Damn.
‘So how long before the winner is announced?’ Gus asked as he popped the cork.
Holly dragged her mind back over the blurred conversation. ‘Three weeks, I think he mentioned. He apologised because it was such short notice this year but one of the judges was overseas.’
‘And the announcement will be made in Sydney as usual?’
‘The Opera House. They’ll fly us over.’
Gus frowned as he poured the straw-coloured wine into the three flutes. ‘I hope I’ll be fit enough to travel.’
‘Of course you will, Pop. You have to be there for the big announcement.’
‘Then I guess I’d just better be there, hadn’t I.’ He raised his glass to his granddaughter. ‘To Holly Purman, wine whisperer, Dionysus’s handmaiden and soon-to-be Australian Winemaker of the Year!’
‘Pop,’ she warned, holding up one hand, but he shooshed her with another toast, louder this time, laden with pride.
‘To Holly Purman, Angus Purman’s brilliant granddaughter!’
‘To Holly,’ said Franco, and Holly buzzed on so many different levels. She’d been nominated for the industry’s highest accolade, not just an acknowledgement of everything she and Pop had worked towards, but a recognition by her industry peers of her talent as a winemaker. And she buzzed because of the pride she saw in her grandfather’s smiling face—she knew she’d made up for the grief she’d given him over the years, just like she’d promised to do.
And then, over the flute of sparkling wine she was tipping against her bottom lip, grey eyes met hers—grey eyes that said her secret rush had been no secret and that he knew—and she buzzed anew.
It was harder working in the days that followed. It was impossible to ignore him. It was impossible to forget about him. It was impossible not to look and follow his progress whenever he moved past her field of vision. Impossible not to be caught watching and to look away too late.
Quite simply she was fascinated by everything about him, by the way he moved in those moleskin jeans, by the way he held on to a pair of snips with those long-fingered hands, and by that velvet voice with its continental notes. He was a Chatsfield and yet he wasn’t, at least not the way she’d expected a Chatsfield to be. He worked as hard in the vineyard as anybody she knew. He lived quietly in the cottage or went into town with Josh in the evenings from what she could tell.
And he curled her stomach into knots every time she caught him looking at her or when their hands brushed while reaching for the snips.
And it was a kind of hell.
* * *
One week down, Franco figured as he sipped on a mug of steaming coffee during break, which left five or thereabouts to go, and the pruning would be done and he’d have that contract signed and be on his way home.
Once upon a time he would have said he could hardly wait but he was enjoying working in a vineyard again after being part of management for so long, especially in such a different part of the world, and five weeks would soon pass quickly enough.
Besides, the job had just got more interesting. Holly Purman was the prickliest woman he’d met—on the outside. On the inside? Well, she’d told him she didn’t want him to kiss her but he’d felt something there. She’d told him she didn’t like him but those turquoise eyes that followed him around the vineyard weren’t exactly sending a hail of razor blades his way. Not any more.
But as to how much more interesting it would get? Who could say, but maybe those five weeks wouldn’t be a complete waste of time.
‘More coffee?’ offered Josh, and Franco nodded. The hot brew sent curls of steam rising into the damp air. ‘So Holly left you out here on your own?’
‘Just while she handles another of those radio interviews.’ There’d been at least a dozen of them since the announcement of the finalists. ‘She’ll be here any minute.’
‘Still,’ the other man said, pouring himself a mug and helping himself to a piece of fruitcake, ‘that’s quite something. Holly doesn’t trust just anybody with her vines.’
‘I had noticed.’
‘She must think you’re pretty damned good.’
Were they talking about the same Holly Purman? Who knew how her mind worked? Not him. ‘I’m not so sure about that.’
The pair drank their coffee in silence for a while before Josh said, ‘Did you hear about the party?’
‘What party?’
‘Mamma Angela, Angela Ciavaro, from next door is throwing a party for Holly Friday night, to celebrate her nomination. Everyone in the district is invited.’
‘Well, if everyone’s invited, I guess that means I’ll be there too.’