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  Blake looked down and smiled.

  “This must be Jess.”

  The old dog struggled to her feet on the slippery wooden floor.

  “She is a beauty. No wonder you didn’t want to let her go.”

  “She was in her day. But she wouldn’t be much use to you now as a working dog and she is spayed so her breeding days are well over.”

  “If you have the time I’d appreciate you giving me a hand settling the dogs in. Are you sure you are happy to let them all stay on the property?”

  “I have to be realistic. They are working dogs and where ever I end up it is unlikely there would be a job for them. I would like to make sure their needs are catered for and they are settled well before I move on.”

  Blake nodded.

  “Perhaps we could start tomorrow if you have time to spare and don’t mind me intruding prior to possession? I would like to ask your opinion regarding setting up better access between the two properties and also get you to go through your normal stock rotations.”

  He glanced down at his watch.

  “I had better not take up any more of your time.”

  Blake got up and walked to the door before hesitating.

  “I’ve been involved in several diversified properties over the years. I would be happy to offer you any guidance I can. The door is always open so please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Paul made himself another cup of coffee before settling back down at the computer.

  Jean and Sean took possession of the home unit within days of Twin Pines passing out of Clarke family hands. They moved off the farm over a period of weeks. Their life’s possessions had been stored in every corner of the house and farm buildings.

  It was a stressful and emotional trip as they reduced their precious belongings and memories to fit into a unit less than half the size of the farmhouse.

  Paul was grateful for the distraction. He helped them each day box china and breakables, photos and furniture. Many headed straight to various charities and the rest fitted snugly in the new, cream and brown home unit that overlooked the manicured eighteenth hole of the local golf course.

  A comfortable friendship soon developed between Paul and Blake. If it was necessary to extend the period he worked on at Twin Pines Paul was sure it would be a manageable option.

  Blake’s wife, Caroline, was a petite non-descript woman that had a slightly nervous disposition. She arrived at Twin Pines daily carrying armfuls of fabric and wallpaper samples, squares of carpet and small boxes of tiles. She had commissioned decorators to start a full refurbishment of the farm house on the day of settlement.

  Massey and Auckland University sent their prospectus. Paul thumbed through the information without enthusiasm.

  Sean delivered piles of rural newspapers that accumulated on the table. Advertisements and photographs of rolling pasture where circled in heavy black marker. Nothing for sale could be compared to Twin Pines. Even if Paul had committed years of work and vast injections of capital to complete development he would only create a shadow of his former family-owned property.

  Four weeks later Paul sat at the table with a beer in his hand.

  “Stop looking so hard or you won’t see the obvious.”

  Paul looked up from the national newspaper opened at the Business’ for Sale section.

  “Don’t be too relaxed, your home unit is small and you might end up with Jess as a tenant if I don’t find something soon.”

  Jess looked up and wagged her tail at the mention of her name.

  Sean laughed.

  “We’ll manage, I’m sure.”

  Paul listlessly turned over another page. A tapestry of unnatural looking pictures staged on bright sunny days spread out across the newsprint, each competing for his attention. Maybe it was the dullness, the natural lighting and untouched photographs but Pauls eyes settled on one advertisement. He reached for his beer and read the print. Jean glanced over and watched a small frown of concentration spread across Paul’s forehead.

  “Look at this.”

  “A vineyard! What the hell do you know about growing grapes?”

  “What the hell did you know about lamb and wool before you converted Twin Pines?”

  “Paul, you have one opportunity to set yourself up for life with the proceeds of Twin Pines. If you take a gamble that doesn’t pay off, there won’t be a second chance.”

  Paul had continued studying the advertisement.

  “Why not look at something closer to what you have grown up with and know? There are a number of dry stock farms for sale. Even diversify to angora goats or alpaca’s, I believe they are making good money. You could purchase a dairy farm and bring on a sharemilker. Butter fat prices are set to escalate.”

  Sean glanced towards Jean but she was also focusing on the vineyard advertisement. He gave up on making eye contact and continued.

  “Purchase good land, tidy it up and you are assured of a capital gain in years to come. In the meantime, you could successfully manage any form of actual farming with your background.”

  “A vineyard is a form of farming and would also provide a capital gain, Dad.”

  Paul continued, despite the set line that was forming in Sean’s mouth.

  “Waiheke Island is only half an hour’s ferry trip from Auckland city. Any properties with riparian rights on beaches like this, have to be sought after now and in the future. There’s a huge population on the Island’s doorstep.”

  Sean glanced over.

  “How can you justify a tiny piece of land commanding almost the same money as a land holding the acreage of Twin Pines?”

  “Horticulture is intensive farming. The land price per acre would be assessed on a totally different scale to High Country land.”

  Paul looked at his father’s concerned expression and softened.

  “I have looked at numerous properties and businesses. Nothing I have seen has justified even a second inspection. This vineyard will probably also prove a disappointment or unviable financially. But I have to look at all the alternatives if I have a chance of finding the right one.”

  He folded the newspaper and stretched. Sean was eyeing Paul through narrowed slits.

  “You are going to ring about that property aren’t you?’

  “Tomorrow’s job.”

  Paul waited until the crunch of gravel could be heard on the driveway before he unfolded the paper and studied the advertisement again.

  Private Sale on Waiheke Island.

  Boutique Vineyard.

  19 hectares (47 acres)

  6 Hectares planted in approximately 25,000 vines.

  Good fruit bearing.

  Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Syrah.

  Pinot Gris, Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc grapes.

  Sale presents a unique opportunity for expansion, diversification, development and further contribution to the export market.

  5 hectares 800 Olive trees producing high quality Extra Virgin Oil.

  Established Organic Orchard planted in Lime and Lemon Trees.

  Improvements include unique Tuscan-style four bedroom home. Inground Pool. Expansive Seaview’s. Riparian Rights.

  Two-bedroom workers cottage.

  Winery, Tasting Room and large barrel room.

  Implement Sheds, Shelter Belts, Water Dam, Irrigation and Bore.

  Alfresco Style Restaurant, Café and Commercial Kitchen (planning approval obtained). Business to be developed by New Owner.

  This premium property is on two titles. Potential to expand Vineyard or subdivide 6 hectare for lifestyle block without affecting commercial viability of Vineyard.

  Situated close to popular Beaches, Country Club, shops and Matiatia Ferry for ferry easy access to Auckland City.

  Idyllic lifestyle with potential for new dynamic owner to expand, develop and diversify.

  Retiring owners of thirty years reluctantly offer property for sale.

  The advertisement included three photographs that were obviously untouch
ed and not taken by professional photographers.

  The first showed the main house. It was a single story structure that looked to be made from solid plaster. It was painted in an attractive terracotta colour, not bright or gaudy but rich and earthy. Rustic heavy beams jutted from the front of the house, shadowing a wide and inviting entrance. Purple bougainvillea hung in stark contrast over the beams, wrapping the entrance like the mouth of a cave. On either side of the heavy wooden, double front doors sat wine barrels spewing bright red geranium over their tops.

  The sea formed the background. It gave the impression the house was situated above a bay with an expansive flat area of manicured grass running towards the edge of the cliff.

  The second photograph was taken in a large rectangular room. The outer edges were lined with stacked barrels lying on their sides. Their round ends protruding toward the middle of the dark room. There were no furnishings and the floor looked to be made of large concrete tiles or stone.

  The third was taken in the vineyard itself. Vines, uniform and bowing under the heavy weight of purple fruit ran in straight lines that reached out towards the shimmering blue of the harbour below. Elegant bushes of red roses were planted at the head of each row. The grass appeared to be neat and trimmed between the vines.

  Paul looked quickly at his watch. It was definitely too late to telephone the vendor tonight. He walked to the bench and made a cup of strong coffee. He then reached over and opened up the computer and typed in the words Waiheke Island.

  Chapter 20

  “Joanne”

  A strong stench of ammonia permeated from the kitchen. Joanne emerged clad in a powder blue dressing gown, her face flushed by another restless night’s sleep.

  “What are you doing up at this hour? Not again!”

  “Not again?”

  “That damned Critter, I’ve just stood in another puddle. You really have to start cleaning up as soon as he has messed.”

  Sandy grinned sheepishly.

  “Sorry, I was just going to finish making lunch and then mop up. He always gets excited when we are going out on the boat. I was about to come and wake you up.”

  Joanne tried to suppress a groan.

  “I’ll go and have a quick shower,” she glanced through the gap in the curtains. “The sun isn’t even up.”

  “That’s the best time and there is no point in having a shower, you will stink of bait by the time we get home.”

  “Perfect.”

  The hot water ran down Joanne’s face, washing away the heaviness of sleep deprivation. Every thread of her life seemed to have unravelled over the last few weeks. The biopsy loomed over them like an unspoken threat. She felt unable to prevent the fear that was etched in Sandy’s face, and watched helplessly as it sent her into rages of frustration and periods of irrational darkness.

  It was only in the solitude of her room that Joanne could allow her mind to wrestle with the insecurities and uncertainty that frayed at her nerve ends. Sleep, when it eventually came, was always broken and fitful, plagued by barely remembered dreams and leaving her drained and on edge.

  She studied her face in the mirror. A hint of dark circles was already forming under her eyes. Perhaps some time spent in the fresh air would lift their spirits and break the gloom that seemed to have penetrated the villa.

  There was an impatient shout from Sandy, followed by the sound of a cupboard door slamming. Her mood swings created a window to the tension she was feeling and, as the appointment drew closer, the peaks and troughs became less predictable and more acute.

  Joanne ran a hand through her damp hair and savoured the last tranquil moment of solitude. If she had a choice, she would return to the security of her bed and immerse herself in a book escaping reality through the story of a stranger’s life.

  She glanced in the mirror again. The dull pressure of a tension headache was forming behind her temples. Another cupboard door slammed closed as Joanne opened the bathroom door releasing a cloud of steam.

  Sandy stood in the kitchen her face was contorted in rage.

  “You are so bloody selfish! I’ve done everything while you were indulging. I have to work tonight and now it’s hardly worth going out.”

  Joanne glanced down pointedly at her watch. It was seven thirty.

  They travelled to the launching ramp in silence.

  A good humoured, elderly man approached Sandy as soon as she entered the boat club car park.

  “I guess it’s my lucky day, Miss Sandy.”

  Sandy giggled and flirted outrageously with the old man. Joanne looked on in amazement as the trailer was backed down the ramp, the boat unloaded and the car parked. The gentleman returned with the keys and smiled with genuine affection.

  “It is good to see you have company today.”

  He nodded towards Joanne.

  “I always worry when I see you going out into the channel alone.”

  The outboard burst into life and they navigated out of the small rocky launching area. The tense set had softened on Sandy’s face and Joanne spoke for the first time since they had left the villa.

  “He’s right, you should be more safety conscious.”

  “There you go again, always looking for the worst scenarios. I’ve been coming out here by myself for week. I’m going to take you around Waiheke Island and, perhaps later, we can pull into one of the small bays for lunch.”

  It was a calm, flat day on the water with only a light breeze to break through the humidity. The sun sent dancing reflections off the top of the tiny ripples and enveloped their backs in a cloak of delicious warmth.

  Joanne’s white knuckles slowly relaxed and the dull throbbing in her temples subsided. She had never really had the opportunity to do any kind of boating. Her parents were not interested in it and had never had the time to explore outdoor activities, and fish was readily available either fresh or frozen at the supermarket.

  They wound their way in and out of the numerous white sand bays that formed the outer shore of the Island. Houses, small baches and boat sheds dotted the edges. Yellow and orange kayaks sat idly on the beaches and boats were moored on private jetties and buoys.

  The landscape changed from the soft foliage of native bush to steep rocky cliffs dropping dramatically into the emerald coloured sea. Velvet rolling pastures created a background for crescent-shaped beaches enveloping small tranquil inlets. Rows of grapes and the orchards growing olive trees gave way to sheep roaming on hillsides or standing silhouetted against the sharp blueness of the sky.

  At lunchtime they tied Lucky Lady on to a jetty and sat eating sandwiches on a small shelly beach. Before leaving, they walked a short distance to a tiny café that served good strong coffee and had shelves stocked high with local produce. Joanne purchased local pinot gris, two bottles of organic virgin olive oil, salad greens and a polystyrene box and ice to keep it fresh.

  The opposite side of the Island was more populated. Small settlements clustered along the edges of long, white, sand beaches and colourful housing clung to the hillsides that rose above.

  The sun, the smell of salt and the warm gentle breeze soothed away the tension that broken sleep hadn’t. There had been little opportunity to talk over the noise of the outboard and, without the effort of holding a conversation, Joanne had been able to think logically about Sandy’s health issues, the breakdown of her own relationship, loss of her home, career and security.

  Hours spent lying awake while her mind skimmed from one stressful part of her life and on to the next had resolved nothing nor had it enabled Joanne to formulate any sort of plan.

  The first priority had to be Sandy. Until the biopsy established if there actually was a malignant tumour she would be needed as support. That meant, at least in the short term, Joanne could not look to change her own situation by looking for employment or a house of her own.

  Joanne wasn’t sure exactly how much money she had accumulated but she assumed a bank statement would be sent when her account was transferred t
o Auckland. She was sure there would be enough from the sale of her car and the savings she had conscientiously put aside during her term of employment in Nelson to provide security until she was in a position to look for a permanent income.

  “Hey, are you awake?”

  Groggily, Joanne dragged herself from the depths of thought. She was vaguely aware of the lapping water on the side of the boat, the intense heat of the sun and the sudden absence of the throbbing from the outboard motor.

  “I can’t believe I managed to drift off.”

  “It’s the sea air and sun. I’ve caught a decent snapper for dinner so we might as well head in.”

  The sun had lost its bite as Joanne stood at the bench tossing salad greens and fresh tomatoes in olive oil and balsamic dressing. A small glass of the pinot gris sat in a frosted glass next to her hand.

  Sandy had showered, her hair was freshly washed and her makeup applied ready for work at the wine bar.

  “Can you understand why I purchased the boat?”

  Joanne took a sip of her wine and thought carefully before answering.

  “To be honest, I thought it was the most stupid thing that you have ever done. That was this morning. This afternoon I understand.”

  They lifted their glasses.

  “I’m sorry about the way I’ve been acting. I am not sure why I feel so irritable.”

  “I think it is just all the waiting. We will get through it.”

  Joanne cleaned up the dishes and finished her second glass of wine. Sandy had left for work two hours earlier and, although the house was quiet and peaceful, she felt the nagging of an uncompleted task.

  Stephen picked up the telephone on the second ring.

  “Joanne! I am so glad to hear your voice. I have been trying to call you to explain.”

  She immediately felt irritated.

  “Don’t be glad and please don’t even attempt to explain. I haven’t rung to discuss your excuses, Stephen. I have no interest in listening to you trying to justify yourself. I have called to ask you to refrain from ringing my mother.”