The Vineyard
Authors: Karen Aldous
It’s been five years, and Lizzie Lambert has decided it’s time to try to make things right with her estranged mother. She’s made a success of things in Cannes, she’s bringing up a lovely little boy on her own, and she’s ready to put the past behind her.
But it seems Lizzie’s mother has moved on as well. She’s moved her toy boy – a muscle-bound vintner named Cal – into the family home, and given him the run of the land that was meant to be Lizzie’s inheritance!
Cal’s wine business frequently takes him to France, and suddenly wherever Lizzie goes, he’s already there – meddling, giving unsolicited advice, saving her little boy’s life and stealing her heart. But none of this changes the fact that he’s her mother’s lover…
The Vineyard
Karen Aldous
KAREN ALDOUS
Inspired by novelists such as Jilly Cooper and Barbara Taylor-Bradford, many moons ago, Karen never lost her passion for writing. It always got put on the back burner though with stories and articles fuelling the Aga rather than popped in the mail box. Gaining life experience and confidence has been crucial though so, she feels raising her three children along with being in the property and travel industries have not only brought material for her writing but have allowed her to indulge in her favourite pastimes.
Karen currently lives on the edge of the North Downs in Kent and owns a website design business so is able to use her skills and creativity but she craves nothing other than earning a living from writing romance. Her dream! Her friends call it Karen’s world and, why not? Her teachers always said she had an overactive imagination so it makes sense to put it to good use!
She still gets a kick from travelling and seeking that property bargain but her husband and family, particularly, her three grandchildren continue to steal her affections – along with ‘Bertie’ her golden lab. There’s barely enough time to go round, she admits, but their love and support never wavers and without them and, that from fellow writers at ‘The Write Place’ and the RNA, her aspirations may never have flourished!
To the MacMillan Cancer Support and all those involved in helping support and fight the disease. And to my Editor Lucy Gilmour and her team at Carina UK, including Carly Byrne, who all believed in my writing.
To Glyn, Byron, Greg and Gemma... for believing and putting up with me over the years and, to my Mum (Connie) and, Colin…still in all our hearts
Contents
‘Stop the car!’ Lizzie’s heart beat rapidly as heat and perspiration prickled her fair skin sending a trembling through her limbs. A murky sky above gathered dark, heavy clouds.
‘What? I was gonna drive in the gate Miss.’ A rotund figure twisted his neck.
‘No don’t go in yet. Give me a minute out here. Please.’ Her command was clear if croaky. Impatient eyes rolled as the driver steered his taxi close to the holly hedge.
‘We’re blocking the lane Miss’.
Ignoring him, she inhaled deeply and chanted. ‘Be strong.’
‘Miss, I’ve got another fare. I can’t hang around!’
Lizzie continued her chant, ‘Be strong,’ and thumped her knuckles into her chest like it was iron. The driver scowled curiously, his sagging eyes following her from his mirror.
‘Miss, how long you gonna be? It’s gonna cost you more.’
‘Jesus, what is your problem?’ she thundered. ‘There’s a name for people like you. She grabbed her purse. How much do I owe you?’
‘Four quid Miss.’
Only having notes she paid him five pounds.
‘It’s not a tip. Give it to a charity.’ She pelted out of the door and swiped her bulky weekend bag from the seat.
She strode indignantly out of the taxi’s path. ‘Fuckwit,’ she mouthed and, catching sight of the familiar gate almost before her, came to a halt. Reality returned, quivering through her. The oak five-bar gate still hung from the sturdy stone wall, swept back open into the shingle neatly edged along the drive. The fullness of the evergreen Cedar dominated the lawn as she remembered, whilst a thicket of foliage, recently blossomed in the cool May temperature, obscured the main window. This is where she grew up, her home. Finally she was back. A cold gust of wind blew into her from the bruised sky and, pulling her jacket closer to her chest, her heart thundered as she prepared to face her mother after so long. She was determined, for once, to stay in control. Taking a deep breath she chanted ‘strong, strong, strong,’ as she approached the familiar black front door.
‘No going back now,’ she muttered reaching for the bell and subconsciously squeezing the tension through her hands. Moments later she came face to face with her nemesis, a tall, slender and, she noted, greying woman. Her mother. They gazed suspiciously at each other and Lizzie’s throat locked, her lips inert. Not a good start. Silence screamed between them until her mother’s darting, muddy eyes suddenly gave a flash of recognition and her arms thrust out.
‘Lizzie. Oh Lizzie! What a surprise’ Caroline Lambert hurtled over the threshold and clutched the graceful figure tightly. ‘My goodness, thank God you’re alive.’
‘Hello Mum.’ Lizzie’s eyebrows shot up, shocked to have caused such delight in this woman. ‘I hope you don’t mind me turning…?’ Lizzie’s voice was muffled, ensnared in her mother’s shoulder,
‘Well. Wow! What a surprise. I can hardly believe it - turning up out of the blue. I mean after, what, five years or more. Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said finding a gap to breathe, ‘I didn’t think you would want to…’
‘What…? Why on earth wouldn’t I want to see my own daughter?’ Caroline sniffed, wiping her eyes and easing Lizzie gently in over the step. ‘Although you gave me every reason not to I suppose - deserting not only us but your studies and your future. What were you thinking dear girl!’
Lizzie instantly felt the clutch of guilt her mother always managed to instil, flow into every nerve.
Be strong, be strong.
She fought but somehow it still lurked.
Be strong
you are a grown woman yourself now.
After years of being independent and tough, it was hard to imagine fear still caged her. Caroline Lambert was still gripping her daughter like she was scared to let go and Lizzie could feel her chest tighten.
‘You have no idea what you put me through?’ said her mother loosening her grip, ‘Years of not knowing what happened to you. I…I did wonder if you… you were dead.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. I…I sent you a letter explaining.’
Caroline stepped back with a searching look and affectionately tousled her daughter’s hair whilst her gaze roved from tip to toe and back again.
‘That was a long time ago. Anything could have happened since. I really thought you had been murdered and buried or chopped up in a heap in the furthest depths of an isolated forest. What else could I think?’ Caroline sighed with wide questioning eyes and then Lizzie saw her face was alight; a big smile, an excited smile swept over her face. ‘But it’s lovely to see you, not a child anymore either, a woman. You’ve blossomed beautifully. Come on in,’ she commanded, guiding her inside.
Lizzie hauled her bag up from the doorway not quite believing her ears. The chill within her from the hostile stormy air warmed a little. This woman was different. Why on earth was her mother being so nice? She was confused, desperately trying to understand her behaviour because she didn’t recognise this woman. She followed her into the hall, observing a compactness and darkness of a space she swore was once larger.
‘I hope you are planning to stay darling?’
‘If that’s ok?’ Lizzie’s teeth clenched at the imposition.
‘Of course. That’ll be wonderful. So, where are you living now?’ Her mother paused to open the inner lobby door. A welcoming brightness escaped from the kitchen.
‘In Cannes,’ Lizzie told her. Catching sight of her own weary reflection on an inner door, she pinched the smooth skin of her cheeks, adding a healthy blush, and brushed a hand through the crown of her long chestnut hair, adding a little height.
‘I’m afraid your room is still as it was,’ Caroline continued, ‘I thought you’d be back before now of course and I couldn’t bear to touch it. But I’ll put some fresh sheets on the bed. The room will smell stale I’m sure. Here pop your bags down here for now and we’ll get a drink.’ Without acknowledging Lizzie’s answer, she gestured her to follow.
She still doesn’t listen, Lizzie reflected. She scanned the old wooden floorboards for somewhere to place her weekend bag.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured sliding the bag into a recess and gaining a little more comfort and strength. ‘You look really well Mum,’ the words slipped out easily but she never recalled giving such compliments to her before. It was true though, she’d detected an inner light shining from her mother’s autumnal brown eyes, which radiated out giving a luminescence to her slightly tanned skin. Framed by dark, almost straight eyebrows, her face took on a well-defined less rounded shape than Lizzie recalled, with higher, protruding cheek bones. She guessed her mother had either lost weight or had work done. Only fine lines around her eyes, lips and jaw hinted at her age, whilst her taller leanness added a fetching youthfulness Lizzie admired.
‘I feel great actually. I’ve just returned from a long weekend in Barcelona and the weather was glorious, as I am sure you would know. You meant Cannes, in the south of France I take it?’ No her mother hadn’t changed, Lizzie thought, sensing her sarcastic tone. Caroline continued delighting in the opportunity to speak of her favourite subject. Herself!
‘I joined a gym last year too. Instead of one class a week in the village hall, the new health club has a pool as well as lots of different classes. I enjoy yoga and Pilates and I have my own personal trainer!’ Lizzie, knowing her mother was now in self-mode, listened dispassionately and wondered if her mother was more nervous than she was herself, the way she was gabbling. Truth be told, she wished her mother would simply apologise for being such a selfish, domineering harridan of a mother. She followed her through the lobby and into the kitchen.
‘Coffee, darling?’ Her mother asked.
‘Yes that would be lovely,’ she said, entering the familiar kitchen. It had barely changed. She glanced at the very oak farmhouse table she’d sat at daily as a teenager, after school. She doing her laborious homework whilst her mother, pretending to prepare evening meals, secretly guarding her. Running her fingers over the wood, she slipped out a smile as an image of an uncut seedy bloomer from Brown’s bakery brought a flurry of fond memories of the brighter aspects of her childhood. The days when her father and gran were alive, when they were all there for her, including her grandfather. The time when her mother was so pre-occupied in London.
