Someone was there to hand her up the stairs to the podium and she didn’t trip, she didn’t fall, she made it there in one piece and received her beautiful award, a stylised golden vine on an earth-brown timber base.
Then it was time to make her acceptance speech.
Franco watched her with a mixture of pride and relief. She deserved the award, she truly did. One part of him was happy for her. But she would be even busier now with interviews and television appearances in the coming weeks as the news of her win got out. It was a good time for him to disappear.
He heard her thank the audience and the Wine Association and give thanks to Gus once again for teaching her everything she knew.
He heard her pay tribute to her fellow finalists, all of whom were worthy winners.
And then she paused, and like everyone else in the room Franco waited, and saw her eyes find him in the crowd. She hugged the award to her chest. ‘This is turning out to be quite some year,’ she started. ‘A few weeks ago Purman Wines had an offer some might say was too good to refuse.’
Franco’s legs pushed him up higher in his seat.
‘So, naturally, I turned it down.’
The audience laughed. All except Franco, who wondered what was coming, every part of him on tenterhooks.
‘Luckily for us, the person making the offer was insistent and wouldn’t go away. Luckily for us, he stuck around. It’s too early just yet to give details of this offer, but it’s a very good deal and we will be signing with this group this coming week, probably as soon as I get home, so you’ll hear about it very soon.’
Yes! It was perfect. He’d have the deal and there would be no reason for him to stay any longer.
She was smiling at him now and he was smiling right back.
‘I’d like to thank this person for his offer and for his refusal to go home when I demanded it—’ more laughter here ‘—but most of all I’d like to thank him for his faith in our wines and his determination to acquire them, because ultimately, what better compliment can a winemaker ask?’
Her words grated deep into his senses, the euphoria he’d felt just a moment ago already slipping away in the wounds.
Faith in her wines?
Determination to have them?
Yes to the second. But the second was in no way related to the first. The second had far more to do with another motivation that had nothing to do with her wines. They could have tasted like home brew, for all he cared, and still he would have signed them up, because that’s what Christos wanted if Franco was to be assured the cash flow from the Chatsfield Family Trust. And so that’s what Christos would get.
Up on the podium, Holly nestled the award alongside her shoulder. ‘I hope this award tonight goes some way to vindicate that faith and resolve to have Purman Wines served at his tables. Thank you.’
Franco felt sick to the core.
She left the podium to a standing ovation. People at the table were pumping his hand, conversation was buzzing with speculation, and all he wanted to do was disappear. Hide. Vanish. He’d been here under false pretences the entire time. And there was no time to process that because Holly was back and he had to perform, to do the right thing, so he folded her in his arms and kissed her cheek and congratulated her. He didn’t know whether the resistance he felt in her body was due to some failure in his efforts or because she was still buzzing from the win or something else.
It was hours before they made it back to the hotel but it was still not long enough for Franco’s liking. There’d been congratulatory drinks and then an afterparty hosted by a nearby wine bar and all the time he’d dreaded being back in the suite, to the tatters of the night he’d had planned.
And all the time the guilt had weighed down on him, like a weight dropped from a great height upon his chest. It had been too easy, he realised, too easy all along. He’d had the Purmans’ agreement in his pocket weeks ago, all he had to do was the time, and the cash flow from the Chatsfield Family Trust would be his.
But since that first day when she’d accused him of being a messenger boy, he’d never considered how Holly saw his part in this deal. He’d worked in the vineyard to prove he was the kind of person they could do business with. The kind of person they could trust.
But it had always been about the money.
Nothing had changed since then.
It was still all about the money.
And he was still a messenger boy.
And he hated himself for it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘I CAN’T BELIEVE it,’ Holly said as she put the award down in the centre of the dining table and admired it some more. ‘I still can’t believe I won. I may have to take this to bed with me. I hope you don’t mind.’