Sundown Crossing (18 page)

Carla’s vineyard had no dogs to bark and raise an alarm and no padlocked gates, so it was a simple matter to park off road, in the scrub, and wander in after dark. Tonight, a full moon cast a pale glow over the land, the vines, and buildings as he made his way about the vineyard, making sure he trod quietly. Lights, he noted, still shone in the cottage, the winery and in the Loongs’s caravan.

Soon after harvest he had sneaked in to check how many fermentation vats were full, noting that they had managed a respectable harvest for the vineyard’s first year. That wouldn’t make the
Stenmarks happy, if he decided to tell them. But for the moment Luke, John and old Carl were too preoccupied with getting the most out of their own harvest to be concerned over the happenings at Sundown Crossing.

Besides, he had a more personal reason for sniffing around…He hadn’t forgiven Carla for treating him as she had because he had done nothing to warrant the brush-off and, being vengeful by nature, he’d be damned if he let it rest there. He had invested time and money in her and she owed him, and one day he was going to make her pay.

He felt his body getting excited at the thought of what he’d do to Carla when the opportunity came, and it would be more than a lousy kiss. For sure! What she needed, he reckoned, was a bit of a tumble to make her remember what good sex was all about. Hadn’t been with a man since that husband of hers had died, most likely. She was ripe for it, all right. She just needed a little encouragement. Most women wanted it, needed it just like a bloke did, but for reasons known only to them they were usually too coy to admit it.

For several seconds he stood under a window of the Loongs’s caravan, listening to the Asian music. Crap stuff. He shook his head in disgust. Bloody chinks. Kim hated his guts because he’d introduced Tran to a group that played poker on Friday nights in a back room of the hotel in Lyndoch. She was a bossy bitch, according to her brother. He licked his lips. Wouldn’t mind a piece
of her either, she had a good body and he knew about her life back in Vietnam. Probably knew a few tricks to get a bloke into a lather too.

He continued to move quietly around the perimeter of the winery. He peeped through a glass window to watch Angie using some of the lab shit. Not interested in that, or her, he moved on. His gaze became fixed on the front of the cottage, it was sited far enough back from the road for Carla not to worry about curtains in the living areas. Tentatively, he crept up the steps onto the verandah. He was careful because there were a few old boards that squeaked under pressure and over the weeks he had come to know where not to put his feet. He peered into the living room. No one there. He checked the luminous dial on his watch. 9.36 pm. The kid would be asleep by now, but where was Carla? His mouth screwed up thoughtfully, then he licked his lips. In the shower, maybe!

Josh’s throat muscles tightened and he got an instant hard on just from the possibility of seeing her naked in the shower. He closed his eyes and let his imagination take over. There’d be soapy water running down her body, her hair would be wet and slick because she was washing it, and her head would be arched back under the water. Jesus! He gripped his crotch with his left hand. Steady on, old fellow, you’re not a teenager. Control yourself.

Wandering around to the bathroom window, but not being overly tall, he looked about and
found an old plastic crate—Sam and Su Lee used it for stumps when playing cricket—to stand on so he could see into the bathroom via the half-open window. The light was on but no one was in the room. Disappointment snaked through him. Maybe the office? He sneaked around—no lights on there, then, hearing a noise he flattened his body against the office’s outer wall as the back door opened and closed.

He edged closer to the corner to steal a glance at the back of the house. There she was, walking across open ground towards the vines. His forehead knitted in a frown. What was she doing, going for a walk in the moonlight? A pleased grin flicked across his mouth. Shit, yes, that’s precisely what she was doing, walking along where the rows of vines began, stopping every now and then to look up at the sky, then moving on. Josh couldn’t believe his luck. His well entrenched ‘habit’ allowed him to walk without making a discernible sound. He began to follow when he saw that she was moving away from the cottage, and the winery.

Something…the sensation of feeling as if she wasn’t alone, made Carla turn in time to see Josh Aldrich close behind her. She jumped with shock. ‘God, you almost gave me a coronary, Josh.’ Surprise at him being there made her tone angry. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I wanted to give you time to cool down. I think we should talk,’ he lied.

Heart beating double time, her annoyance rising because of the fright, she didn’t disguise her irritation. ‘We have talked. It’s over.’
Before anything had begun.
‘I don’t want to see you anymore, I thought I’d made that clear.’

‘Why? Wasn’t I nice to you, and respectful? We had good times together, didn’t we?’ He moved a step closer. ‘I made no demands on you.’

‘Look, Josh,’ her tone softened, as if trying to reason with a difficult child. ‘What you said is true but I realised two things. One, there was just no emotional attraction on my part and, secondly, I don’t have time to…become involved with any man! I have to concentrate solely on getting Sundown Crossing into the black.’

He didn’t like the way she was talking down to him, as if he wasn’t very bright. What a cheek…anger began to well inside him. ‘That’s great. You get a bloke all worked up with your great body, your beautiful eyes. Make him think he has a chance then, without a moment’s thought for how he might feel about it, you break things off because it doesn’t suit you.’

The moonlight was shining on Josh’s face, letting Carla see how angry he was. She had seen his temper before and common sense told her that she had to try to calm him down. ‘I’m truly sorry if you had the impression that I had feelings for you.’

He made a growling sound in his throat. ‘Sorry doesn’t cut it with me, Carla. I thought
you were different, special. You’re not. You’re like all the other women I’ve known, self-centred, users, all of them.’

‘That’s not true and I think you know it.’ She tried to move around him because all at once she saw that they were a considerable distance from the cottage. A shiver of concern slithered down her spine and her stomach muscles tightened. ‘Look, Josh. Let’s just agree to disagree. Whoever was right or wrong, it doesn’t matter now. Our relationship is over. I want you to leave the vineyard, and I don’t appreciate you sneaking around at night as you obviously have. This is private property, you know.’

It was her tone that did it. Imperious, commanding, dismissive. Just like old Carl. Christ, he’d had enough of people pushing him around, telling him what to do, and when he could do it. When he could come, when he could go. To hell with all the Stenmarks. His gaze ran over Carla’s body, arousing him with a need that within seconds became all-consuming. He was close enough to reach for her, and he did.

‘Time to pay your dues, lady.’ He pulled her to him and began to kiss her ardently, feverishly. One hand slipped around her waist to hold her close while the other roamed over her body, touching her neck, cupping her breasts through the fabric of her shirt. He moved one foot, letting it coil around the back of her feet then he pushed himself forward which made them topple to the ground with him on top of her.

‘Are you insane?’ she screamed as loud as she could. ‘Get off me.’

He hit her across the face to shut her up but still she fought furiously, hitting him on the side of the face, the chest, and shoulders until he grabbed both hands and pinned them above her head. Her legs struck out at him too but the sheer weight of his body made her attack ineffectual. Laughing at her efforts his mouth rained kisses down her throat, between her breasts. He ripped the shirt open and pulled at her bra until her breasts were exposed to his questing hands and mouth.

She continued to wriggle and squirm, trying to get away from his superior strength. He didn’t stop her because he knew that sooner or later she’d run out of energy. Meanwhile his free hand reached down between her thighs and his knee forcibly nudged her legs apart.

She screamed again. He slapped her again.

‘Come on, Carla, give up. I know you want it,’ he whispered huskily. And to demonstrate his own need he rotated the lower part of his body against her abdomen, letting her feel his aroused state. ‘I can make it very good for you or I can hurt you. The choice is yours.’

‘You bastard.’

She went to scream again but he was too quick, his hand covered her mouth to stifle the sound. ‘No one’s going to hear you. No one’s going to help you so you might as well lie back, open your legs for me—it’s not like you’re a
bloody virgin—and enjoy it.’ He grinned with satisfaction as her body went limp against him. He began to undo the button on his jeans. ‘Good girl. I knew you’d be sensible about it.’

K
im Loong came out of the caravan to deposit some wrapped-up rubbish in the bin near their courtyard gate. A strange sound, something she didn’t recognise, made her stop and listen. Was it a night bird of some kind? It didn’t sound like anything she was familiar with. She listened for a while to the ensuing silence, shrugged dismissively and turned to go inside when she heard the noise again. It was a human noise, a woman’s scream! The sound sent a chill down her spine because it brought back the memory of other sounds she had heard years ago on the streets of Saigon. Muggings, gang attacks, even rapes, before she was rescued by Sister Dinah.

Who could be screaming and why, and where was it coming from? The cottage, the winery? Worry made her walk quickly to the cottage and knock on the back door. No response. She went inside the well-lit cottage but it was empty except for Sam who was asleep in his bed. Going
outside again she listened, expecting to hear the sound. Nothing. She should check the winery. All was quiet there and Angie, whom she didn’t disturb, was huddled over some vials and tubes, checking the fermentation levels. So, Angie was accounted for but where was Carla?

Had she dreamed the sound, Kim began to wonder? All seemed in order, the moonlight giving an eerie glow to the grounds, the vines. Unable to hear the sound again or locate Carla, but almost convinced that she had imagined the sound, she was about to go inside when a small splotch of light near the vines caught her attention. It flickered, moved away, flickered again. There shouldn’t be any light there so what could it be? Doing her fastest walk because, suddenly, she sensed danger—an instinct that had been with her since her teens—she made her way towards the flash of light. What she saw made her eyes widen in horror. Someone, a man, was attacking Carla.

Kim didn’t hesitate. Small and lightweight as she was, she launched herself at the man, jumping onto his back and putting her fingers over his face, the nails scratching, trying to gouge his eyes.

‘Let her go, you pig.’ Pent up years of anger at being unfairly used, of being disowned by her parents, spilled over. She kicked him; she gouged him. Her teeth found the top of his ear and bit down as hard as she could.

The man, roaring in pain and anger, tried to buck her off. One of Kim’s arms slid around his
thick throat in a vice-like grip, and squeezed against his Adam’s apple. ‘I kill you, you bad man.’

Forgetting what he intended to do to Carla, in a fury, Josh twisted and turned, trying to dislodge the clinging Vietnamese woman. Finally he succeeded. She rolled off him but as soon as she did she was on her feet again, kicking him wherever she could, as if demented. Carla, relieved of the burden of Josh’s weight and him moving, found the energy to lift her knee up sharply into his groin.

‘Aw. Shit.’
Josh roared like a wounded bull, his pain and frustration doubling. Carla’s open hand delivered a stunning blow to his scratched face, once, twice. Attacked by both women, Josh did the smart thing, and retreated. He stumbled up and onto his knees, then his feet, but Kim, not satisfied, aimed a kick straight at his chest, very nearly knocking him over again. Holding his jeans about his hips he began to run through the vines. One sandal, thrown accurately by Kim, hit him on the back of the head, the other missed by a few centimetres. He kept running until he got to the creek where he could hide in the bushes, catch his breath and calm down.

‘Oh, Carla, you all right?’ Kim went down on her haunches, put her hand on Carla’s arm.

Still on the ground, Carla, sitting up, stared at Kim. ‘Good God, where did you learn to fight like that?’

‘Saigon streets,’ Kim said. There was a note of pride in her voice. ‘Life very hard there, as I have
said. No fight, you no survive.’ She looked down the row of vines to make sure the man wasn’t coming back. ‘That Josh Aldrich, him pig of a man. Him try to rape you. We tell police, they arrest him. Yes?’ Kim helped Carla to her feet.

‘I don’t know, I’m not sure.’ Carla fixed her bra, tied the ends of her shirt together. ‘If I report him, everyone in the Valley will learn of it.’ She amazed herself by being able to think logically because her heart was still pounding, her hands shaking. ‘The gossipers will have a field day. It’ll affect Sam too. You know how school kids tease one another.’

Kim nodded, understanding Carla’s reluctance. ‘But him very bad man, Tran tell me stories. No can trust Aldrich. What if he try again?’

‘I know, it’s a risk. I’ll get a dog, Sam’s always wanted a dog. I’ll train it to be a watchdog.’

‘Geese make good watchdogs too, you know. In many parts of Asia geese often used to protect farms from thieves.’

‘I think Sam would appreciate the dog more, Su Lee as well.’

‘You tell Angie what happened?’

‘Of course.’ Carla’s voice was still shaky from the experience meted out to her by Josh.

Kim walked Carla back to the cottage and said goodnight.

Once inside Carla went to the bathroom and stripped off her clothes. Josh’s attack made her feel dirty. Her body and her face had red welts from his heavy handedness. If Kim hadn’t come
along…she shuddered at the thought because she knew what the outcome would have been. Getting angry again her thoughts moved to the next logical step. She should have him charged. Common sense told her to go to the police but another part of her abhorred the idea of the notoriety that would eventuate from having him charged. And, lately, quite a few people in the Valley were softening their stance against her and the vineyard. Progress was slow, but there was some because she and Angie were proving their determination to make a success of the vineyard. A scandal, such as would occur if Josh were charged, would put her back at square one but, more importantly, it would affect Sam.

No, she shook her head as the cleansing shower ran over her body, relaxing her. She couldn’t put her son through that. Although, she chewed her lip as she contemplated, she had to do something to make Josh stay away from her.

Then an idea came. After she told Angie, they’d take several photos showing the bruising, the torn shirt, the welts on her face and then she would talk to a solicitor, get legal advice on Josh’s attack and that Kim could corroborate the fact. In case of…what? If he came near her again. Perhaps a legal letter stating that if he came within ten metres of her she would give the evidence she had to the police. Yes, she gave a decisive nod, pleased with the action she intended to take. The measure wasn’t perfect but it should make Josh Aldrich keep his distance.

Carla opened the door of the hairdressing salon and stepped inside. She was finally getting around to a much-needed trim and the luxury of a shampoo and blow-dry. The six chairs in front of the mirrors were occupied by customers and the staff of three, including a young girl, probably doing her apprenticeship, gave her a big welcoming smile, as Carla came up to the reception desk.

‘I booked last week for today. Carla Hunter.’ ‘Sure, Carla. Hi, I’m Sarah, the new girl.’ Sarah put a tick in the appointment book against Carla’s name, then she waved her hand around to vaguely encompass the salon. ‘As you can see, we’re playing musical chairs without the music today. The wait will be about ten minutes. Okay?’ ‘Of course.’ Carla found a wicker chair near a table stacked with magazines. She flicked through the pages of the magazine, glanced at the supposedly riveting captions on ‘tell-all’ articles about famous people, mostly movie stars, but they failed to capture her interest. Bored, she began to check out the salon and its customers. In a town as small as Nuriootpa, which had less than three thousand residents, one might expect to see the occasional familiar face. Surprise made her drop the magazine as she recognised a woman at the other end of the salon getting a tint to disguise the predominance of grey. It was Greta Michaels.

What luck! Aunt Greta without the entourage of other Stenmarks. At their one and only meeting in the restaurant, she had sensed a warmth and a latent interest from her aunt, but had also deduced that, worn down by the stronger personalities in the family over the years, Greta took the least line of resistance just to survive.

The chair next to Greta became vacant and Sarah beckoned her to it. Carla recognised an opportunity when she saw one and with Greta’s hair wet and about to be blow-dried, there would be several minutes to talk to her. Her intention was to open up a line of communication, how her aunt responded was up to her.

‘This is a surprise,’ Carla smiled at Greta via the reflection in the mirror. ‘How nice to see you again.’

Greta Michaels stared back. Her features first betrayed shock at being addressed, after which she shifted uncomfortably in the chair, aware that for the moment she couldn’t escape her niece’s presence. ‘Carla. Oh, my!’

‘A pleasant coincidence,’ Carla said, still smiling. God, what could they talk about? Commonplace, ordinary things,
anything.
‘I’m enjoying the cooler weather. Autumn’s a lovely time in the Valley, with the trees and vines changing colour, isn’t it?’ Then it occurred to her that she had first come to the Barossa this time last year. How quickly the time had passed, and how much she and Angie had achieved in that time.

‘It’s my favourite time of year,’ Greta’s reply was polite, guarded, her gaze reluctantly fixed on Carla’s reflection. ‘Sorry,’ she said finally, ‘I don’t mean to stare. It’s just that you look so much like my mother. It’s quite remarkable.’

‘I didn’t know that, I’ve never seen a photo of my grandmother.’ Still, she’d had an inkling that she must resemble someone in the family from the way Josh, Luke and her grandfather had stared at her on their respective first encounters. ‘I never knew anything about your family until after Dad died. Dad’s journal and Angie told me about the Stenmark family and…’ she hesitated then said, ‘the long-ago love triangle.’

Greta shook her head. ‘I’m not surprised your father said nothing. Rolfe always kept things close to his chest, as they say. He was hurt a lot by what happened.’

Carla’s chin tilted with pride. She wasn’t going to apologise for her father—having read his journal she knew there was no need to. ‘All water under the bridge now. History!’ She decided it was prudent to change the subject. ‘My boy, Sam, has his first football match on Saturday. He’s so excited about it.’ Carla took note of Greta’s expression, that it had become less tense. Good. ‘It’s at the oval, 10 am.’

‘Kurt was a talented footballer. The whole family used to be dragged along to watch him play. Mutter and Papa were so proud of him. My Luke preferred Australian Rules to rugby but nowadays, when he gets the chance he plays golf.’

‘That’s nice.’ Carla wasn’t interested in her long-dead uncle, Kurt, or what Luke did in his spare time. ‘Grandfather, he is well?’

Greta’s gaze locked with Carla’s via the mirror. ‘As well as an 83-year-old man can be. He resents growing old and being unable to do what he could do twenty, thirty years ago.’

‘Dad was like that too,’ Carla admitted, sadness in her smile. ‘He had arthritis in the knees and the hands—all the years of outdoor work, I suppose.’

‘Rolfe,’ Greta’s tone softened, and her smile was tinged with melancholy. ‘He wasn’t the sporty type, like Kurt. Too serious-minded. He was a good deal like our mother.’

Greta saw Rachel, the salon’s owner, bearing down on her to finish off her hair. She said, ‘You probably take your boy to the Coulthard Reserve. I often walk there Sunday mornings after church, weather permitting.’

Carla understood. Perfectly. Her aunt was as good as telling her that she’d be available to talk to at the park. She smiled and nodded. ‘I do. Then I’m likely to see you there from time to time.’

‘That’s possible,’ Greta replied, a conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes.

Rachel beamed at them as she turned the dryer on—the noise limited further opportunities for conversation but Carla didn’t mind. She had made contact with her aunt and learned that Greta wasn’t averse to developing a closer bond,
in spite of her father. That her aunt was willing to risk his anger was, in Carla’s mind, indicative of her interest. Another surprise! Several minutes later she watched Greta leave the salon feeling that she might possibly have an ally at Stenhaus, and that couldn’t be a bad thing.

Luke, sitting on a chair in the solarium, watched his mother check that the dinner table had been set correctly. Sometimes Margit, the cook, mixed the cutlery up and Grandfather was a stickler for such details being correct. There was something different about her today. Ah, yes, she had been to the hairdressers. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, not a strand out of place. Almost always in tune with his mother’s moods he sensed something else. What was it? A secretiveness about her smile and the way she hummed under her breath implied that, clearly, she had had a very good day.

‘You look like the cat that swallowed the canary, Mum. What have you been up to?’

‘What makes you think I’ve been up to anything?’ Greta glanced in his direction, her answer evasive.

‘I can usually tell when something special has happened to you or is going to happen. You know that. Are you planning a party, a holiday, or…?’ He fixed her with a quizzical stare, his curiosity rising in tempo with her contrived vagueness. One thing his mother wasn’t, was vague.

‘I just had an interesting day, that’s all.’

‘At the hairdressers?’ he queried, not convinced.

Greta came and stood beside him at the window. Her tone lowered to a shade above a whisper. ‘All right, I’ll tell you but you have to keep it to yourself, Luke. I ran into Carla today, she was having her hair done at the same place.’

‘How convenient.’ His tone hardened. ‘I hope she didn’t make a scene.’

‘She didn’t.’ Greta’s reply was quick, a little sharp. ‘We talked for a while, mostly about her son, they’re very close, as we are. Carla, she seems…nice, that’s all.’

‘No one’s said she isn’t nice. It just isn’t right for her to be here. Grandfather doesn’t want her around, she reminds him too much of the past. Neither does Lisel.’

‘Lisel doesn’t like her because Papa doesn’t,’ Greta shot back at him. ‘And as for Papa’s reasons, what happened did so a long time ago. He’s old and stubborn and he thinks he did the right thing by sending Rolfe away but…’ She took a breath then said calmly. ‘I don’t. I never have. I didn’t believe the things Marta said about Rolfe years ago—she was a sly, conniving young woman who made a mistake and didn’t have the guts to admit it. The whole situation was her fault and we’ve all suffered because of it.’