The Grass is Greener (26 page)

Discovering Bronwyn Eddings naked in his bathroom was a development Jack hadn't prepared for. When he'd heard that she'd taken up her position at the family firm five years ago, he figured she was gone from Yallingup for good. Her mother was a force not to be toyed with and, in his opinion, shy, sweet Bronwyn had never been equipped to win that battle.

This Bronwyn, however, was neither shy nor sweet.

She was fiery, passionate, wilful and, without a doubt, smoking hot.

She'd always been pretty. Beautiful in that soft, ethereal way that brought out a man's protective side. This afternoon he'd all but completely combusted when he found himself with an armful of delectable wantonness pressed against his chest.

She had changed, but in ways that only made things ten times worse. He thought time had healed his need for her. That the distance he'd put between them had allowed him to get on with his life. Yet seeing her now, especially in this way, made him realise that all he'd done was put his feelings in a box to be opened later.

The lid had popped off with a bang that morning and made him wish he'd asked his mother or Claudia more questions about Bronwyn over the years. He'd figured if he just put her out of his mind, it would be easier to get her out of his system.

Ha!

It felt as though he'd only left yesterday. The emotions churning in his stomach were just as strong. The day he'd decided to leave he'd taken a very black and white view of his situation. In hindsight, he realised that perhaps he should have fought harder to be heard. But when your family, the people you turned to in a crisis, shut you out as completely as his had, who else could he turn to?

He knew, after the accident, that Bronwyn had wanted to help him. The irony of it all. She hadn't even realised she was the reason Chris hated him so much. That's how innocent she was. When she'd left to go back to Perth to quit law, he'd tried to get into the hospital again to see Chris. This time, he had been successful by circumventing reception and stealthily peeking into every room in the hospital until he'd located the right one.

When he walked in, Chris was lying in a bed that was adjusted upright so that he could look out the window. His skin was an awful, pasty white. Jack would never forget that. There were scratches on his face and a deep cut on his arm, where Jack could make out the neat black stitches. Chris looked worse than terrible, he looked almost like a vampire who hadn't found prey in several days.

Chris had turned his head, sensing the extra presence in the room, and his expression had darkened.

‘What are you doing here?'

‘Chris, I had to see you.'

‘Now you have, so
leave
.'

‘Why are you doing this? Why are you blaming me? How can you honestly believe that this is what I wanted for you?'

‘You weren't thinking about me,' Chris snarled. ‘You were thinking about Bronwyn and how I was finally going to make
headway with her and you couldn't stand it. So when you heard me call out to her …'

Jack's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. ‘Chris, I saw a kangaroo. I was dumb. I swerved. It wasn't about showing you up, it was –'

‘Don't lie to me. You forget how well I know you, Jack. How far I've seen you go. You've never had any respect for anyone else. All's fair in love and war, right?'

Jack had felt the blood drain from his face.

Chris's observation of his character at the time was true enough. He'd never been very discriminate in his dealings with women. He figured they knew what they were getting themselves into. If they got hurt, it was their fault, not his. Don't buy what you don't need, in his book.

‘But you're my brother –' he began.

‘That's what makes this even worse,' Chris threw at him. ‘Maybe you didn't mean for me to get this hurt. Perhaps it was a miscalculation on your part. It doesn't matter. The intention was still there. Dad is always going on about how reckless you are and he's right.'

‘Chris, I promise you –'

‘There is no promise that you can make that will give me my legs back.' Chris gasped. ‘I'll never walk again, thanks to
your ego
.'

‘Chris –'

‘I'll never walk again!' Chris repeated and his eyes had begun to glisten as the gravity of what he was saying dawned on him again, like a recurring nightmare. Jack had felt himself reacting in the same way. He'd immediately stepped forward, wanting to take his brother's hand.

‘Mate –'

He'd been so overwhelmed he hadn't realised that sometime during their conversation, Chris had pushed the red button on the side of his bed. A nurse popped into the room just before he reached Chris's side.

‘Is everything all right?'

‘I asked for this man not to be admitted,' Chris said to her. ‘Will you please show him out?'

‘Of course,' she agreed.

‘Chris,' Jack had begged, ‘don't do this. Let me help you.'

‘How can you? When I don't ever want to see you again. Right now it would be better for me if you just dropped off the face of the earth.' His brother had turned his head away and the nurse had gently pulled Jack from the room.

That was their last conversation before he'd seen him again yesterday, five years later, in the winery.

He should have fought longer and harder for Chris's forgiveness. Or tried to explain to him again what had happened that night. He probably would have if that letter hadn't arrived from his dad the next day.

It had been in a non-descript white business envelope without a stamp. Someone had clearly dropped it off personally. The staff from the motel had left it on his bed after they'd cleaned the room while he was out. This was no mean feat given the mess he'd left it in. If he hadn't been a local boy, no doubt the owners, Mike and Louise, probably would have kicked him out sooner. Depression did not make him a very good tenant. Depression didn't make him a very good anything.

The note from his father was unsigned, short and to the point.

Attached to this note was a plane ticket booking and an offer of work from an extremely reputable winery in Bordeaux. It was an area that his father had worked in when he was in his early twenties, still sowing his wild oats. He must have
obtained the job through his various connections there. It was a startling opportunity. The kind that people waited years for and that rarely came their way. Yet Jack felt none of the excitement he should have as he'd held the letter in his hand. The plane ticket alone said it all. He glanced at the date, a week from today. It was one-way only. His father wanted him gone that badly and didn't care when he came back.

If at all.

It was like a knife slash across the chest.

Kicking him off the property hadn't been enough – his father had to kick him out of the country as well. He must have gone to the hospital and spoken to Chris. His brother's words rang in his ears.

At this point, it would be better for me if you just dropped off the face of the earth.

Perhaps they'd even hatched this plan together.

He sat on the note for a couple of days, waiting for someone to call him – either to take it back or tell him it was untrue. Perhaps his mother, asking him to ignore his father's order. Or his sister, wanting him to stay and work things out. Finally, he'd bitten the bullet and gone to see his dad at Oak Hills in a one last-ditch effort to make amends.

He'd found his father in the tearoom next to the lab. He was staring at the blackboard nailed to the far wall, hands clasped behind his back, rocking on his heels. The board was old and really should have been replaced years ago, perhaps with one of those electronic white ones that could do display dumps on a mini printer attached to its base.

Nobody, it seemed, had wanted the upgrade. The board was a piece of Franklin history, prized almost as much as a good vintage. The wooden framing was scratched and discoloured and the duster looked like it would put more chalk on the board than take off.

To an outsider the blackboard seemed to display a table of unrelated numbers, acronyms and dates. But Jack knew that
it was the pulse of the winery. It told the winemaker where his grapes were, what they were mixed with, which fermentation tank had them and how long they had been there. It was both recipe and schedule, status and timeline. It was Horace's lifeblood and until a week ago it had been Jack's as well.

Horace did not turn when Jack entered the room. His eyes remained fixed upon the board, but he did speak.

‘If you're here to demand your job back, think again. I have made up my mind. I don't want you here.'

Jack gritted his teeth. ‘I'm sorry for what I did.'

‘I don't doubt it.'

‘I shouldn't have taken the ute. I shouldn't have been doing donuts with it and I shouldn't have allowed my brother to get on the back when I did so.'

‘No, you shouldn't have.'

‘I don't understand. How many more times do I have to say it before you believe me?'

At last Horace had turned around. ‘I believe you, Jack. But this time, I need more than just words from you.' He stabbed his finger at him. ‘You've gone too far this time. I'm too angry, too deeply disappointed. You have irrevocably changed Chris's life and now I want to irrevocably change yours!'

‘I realise …' Jack licked his lips.

Horace waved aside what he was about to say. ‘I know you will say whatever necessary to placate me, but the truth is, you need space from this place. I am not giving you your job back. Not yet.'

‘Dad –'

Horace Franklin's face was set. ‘I want you to learn from this, Jack, and this is the only way I can see you doing that.'

Jack stared at him in shock. Did he really think that he was that far gone that he hadn't already learned his lesson the second his brother had hit the ground?

‘So this is where we're at?' he said tightly.

‘This is where we're at. This family needs time to heal.'

He flinched. ‘So you're all in agreement about this?'

‘Your mother is too upset.' Horace had shrugged. ‘And I don't want to bring her down further by hashing this out, but I have spoken to Chris. We had both hoped you would have got the message by now.'

‘Oh, I got your message,' Jack returned bitterly. ‘And if that's what you really want, then fine.' He backed away. ‘Tell the others I said goodbye.' He spun on his heel and left.

A few days later he'd flown out to France. No one had turned up at the airport to send him off. No one had rung him to say goodbye. Perhaps his father was waiting until the date and time of the flight had passed to tell the rest of the family about his plan. If they could all disown him so completely, he wasn't going to ring up and thank them for it.

As for Chris, he prayed he didn't mess up his chances with Bronwyn over this. The girl was going to quit law, move to Oak Hills and make everything perfect again. Fingers crossed Chris let her. From this perspective, it was better that he was out of the picture. He didn't know that he could honestly watch their happily ever after. The least he could do after taking away Chris's ability to walk was let him be with the woman they both loved.

And so he'd gone.

France had taken a long time to get used to. It was colder there and there was the language barrier as well, but he'd made it work. Hell, he'd more than made it work. If he was completely honest, there had been a point when he'd started to get caught up in the atmosphere of the place. Bordeaux was the wine capital of the world, steeped in history and tradition. They'd been making wine there since the eighth century, and Jack couldn't help being overrun by a desire to inhale everything around him … if he couldn't actually taste-test it, that is.

He managed to make friends with a few locals, which had certainly made life a lot easier.

Antoine, in particular, would never let him feel sorry for himself. The Frenchman was as outrageous as he was ambitious and he'd pulled Jack right out of his apathy and into ambition. The job his father had found for him was with Antoine's family – Beauchene Wines. Over a barrel of Bordeaux Sauternes, he and Antoine had bonded. Both were winemakers, both searching for something more. It seemed fitting to discuss their dissatisfaction with the world over the infamous sweet wine that was made with partially rotted grapes.

Nonetheless, at the end of the day, Jack hated living someone else's life in France. Oak Hills was his home, his birthright. It was where all the people he loved were. Even if they didn't love him back.

Antoine had wanted a break from tradition. He'd also wanted Australian women, sun, surf and chardonnay to die for. Unlike Jack's family, Antoine could trace his back generations, twelve to be precise. Family feuds and rivalries were a way of life for him and he was unimpressed with Jack's stories from home. He regaled him with more outrageous tales of his own ancestors, who, as far as Jack could see, loved as much as they betrayed, in true French style.

‘Zis gripe you have with your father, to me, it is so insignificant, I do not know why you are here, unless to assault my ears further with your dull complaints.' Antoine's long fingers had flicked at him in dismissal. ‘Go back to Australia, teach him a lesson. Reconcile with your brother and kiss ze woman you love
adieu
. There are more fish in ze sea, let me assure you.'

For Jack, this was not the insult it was meant to be but the kick up the bum he desperately needed. He had stopped and taken real stock of his life. Did he really want to be the irresponsible disappointment who spent a life of exile working on someone else's winery just because his father said so?