the love of his life.

Fantasising about his return had been one of his favourite pastimes in France.

He'd just needed the perfect moment.

At long last it had arrived.

Oak Hills came into view and the sight took his breath away. It had been far too long. Nostalgia washed over him, drenching him in sadness. Blocks of vineyard rolled into the horizon: sauvignon blanc, chardonnay, merlot, cabernet, shiraz, pinot noir, chenin blanc. He licked his lips, remembering hot summer nights, a bottle of red between him and Chris as they toasted the fermentation gods for a good drop. He wound down the window as he turned into the Franklin driveway.

It smelled like earth and fruit.

Ocean and harvest.

Hell, it smelled like Australia, and that was an aroma he'd missed almost as much as his brother.

His heart ached when he thought of the years they'd lost. Chris was probably a different man now. How could he not be? An accident like that changed a person, permanently. They had to adapt, make do, get creative, stretch themselves to the limits of their ability. He shuddered in pain and guilt.

He wouldn't have had to if it weren't for you.

There was not a single day that went by that he didn't regret that night. For everything it had taken from them both. He had been stupid. There was no doubt about that … too much
ego and not enough sense. When he looked back on his life as the playboy winemaker of the South-West, he had to admit he'd been out of control.

Nothing could touch him in those days.

He was Jack Franklin.

He had the women.

He had the wine.

And the Oak Hills throne was his inheritance. Well, his father had taken that privilege away in short order, hadn't he? Not that he didn't deserve it.

Everyone thought his exile had been a sudden decision, based on his responsibility for Chris's accident, and yes, that had been the straw that broke the camel's back. However, Jack knew that his father's displeasure with him had been brewing long before that.

Horace had disapproved entirely of Jack's attitude and lifestyle. He had wanted Jack to calm down, not only in terms of his social life but his way of thinking about his work. He was always having disagreements with his dad about how the winery should be run – because he knew best. It was only in his recent travels around France that he could see how his father had been trying to give him a well-rounded skill set.

Horace thought Jack was too experimental too soon – he had wanted him to perfect the Oak Hills ‘tried and true' varieties before he started broadening their horizons. There had always been more tension between father and son than compliance. They were too much alike, too competitive. They should never have tried to work together. It had been a disaster from the start.

All the same, he missed him.

A lump formed in Jack's throat.

Don't be a fool.

The last thing he could afford to do was go soft on the old man now, especially given what he was here to do.

On a whim he bypassed the house and headed straight down the gravel track that led to the winery. It was early
morning, so he was hoping for a look around before he woke anyone up.

Or maybe you just want to enjoy Oak Hills in peace for a second, before your father kicks you out all over again.

The large fermentation tanks sitting on steel platforms came into view. To his surprise, there was a bit of a commotion going on in front of the press and de-stemmer. This was a tank on its side, supported by a steel frame on wheels. It was mobile along a set of rails that ran directly under the fermentation tanks so that it could sit under any of them.

He recognised all three men in the argument. Two were from his childhood, the other from his more recent travels in France.

‘Antoine.' He hailed the last individual. ‘I see you've settled in.'

His French friend looked up with pure pleasure written large on his face. ‘So you have come at last, your rescue is not needed. I'm winning ze fight.' He had a hose in one hand and was completely dry. His companions, by comparison, were soaked to the skin. They both spun around startled. ‘Jack!'

The vineyard workers he knew as Nick and Bob came up to him, slapping him on the back and shaking his hand. ‘What the hell are you doing here?'

He grinned back. ‘Why the hell are you so wet?'

Bob glared at Antoine. ‘Ant's having a little trouble with accepting his position.'

‘My place is in ze winery, not ze yard.' Antoine shrugged. ‘I am a winemaker, not cleaning staff.'

‘You're actually a cellar hand, dickhead,' Bob corrected him. ‘And you're supposed to go wherever you're needed.'

Ant flicked his hand at him, saying crossly to Jack, ‘See how zey seek to belittle me? As though I'd let zis bother me. I know I was built for greater things.'

‘That's right, Ant,' Nick smirked. ‘You can carry ten times your body weight. So start connecting up that bloody hose.'

However, Ant was too busy warming to his theme. ‘I must push past new horizons. Find my muse. Exercise my creative flair. Zis is my duty as an artist. A winemaker does not clean bins.'

‘The only winemaker at Oak Hills is Horace,' Nick retorted, causing Jack to cough. ‘Unless this smart-arse is intending to stay.'

‘I'll let you know,' Jack agreed with a wink. ‘In the meantime, I think I might take your problem off your hands.' He indicated Antoine. ‘Do you want to come with me for a minute … er, Ant?'

‘But of course.' Ant seemed to regard this as a win and his mouth curved into a smile of triumph, which he directed at the two indignant vineyard workers. ‘Sorry to cut zis short. I will leave you to your business. My talents are required elsewhere.'

‘Ant,' Jack said reprovingly.

‘Oh, very well.' Ant's long fingers fluttered a dismissive wave as he joined Jack.

‘Really?' Jack demanded as soon as they were out of earshot. ‘When I asked you to come here, I expected you to at least try to blend in a little.'

‘What?' Antoine regarded him, all innocence and intrigue. ‘You think I do not blend in?'

‘Well, if you've been busy throwing your weight around then of course not.'

‘Your mother loves me,' Ant protested. ‘I am ze sunshine in her day.'

‘Only because you're her hotline directly to me. Where is she, by the way? Still in bed?'

‘Possibly. Ze restaurant is not open yet.'

Jack nodded. ‘I will see her first, I think. But tell me what's been going on here before I do that.'

‘Ah, already pumping your spy for information. Ha!' Ant snapped his fingers. ‘What about what you promised me? My time to shine, you said. A chance in the limelight. Where is my pinot noir? You cannot back out now.'

Jack rolled his eyes. ‘Did I say I was backing out? You have to understand how delicate the situation is. My family is not going to like our plan.'

‘Zey will get used to it,' Ant shrugged. ‘Options are running out. I imagine zat is why your father has brought the lawyer in to dig through your family's files.'

‘Lawyer?'

‘A woman arrived last week after Claudia left.'

‘Thick glasses, timid, shy, no sense of fashion?' Jack enquired quickly.

‘Not at all,' Ant swatted his hand. ‘She is gorgeous. Very elegant. And determined too. I imagine she will turn zis business on its head, should Horace let her have her way. No, I would not say she is shy at all.'

‘Oh.' Jack shook the cobwebs from his brain. ‘Of course.'

Silly of him to immediately assume it was Bronwyn. He hadn't heard from Numbat in years. He was probably just an afterthought in her life now – one of those unfortunate acquaintances she recalled if she thought hard enough about it. The last time he'd asked after her he'd been told she'd stopped coming back to Yallingup as often, and in recent years hadn't been at all. In fact, she was so fully immersed in city living that she'd grown into the daughter Bianca Hanks always wanted.

A shame, really.

She'd been such a sweet girl when he'd known her. In turn, he was sure she'd thought of him as an annoying, opinionated guy whom she could rely on occasionally, but not too much. He teased her a lot, and made fun of her insecurities.

Only because they were reflections of his own.

He could see that now.

She had wanted her parents' approval, and how he'd craved his father's trust. They seemed cut from the same cloth. She understood him. And had she but known it, their conversations, infrequent as they were, had started to make him think.

He couldn't pinpoint the exact day his feelings for Bronwyn had changed but there were certainly a few red flags – like the
day he and Chris had eavesdropped on a conversation between her and Claudia. The girls had been sitting on the front porch discussing their big night out the day before. He and Chris had been about to walk out the front door when the conversation had suddenly turned down an interesting path. Chris had stopped walking and put a hand to Jack's chest. Not thinking much of it, and always keen for a little subterfuge, Jack had halted. After all, he and Chris had always been partners in crime.

‘So I saw you talking to that cute guy by the bar,' Claudia was saying.

Chris looked over and met his eyes. Bronwyn was such a shy little thing. Neither of them had ever heard her talk about the men in her life. And frankly both of them simply assumed that she had none.

‘He was okay,' came the noncommittal reply.

‘What was his name?'

‘George something or other.'

‘He seemed to like you.'

‘Yeah, I guess so.'

Silence.

He didn't know why but his whole body had tensed up, like a kangaroo about to jump, and he practically willed Claudia to ask her the next question.

‘Come on, Bron, don't leave me hanging here. Did he ask you out or not?'

‘Yes.' Bronwyn's voice seemed small and shy.

He had sucked in a breath and tasted something a lot like disappointment. In hindsight, he could also recall Chris's shell-shocked expression, but at the time had not thought much of it.

‘And …?' Claudia's teasing tone was starting to annoy him.

‘I said no.'

His breath whooshed out in one gasp. So did Claudia's. ‘Bronwyn!'

‘I ran scared, okay? He was one of those big confident types and he just made me feel awkward and unworldly.'

‘You make yourself feel awkward.'

‘I just think I should go for someone younger, less experienced. George seemed like he'd been around the block half a dozen times. What's he going to think when he finds out that I've never kissed anyone before? At my age it's practically unheard of.'

Jack and Chris's gazes had immediately locked in gleeful enjoyment of this new piece of information. Chris had been about step through the front door again but this time it was Jack who pulled back on his shirt. He was curious enough to want to hear the rest.

Claudia sighed. ‘He probably just thought you were picky and he was lucky enough to have made the cut.'

‘He'd laugh at me. It's embarrassing.' Bronwyn groaned. ‘He was too much …' Her voice seemed to strain. ‘He was too much like Jack.'

His eyes had widened at the mention and Chris had flicked the back of his hand against his chest more like a ‘way to go' than ‘dumbarse'.

He couldn't return the sentiment, however. Her comparison of him and George didn't sit well for some reason, and something a lot like sadness sank to the bottom of his stomach.

‘Hmm, well,' Claudia's voice clearly indicated her revulsion, ‘I share your reluctance there. But how are you going to beat this hurdle if you don't put yourself out there?'

‘Next time,' Bronwyn had murmured, or something that sounded very much like it.

The conversation had stuck with him for days. He started getting sick of his relationship merry-go-round, which was as meaningful as a chocolate bar for lunch – sweet, but only for the moment. After that it just left you feeling a little less healthy and a lot like you needed to change your diet.

Hastily, he pulled his mind back to the present, unwilling to go down that rocky road that had been partially responsible for the rift that continued to exist between him and his brother.