Chapter 1

Erika watched Sanchia leave, the li le Uno puffing its way back up the hill.

Pull yourself together, she thought.

But when was the last time she’d been truly, undeniably and absolutely alone?

 

Though she and Albert had been married for five years and together for two years before that, she’d had a series of boyfriends from the age of fourteen. A serial dater, her faithful (and brutally honest) friend Ashton had said, afraid of your own company.

Well, this was her chance to prove Ashton wrong.

 

Standing on the wooden deck, Erika looked out towards the ocean. Albert had never been a man for the beach. He didn’t like the sand; he hated sun cream sticking to him. And the sooner he could wash off the salt water in a decent warm shower, the be er. Albert’s idea of a holiday was a cityscape. Prague, Venice, New York. Erika had never complained. She liked to shop, spend hours in museums studying the daubs and strokes of the masters in the great galleries of the world. She liked si ing in cafés watching people pass. She loved eating in chic restaurants and riding on unfamiliar public transport. But the more she considered it, the more she wondered if she’d liked it for Albert, or for herself.

 

Erika studied the waves, wondering how she would capture the grey in paint. It wasn’t charcoal, or cinereal, or oyster. There was something smoky about the water, the spray coming up like pearls. Or harlequin opals. To the left, a finger of land tipped into the water. Rocky and black. Wavelets combed the edges, cascading foam and onyx-coloured – was it seaweed?

Albert wouldn’t have been caught dead in this isolated, windswept place.

 

And that’s what decided her. Kicking off her shoes and shrugging off her clothes, she dug into her suitcase for a swimsuit. Winter? This wasn’t winter!

 

By the time she got to the beach, Erika could feel a cold breeze beginning to rise and so what? She strode into the water, feeling her toes blueing. Her calves. Her thighs. Then she was up to her chest, the Atlantic waves closer, advancing on her. Erika took a deep, hungry breath and dived.

 

Welling within her when she emerged – teeth chattering, legs goose-pimpled – was a sense of triumph she hadn’t experienced in years. Wrapping herself in one of her Uncle Donald’s fluffy towels, she walked back up Scarborough Beach towards the path that led to the house.

 

She could do with warming up, though, and decided that she rather fancied a cup of coffee: frothy and foamy with chocolate sprinkles on top. She hadn’t thought to ask Sanchia where to go, but how difficult could it be? She’d have a hot shower, get dressed, then test out the Opel Uncle Donald had lent her, following the coastline so she didn’t get lost.

 

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

 

She’d been so nervous on her arrival at the airport. Sanchia had tapped her on the shoulder, picking her out immediately.

 

‘Erika? I’m Sanchia. Welcome to Cape Town. I’m parked illegally, so let’s zip back to the car.’?

About five foot three, and gently rounded, Sanchia had a soft caramel-coloured skin, and a crop of short black hair that collected in points over her ears. She’d been wearing an unfashionable woolly jersey, but her smile was warm. Erika wasn’t used to her accent though – it didn’t sound much like the South Africans she’d met at home in London.

 

As Erika had se led into the passenger seat, Sanchia had leant over to help her with her seat belt.

‘There’s a trick to this,’ she’d said. ‘A li le jiggle to the left ... See?’

 

Erika had smiled weakly to herself. She wasn’t good with strangers. Or was she? It was a long time since she’d managed a stranger without Albert.

As it turned out, Sanchia didn’t need her to chat.

 

‘So this is Gugulethu. It goes on for kilometres.’ Sanchia had waved her left hand, gripping the steering wheel with the right.

 

Erika studied the endless array of corrugated-iron-and-plastic shacks. Electricity wires hooped down, and every now and then she could see an enormous street lamp, which must have lit up the area like a football field. People passed between the shanties on ramshackle bicycles or on foot. As Sanchia’s car slowed down in the morning traffic, Erika could see that a man had set up a barber shop in a large shipping container and was shaving hair in the morning sun. Men were smiling, cha ing.

It hit her hard in her midriff. When was the last time she’d smiled like that?

Sanchia’s li le car whined as she changed gears.

 

‘Everybody’s coming into work,’ she said. ‘In half an hour this won’t even be moving. I’ve learnt a few tricks. My brother’s a taxi driver.’

‘Right,’ Erika managed.

‘So Donald tells me you’re an artist,’ Sanchia said.

 

‘Yes. Acrylics and oils mostly. I’m fascinated by light. It’s liquid quality, you know, how to capture its ephemeral nature when everything else seems to be so dense. To me, light resembles the states of water, sometimes solid, sometimes diffuse and transparent …’

Sanchia smiled.

 

‘Sorry, I’m waffling on. I also do smaller-scale sketches and paintings for books – that’s my bread and bu er. Not my passion; I can’t express myself as well in such a small space.’

 

‘Well, you won’t find a more beautiful city to paint than Cape Town. We do things big here: big skies, big clouds, big mountains. And Scarborough changes every day. Especially from your bedroom window. You can sit in that one room and see all the seasons.’

‘So Donald said. Have you lived there long?’

 

‘Five years. Not really sure how it happened. I was a nurse at one of the private hospitals – oncology. One of my patients left me the house in his will. No family, you know? I was the closest thing to that. Old toppie was in and out that hospital for almost a year. I nursed him on the weekends sometimes. Finally gave in.’

‘Poor man.’

 

Sanchia nodded. ‘And good,’ she said. ‘I would have nursed him anyway. He was kind. And so lonely.’

 

• loud hoot erupted in front of them as Sanchia braked and flicked on her hazards. The car shuddered to a stop. Erika gripped on the sides of her seat with both hands. ‘What’s happening?’ Erika asked, wondering if she would die in this odd place.

 

‘Must be an accident. Don’t worry. It’ll clear. Good time to study our most famous landmark.’

 

Erika had been so focused on the traffic that she hadn’t even noticed it. Rising above the entire city, the landmark was actually impossible to miss. It was like the body of an

 

 

 

enormous whale, gliding through an ocean of sky. Above it, an apex of cloud built like a blowhole. The scenery seemed almost staged; an intimate departure point, she hoped, for a new phase in her artistic and physical existence. A se ing that could conspire with the weather and her moods to create something life-affirming; something real.

‘You can’t get lost in Cape Town,’ Sanchia said, grinning. ‘Just follow the mountain.’

 

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

 

All ready to go in pursuit of her coffee, with no apparent grasp of simple mechanics. The difficulty, she soon discovered, was getting the car out the garage. For some reason, she couldn’t work out how to get the gears into reverse. What a fool. She wondered if she should phone Sanchia, but the thought of needing help so soon made her cringe. Erika pictured Ashton’s knowing smile and slid out the car.

 

She’d walk. She was not to be foiled on her next attempt at freedom … well, not that easily anyway. She picked up her handbag, closed the garage door, and turned the alarm on with the remote control, as per Sanchia’s instructions.

 

Fifteen minutes later she came across a small cluster of shops, recognising a li le corner store with a sign saying ‘Fresh pies’. Considering the puppy fat she’d gained since the fiasco with Albert, Erika decided against the pies. But next door was a li le café-restaurant with wide green-and-white-striped awnings and the smell of brewing coffee, which was enough to draw her in.

 

• woman in her forties, with a green-chequered apron tied around her waist, came to serve her.

 

‘Good morning, dear. Where’ve you blown in from?’ She had a portrait face, just the right number of lines to make her interesting.

 

‘I walked,’ Erika indicated. ‘I’m staying in one of the houses near the beach. The one with the glass frontage, and wooden deck. Shaped a bit like a ship.’

 

‘Donald’s place,’ the woman said. ‘You’re holidaying at a strange time of year. We’re expecting another storm by this afternoon. Good thing you came now – you can’t walk two metres in a Cape downpour.’

 

‘Really?’ Erika said as she studied the white trail out over the ocean.

 

‘Oh, don’t rely on that,’ the woman laughed. ‘This is the Cape of Storms. Now what can I get you?’

‘A la e, please. And maybe a muffin or something like that?’

 

The woman scuttled inside, and returned a minute later with the coffee, a muffin and a newspaper.

 

‘Sit awhile,’ she said. ‘If you’re on hols you’ve time to watch the world pass. I’m Madeleine by the way.’

‘And I’m Erika,’ said Erika.

 

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

 

The storm came, just as Madeleine had predicted, when Erika was safely back at the house. But it wasn’t as windy and whipped up as Erika had expected; the grey skies simply sluiced out seemingly endless quantities of water that marred her view of the sea as silver droplets congregated on the windows.

 

Erika liked the rain. So she pulled a chair to under the shelter of the porch so that she

 

 

 

could watch the waves, which seemed fiercer in the half-light. White water crashed on the rocks, then crocheted into foam doilies on the abandoned beach. With only the sound of ratcheting, churning water, Erika felt as though she was the only person in the whole world.

 

She wondered if this is what Donald had pictured for her. Endless thinking time. Mulling over her shattered hopes.

Being alone, alone, alone.

 

Her womb scraped out, her doctor’s words echoing through her mind: I’m sorry, Erika, but your egg quality is really poor. And it gets worse in your thirties. We’ve done what we can about your uterine lining; we’ll just have to wait and see what happens next time. Now don’t give up, alright? I can’t tell you that a baby is impossible. Miracles do happen.

The empty chair beside her in the consulting room.

 

Dr Maas hadn’t said anything about Albert’s absence, and Erika had simply assumed that his absence was normal; that all men avoided the idea of a baby-in-a-bo le. But si ing outside now, watching the rain, she began to remember the anxious would-be fathers in the waiting room, holding their wives’ hands, fetching them cups of tea from the table in the passage. On the two occasions Albert had come with her, he’d checked his email obsessively on his phone, and paced furiously: Why, for Christ’s sake, can these doctors not run to schedule? Instead of calming her, he’d made her stomach churn and her heart thunder in her ears, so by the time she’d seen the doctor she’d been shaking with nerves. What a way to make a new life.

Or not, as it turned out.

 

Erika sipped the wine Sanchia had left her. It wasn’t really white-wine weather, but it made her feel wanton, drinking on her own. And during the day! Her mother would have tut-tu ed the wine back into the fridge: Now you look after that liver be er than Grandad did, dear. The drink’s genetic, Erika – you know that. It always boiled down to her genes, it seemed. Her hair (We’re carbon copies, darling). Her breasts (Granny Morris. So you can blame your dad’s side of the family). Her artistic bent (I wish I could take the credit, Erika. But you do have my imagination). Her infertility ... (Victoria ba led for years, darling.)

Was nothing entirely hers?

 

Erika looked out across the waves. The churning rain had turned the water opaque and dense, cloud and sea merged and would only be perceptible if a boat came over the horizon.

A crimson ship, perhaps, slicing open the horizon like a knife through grapefruit.

 

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

 

Later, when darkness overcame the view completely, and lights began to shimmy from the few occupied houses below, Erika moved inside. She hoped that the sight of her blank canvases, sketchbook and boxes of neatly assorted paints would make her feel herself again.

 

Her suitcases remained where she’d left them next to the front door, though split open in her search for a bathing costume. Gripping a handle, she still felt the pull on her shoulder from lugging her belongings on the Tube to Heathrow.

 

No one had come to wave her off, though some had offered. Even Albert, for goodness sake. But she’d felt humiliated, as if she was running away, and she hadn’t wanted a pom-pom brigade.

What a way to leave.

Chapter 2

The rain continued for days and Erika began to wonder why she hadn’t just stayed in

 

England. It was summer at least with long days and enough sunshine to keep her cheerful, well, more cheerful than this. But then she remembered. Everywhere she went there, she bumped into sympathy. In bucket-loads. She couldn’t bear it. It was just so awfully hard.

 

Then Sanchia popped by, her Labrador on a leash, and showed her how to put the car in reverse.

 

‘Grip and pull,’ she said, as the dog pulled against her, ready to leap into the back. ‘Sorry. This mu thinks we’re going for a drive. He loves the wind in his face.’

‘Well then, why don’t we?’ Erika said, proud of her spontaneity.

They decided on Muizenberg.

 

Uncertain of the car, Erika kept well within the speed limit, travelling over the mountains with Sanchia directing. The dog, who Sanchia had named Desmond ‘after Desmond Tutu’, salivated excitedly, head half-extended out the window despite the rain. His barking combined with the beat of the downpour made conversation almost impossible, but the sudden release from the house and the realisation that she had fully – albeit temporarily – escaped from her life gave Erika the urge to laugh, to just let go. And Sanchia, picking up on her hilarity, began to laugh too.

 

They travelled along the coast, through Simon’s Town and then Fish Hoek, the main road clogged with construction work, antiques shops and pedestrians taking the gap. Minutes from Muizenberg, Desmond retired to his seat and fell soundly asleep.

Finally able to talk, Sanchia closed the windows.

 

‘Muizenberg has had its ups and downs. It’s being restored at the moment, but it’s quite a historic place. You know Cecil John Rhodes?’

Erika wracked her brain. ‘The mining guy?’ she guessed.

 

‘Well, a li le more than that, seeing as Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe, was named after him. He spent his later years there. And Rudyard Kipling lived in his co age after he died. Now it’s all about surfing. Beautiful waves, great for beginners. Even in weather like this we’ll see people out on the water.’

Erika looked behind her at the sleeping dog.

‘Have we exhausted him?’ she wondered aloud.

 

‘Nee wat, he’ll spring to life as soon as he hears the waves.’ ‘You’d think he’d be used to them.’ ‘Who could get used to water like that?’

 

‘You’re right.’ Erika nodded, looking beyond the parking lot towards the sea. Certainly the colour of the ocean had nothing on the aquamarine allure of Scarborough, but the beach seemed to stretch for miles.

‘How far does it go?’ she asked.

 

‘The beach? Oh at least thirty, forty kilometres. Don’t ask me in miles. All the way to Gordon’s Bay, I do know that.’

 

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a beach that long. I know it’s raining, but can I get out?’ Sanchia laughed. ‘I don’t think we’ll melt.’

Erika slipped out the Opel, feeling sure that the clouds were becoming lighter, patches

 

 

 

of blue beginning to show in the distance. If they waited a li le, perhaps ...

 

Hearing the click of Erika’s door, Desmond yawned and opened a chocolate eye. ‘That’s right boy,’ Sanchia crooned, ‘walkies-time.’

 

Desmond cocked his head, then leapt over the seat and through Sanchia’s door, squeezing his furry body past Erika. Off he scampered over the white sand, skidding to a halt in the shallows, his coat immediately drenched.

 

‘Shall we?’ asked Erika, grabbing an umbrella as she followed the dog onto the beach.

Sanchia pulled on a hooded jacket.

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I think we should.’

 

♥

 

With a steaming cup of hot chocolate in front of her, Erika tucked her stringy damp hair behind her ears. The umbrella had upended and she’?d given up on it after a few minutes. She and Sanchia were now si ing in a bakery, the smell of yeasty bread wafting towards them as the ovens opened.

 

Erika’s stomach grumbled. She didn’t know how far she’d walked, but it had taken the best part of an hour. Sanchia had found a piece of driftwood to throw for Desmond and they’d remained fairly close to the parking lot, while Erika had surged on, her eyes on the meandering shoreline ahead.

 

She looked across the table at Sanchia. Sanchia was kind. People like Sanchia who healed for a living often were. Sanchia didn’t ask questions. And right at this moment, Erika didn’t feel like answering any. By her calculations, Albert’s new baby was due any day over the next two weeks.

 

♥

 

‘I don’t know how to tell you this, but I thought I’d be er call. It’s a girl. I bumped into Albert’?s mother outside Argos, heaving a pink travel cot into her boot.’

Silence.

 

Erika and Camilla Shaw had been close once, but Ashton, protective as ever, would have bristled anyway.

 

‘Are you there, Erika? Are you still there? Oh, I’m sorry. I’m hugging you across the line.’ ‘I’m here.’

 

‘Oh God, it was awkward, Erika! I didn’t entirely know where to look. But then I thought, to

hell with it and I walked up to her and said, “The divorce isn’t even through, you do know that don’t

you, Camilla?”’

‘And?’

 

‘She had the grace to blush. And then she said she wasn’t proud of what her son had done, but this was her granddaughter, and what was she supposed to do?’

 

And that was just the thing. This wasn’t Albert’s daughter’s fault. It was Albert’s fault. Albert and Rose’s. Any day now Erika’s solicitor would get in touch again, coaxing her through the mechanics. You’re not demanding enough, Erika, don’t buckle. But what did it help to drag her heels? A baby wasn’t exactly reversible. Rose had won. All the money in the world wouldn’t fix that.

 

• want the paintings, Erika had said. The paintings?

 

 

 

She remembered the consternation in her solicitor’s voice.

Every last one.

 

Albert had never been particularly artistic. Where she was flamboyant (and she was flamboyant once) he was sensible. He could do budgets and balance books. She could decoupage almost anything, paint effect the walls. Albert changed plugs and light bulbs. Erika wrote limericks that made them laugh. He made roast chicken. She made Crêpes Suze e that almost set their curtains alight – twice. He drank wine. She knocked back shooters – the more colourful the be er, though never in front of her mother.

Well, she used to drink shooters.

 

Over the years they’d begun to rub off on each other. Albert would suggest an exhibition at the Tate Modern; Erika might actually remember to file her credit card slips. But the paintings were hers, and she’d be damned if she let Albert have them. Erika had always told him they’d be the first thing she’d save if their house burnt down.

‘And what about me?’ Albert once asked.

‘You’d help me, of course,’ deliberately misunderstanding him.

Now that their home was burning to feathery ash, she would save whatever she could.

 

♥

 

Donald phoned three times in the first week to check on her.

 

‘You don’t have to worry, Uncle Donald,’ Erika told him. ‘I’m not about to top myself.’ ‘Thank God,’ he replied. ‘Imagine the palaver of ge ing your body back to England on

British Airways.’

 

‘Oh, don’t bother about that. Just take me back in a li le urn and sca er me somewhere with a spectacular view.’

 

‘Darling, then I may as well leave you in Scarborough.’ Donald cleared his throat. ‘So has the char come in?’

 

‘Happiness? She doesn’t exactly live up to her name, does she? Not that I should talk.’ ‘Darling Erika, you’re actually sounding much be er.’

 

‘The house is spectacular. People have been lovely. I like Madeleine. I like Sanchia. I love Desmond – he appreciates the value of company without conversation.’

‘Who on earth is Desmond?’

‘Sanchia’s dog.’

 

Donald chuckled. ‘Good girl, making friends. No more wallowing!’ ‘Wallowing? You make me sound like a hippo.’

 

‘You’re in Africa, aren’t you? But listen, darling, I wanted to ask you: have you noticed how empty the wall in the lounge is?’

 

‘Actually, no. I spend most of my time on the porch watching the waves.’ ‘You’re being deliberately obtuse, my dear.’ ‘You’re not commissioning me, are you?’

 

‘You need a project. I can’t have you slothing away, wasting all that talent.’ Donald’s voice took on a business-like tone. ‘I’ve ordered a canvas – it’s being delivered tomorrow with an easel, so make sure you’re around to receive it. You’d never fit it in the Opel. It’s gigantic.’

 

♥

 

But even after this short time, Erika was out of practice.

 

 

She hadn’t realised she could be quite so good at doing absolutely nothing – she’d never a empted it before; she hadn’?t even opened her paints since she’d arrived. Even as a child, she’d kept busy, and her mother had carried a set of crayons in her handbag for all eventualities: delayed trains, long flights and boring meals in restaurants, which required Erika to sit still. (Never her strong point.)

 

Unpacking, Erika realised she even loved the sound of her paints. Cadmium Yellow. Pyrrole Orange. Perylene Maroon. Cerulean Blue. It was like stepping into a magical fairyland where all the senses combined so that you could smell a sound or hear a colour. Erika had read something about that – synaethesia, like Kandinsky hearing music as paint splashed to the canvas. What would Crimson Red sound like? Taste like? She’d once bit her lip, two deep grooves from her incisors, bleeding – maybe that was the taste of crimson. Erika had been warned: If you do fall pregnant, you’re going to have to watch those chemicals. Not good for a baby, paint fumes.

But they were good for her. And there was no baby.

 

Twisting the lids off the tubes, she sniffed luxuriously. How could she have waited so long? She squeezed paint onto her pale e, and one by one the colours curled onto the surface like garden snails, glistening.

 

She didn’t know what to paint at first. Something cheerful like the David Kuijers she’d seen in a gallery in Hout Bay. But not as humorous; she couldn’t quite manage that yet. Possibly beachy? She plo ed a seascape, but as she was sketching giant strokes across the white, it came to her: light filtering through the clouds onto Muizenberg beach, striking the Victorian-style huts in a warm glow. She exaggerated a bit, and dispensed with accuracy; she would capture the light reflected on multi-colours, and perspective didn’t ma er. Erika picked up her roller, swishing it up and down in giant blocks of colour, laying the foundations. She swept across the canvas till her arms hurt.

 

Erika loved acrylics. They suited her temperament, didn’t require the endless patience of waiting for colours to dry. Even the thicker layers were hardening onto the surface. Watercolours always seemed wishy-washy to her – not that she couldn’t use them. Actually, she was quite good. It was a requirement of her profession; pastel baby books or princess tales marked up with neat strokes. And oils, she luxuriated in their texture, the thick globules she could blend on the canvas, with time to change her mind.

 

Though she didn’t easily change her mind. Why else had she pushed herself through IVF after IVF when nothing seemed to be going right?

 

♥

 

It was ages before Erika stood up again.

 

She stretched, opening the porch door only to be assailed by the brackish smell of ro ing kelp. The sun was just beginning to dim, impaling itself onto the horizon in a riot of colour, tingeing the clouds cerise. Without thinking, Erika locked the door behind her and headed towards Camelrock Road. There was a shortcut down to the wooden walkways crossing the beach rock, but this time she meandered onto Seagull Road, studying the strange mix of houses, some looking so abandoned while others – clapboard painted in blues and whites, proteas trimmed back, grass neatly cut – seemed remarkably lived in. She walked past ‘For sale’ signs, pine trees, wa les just beginning to burst into yellow blooms, rows of lavender. Scarborough was eclectic. Remote as an island.

 

Not for the first time, Erika asked herself what she was doing here, not speaking to a

 

 

 

soul for days. Sometimes she watched smoke rising from the chimney of the house behind her, wondering who lived there. Cars passed on the road from Kommetjie heading beyond Scarborough to Misty Cliffs; they never really seemed to stop here. No reason to. Unlike Erika. The only sign of life was the cluster of shops around the coffee shop. Madeleine seemed to pull in the crowds from pure will – and good coffee, of course.

 

A dog barked. Desmond probably, although she’d seen a few other hounds scampering across the beach, their owners cloaked in Macs or disguised under umbrellas. Nobody passed her as she walked. And no one but Erika ever bathed. People stepped close to the water, warmly wrapped, and on the odd occasion, Erika had looked back to shore and seen them watching her. The madwoman from Hilltop Road.

 

The thought made her smile. Maybe Erika could reclaim her eccentricity, and de-Albert herself.

 

Erika, reborn. She sighed.

If only it were that simple.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3

Erika woke up, and stretched the width and length of the bed. Had she ever been this alone? So untouched?

After all the predicting of timings and ovulation, the measuring of her temperature, she’d once thought she’d never want a physical relationship again. The whole process was so mechanical. Missionary position for a girl. Alkaline for a boy. The She les Method. The Whelan Method. Potassium from bananas or apricots for boys. Magnesium from spinach or black beans for girls ...

Albert had wanted a boy, of course. (Even Rose hadn’t got that right.) The stress of trying to fall pregnant had only been made worse by the thought that she could get it wrong, create the wrong type of Shaw. Was that why she hadn’t conceived at all?

Erika had almost forgo en what it was actually like to fall into bed in a fit of lust ... and at one point in her life, even a bed had not been compulsory. Before Albert, and not all that long before either, there had been Peter. Pete. She remembered Guy Fawkes Night. Fumbling behind his Land Rover, her skirt up, back against the spare wheel … She’d hardly noticed the fireworks above them. Even now her heart quickened at the memory. So many people about. The danger of discovery. She scarcely recognised that girl in the mirror these days. Left to dry naturally, her normally smooth brown bob was lank and thin. Her skin was blotchy, and her lips dry and slightly cracked.

Erika slid her legs out the bed. Though overcast, it wasn’t raining today. She thought she might head up to Madeleine’s with a book. Pass the time drinking la es, and heighten her senses with caffeine. She could hear Ashton’s voice: For Christ’s sake, Erika, just go out and get laid. You’re in a foreign city. Your accent will kill them. Just use protection, that’s all.

Of course Ashton herself hadn’t had to follow that sort of advice for at least eight years:
sex with some random stranger wasn’t part of her agenda. She had Frank.
But Erika was beginning to think she wasn’t meant to be alone.

Although she’d shunned conversation when she’d first arrived, especially when it went past the ‘how-are-yous’, she had to admit that she was now craving company. Ge ing dressed, she decided to head to the only place she seemed assured of a welcome, albeit as a paying customer.

♥

Seeing Erika padding around the corner, Madeleine waved.
‘You’re up early,’ she said.
‘I can’t sleep forever,’ Erika said. Much as I’d like to.

‘The usual?’ Madeleine bustled off to behind the counter and returned moments later with a muffin and a copy of the Argus. She pointed at the front-page image. ‘Can’t miss that,’ she told Erika. ‘And on such a beautiful day!’
Erika raised her eyebrows as she followed Madeleine’s finger.

‘The West Coast flowers!’ Madeleine exclaimed. ‘You’re an artist, so you’ll really appreciate the spectacle. Listen, Erika. I know I’m a busybody – my husband tells me that all the time. But you can’t stay here every day confusing the locals with your crazy swims

and warming up on bran muffins and la es. I can see you’re sad. I don’t know why exactly, although I could guess. You need soul food. So why not pack your bags for a few days? Take a drive down the coast and go and find yourself an adventure.’
Erika blanched, si ing back in her chair.

‘I’m sorry, dear. I can see by your face that I’m interfering. But you’ve been here almost three weeks, managing so admirably. And I’m worried about you.’

‘I’ve been painting,’ Erika protested. ‘You should see what I’ve already done. I’ve captured the colours and the light. You don’t really know what that means −’

‘You won’t get be er inspiration than along the West Coast. Or colours for that ma er. Or light. It’?s only two hours away. You could head towards Langebaan, maybe stay a night or two.’
Erika changed the subject by flapping the newspaper to the next page.

When her coffee arrived, Erika found herself staring at the cup. The coffee tasted bi er after Madeleine’s input ... Of course she meant well, but now Erika felt insignificant and put upon. Erika sank into her chair like a sack of wheat. To think her heartache was branded on her forehead – enough so that a complete stranger could read her hurt and advocate a cure! Madeleine didn’t know a thing about her or her life! After a moment, Erika pushed the coffee away and stood up, leaving a twenty-rand note under her teaspoon.

Erika slogged her way back up the hill to hibernate in her humiliation. She wondered if she could feel any worse, a kicked dog retiring to lick her wounds. Madeleine had been trying to help her, she knew but oh…

The entrance hall shuddered as Erika slammed the front door behind her and slipped down onto her haunches, rocking herself, her arms around her knees. Who was she kidding? Certainly not Madeleine. Why didn’t she just go home and get on with her non-life?
Her divorced life.
While Albert loved a new wife. A daughter on her way. In Erika’s beautiful house.
With her dogs, for Christ’s sake.
And Erika, meanwhile, had nothing.

With her back against the wooden wall, Erika looked across towards the lounge, to that empty wall. The canvas was upstairs in the bedroom she’d chosen as her studio. There was nothing for it but to paint herself into oblivion.

♥

Erika didn’t leave the house for days. Her fingernails became crusted with acrylic. She’d tried to scrub them clean at first, but then didn’?t bother. Her hair probably needed a wash but she avoided mirrors. Happiness’s sidelong glances suggested that Erika was increasingly resembling the woman in the a ic. Erika remembered to bath on Tuesday. That was before she got Ashton’s e-mail.
Your turd of an ex is a daddy. God help that poor child. Saw the announcement in the paper.
Elizabeth Iris Shaw.

Erika wanted to vomit. Elizabeth Iris. Had Albert at any stage mentioned to Rose that Iris was her choice? For God’s sake: Iris was her grandmother! Did Rose know? Probably not, because Albert was a filthy liar. Erika of all people knew that. He’d managed to not make a baby and make one, all in the space of one year.

Standing in front of yawning kitchen cupboards and fridge, Erika realised she was going to run out of supplies soon. The food she was less concerned about, but the wine – well that was a crisis. She wasn’t as inhibited after a glass of red … the white of the canvas was marginally less intimidating. It was always like that: the first stroke of paint across the surface dictated everything. The flow. The movement. The excitement or disappointment. How many times had she obliterated a germinating work with a white-dipped roller because something about it just told her it wasn’t right? Sometimes she envied other artists who churned our variations on the same painting, month after month. It took the thinking away, paid the bills. But then, it also took away the joy. Of novelty. Discovery.

She reached for the last crust of bread. Toasted it would be alright, and she’d just scrape off the green frosting on the one side. The lone tomato in the fridge could be sliced thinly, the ro en side removed. She had salt. Pepper. It would do.

She would build up the courage to emerge from her cocoon when Donald’s painting was done. Truthfully, it was already finished, but she found she was still too afraid to leave. And though she was craving a decent cup of coffee, she was too embarrassed to go back to the café. So she kept on dabbing and daubing.
Busy hands. Less thinking.

Perhaps Madeleine thought Erika had taken her advice. Her shame was ridiculous, she realised that. There wasn’t anything wrong with being sad, except of course for how it felt. And the fact that she’d exposed herself like some flasher in a yellow plastic raincoat.
It was time for a swim, she realised. Give those locals somebody to talk about.

♥

Wet and bedraggled, Erika took the long way up the hill to avoid the coffee shop. She’d swum herself to ice and wished she’d brought a decent wrap. If she carried on like this, she was going to make herself sick – full-blown pneumonia and no one to take care of her. Erika tried to increase her pace, stubbing her toe in the effort. By the time she got to the front door she was bleeding and shivering.
A mess.

Madeleine was si ing patiently on a deckchair outside the house, auburn hair blowing in tight tendrils that bounced about her head.
‘I thought you’d emerge eventually,’ she commented, holding out a takeaway cup and

a brown-paper bag. ‘Just as you like it. And carrot-and-cream-cheese muffins – my latest invention.’

Erika took the coffee, her hands clutching at the warmth.
‘Thanks.’ Not knowing what else to do, she took a deep drag on the coffee.

Madeleine cocked her head, reminding Erika of Desmond. ‘I’m sorry,’ Madeleine said. ‘Sometimes I shoot my mouth off.’

Erika shrugged.

‘I’m a li le sensitive these days. Happens when your husband has a baby with another woman.’
‘Ouch,’ said Madeleine.

‘Oh, there’s more ...’ She sighed. ‘Why don’t you come inside? No one’s seen the painting yet except for Happiness, and she just thinks I’m crazy.’
‘Are you?’
‘Not enough, or I’d have swum out and not come back.’

As they walked into the lounge, Erika was gratified by Madeleine’s jaw dropping. ‘My God,’ Madeleine exclaimed, staring at the enormous Muizenberg landscape Erika

had hung. ‘I’ve only seen the sky like that once in my life, and you’ve captured it exactly. No wonder you couldn’t leave the house.’

‘It was finished days ago, really,’ Erika admi ed. ‘I’ve been dabbling. Using up my supplies.’

Madeleine moved closer and reached out to the canvas as if tempted to touch it, but then stepped away.

‘You should be selling works like these, Erika. I’ve never seen anything this wonderful.’

Erika laughed. ‘Keep talking, Madeleine. I could do with an ego boost.’ But Madeleine was just beginning. Excitedly she gripped Erika’s shoulders.

‘You can put them on display in the café! I sell one, we put a new one up. They won’t last a week!’
‘This was my uncle’s idea to keep me busy.’

‘Clever man. You simply cannot waste this talent, Erika.’ ‘Funny,’ Erika mused. ‘That’s exactly what he said.’

♥

But after finishing Donald’s painting Erika was stuck again, uninspired despite the beautiful view. Si ing outside one evening, her wine glass filled, she found herself wishing she could do something. And perhaps she was ready. Perhaps Madeleine had been right – not that she’d suggested it again – that a drive along the West Coast would help.

Erika wandered into Donald’s office to use the Internet. She couldn’t recall the name of the town Madeleine had mentioned, but she clicked on images of flower carpets and coastline until she was able to devise a basic route. And she decided she would just go. She’d leave a note on the door of the coffee shop and in Sanchia’s postbox, and leave first thing in the morning.

When she woke, Erika was strangely invigorated. For the first time in months, she had a real plan. An itinerary. She’d packed a bag the night before; her easel, sketchpad, paints and canvases were already in the car. Brushing her teeth, she took a long look at herself in the mirror. Her usually sallow skin had finally taken on a healthier glow. Though she was still feeling beaten, she was looking less like a ghost. The dark rings under her eyes had faded, and the collection of spots that had once congregated on her chin were almost completely gone.

Even with her prejudiced eye, Erika realised the escape was doing her good. And maybe this drive was the next step in her recovery.

Erika was by now used to the Opel, but people drove faster here than in England. She stuck tightly to the left lane so she’d be ready to turn off towards Milnerton and then Bloubergstrand. She’d never been all that adept at finding her way – the thought made her a li le nauseous – yet here she was with a badly printed map, a tank full of petrol and an open schedule. She was following the coast, more or less, so she’d be okay as long as it remained on her left. Winding down the window, she breathed in the salty air.

She decided to stop in Bloubergstrand and fill her artistic well. Pulling off her shoes and rolling up her jeans, Erika walked along the beach’s white expanse and stared over the bay to Table Mountain. This was the view one saw on postcards – the one you could sketch

with a few strokes on a page. The flat-topped expanse dominated the sky, but today clouds were nowhere to be seen, despite the wind. A man down the beach was unrolling something in bright blue and yellow. He stopped for a moment, eyeing the sky thoughtfully. Curious, Erika sat down on the sand, wishing she’d bought a coffee.
What was he doing?

Further down the beach, a couple unpacked a bag and seemed to be waving their arms at each other, though Erika understood they were testing the wind, which she reckoned was fairly strong. By the time she looked again, the man with the yellow and blue was on the water in a wetsuit, the wind whipping up into the sky what looked like an arched glider. A ached to his feet was a small sur oard, and soon he was crossing the waves at a tremendous pace. Entranced, Erika watched him go, the glider or kite or whatever it was pulling sharply upwards. The man jumped, bouncing deeper out to sea. Erika wished she could see his face – at this distance she could only imagine his rapture.

After an hour, the original surfer had been joined by others, and she sensed their exhilaration as they emerged from the water, wet and winded.

How she envied them, but not enough to give it a go herself. What had formed in her mind, however, was a painting of twisting, spiralling kites and spraying ocean. She couldn’t wait to begin it, so she pressed on and after an hour discovered Langebaan, the quaint fishing village that was her destination. She found herself a shady table at a restaurant near the beach, and opened her sketchbook.

The movement was easily captured. Arches crowning above the hardened lines of Table Mountain as they spun and dove. Figures facing the water on the beach carrying sur oards, others strapping on their boards or zipping up wetsuits. Erika was so entranced, she barely noticed the arrival of her spinach-and-feta tramezzino, and only sipped her Tab distractedly. Filling page after page, she realised she had enough material to do at least five paintings. Although she’d started in pencil, she began filling in with block colours using oil pastels. Image after image came alive as her fingers twisted and curled, rubbed and scribbled.
The dirtier her hands became, the more her heart soared.

♥

Erika didn’t actually hear the man approach. In retrospect, he may have cleared his throat, but she had blocked that out, along with the noise of the restaurant. She had no idea how long he’d been standing there.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said, making her jump.
Erika looked up not out of politeness so much as irritation.

He was not someone she would have noticed normally. Nothing at all like Albert, who had both height and presence, and a crop of sandy blond hair that gave him a wilful, puppy-dog-needing-a-rescue look. (Rose must have sensed this too.) This man verged on stocky, with wide shoulders. Brown hair cut fairly short emphasised a square face and strong jaw. Erika noticed how he squinted slightly, as though the sun reflecting off her paper was too harsh for his partially hooded eyes. Only later did she notice that his irises were hazel.

‘Can I help you?’ Erika said, cringing at how thoroughly British and stuck-up she sounded.
‘I’m sorry, it’s just that I noticed you sketching and I wondered if you might let me

take a peek.’ Something about the way he smiled, perhaps the crease in the edges of his eyes, suggested that he laughed a great deal.

‘I wasn’t done yet,’ she said almost petulantly, not really quite ready to welcome him into her world. But then she shrugged, pushing the pad over to him.

‘May I?’ He indicated the chair opposite her. ‘Ah, Bloubergstrand. Those kite surfers would have chopped off an arm or a leg for one of these pictures.’

‘I doubt that very much,’ Erika replied, warming to his compliment. ‘They’re just doodles.’
‘They’re really magnificent doodles. And from memory.’

‘This morning,’ Erika replied, nodding. ‘Is that what it’s called, kite surfing? It looked pre y tricky to me.’

‘Oh, it is,’ the man said. ‘You need balance, courage and a talent for sucking up a lot of saltwater while still being able to breathe.’

Erika laughed, despite herself. ‘Not your forte then?’ ‘Useless,’ the man admi ed. ‘I’m not really a water baby.’

‘I’ve swum every day since I came here just about. My neighbours think I’m bonkers.’ ‘And are you?’
‘How could I possibly judge that if I were? Are you?’
‘Mad enough to drive out here on a whim, I suppose,’ he said.
‘And on a work day.’

‘Exactly.’ He shifted. ‘Well, I should get going,’ he said, pushing back his chair. ‘Thanks for sharing those with me. They’re special.’

But Erika, thinking of Ashton’s advice, if not entirely sure yet whether she should act on it, reached out and touched his arm.
‘Wait,’ she said, feeling herself blush. ‘The least you could do is buy me a drink?’

Chapter 4

 

It turned out he was interesting. Self-deprecating. Intelligent. He ordered a bo le of wine, so it wasn’t one drink, but two. And somewhere in the conversation he told her his name was Max. Not Maximillian – ever. (His parents, the only people who had ever called him that, were dead.) Just Max. Erika swirled the Merlot around her mouth – A deep ruby, Max said, with garnet highlights on the rim. Max could talk colours like she could paint them. And he identified each scent before she’d even imagined it. Blackcurrent. Red berries. Vanilla.

Erika’s uneaten lunch was removed, and Max ordered olives and foccaccia with sun-dried tomatoes. Another bo le of Merlot. It slid onto her tongue and down her throat like velvet. Erika looked at Max, the wine buzzing into her head. It was four o’clock and she hadn’t yet found somewhere to stay. But she kept si ing there, and Max didn’t seem eager to leave either.
‘I’m beyond driving,’ Max told her, ‘even by South African standards.’

He explained that his countrymen were rather less worried about driving drunk than hers. She smiled, a li le self-consciously. What was he suggesting? Erika felt her flushed cheeks and touched her face. The bread had soaked up some of the wine, but she wondered if she could stand without tumbling over.
‘I think I need to walk,’ she said.
‘Sure.’ Max looked uncertain. ‘Would you like to be alone?’

‘Oh no,’ Erika said, surprised by her own boldness. ‘I was hoping you’d join me.’ They walked down Bree Street towards the lagoon. Erika had shoved her belongings

into the car boot and now carried her sandals in her right hand. Max was in shorts, his muscular legs covered by a down of fine blonde hair. Tawny. Like a lion. Erika felt a giggle building. She was drunk. And with a man she barely knew.

‘Careful there,’ Max said, a firm hand grabbing her arm as she lurched forward. ‘Easy now.’
His voice had a soft tone. Gentle, as though he was calming a horse.

Erika leant against him, feeling the solid weight of his body against hers. She’d missed this. The last time Albert had held her like this he’d been shagging Rose all afternoon. Guilt-affection, she realised now. She’d wanted to make love, but he’d held her instead. It’s not all about sex, he’d told her jokingly. Except it was. Just not with her.

Erika let Max go, running fully clothed into the shallows, where she slipped and fell waist deep in water. She found she couldn’t move, frozen in the cold water, sand welling inside her rolled-up jeans.

And she was crying. Oh my God, she thought, I’m crying in front of a complete stranger and I can’t stop.

After a moment’s hesitation, his forehead creased like badly ironed linen, Max smiled and then came to sit down next to her in the cold water. He slid his arm around her shoulders.
‘Maybe I am bonkers,’ Erika whispered, moving her hands to her face.
‘Tell me about it, then, beautiful Erika.’
And so she did.

♥

 

Max chaperoned Erika to a bed and breakfast on one of the streets overlooking the water, and checked them into a room with twin beds. He dug into her suitcase for a nightie, then disappeared into the bathroom while she dressed. He put a glass of water next to her bed, and placed her suitcase on the rack so she could reach her clothes comfortably. He then guided her to the bathroom, and she liked the way he swung her round to place her feet in the bath and rinse off the sand.

She also liked the way he sat next to her as she drifted to sleep, heart wrenched and tears spent.

Waking in the morning, she could hear the soft drawing in of his breath. Not like Albert, nothing like Albert, who snored the moment he rolled onto his back, and who talked in his sleep. Erika looked across at Max, wondering if he had even held her hand. Her head ached. Her stomach threatened to heave, but lying chastely in her bed, untouched, she felt a vague warmth creeping through her. She wondered why she wasn’t more embarrassed.
Maybe some good men do actually exist.

Erika had been more honest with Max than she had been with anybody in her entire life. Too honest probably. Considering her revelations, it occurred to her that she should repay his generosity by creeping out the room. Pay the hotel bill and disappear. Erika was, after all, a liability. She shifted, wanting more to cuddle up next to Max than to leave. But she wasn’t that selfish.

Soundlessly, she crept out of bed. She wanted to kiss Max’s cheek goodbye, but instead she left one of her sketches. A kite surfer reaching out to touch the crest of Table Mountain.
Reaching but not quite succeeding.

♥

Breakfast was a salmon omele e, a glass of orange juice and a large cup of black coffee. (She couldn’t quite manage the milk.) She picked at the meal listlessly, moving it around her plate. Si ing alone on the other side of Langebaan, which actually wasn’t all that big, Erika wondered if Max had woken up yet. Though her head throbbed painfully at the temples, despite the Nurofen, Erika felt unburdened. She decided that she’d drive to the West Coast National Park, on the banks of the lagoon, which she hadn’t quite reached the day before.

She checked the sky, glad there were no clouds, since she’d read that the flowers were be er on a clear day. Signalling for her bill, Erika scraped back her chair. It was already almost nine, and the gates to the park and the protected Postberg areas beyond the fence, had been open for a while. If she hurried, she might just be able to miss the hordes of tourists on buses, flocking in from Cape Town.

Compared to England, and even to her last few weeks in Scarborough, the landscape in which she found herself a few minutes later was dry and particularly rocky. Erika was more a uned to green fields and woolly sheep, clusters of yellow gorse against grey cobbles. Paddocks. Horses. The odd farmhouse or village with rows of red-brick houses. Yet there was something entirely decadent about this carpet of brilliant flowers spreading out before her: millions upon millions of blossoms gathered in tight formation in a kaleidoscope of pinks, whites and oranges. It almost took her breath away.

Wearing an odd-shaped straw hat she’d bought from a hawker on the side of the road

in Blouberg, her face plastered with a thick layer of sunblock, Erika set up her easel. She didn’t feel the same sense of excitement she had with the kite surfers, but she had a sneaky suspicion this may have something to do with some bo les of red wine … Still, she felt calm, unhurried and glad she’d remembered to purchase a few bo les of water – one for dehydration, but the rest for diluting paint and cleaning brushes.

The tourists did come, many of them peering to catch a glimpse of her work in progress. She tried to ignore them, but the voices of the tour guides carried above the cha er: This area is one of six accepted floral kingdoms on earth. Known locally as fynbos, and internationally as the Western Cape Floral Kingdom, this one has more plant species than the whole of Europe! Eighty species of flowering plants are endemic to this region … and that means they don’t grow anywhere else in the world!

Erika wanted to laugh. The guide’s voice rose into a state of near frenzy, reaching a climax with every juicy fact. She’d also wondered about this bizarre display of succulent semi-desert plants, and now at least she could put a name to them.

Painting on a grand scale, Erika’s canvas was quickly covered with colour. And beyond the canvas, to her left, clear purples verging on pinks grew more intense as the sun passaged higher into the sky. To her right, oranges and yellows with, on closer inspection, mud-brown centres. Close up they were fluffy, or frilly, star-shaped or prickly, dangly or dense – petals packed tight in rounded heads. In such small plants, the detail was really incredible.

Erika looked up at the queues of tourists that were building up outside the park. She could hear laughter and hooting, and once or twice she turned to watch students hanging out their cars or si ing on their roofs and bonnets. They seemed half-pissed or high on happiness. Her stomach growled, her omele e no longer filling the space left by her liquid dinner. As her canvas was already almost dry, she decided she would retire gracefully to the restaurant recommended by the B&B.

Parked at Geelbek a li le later, Erika considered her supplies. Powder pastel seemed entirely too insipid to echo the colours she had seen from the road. She dug in her wooden paintbox, extracting a small pack of oil pastels to take inside with her.

The restaurant was set in a Cape Dutch building on the lagoon. She’d been told she may see flamingos but hadn’t noticed any as she’d walked through the garden …Were flamingos always pink, or did they come in other shades? She chose a table under an umbrella, then began to doodle while sipping a rock shandy. In her old life she would have felt self-conscious si ing alone. She didn’t feel that now, but she recognised that it still wasn’t quite as nice as sharing a meal with someone. She wondered what Max had done when he’d seen that she wasn’t there. Perhaps he’d been relieved ...

Thinking back, she realised that he hadn’t revealed much about himself. While Erika had spilt her life story in the shallows, he had been remarkably reticent. She didn’t know his surname, where he lived or what he did for a living. How was it they’d managed to talk for so long?

♥

Erika accepted a basket of freshly made seed bread. It smelt delicious, and the pat of bu er she spread onto it melted it immediately. With her mouth absorbing the delicious loaf and her eyes on her sketchpad, Erika was distracted enough not to notice his approach.
‘I took a chance on finding you here,’ Max said.

Erika swallowed quickly, her cheeks immediately red.
‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘You must think me terrible.’

‘Well, you did pay for the room at least,’ he said with a note of mirth. ‘And you didn’t vomit.’ He pulled out a chair, and se led himself down. ‘These are great,’ he said, drawing her sketches towards him. ‘Especially this one. You’ve got this vygie perfectly.’
‘Is that what it’s called?’

‘Golden Vygie or Lampranthus aureus, 60mm in diameter. Grows on granite outcrops.’ ‘You’re a botanist?’ Erika asked.

‘I’m in the wine business actually, but I love plants. Thank you for the drawing. You gave me the best one, but I guess you know that.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Erika said. ‘I made such an ass of myself last night, I thought I’d give you a break and vanish without us having to –’

‘Hash it over in the morning? It’s forgo en, Erika. I hope you feel be er, though,’ Max said.
‘You know,’ Erika replied, ‘I feel more myself than I have in months.’

Max smiled, his hazel eyes crinkling at the edges, as he reached out to pat her hand. Erika’s lunch arrived, and while Max munched on the seed bread waiting for his own
order, he told her a li le more about himself.

‘So, I live in Franschhoek, just near Stellenbosch,’ he said. ‘I have for most of my life, except for a brief internship in the Loire Valley in France. My father insisted on it. I didn’t like it at first. I was terribly homesick. I missed Le Domaine.’
‘Le Domaine?’ Erika asked.

‘Our farm. It’s been in the family since the my ancestors arrived in May 1689, on a ship called the Sion. Although that may not seem so long ago by British standards, by South African it positively entrenches our family name into the country’s history.’
‘So, what’s your surname?’ Erika asked, glad for the excuse to ask.

‘De Villiers. Of course, with the strong influence and force from the Dutch East India Company, the pronunciation has changed from the French. Nowadays we say the “s”. It took less than three generations for the Dutch to eradicate spoken French from Olifantshoek, as it was then known. But enough of the history lesson.’ Max studied Erika’s expression, then smiled. ’You’re far more polite than my brother. My conversation almost puts him to sleep.’
‘Does he live at Le Domaine as well?’

‘Oh, yes, dear old Jared and I are stuck with each other for life. We both love the farm far too much to leave ...’
‘But you get along?’ Erika asked.

‘Oh don’t get me wrong, I love my brother, but we’re different. Sometimes I wonder how we can even be related.’

After lunch, Max walked Erika around the restaurant’s garden and then past a bird hide that hulked over the water. He seemed quite content to identify each flower they saw, and then lie on his back in the sunshine as he waited for her to draw it.

‘Carpobrotus acinaciformis,’ Max said, ‘Isn’t the magenta beautiful? You must’ve seen these from the tarred road coming in.’ Max had casually tucked his jumper on the ground under his head.

‘I think so …’ But Erika was thinking about Albert. Albert, who would never have let his clothes get dirty, and when had he ever been patient enough to wait for her to draw something? Usually he’d insist on her taking a photo and painting the image from that, so his precious time

wouldn’t be wasted. But he would buy her flowers. Beautiful bunches. Often just for the hell of it. ‘That was quick,’ Max said, observing Erika moving to the next clump of fynbos. ‘The

mountain sour fig or Carbobrotus edulis. Those yellow flowers turn pink as the plant ages. Our housekeeper, Prudie, sometimes makes sour-fig preserve with the fruit ... Boy, can that woman cook.’

After an hour and a half, Erika’s fingers were beginning to cramp. Max, almost comatose in the afternoon heat, hadn’t moved for at least ten minutes, and she began to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. Standing up, she peered over at him, her shadow falling over his face.

‘Perfect,’ Max murmured. ‘I’ve been shielding my eyes the whole afternoon, when you could’ve been standing right there.’
Erika smiled. ‘My fingers are sore. I don’t think I can draw anymore today.

‘Does that mean I’m going to have to move?’ Max asked. ‘Because I’m not sure my body can stand it.’?
‘I’ll help you up,’ Erika said. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

♥

Despite their proximity, Max hadn’t touched Erika the entire afternoon. She wasn’t really sure if she liked this fact or not. Perhaps more than anything, she was a racted to his reserve. He was charming and gentlemanly, like Albert. But unlike Albert, he seemed aware of the space that she took up in the world, giving her a li le more than she might have liked. Max deferred to her, but when she seemed uncertain, he made decisions. Like the fact that they should have seafood for dinner, and that he knew just the place, if she was interested.

Of course she was interested. She loved prawns and calamari. Erika had rarely had the opportunity to eat fresh oysters, and here they were in front of them, piled up in a silver bowl with Tabasco and lemon. The seafood came to the table sizzling in mini cast-iron frying pans. And the salad, piled high with feta and Kalamata olives, sat between them, the dressing slick and garlicy.

They drank white wine, Max seemingly untainted by the excesses of the night before, though Erika prepared herself with a bo le of sparkling water.
‘You’re not surely going to mix those?’ Max asked, his expression a dead giveaway.
Erika hesitated, bo le mid-air, then poured the water into a fresh glass.
‘Because that would be a travesty, wouldn’t it,’ Erika said impishly.

And Max laughed out loud. ‘Years of training, I’m afraid. My parents gave us wine at the table as far back as I can remember.’
‘And why spoil a good thing?’
‘Exactly.’

But apart from that small slip of nonchalance, Max seemed so completely easy-going that Erika was beginning to wonder if anything stressed him out. And she was more than pleasantly surprised when he suggested that they share a dessert. She could hardly imagine Albert eating off someone else’s plate.
‘You choose,’ Max said. ‘I don’t mind, really.’

They ate the lemon meringue pie slowly between sips of aromatic filter coffee, their pace evenly matched. Erika had enjoyed a good day, she realised.
‘Are you happy?’ Max asked her.

‘You know what?’ Erika said, smiling at this surprising realisation. ‘I actually am.’

Chapter 5

 

Yet as dinner drew to a close, Erika began to feel a li le nervous. Rubbing her arm distractedly, she realised that finding a place to stay had completely slipped her mind.

Max looked across at her, his eyebrows raised questioningly. ‘Everything okay?’ he asked, making a signing motion for the bill.
‘Of course.’

‘I kept the room,’ Max said. ‘In case you decided to come back.’ ‘That was nice,’ Erika said.
He reached out, slipping his fingers between hers.

‘Relax, Erika,’ he said. ‘I’m not a predator. They’re just beds, and we don’t even have to push them together.’
Erika blushed crimson. ‘You make me sound like a vestal virgin.’

Max grinned. ‘I haven’t enjoyed myself so much for ages. Let’s not complicate things.’ Following Max’s car, her headlights scanning the quiet streets, Erika’s heart thumped.

Despite Ashton’s advice, Erika hadn’t even kissed a man since Albert, never mind slept with one. Though she’d have to take that step eventually … She just didn’t have the confidence right now to take the lead.

Over-analysis paralysis, Ashton would have told her, don’t think so much, Hellie, it just doesn’t help.

There was an open parking space next to Max’s Land Cruiser. Erika reversed in, switching off the lights as her heart pounded.

‘Let me get your case for you,’ Max said, walking round to the boot. ‘Do you want any of this other stuff?’

‘I think I’ll survive with just the suitcase,’ Erika managed. Max slammed the boot shut, waiting for the click of the lock. ‘Think you’re up to a nightcap?’
Erika nodded. Right at this moment, she would welcome just about any delay.

They sat in the lounge of the B&B. The air had chilled enough for a small fire in the hearth, and Erika breathed in the pungent aromas of burning pine. Max angled a new branch into the fireplace, and it popped and splu ered.

‘Winters in Franschhoek can get quite cold and damp,’ Max commented, ‘but, the summers ... The heat is something else. Nothing you’d ever get in England. All you want to do is stretch out on a cold tiled floor and pant.’
‘Like a dog?’ Erika smiled at the picture.
‘Exactly like a dog.’
‘Does it work?’

‘At forty-five degrees, anything is be er than nothing. I’ve installed air-con in my study though. Jared was horrified – as if I was admi ing some sort of defeat. You know, lowering the tone of the National Heritage buildings.’
‘Is it beautiful there?’

‘Every time I go away, I come back with new eyes. It’s spectacular. We’re hemmed in on all sides by the most magnificent mountains. But they never look the same. The seasons change. The plants. The skies ...’

 

‘I love the skies here,’ Erika said. ‘They don’t seem to end.’ ‘Come on,’ Max said suddenly, ‘I’ll take you on a guided tour.’

♥

Erika gripped her jumper to her but Max, who was wearing short sleeves, seemed immune. Leaning in, he put his arm around her, drawing her against his chest. He’d grabbed two towels from their bedroom, and was carrying these over his other arm.

They found a sandy patch on the edge of the lagoon, and Max laid the towels out next to each other.
‘Comfy?’ he asked as she lay down next to him, her heart still pounding.
‘Yes.’

When Max pulled her a li le closer, it was more protective than suggestive. Erika tried to relax.

‘So probably the most famous constellation of our skies is the Southern Cross,’ Max said. ‘You’ve heard of it?’
‘Of course.’

‘Ironically enough, the Southern Cross is one of the smallest of eighty-eight constellations, yet it includes some of the brightest stars in the heavens. Have a look up there. Which one do you think it is?’

Erika studied the night sky. There wasn’t a single cloud marring its magnificence. But everywhere she could see, stars formed giant crosses.
‘I don’t know,’ she said a li le helplessly, ‘maybe that one?’

‘Perhaps the name is a li le misleading. I often think it looks more like a kite than a cross. See over there, those bright stars trailing behind that formation? Those are the pointers, alpha Centauri and beta Centauri. They’re really the key to knowing you’ve focused on the right spot.’ Max moved his hands, tracing the lines of the cross. ‘So, can you see it?’
‘I can now,’ Erika said.

‘Of the two pointers, the one furthest away – that one, see? – that’s the alpha Centauri. It’s the third brightest star in the night sky and it’s earth’s nearest known neighbour beyond our solar system. The alpha Centauri isn’t actually just one star. It’s made up of three stars travelling together. The two brightest ones take eighty years to orbit around each other, can you believe?’
‘Wow.’

‘Of those two stars, the one alpha Centauri A is almost our sun’s twin ... Anyway, so that’s a li le about the pointers. Would you like to see the Jewel Box or the Coal Sack next ...?’

Max took Erika on a journey across the skies, from Uranus to Jupiter to Mercury. He pointed out how Erika could learn to find south, his fingers directing her as he extended the long axis of the Cross right across the stars.

‘Now draw another line, see, halfway between the pointers and ninety degrees to the line joining them. Where the two lines cross is more or less the south celestial pole ...’

And Erika, who’d felt that she would never be able to find her way again, was overcome with a strange sense of peace, finally knowing which direction was which. She looked across at Max, who smiled back at her.
‘Feeling chilly?’ he asked.

Erika nodded.

‘Let’s go inside, then. We’ve done enough sky travelling for one night.’ Her stomach wrenched as Max unlocked the door, le ing her inside.
He sat down on the edge of his bed. ‘Don’t be nervous, Erika,’ Max said.
‘Is it that obvious?’
Max laughed softly. ‘Maybe not. Maybe I’m just highly intuitive.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Erika said.
‘I’ve had a lovely evening.’
‘Maybe another ...’

Max went over to her, pu ing his arm around her shoulders. ‘I know how important trust is, Erika. And first you need to trust yourself.’

Max kissed her cheek with a tenderness she hadn’t experienced from Albert in the three years of trying for their baby.
‘Good night, sweet Erika,’ Max said.

♥

When Erika awoke, Max wasn’t there.

Her heart flu ered. Had he left without saying goodbye? She looked towards where his suitcase had lain open the night before, but it was gone. Erika stood up quickly, finding some clothes to slip on, so she could check for his car. Fear. Relief. Sadness. Anxiety. Slipping on some sandals, Erika opened the room door, wondering if it would lock automatically. It didn’t ma er. She could ask the lady from the B&B to open it again if it did.

Rushing through the reception area, she poked her head around the corner of the breakfast room.
‘Are you looking for your young man?’ the owner asked.
Erika nodded, mute.

‘He said to start breakfast without him. He’ll be back at nine. I think he went to a meeting.’
Erika smiled in relief.

‘Well, if the omele es are still on offer …’ she said, pulling up a chair in the sunlight, ‘I would love to give one a try.’

An hour later Erika was sipping coffee, a sketchpad in front of her. A face had begun to appear in the scribblings, and she realised with a sense of gloom that it was Albert’s. For goodness sake, what was she doing? She tore the page out, ripping it into li le pieces.
‘Not good?’ Max asked her, watching her frantic movements.
Erika laughed self-consciously. ‘You’re back.’

‘I am. Did Mary give you my message? I thought you might be worried that I’d disappeared.’
‘Men do that, sometimes,’ Erika said cynically.
‘Not this one.’
‘Good news,’ she said a bit snippily.

Max shrugged, le ing her off lightly. ‘I’m not really a morning person either. What are you planning to do today?’ he asked.

The truth was she hadn’t planned anything. Erika was trapped in some sort of lethargy and even though she knew she was going to have to find a new path, she wasn’t

really sure where it was quite yet.
‘I hadn’t really thought about it.’

Max pulled up a chair next to her. ‘Well, I’ve been thinking. And I think I may have an idea.’

Erika noticed how his hazel eyes twinkled. And despite herself, she found herself smiling. ‘What are you up to, Max?’

‘Come back to Franschhoek with me. It’s beautiful. Quiet. And I need help with the illustrations on the book I am writing.’
‘You’re writing a book?’ Erika said, buying time.

‘I’ve been tracing my family’s roots from the first Huguenots. And actually, there are more than a few skeletons in the De Villiers closet.’
Erika’s eyebrows raised quizzically.

‘I spoke to my publisher,’ Max continued. ‘She hasn’t se led on an illustrator yet, and when I told her how talented you are, well, she said I could make you the offer. Although I must warn you, the pay isn’t exactly what you’d be used to in London.’

Max sat back in his chair, as though the excitement of the idea had suddenly drained him.

‘What sort of illustrations do you need?’ Erika asked. ‘And how could you know that I’d even be the right person?’

‘I know,’ said Max. ‘I thought as much when I saw your sketches of the kite surfers.’ But thinking that this explained his interest in her, Erika felt stung.

Max leant forward again, catching her hands in his. ‘Don’t look like that, Erika,’ he said. ‘I want you to come. We’d make a great team. And don’t worry, no strings a ached.’

Chapter 6

 

Back in Scarborough, Erika had once again packed her bags, and was loading the boot of

Donald’s Opel with blank canvases. Her finished works were hanging at Madeleine’s; in the three days she’d been away, one had already sold.

‘You’ll still be painting?’ Madeleine asked anxiously. ‘I can’t have these blank walls … – I might just have to put the protea photos back up again.’

‘God help us,’ said Erika, shivered dramatically. The photos were probably taken in the 1960s and were so faded it took a bit of imagination to work them out. ‘Don’t worry – I still have a bit of spare time. Why don’t you drive through and visit? You can fetch what I’ve done.’

‘Well,’ said Madeleine, primping, ‘I might just have to come and check if your virtue is intact.’
Erika groaned. ‘He hasn’t even kissed me, except on the cheek.’

‘We’ll see,’ Madeleine said. ‘You’ve landed with your bum in the bu er, Erika. One of the richest wine families in the whole of South Africa, and you’re a house guest.’
‘I’m singing for my supper,’ Erika retorted.

‘Just saying that’s all I hope you’re doing, unless, of course, anything else would make you happy.’

But Erika was surprised to find she was happy already. She drove along the coast, passing over the scrubby mountains to Simon’s Town, then on to Fish Hoek and Muizenberg. As the towns disappeared behind her, she looked to her right, enjoying the sight of the waves rolling onto the beach. A li le further on, a water amusement park hunched paint-bare and weather-beaten along the road, and beyond that, on the other side of the road, Khayelitsha shacks stacked close on sea sand, corrugated iron glinting in the already harsh sunlight. The shanties seemed to stretch on forever. On a day like this, they even seemed idyllic.

Curving along the coast, the road joined the motorway in an unruly landscape dense with woody plants she didn’t know. Every once in a while a tree bursting with yellow blossoms dipped under the weight of its plumage.
Max had told her to head towards Stellenbosch.

‘They’re working on some of the roads en route. You’ll just have to be a li le patient. Sometimes you’re lucky and you don’t even have to stop. Don’t worry – you won’t get lost.’ Two months ago, she might have been nervous. But now she felt like she was on an adventure, armed with Max’s hand-drawn map. She negotiated her way towards mountains that reached jaggedly into the cloudless skies, and began to see a change in the landscape. Large areas of land had been cleared, and vines tangled along wire supports extended, it seemed, for miles. But September had brought other growth: like newly fallen snow, buds do ed bushes in the fields that she passed, making her think of cherry-blossom
season.

And as the road rose in front of her and the Groot Drakenstein mountains became clearer, Erika gasped. She’d imagined something beautiful, but not like this. Lush and green, she passed wine farms sign-posted by ‘Route de Vignerons’ signs. Max had told her that only the most robust candidates had been selected by the eighteenth-century governor

to set up their farmsteads on the formidable slopes of Hell’s Height.

‘You’ll see what they saw all those years ago,’ Max had told her. ‘On the right, the Groot Drakenstein massif ascends steeply; to the left, the Simonsberg. Beyond, you’ll see the Wemmershoek Mountain peaks, and below is our gorgeous valley.’

And he was right. How rich the valley looked in contrast to Scarborough, its thirst slaked by the constant flow of the Berg River.

‘My family came in the first wave of Huguenots,’ Max had gone on. ‘And even when we’re not physically in the valley, we never really leave.’

Looking at the views around her, Erika could understand why. She was drawing closer to the town and it was already a flurry of activity. A tour bus slowed in front of her car, and holidaymakers sat in coffee shops and cafés enjoying brunch as the day beamed brighter.

Erika checked the map, holding it up against the steering wheel while simultaneously watching the road. She was obviously on Franschhoek’s main road and knew she needed to turn off at Bordeau Street and then towards the mountain foothills.
‘Some of the road is dirt, but the Opel will handle it,’ Max had said.

Erika changed gears, and dropped the map back onto the passenger seat. There seemed to be a lot of construction work going on beyond the town’s pristine façade as houses were in the process of being restored to their former glory. Erika picked up the signs for Le Domaine, following them through an avenue of oaks.
Soon the car was passing through curlicued wrought-iron gates that swung open for
her.

Erika’s stomach dipped. Now that she was here, she didn’t know in the least what to expect. Despite this, she was resolute. Here she was and she might as well get the uncertainty over with. She unclipped her safety belt in a single swift movement.

Leaving all her bags except her handbag in the car, she walked up towards the house.

♥

She hadn’t recognised the voice on the intercom at the gate. It wasn’t Max.

Erika looked up at the homestead, its gables whirling and decked with fuchsia bougainvillea. She could make out the year the edifice was constructed: 1691. Not one of the first buildings to go up here then, but old enough. At both sides of the closed front door, wine barrels were stacked, seeming as venerable as the house itself. She stopped to listen, hoping to hear Max’s voice. Instead from outside came the growling of what she assumed was a lawnmower.
Erika ascended the stairs and, feeling self-conscious, knocked.

With no reply after three a empts, she decided to walk into the backyard to find the person who was cu ing the grass. If she had no luck, she reasoned she could go back into town for a la e and return later.

But it was as she turned that she noticed an approaching cloud of dust and the roaring of an engine. A quad bike skimmed over the dirt, drawing to an undignified halt below the stairs. A man stepped off, a smile lighting up his face.
‘Erika?’
She nodded.

‘Well, Max said you were talented, but he never mentioned how gorgeous you are!’ Erika hoped her face didn’t give anything away, but she felt as if she’d been hit in the

stomach with a sack full of stones. This man wasn’t just a ractive; he was sensational. Tall, with beautiful olive skin, green eyes, full kissable lips. And when he walked towards her, he did so with an arrogant swagger that left her breathless. Erika hoped she wasn’t staring.
‘Jared,’ he said. ‘Max’s younger and be er brother.’

Erika wondered if they should shake hands, but Jared kissed her softly on the cheek. She might have found this presumptuous, but she simply swooned, weak at the knees and all the places that count.
Jared held her as if to study her face.

‘You’re quite, quite beautiful,’ he said. ‘Max really is ge ing sly in his old age. He had to run off to the auditors, by the way. Something to do with a late tax payment.’
‘Oh,’ said Erika.

‘Now don’t be disappointed, Erika. I’ll take good care of you until he comes back. Promise. First things first, let’s get you unpacked. We’ve put you in the main house, but if you hate it, there’s a guest co age you can escape to if you’re tired of us. We’re not easily offended.’
‘I’m sure the main house will be lovely.’

‘It is. But those wooden floors can get on your nerves. Corridor creeping is a mean and impossible feat.’ Jared smiled at a youthful memory and Erika found herself smiling back.
‘I guess your parents had a hard time keeping two boys in check.’

Jared grinned. ‘Max was terribly good and responsible. I was always the tearaway – I think I singlehandedly turned our parents grey.’
‘Er, well done?’ Erika said, catching his mood.

And Jared laughed uproariously. ‘Erika, I think we’re going to get along just fine. It’s so wonderful you’ve come.’ Grabbing the suitcases and three of Erika’s canvases out of the car, he led her back up the stairs.

As they walked inside the house, Erika was assailed by the smell of floor polish and window cleaner. In the entrance, on what looked like an old travel trunk, stood a basket of flowers – all kinds of proteas and pin cushions, many of which Max had identified for her in Langebaan.

Jared nodded at the arrangement. ‘He’s an old romantic, our Max. They’re specially for you.’
Erika felt herself glow. ‘How sweet.’

‘Yup,’ Jared said. ‘Sweet. Not a word you could use to describe me, I’m afraid. But I have other excellent qualities …’

Despite herself, Erika felt herself blush. Jared smiled rakishly and turned away, his boots echoing on the yellowwood floors.

♥

Erika’s bedroom was at the end of a long, high-ceilinged passage.

‘It’s not en suite, of course,’ said Jared. ‘The Heritage Foundation would have a coronary if we bashed down any walls. But never fear, the bathroom is just two doors down. Treat it as your own – no one else is using it.’
‘Thanks,’ Erika said.

‘Your room. Wardrobe. Light switch. Fan – you’ll probably be needing that. Bedside lamp. Bed.’ Jared walked around the bedroom and then bounced experimentally on the enormous old bed. ‘Max moved in this desk for you this morning,’ he continued. ‘He said

you might want to set up an easel, but suggested you paint in the drawing room or on the porch so you don’t poison yourself on fumes.’

‘It all looks wonderful,’ Erika murmured, noticing a small pile of books on the bedside table – one entitled Stargazing in the Southern Hemisphere – and a small vase of fynbos flowers.

Jared followed her eyes. ‘That’s why Max watches our accounts. I’m big picture. He’s detail.’
‘Right,’ said Erika, nodding.

‘Well, it’s much too beautiful a day to stay inside,’ Jared said, standing. ‘You must be hungry And I have something in mind that will tempt you.’
‘Lead on,’ Erika said laughing. ‘I’m tempted already.’

♥

Jared led Erika into a huge country kitchen. It was square, more or less, dominated in the centre by a huge railway-sleeper table. Above it, pots and pans hung from extended copper hooks. Benches made from wooden planks and wine barrels stood on either side, with mismatched wicker chairs on the short sides, two alongside each other. In the middle of the table was a bowl of fresh fruit: oranges, apples, bananas, grapes and avocados. A SMEG fridge and freezer in vanilla hummed in one corner of the room, an antique wine rack silently brooding in another.
‘Pull up a chair.’

Erika expected him to offer her lunch, but he disappeared out the back door. ‘Prudence!’ he yelled. ‘Prudence!’

Erika heard a soft reply before he emerged again, his arm around a hefty African woman. She must have been well into her sixties, if not older, her heavily lined lids drooping over soft caramel eyes.

‘Meet the most important woman in our lives. This is Prudence, our second mother. Chief housekeeper. Chef extraordinaire. Beauty queen.’

Prudence slapped Jared lightly on the shoulder, but Erika could tell she was pleased. ‘He only says that when he wants something,’ she said, taking in Erika in one
appraising glance. ‘Welcome to Le Domaine.’
Erika smiled, then stood up to shake Prudence’s hand.
‘Did Max tell you when he’d be back?’ Jared asked Prudence.
‘Mr Jared,’ Prudence cocked her head, a warning note creeping into her voice.

‘I’m asking, dear Prudence, so I can have Erika back in time to greet him,’ Jared said cheerfully. ‘I’m taking her on a farm tour. Erika has to see the vineyards if she’s to draw them.’

After a few yanks, Jared moved to a tall cupboard. It had several shelves and the cupboards on the left and right had large diamonds punched in them, filled with chicken mesh. It took a few yanks on the stiff handle to open the door, but when it did, Jared pulled out a picnic basket. Prudence’s eyes narrowed.

‘Prudie, Erika would love some chicken sandwiches. You’re not a vegetarian are you, Erika?’
‘No, but I don’t want to cause any trouble.’

Prudence clapped her hands, and pulled out a red-chequered ceramic jug from the fridge. ‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘Now, Mr Jared, you take Erika onto the porch with this

lemonade. I’ll call you when I’m ready.’

‘Don’t you think she’s an angel?’ Jared said. ‘Max and I would be lost without her.’ ‘Out!’ Prudence waved a dishcloth at him, her eyes twinkling.

♥

Erika had expected a walk to the vineyards; she hadn’t anticipated a basket strapped to the quad bike, and Jared kicking the machine into gear.
‘Hop on,’ he said with a cheeky look.
‘No helmet?’ Erika said.
‘Living dangerously is much more fun.’

Erika hesitated, remembering the uneasy skid as Jared came to an abrupt halt in front of the house.
‘Come on!’ Jared cried.

What the hell, Erika thought. She slipped her leg over the leather seat, feeling herself slide up against Jared’s back.
‘Ready?’

They skidded over bumps, avoiding pot holes and churning up mud. The bo om of Erika’s jeans were soaked by the time Jared finally stopped. And rather than being afraid, Erika found she was exhilarated. ‘Not everyone gets the Grand Tour!’ Jared laughed and held out his hand to help her off.

She took it, shocked at the surge that pulsed through her as they touched. Jared angled his head, holding onto her fingers a li le longer than was strictly necessary. ‘Everything okay?’ he asked.

Erika pulled away, as she tried to compose herself. ‘Of course, why shouldn’t it be?’ Erika thought about Max, not really sure what he was expecting from her. She

remembered his gentleness and care when she wasn’t really in a state to manage anything. But here she was with Jared, and for the first time since her divorce, she actually felt something; something long hibernated was stirring inside her and she just couldn’t help herself. She liked it.

Jared hadn’t moved away. He was still exceptionally close to her. Close enough for her to see the flecks of dust caught on his eyelashes, the tiny mole above his top lip. His eyes caught hers as he smiled, lifting his finger to trace the contours of her face.

Erika knew she should turn away, feign interest in the vines or the view. Make conversation. Ask for something to drink. Focus on how she’d been hurt by Albert to balance out the pressure building inside her.

Instead she stood still, feeling the soft touch against her cheek. A small sigh slipped out, a rising tide catching in her throat. She didn’t know this man. And he didn’t know her; her problems and her insecurities. Here in the vineyard in this country she was just beginning to know, she was completely new.

So when Jared cupped her face in his hands, she let him. And when he kissed her, she didn’t melt. Her body surged with a newfound feeling of power, and for the first time in years she was the woman she was meant to be.

Chapter 7

 

They returned from the vineyards just before dusk. Erika leant into Jared, feeling his

back against her breasts. The closer they got to the main house, the more Erika’s stomach began to churn.

She hadn’t slept with Jared. Not yet. But she wanted to. Jared had held her hand, walked her through the vines. He’d laid out a picnic blanket and made her feel like she was the only person in the world.

And if he’d pushed a li le harder, she’d have willingly succumbed. And not to prove Ashton right. Not to get that post-Albert shag over and done with or to take back her femininity. But quite simply because Jared made her skin sear. Feeling him now in front of her, she wanted to clutch him closer, drop her lips to his neck. She pulled her arms tighter around him.
‘Hello, tiger,’ he said softly, his right hand catching one of hers for just a moment.

♥

Max was si ing in front of the house under one of the oak trees. Though he was nursing a beer, Erika read an expression she hadn’?t seen in him before: anxiety. He stood up as soon as Jared switched off the engine.
‘Hey, boet,’ Jared said, almost bouncing off the quad bike.
‘You’re back,’ said Max, a level of reserve just distinguishable in his tone.
‘We are,’ said Erika. ‘How did it go with the tax?’
Max frowned.
‘Jared said you had to go into town to sort out some tax thing?’ Erika prompted.

‘Oh, right,’ Max said. ‘Easy. Done.’ His eyes trailed down her legs to the cuffs of her jeans. ‘Where’d you take her?’ he asked.

‘Up to Elephant Rock.’ Jared’s voice was bright. ‘We should all go again tomorrow, Max. You should see how the peach blossoms have opened since last week.’

Max nodded. ‘Are you okay, Erika? Jared can be a li le impetuous sometimes. And he drives like a lunatic. If I’d known ...’

‘That’s me,’ Jared interrupted. ‘Irresponsible as always. I had you quaking in your shoes, didn’t I, Erika?’

Erika laughed to ease the tension. ‘I’m perfect,’ she said. ‘And I’m braver than I look.’ She jumped off the quad bike, and walked towards Max. ‘I’m fine, Max, really. And hello.’ As Max kissed her on the cheek, his strong sandalwood smell engulfed her. Erika hugged him to her. She was, she realised, so glad to see him. He felt solid and strangely

familiar. She felt him relax into her arms as though her touch had eased him. ‘It’s so good to see you,’ Erika said. ‘I missed you.’
Max smiled. ‘You too.’

Jared stood slightly away from them, his face untroubled. ‘What about a braai tonight?’ Jared suggested. ‘It’s a perfect evening.’

♥

 

Erika watched the men trying to coax a fire.

‘Come on, Jared,’ Max said. ‘We won’t cook a thing on those puny flames.’ ‘I could pour some diesel on it …’

‘Ja, and burn off your eyebrows like last time. Just stoke it, boytjie.’ ‘Oh, right, make me do all the hard work ...’

While the brothers shared certain mannerisms, they looked quite different from each other. Jared was leaner, more angular, his skin a deeper, more even brown. Max was stockier and stronger, and his hair was at least two shades lighter than his brother’s, with a distinct wave. And Jared seemed to do everything at double Max’s pace. Jared talked faster. Moved quicker. Like he was constantly in fast forward. Jared seemed to throw his boerewors and lamb chops onto their communal pyre, while Max arranged everything with obvious thought.

Erika picked at the bowl of crisps Prudence had brought to tide them over. She’d tried to help the older woman lay the table outside, but Prudence had waved her away. Erika had watched her bring out the plates. She’d come back a few minutes later with a Greek salad and a bague e, and the next trip had resulted in a tray with a bean salad and two lidded Corningware dishes, which now sat ready at the table.

Erika stood up and approached the men at the fire. ‘How is it coming along?’ she asked.

Max put his arm around her, drawing her to him. ‘We’re ge ing there, aren’t we, Jared?’ He sniffed. ‘Don’t you love this smell?’

Erika nodded. ‘It smells of sunshine. On rare good days my father used to pull out his barbecue and fan the flames with my mother’s hairdryer. It was quite a ritual. He always burnt the meat, but he was so happy watching the flames.’

Max laughed and let her go to retrieve some tongs. ‘Well, we’ll try to keep this edible. Are you hungry?’
‘Starved.’

Erika glanced at Jared, who acknowledged her with a smile Max seemed to miss. But Jared’s jade eyes drilled into her, making her knees weak.

‘Your glass is empty,’ he said. ‘Let me take you to the cellar so we can choose a bo le for dinner. What do you want, Max, red or white?’
‘White,’ Max said. ‘Too hot for red. I can go if you like?’

Jared studied his ramshackle display of meat. ‘I actually think you might spread those chops out more evenly, Max. I don’t think I did a great job.’
Max laughed. ‘I’ll see what I can do. Don’t be long now.’

♥
It didn’t take long.

By the time they were halfway down the stairs, Jared’s lips were on hers, his hands up her shirt. He unbu oned her quickly, cupping her breasts and sending her nipples into peaks of ecstasy. Erika kissed him back. He tasted of beer and vinegar, his tongue exploring her mouth urgently. With each probe, she felt the heat draining between her legs. She throbbed everywhere, and pulled at his T-shirt to lift it over his head.

‘God, you’re hot,’ Jared said, as his shirt dropped to the floor. ‘I’ve been wanting you all night.’
Erika felt for his belt, his zip, her hand slipping inside his jeans. He strained against

her fingers. She heard the echo of his buckle hi ing the floor, jeans and scants following. Emboldened, Erika looked at him, saw him nod. Her mouth closed over him, sucking gently, then harder.
‘Christ,’ he said, holding her head, his hands kni ed in her hair.

She moved back and forth, the sound of their breathing hollow. Then Erika felt his hands at her face, lifting her gently away.
‘I might have a condom in my wallet,’ he said, ‘if that’s –’

‘Hurry,’ she said. She unzipped herself, discarded her clothes until she wore nothing but her bra.

He took her on the stairs, pulsing inside her until she thought she would scream. His fingers, light and insistent, massaged her until she couldn’t hold herself back any longer. She came in a flood, an almost animal cry escaping from her. Jared smiled, his body shuddering just after hers and his breathing heavy. Touching her face, he softly kissed her eyelids.
‘This is not what I thought I’d be doing this evening,’ he said.

Erika smiled. Confessions of love meant nothing to her just at the moment. But confessions of great sex … now that was what she needed.
Jared stroked her face. ‘Max will be wondering where we are.’

Erika felt her stomach twist into an almost instant pre el. ‘You go ahead. Give me a few minutes to collect myself.’
Jared grinned. ‘Red or white?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘Red or white wine?’
‘Oh, right,’ she giggled. ‘Red. Why not a bit of red?’

♥

Staring into the bathroom mirror, Erika pulled a brush through her hair. Her cheeks were a li le flushed, but she still looked herself. Just not the old Erika.

Thinking of Jared’s body made her legs feel as though they would cave. Perhaps Ashton had been right: You know the old adage of ge ing over a man by ge ing one onto you … Except that Jared wasn’t just any man. He made her heat up.

Erika checked her bu ons. A good thing – she’d missed one, and another was in the wrong hole.

Max didn’t have a claim on her, did he? He’d brought her here to work on the book – she hadn’t made any other promises. He was a gentleman, so he wouldn’t expect her to make any. Some beautiful scenery, a historic farmhouse, and perhaps something else might fall into place. He didn’t have it in him to push or predict. He was far too nice to do that.

Erika brushed the dust off her jeans. She could do the book, couldn’t she? After the interlude in the cellar, she felt capable of anything. Creative. Potent. Why complicate things? If it upset him, he didn’t actually have to know about Jared.
The truth was her body was finally awakening from a long and miserable hibernation.
Tuning back into a world without Albert.
And it was amazing.

Chapter 8

By the time Erika returned to the fire, the brothers were talking about an upcoming

rugby match, be ing on a predicted score, and Erika felt a strange admiration for Jared’s composure: his side of the conversation didn’t falter. They were so engaged that they barely noticed her return, or so she thought, until she saw Jared’s eyes roving her body with a sense of ownership that made her blush. He held out her glass, le ing their hands touch for just an instant, and a jolt of electricity darted up her arm.

Erika wasn’t nearly as capable of subterfuge – her eyes were so dangerously locked on him that he only broke her stare when he went inside to fetch the salt.
‘You’re quiet, Erika,’ Max said. ‘Everything okay?’

Erika smiled. ‘I guess I’m a li le tired, that’s all. All this country air.’ Max cut up the cooked sausage. ‘So, what do you think of Le Domaine?’

‘It’s magical,’ she said, and not just to make him happy – Le Domaine was everything Max had described and more. ‘I can see why you know so much about the stars.’ She pointed up to the clear skies. ‘Two nights of the most perfectly clear evenings I’ve ever experienced, and both with you,’ she said.

Max’s face lit up. ‘Well, I hope we’ll have lots more. Are you happy with your room? I wasn’t sure whether to put you in the co age or the main house.’
‘It’s lovely,’ she said.

A silence fell between them, but it wasn’t one of those companiable lulls they’d shared in Langebaan. She felt the need to make an effort.

‘Will we start on the book tomorrow, do you think, Max?’ ‘I’d like to, if that’s alright with you.’

‘Of course. I’m looking forward to it.’

Max offered her a piece of boerewors on a fork. ‘Have you tried this yet? Traditional South African sausage. This one is extra special, though – Prudence makes it with my great-great-grandmother’s recipe. She wasn’t a De Villiers by birth; she came from the Dutch side of the family. A brilliant cook by all accounts.’

Erika bit into it identifying some familiar flavours: coriander, allspice and nutmeg. ‘Delicious,’ she said.

‘Of course, recipes like this are closely guarded secrets.’ Erika smiled. ‘I can see why,’ she said.

‘Here.’ Max cut her another slice of meat. ‘Sometimes the best bits are the ones you steal straight from the braai. My dad used to call them “cook’s spoils”.’

She opened her mouth, enjoying the mix of tastes on her tongue. Max was as gentle as always, caring for her in a way no man ever really had. Not even her own father.

When Jared returned from the kitchen with the Cerebos, she and Max were si ing side by side, sharing a piece of boerewors between them. Even to an outsider Max’s stance would have seemed territorial, like a dog guarding a beloved mistress. Jared, however, appeared unperturbed, taking a seat on the other side of the table. He watched Max slicing and piercing the sausage, then helped himself to a plate.

‘For some reason,’ he said, looking directly at Erika, ‘I’m as hungry as a fox. Erika, please pass the pap?’

‘The what?’

‘Just next to your left hand, yes, that dish. It’s ground corn, another South African staple. We grew up on the stuff, didn’t we, Max?’

‘If Prudie had anything to do with it, sure,’ Max replied. ‘Try it with a bit of that sauce, Erika. Here, let me hold the plate for you.’

And Max, at ease in both their company led the conversation from there. When Jared’s phone rang, they were almost all finishing second helpings. Jared held the phone in his palm, calmly checking who it was before he stood up and walked away from the table to answer it.

‘Bugger,’ he said, when he came back from a brief conversation. ‘That was Heinrich. I forgot I was supposed to meet up with him tonight. He’s si ing there at Reuben’s wondering where the hell I am.’
‘You’d be er go,’ said Max. ‘We can clear up, can’t we, Erika?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Erika said, wondering a li le selfishly why Jared would want to dash away.

‘Well, don’t wait up,’ Jared said. ‘Heinrich’s been planning this skop since Evan’s bachelor’s. It’s not going to be pre y.’

Moments later, Erika heard the sound of a shower, a toilet flush. Remembering his body against hers, she reluctantly wondered how it would feel to wash him all away …

Max leant over to fill her glass. ‘How’s the wine?’ he said. ‘I forgot to ask. This was one of our be er vintages.’

‘It’s lovely,’ Erika said, trying to focus. ‘Er, tastes like cherries.’ Max nodded encouragingly.
‘And plums, and maybe a touch of oak.’

‘You’re a natural,’ he said, smiling. ‘Jared must like you. He doesn’t bring this out for just anybody.’

Erika took another sip, then a gulp. ‘I need to use the bathroom,’ she said suddenly. ‘Will you excuse me a moment?’
‘Sure. I’ll start taking in the plates –’

‘Oh, please don’t,’ Erika said, surprised by the pleading in her voice. ‘If you do, dinner will be over and it’s still so early ...’
Max shrugged. ‘You got it.’

Jared was in the entrance hall retrieving his keys. His jeans hung beautifully, and a light blue shirt emphasised his tan.

‘You got ready quickly,’ Erika said, making him jump. She wanted to reach out to him, but something about his expression told her not to. ‘You look great,’ she said.
‘Thanks.’

‘Listen, Erika, I’ve got to go,’ he said, his voice clipped. ‘Sorry.’ She was being dismissed.
‘You have a fun time tonight,’ she said in her most light-hearted voice.
‘It’s just one night,’ Jared said, jangling his keys.
Erika felt herself go cold.
See you,’ she said.
‘Erika,’ Jared called.
She turned. ‘Yes?’ she said.
‘I’ll be back later.’
She didn’t bother responding.

 

♥

By the time she came outside again, Jared’s car had already roared down the driveway.
Erika sat down next to Max, and reached for her wine glass.
‘He keeps a hectic schedule,’ she said casually.

‘Jared? That brother of mine doesn’t sleep. Most nights he gets by on three hours. Sometimes it’s like he’s on a mission to exhaust himself.’
‘Does it work?’

‘I don’t know. Probably. Jared’s always one step ahead.’ Erika stretched. ‘So what’s the plan for tomorrow?’ she asked.

‘Well, I thought I could go through some of the family archives with you. Show you some of the photos. Then maybe we could go into Franschhoek and have lunch. Stop off at the Huguenot Museum.’
Erika nodded. ‘That sounds lovely.’

‘I’m not really sure how you work, but I thought at least I could give you a feel for what I’m trying to achieve. And also for the atmosphere around here. That’s what caught me about your kite-surfing sketches – you really know how to capture a mood.’
Erika smiled. ‘And you really know how to fla er a girl,’ she said.
‘It’s not fla ery. Just the truth.’

A mosquito buzzed softly between them and Erika instinctively rubbed her arms. Max clapped his hands together.

‘Damn it, missed,’ he said. ‘Shall I get an insect-repellent candle? Seems a shame to go inside.’

Erika finished the last of her wine. ‘You know, Max?’ she said. ‘I’m actually not up for a late night as I thought I was. Let’s go inside and make some coffee.’

If Max was disappointed, he hid it remarkably well. ‘I’ll show you how to use the espresso machine, in case you need to whip up a la e when Prudie or I aren’t around,’ he offered.

Seemed it was just like Max to remember. Erika touched his face, kissing him on the cheek.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Max. And for inviting me here.’

♥

By the time Erika had dressed for breakfast the next morning, Jared had already disappeared. She wasn’t sure if she was glad or disappointed. In the light of day, she wondered if the hours she’?d spent tossing and turning were even worth it. Even if it was just one night, wasn’t she the be er for it? She wasn’t the sexless, frigid ice queen Albert had moaned about. And it had taken a fumble in the cellar to show her that. Well, more than a fumble, actually ...

Ashton would have told her to grow up and enjoy the afterglow, so that is what she resolved to do. She felt like an idiot for cornering Jared against the entrance hall table. As if she could force him to ravish her! No, she’d wait for that feeling to fade in its own good time. And when she had to face him again, she’d thrust the memory of their encounter far from her mind.
‘Knock, knock,’ Erika said, as she approached the kitchen door.

‘Good morning, sleepyhead,’ Max said. ‘Come on in.’ She sat down in one of the wicker chairs. ‘Did you sleep well?’ Max asked.

Erika wondered if Max had seen the light under her door. For someone who’d professed exhaustion, she’d taken an awfully long time to fall asleep. And even then she hadn’t heard Jared come home.

‘I did eventually,’ she said. ‘I don’t know. For some reason, as soon as I was actually in bed my mind woke up. I ended up reading some trashy novel until one.’

‘If you do that every night, we’ll have to take you to the bookshop to stock up. Louis will be delighted you’ve moved in.’

Erika laughed. ‘You’re always full of good ideas, aren’t you, Max?’ ‘Solution-driven,’ Max smiled, ‘what can I say?’
‘But wouldn’t it be be er to solve the sleep problem?’ she persisted.

‘Oh, there are lots of ways to do that, but I’m not sure you’re ready to discuss them.’ Erika felt the colour rise to her cheeks. ‘Is this coffee mine?’ she asked to change the
subject.
‘Just made it,’ Max replied. ‘But if it’s cold, I’ll drink it and make you a fresh cup.’

She sipped from the mug and sighed dramatically. ‘Delicious,’ she said. ‘Careful, Max – I think I could get used to this treatment.’

‘I was hoping there were easier ways of keeping you here than tying you up.’ Prudence bustled in from outside. Beside her was a younger woman in her early
twenties.
‘Good morning, Erika,’ Prudence said.

‘Morning,’ Erika replied cheerfully. Last night she had begun to sense that Prudence didn’t trust her – and granted, the notion was not ill-founded. Now she sensed her scrutiny, as if Prudence was a mother hen standing over her brood. ‘This is Gladys,’ Prudence said. ‘My granddaughter.’

‘Hello, Gladys,’ Erika said. ‘I’m Erika Shaw.’ The younger woman smiled.

‘Gladys usually cleans your room first,’ Prudence said pointedly, ‘but she’s not sure if she can go in there now.’
‘Oh, please carry on. Don’t let me stop your routine.’

Gladys retrieved a vacuum cleaner and a bright purple feather duster from a cupboard.
Her steps echoed as she walked down the wooden passageway. Prudence hadn’t moved.
‘Anything I can do?’ Erika asked.
Prudence huffed, then turned to follow Gladys.

‘Since my mother’s death,’ Max offered, ‘ Prudie has taken her responsibilities to heart. And for reasons I can’t understand, Jared encourages it.’

Erika drank the last of her la e and tried not to think about Jared. ‘I hope I haven’t offended her.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘she’ll come around. Now what can I get you? Toast, an omele e or muesli?’?

♥

Max’s study was on the exact opposite side of the house from her bedroom. Erika had guessed how it would look, and found she was wrong and right in equal parts.

She’d expected it to be neat: a perfectly clear desk with no sign of any paperwork whatsoever. She thought there’d be files on a shelf, lined up in date order or alphabetically, probably in height order. On this she was wrong, because Max’s desk and bookshelf was an array of paper, and though the piles weren’t filed, she could tell by the coloured dividers and Post-its that the heaps were aligned with some care.

She’d thought Max’s desk would be an antique Victorian affair, or even older. It would be traditional, in walnut or mahogany with an original dark-green or burgundy leather writing surface embossed with some sort of pa ern. Instead he was working at a desk of transparent tempered glass, with bright stainless-steel metal legs. It was probably Italian, clearly custom-designed and valuable. And instead of some modern, ergonomic, high-back executive chair, his was a heavily built mahogany antique, with clawed feet and black leather upholstery.

What surprised her most, however, was not the modern bookshelves or the AppleMac screen. Not the De Villiers hall of fame on the one wall, showing black and white faces through the centuries. Not the air conditioning unit humming above them, which she remembered he’d told her about. What caught her off guard was the kite-surfing sketch she’d given to him in Langebaan already hanging in pride of place above his desk.

Max caught her appraising glance across the room, and the way it lingered on the picture.
‘I did tell you it was the best one,’ he murmured.

Erika smiled. ‘You framed it quickly,’ she replied. ‘It suits the room.’ ‘I like it,’ he said. ‘It makes me happy.’

Erika recognised another of Max’s unique qualities: he was comfortable enough not to care that she might think him desperate or foolish. And she was glad that this wasn’t her reaction anyway. She was chuffed. Thrilled that Max liked her work enough to want to look at it every day. And that there might be a li le more to it than that.

Max offered Erika a seat opposite him. ‘So let’s talk about the book,’ he said. ‘I’ve been interested in De Villiers genealogy for years. It started in my late teens, actually, when I did a school project for my history class. Jared, of course, doesn’t have the patience for the sort of trawling that family trees involve. He thinks it’s much too intangible to be worth the effort.’

‘Well, you and Jared don’t seem to be cut from the same cloth,’ Erika commented. ‘You’d be surprised. In some ways, we’re more alike than either of us would care to
admit.’

‘The book?’ Erika prompted, not really wanting to be caught up in a discussion about Jared. It was far too distracting.

I’ve been collecting these bits and pieces for over a year. I’ve met up or corresponded with family members both in South Africa and internationally. We’re quite an interesting bunch, even if I say so myself.’

‘Well, I’m interested.’ Erika hoped immediately that her comment wouldn’t be misconstrued.

But Max continued. ‘I started writing the book. At first it was terribly factual – accurate drawings of family trees done with genealogy programmes, that sort of thing. But I realised immediately that it was dull. Only a De Villiers would be prepared to labour through all of that, and then only the most enthusiastic and dedicated ones.’
‘And?’
‘So I stopped, and thought about what makes a story interesting. The plot. Sure. The

se ing. Of course. But really what most people tend to be interested in is other people. So I changed my focus to include chapters on key De Villiers members who had a specific story to tell. Scandal. Achievement against the odds. Tragedy. All set against a South African backdrop, almost as a means of showing South Africa changing at the same time as the family develops. One of my ancestors, Marthinus de Villiers, wrote Die Stem van Suid-Afrika, our national anthem.’
‘The project sounds great.’

‘My publisher saw the first few chapters and commissioned it based on those.’ ‘No mean feat,’ Erika said smiling.

‘I was pleased,’ Max said modestly. ‘I’ve had to fit it in between my other responsibilities at Le Domaine, so it’s taken a li le longer than it might have, but I’m happy with where I am now.’
‘Where do I come in?’

‘At first I was going to use the photos that I’d collected, which are available in the Huguenot Museum archives. They’ve been very helpful, offering to let me use of any images in the archive as long as I acknowledge them.’
‘But?’

‘But the photos lack vibrancy. When I show you you’ll see what I mean. I’d like you to make the pictures come alive. Like your sketches of Bloubergstrand.’
Erika’s brow crinkled.
‘You don’t think it’s possible?’ Max asked, concerned.

‘Anything is possible, Max. I just hope I’ll be able to pick up the atmosphere from the photos.’

Max smiled. ‘Ah, but it won’t just be photos. I’ll take you around. To the homesteads. The mountains. The cemeteries. And of course you can read the stories from local accounts and my interpretation of them.’
Erika looked at Max. His face glowed with triumph and enthusiasm.

‘We should get started then, shouldn’t we?’ she said. ‘How many images do you think we are going to need?’

♥

They spent the morning paging through transcripts and information collected by other members of the De Villiers family that Max had sourced over the years. He laughed when Erika pulled out a comment he’d highlighted: ‘Brilliant people the De Villierses – unfortunately all of them are not quite all there.’

‘Needless to say,’ Max said, ‘that comment did not come from a family member.’ ‘But is it true?’ Erika asked, giggling.

Max shrugged. ‘I guess I’ll have to let you decide, but don’t judge us too harshly. Every family is bound to have a li le melancholy, don’t you think?’
Erika nodded. ‘I think that’s probably true.’

‘Anyway,’ Max said, ‘the De Villiers family has an incredible legacy. They’ve been represented across most professions. As we go along, you’ll find we weren’t just ministers, although of course faith is what brought us from France. My first ancestors in the Cape, three brothers, Pierre, Abraham and Jacob (or Jacques as some remember him), were forced into hiding by the Edict of Nantes, which actually outlawed being Protestant. But I digress. There are all sorts of De Villierses in the bag: architects, authors, poets, engineers, farmers,

scientists, you name it.’
‘And winemakers?’ Erika asked.

‘We can’t forget them, that’s for sure. Funnily enough, Jared and I are the few remaining winemakers in the family – most people moved on centuries ago.’
‘So how did your family get the farm?’ Erika asked.

‘Although the brothers were Huguenots, they weren’t the part of the first influx. They seemed to arrive a year later than the others, but from the records we can find they were already involved in the community around Franschhoek. From what we can tell, Abraham was officially assigned his bit of land in 1711. He called it Champagne. Jacob got La Bri in 1712, and Le Domaine went to Pierre in 1713.’
‘So he bought it?’

‘No, it was granted to him by the Company. And Pierre was loaned 91 guilders and his brothers something similar to buy stock and materials from the Company. Believe me, it wasn’t charity – the Company made seventy per cent profit. But the brothers paid off their debts by 1719, and bought more land.’ Max shifted. ‘You know what? I think we’ve had enough of a history lesson for the moment? Why don’t we drive into town? I’ll buy you lunch and then we can stop off at the Huguenot Museum if you think you can stand it.’

Chapter 9

For somebody who’d been an integral part of the family picture the day before, Jared

seemed remarkably absent. All day, Erika’s encounter with him had flashed through her mind; its intensity still fresh. When she and Max came back from town in the late afternoon, Jared’s quad bike was parked under the carport, but his canary-yellow Audi S4 convertible was missing.

Max helped Erika carry her sketchpad and portfolio bag into the kitchen, where Prudence was cooking at the stove.
‘I’m not cooking for Mr Jared tonight, Mr Max,’ Prudence said.

‘Oh,’ said Max, walking to the fridge to fetch tonic for their G&T’s. ‘Where’s he off to this time?’

‘He has a meeting in Cape Town. He said if it gets late he’ll sleep at the Camp’s Bay flat.’

Max nodded, then pushed a glass at a time into the fridge’s ice dispenser. He pulled a bo le of Tanqueray off the booze shelf, adding a healthy tot to each glass.

‘Looks like it’s just you and me tonight, Erika. Do you want to sit on the porch or in the living room? I can burn some citronella candles to keep the bugs away.’

Although she was disappointed to be missing Jared, staying alone with Max was far less complicated, and she was in some sense relieved at the simplicity of being with him.

‘Outside is lovely,’ she answered. ‘I’ve had a lifetime of living rooms. I’m not really sure why you South Africans ever stay indoors.’
‘Well, winter does come eventually.’
‘Winter!’ Erika sniffed. ‘You call that winter!’
Max laughed.
‘Oh alright, so you get a bit colder where you come from,’ he said.

As they moved outside, Erika watched the clouds gathering above the mountains. The sun filtered through them, transforming the whole range into a dusty peach glow.

‘You’d think these mountains had been here forever,’ Max said. ‘But actually they’ve been formed by rainfall and glacial action on the sedimentary rock. One day, not in our lifetimes, of course, they’ll be worn away completely and the whole area will be flat.’
‘Hard to imagine,’ Erika said, before a gentle silence fell between them.
‘Do you ride?’ asked Max suddenly. ‘Horses, I mean.’

‘Of course, what self-respecting Englishwoman hasn’t donned jodhpurs and riding boots? What would our neighbours have thought if we hadn’t?’

‘Maybe one of these days we can go for a ride. It will give you an idea of the landscape, and it’s really quite liberating seeing the area the way the pioneers did. We’ll have to use a li le imagination though – every tree you see here was planted. The wa les, the willows, the oaks, the yellowwoods. Even the Cape beeches. The area used to be covered completely in fynbos. Those se lers really made their mark on the valley. They even managed to chase away the last elephants.’
‘You’re kidding.’

‘I’m actually not. This valley used to be an elephant breeding ground, hence its original name Olifantshoek – Elephants’ Corner. Local legend has it that in 1836, the last elephants,

a mother and calf, were seen leaving here on what came to be the Franschhoek Pass.’ ‘That’s sad,’ Erika said.

‘I guess it is. And it wasn’t just the elephants who were disappointed with the new se lers either. This area was originally inhabited by the San, or the Bushmen, and the Khoi. The Khoi in particular were used as indentured labour – much of the wine farms’ success was dependent on slavery.’

‘You don’t feel the weight of all that history si ing here, do you?’ Erika commented. ‘Jared certainly doesn’t. He can’t understand why I need to document the facts I

discover. He’s much more able to live in the moment, although, of necessity, he is able to plan ahead in terms of the plantings.’
‘He’s responsible for the wine-making?’

‘Well, it was certainly his suggestion to rip out all the old vines about ten years ago and replant. I thought he was crazy, but he was convinced we were growing the wrong wine for our soil type.’
‘What did your parents think?’

‘It was just after they died, actually. I thought it was his way of grieving. But Jared isn’t stupid. His research was impeccable. And he has a feel for the land that’s almost instinctive.’
‘So you let him do it?’

‘It wasn’t so much about le ing him. When Jared believes something, you can’t stop him. And he was right. The general quality of the vines had been declining for years.’
‘And now?’

Max shrugged. ‘We’re exporting all over the world. Estate wine, which means that all our grapes are harvested here. Jared’s been working on a new wine from this year’s harvest. He’s ge ing new labels designed, the works.’
‘Yet he seems so –’
‘Carefree? Happy-go-lucky?’
‘Yes, both of those things. But also a li le undisciplined.’

‘Don’t make that mistake about Jared. He may be my li le brother, but he’s a powerhouse, touched every once in a while by the De Villiers blues.’

♥

They ate a dinner of chicken à la king and rice, home-grown peas and a green salad.
Although Prudence had cooked it, Gladys came outside to take the dishes away.

‘Do you ever just do-it-yourself?’ Erika asked. ‘Where I come from, we had a char in twice a week to do the ironing and clean the bathrooms and kitchen. No live-in help unless you were super-wealthy.’

‘Wait until the weekend comes,’ Max said. ‘Both Gladys and Prudie are in the church choir and you won’t see them for dust. I’m quite a competent cook, I’ll have you know.’
‘And Jared?’

‘God no, he’d rather starve. Jared is the family Hoover. He’ll survive on leftovers, or charm one of his many love interests to rustle up something for him.’

‘Ah,’ said Erika, wanting to ask if there was a current girlfriend, but failing to get up the courage.

‘He’s in between women right now,’ Max said thoughtfully, answering her unspoken question. ‘Which is unusual. But it won’t last long. For all we know that’s what he’s up to

tonight.’

Erika picked up her glass, sipping the last of her sparkling water. ‘I’d like to work on my sketches a bit,’ she said as her heart quickened.
‘Tonight?’ Max asked, surprised.
‘Just a few scribbles. I’m scared I’ll forget some of the faces in my mind.’

Max nodded. ‘Did you want to set up an easel in the drawing room?’ he asked. ‘I can move things around for you if you like.’

‘Could I sit in the kitchen? I thought you might stay with me a bit. Ply me with coffee.’ Max laughed. ‘If I didn’t know what a self-sufficient woman you were, I might suspect

you were using me. I’ll make you coffee, but on one condition.’ ‘Oh, and what’s that?’
‘You try a li le glass of Le Domaine Muscadel first.’

♥

Erika turned in bed, realising that after all those liquids with dinner, she was going to have to tiptoe to the toilet. Slipping on her co on gown, she groped for the light switch, then made her way to the bathroom. When she was finished, she wasn’?t sure whether to flush or not, but her sense of propriety overruled her desire not to wake Max up. Besides, it was the middle of the night and he’d gone to sleep ages before.

Feeling be er, she moved softly back to her room. She slipped off her dressing gown dropping it at the side of the bed.

The knock was so faint at first that Erika thought she’d imagined it. She looked towards the door, and started to climb back in the bed. But the knock came again. Curious, she stood up, then walked to the door and opened it.

His hair was wet as though he’d just showered, and he was wearing a simple white T-shirt and a pair of shorts. No shoes.

‘Jared,’ Erika said, wishing her stomach hadn’t thudded into her feet at the mere sight of him.

‘If you want me to go away,’ Jared said, ‘just say so and I’m gone.’ ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were staying in Camp’s Bay.’ Jared smiled, his emerald green eyes drilling into hers. ‘I was lonely.’

Erika considered him for a moment. ‘I don’t think you’re the sort of man who knows what lonely is.’

When Jared stepped forward, into her space, she could have stopped him or stepped away, but she didn’t.
‘Has Big Brother Max been talking about me?’ he asked.
‘Max and I might just have things other than you to talk about.’

‘Might you?’ Jared said, his lips breathing softly on her neck. ‘And do you think we might have things to talk about too?’ He kissed her just below her ear, sending a shudder through her. ‘It’s just that between you and me, I think talking is a li le unnecessary.’
‘Really?’

Jared nodded, moving his lips to her cheek. His hands moved up to her chin, cupping her face so she couldn’t look away.

‘Are you wearing anything under that nightie?’ he whispered. ‘Because if you are, I think we should take it off.’
‘The door,’ Erika said hopelessly.

Jared edged the door closed with his foot and it clicked shut.

And then his hand moved up her leg and over her knee. And gently, ever so gently, his fingers moved up her thigh. By the time they reached the soft silk of her panties she was already wet. Jared curled the flimsy material back, plunging his finger into her. Erika gasped.
‘I’ve been thinking about you all day,’ he said, as he buried his head under her nightie.
‘You’ve a funny way of showing it,’ she groaned.
‘I’ll make it up to you.’
Erika could feel the slow then insistent movement of Jared’s tongue.
‘You taste amazing,’ he said, standing to sweep her clothes over her head.

He lifted her, cradling her against him before arranging her on the half-opened quilt. ‘Now, where was I?’

She strained against him, unable to take the intensity of his touch. His mouth. His tongue.

‘Oh,’ she whispered, as Jared moved along her body, his lips caressing her navel, travelling up to her breasts.
‘Were you thinking about me?’ Jared asked.
‘I can’t help thinking about you,’ she said, almost angrily.
‘Were you thinking about this?’ he said, his hand between her legs.
‘Yes!’

Erika pulled at his shirt. Wanting the feel of his naked skin on hers, she couldn’t get close enough. Jared let her slip off his shorts, his underpants, until his naked body covered hers entirely. Erika pushed her groin against his, feeling him hardening.
‘Did you bring something?’ she asked.

And then he was inside her, rocking her in a frenzy of adrenaline and lust. Every cell in her body was on fire. When they came, Jared’s eyes were locked with hers.
She felt as though she was seeing into his soul.

♥

‘Why were you awake?’ Erika asked, as she massaged Jared’s scalp with her fingers. ‘I don’t sleep much.’
‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. Too many ideas. Too many thoughts,’ Jared said. ‘They don’t switch off.’?
‘I know what you mean,’ Erika said.

‘I doubt it. I don’t think anyone really understands how it feels.’ ‘I could try,’ Erika said.
‘Don’t try too hard,’ Jared said. ‘I’m indecipherable.’

Erika felt the rejection, but decided not to focus on it. Jared hadn’t made any promises and she hadn’t asked for any.
‘So where’ve you been all day?’ she said to change the subject.

Jared stiffened against her, the tension draining straight into his shoulders. ‘Out,’ he replied.
Erika didn’t ask any more. But she withdrew her hand from his head.

Jared turned on his side to face her, his lean, almost hairless body tightening as he leant on his arm.

‘I’m sorry, Erika. I just don’t think much of conversation.’ His hand dipped to cup her breast. ‘So why don’t we just focus on not talking?’

Feeling his taut body against hers, Erika nodded, her self-control draining away. ‘Not talking is also good,’ she agreed.

Chapter 10

She hadn’t heard him leave, but somehow Erika wasn’t surprised not find Jared lying

next to her the next morning. Erika hadn’t even sensed him falling asleep. Now she needed a shower; her body still held traces of their lovemaking. And the tossed-up sheets – well, they would surely to give Prudence something to think about, and offending Prudence’s sensibilities was the last thing she wanted to do. She thought about stripping the bed, bundling the sheets into the wash with some excuse of spilt coffee, then realised that she’d only draw a ention to herself. Maybe she would just make the bed.

So much for the uninhibited sex ki en: in the light of day, she was still worried about what other people thought.

Unlike Jared. Betraying his brother’s trust under his own roof didn’t seem to faze him in the least.

Erika washed quickly, dressing herself in a pair of denim cut-offs and a lacy white top. She checked her neck, and although Jared’s lips had branded her last night, the traces of their intimacy had disappeared into her memory.

Walking into the kitchen, Erika expected Max, but it was Jared who greeted her this time.
‘Morning,’ Jared said, undressing her with his eyes.
‘Hi.’

He sat down, helping himself to Corn Flakes. It took him some moments to register Erika’s hesitation.

‘Don’t stand on ceremony, Erika, just help yourself. I’d make coffee, but Prudence always does it for me. I can’t work out that stupid machine.’

‘It’s okay,’ Erika said as she propelled herself forward. ‘Max showed me yesterday.’ ‘Ah, Max.’ A mocking tone crept into Jared’s voice. ‘He was waiting anxiously for you
to wake up, but for some reason you overslept.’
Jared’s gaze penetrating her, and the sensation went straight to her groin.
‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t sleep very well last night ...’

‘What again?’ Max said, coming in behind her. ‘You poor thing, you must be exhausted.’
‘Max!’ Erika turned as Max kissed her on the head.

‘Why don’t you sit down while I sort out your breakfast?’ he said. ‘You do look tired.’ ‘I can –’
‘But I want to.’ Max guided her forward.
‘Listen to the man, Erika,’ said Jared. ‘He wants to make you breakfast.’

Erika nodded, then sat down at the kitchen table opposite Jared. Too close and she was scared she’d give herself away. ‘Well, I can’t refuse an offer like that,’ she said.
‘No,’ Jared commented, grinning. ‘You should never refuse a good offer.’

Underneath the table, she felt his foot slip up between her legs. She stood up, knocking the chair over in her haste, her face turning pale.

‘Here,’ Jared said, standing up. ‘Let me do that.’ He picked the chair up with one hand, the other brushing against her bo om.
Max turned from the espresso machine his expression unreadable.

‘I need a tissue,’ Erika blurted. ‘Hay fever. Excuse me, I’ll be right back.’
When she returned a few minutes later, Jared had vanished and she was relieved.
‘Are you okay?’ Max passed her a cup of coffee.
‘Absolutely.’

‘Good, because I thought we’d go out on the horses a li le later, if you’re up to it. I just need to work on the accounts for an hour or two, and then we can leave.’
Erika nodded, accepting the mug. ‘That would be wonderful.’

♥

The stables, located beyond the garage, stood under a grove of oak trees. Sunlight dappled through the leaves, creating patches of green of such luminosity, they made Erika blink. A horse neighed from beyond the stables, and the pungent smell of hay and manure rose to meet them. Of all the places that Erika had visited so far in the Cape, this was the one that reminded her most of home. Saturday morning rides with her sister in tow. Dressage and show jumping on weekends, her father’s car following the horse trailer pulled by their riding instructor’s bulky and beaten white pickup. Then, when they finally returned to the stables, those endless hours of obligatory post-mud grooming that she’d always endured, with what she now recalled, was terribly bad grace.

Erika had lost interest in riding, and mucking in, long before her sister had. But that didn’t mean the sight of the Arabs emerging from behind the stacked hay bales wasn’t evocative. Holding out his hand, Max moved towards a chestnut horse, whose slightly curved-in ears pricked as Max whistled softly between his teeth. She nuzzled against him, clearly used to his presence.

‘This is Star,’ Max said. ‘Terribly original, I know.’ He indicated a white patch on her forehead.
‘She’s gorgeous.’ Erika reached out slowly to pet her.

‘A real lady,’ Max agreed. ‘She’s so dainty, and equally proud. You won’t often find her at the back on a trail. She doesn’t like to lose.’
‘My kind of girl,’ Erika said.
‘Really?’ asked Max, a look of surprise crossing his face.
‘I don’t strike you as competitive?’
‘I don’t know. I guess I hadn’t seen you in that context.’

‘Well, wait until you take me on at Scrabble. I’ll try to annihilate you with no thought to your feelings or sensibilities.’

Max laughed. ‘Actually, Erika. I think you may have me terrified.’ Erika smiled. ‘Damn right,’ she said. ‘Now who is this?’

Another horse had edged in next to them. She was grey with a blond mane. She held her tail, also blond, erect and high, flicking away the odd fly.
‘Hello, Pinotage,’ Max said, placing a hand near her muzzle so she could sniff at him.
Pinotage arched her neck, then shook her head softly from side to side.
‘They like you,’ Erika said appreciatively.

‘They should. Before you woke up, I plied them with sugar cubes and carrots so I could impress you with my incredible prowess.’
‘Cheat,’ said Erika.
Max chuckled. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but are you impressed?’
‘Of course. Just no such foul play when we get to that Scrabble game, or I might get

defensive.’
‘I’ll take that as a warning.’

From inside the stables, Erika could hear the sound of voices, then an anxious whinny. ‘That’s Clare,’ Max said. ‘She’s been a bit off colour. Eddie, the groom, told me she

didn’t want to leave her stall at all yesterday. The vet’s coming later to check on her.’ ‘Poor thing,’ Erika said.

‘Ready to saddle up?’ Max asked. ‘I thought we’d cross between some of the farms, stop for a wine tasting or two, and lunch when we’re hungry.’
‘And you’re expecting me to be si ing upright after that?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that. Star once found her way back with Jared passed out cold after overindulging in brandy. Wine is one thing, but brandy ...’
‘Let’s go then, shall we?’ said Erika, mounting Star with li le effort.

Like most Arabs she was short, at most fourteen hands; Erika had ridden much bigger horses before. She looked down at Max, who was standing sheepishly next to Pinotage.

‘I think I’m about to be outridden,’ he said. ‘You’re full of surprises, Erika, did you know that?’?

♥

It was about ten o’clock when they left. Clouds still hovered like wedding veils over the mountains, and looking across the valley, Erika could see a burst of blooms, dew-do ed spider webs and newly unfurling leaves.

They switched between cantering and galloping, stopping whenever the view called for it. At a stream a few kilometres from Le Domaine, they dismounted to allow the horses to drink.

‘There’s water all the way along the valley,’ Max said. ‘It’s actually quite wet this time of year.’

Erika pa ed Star’s rump, then bent over to throw a leaf into the water, watching it float downstream. Standing up again, she pointed to beyond where a wire-mesh fence marked the start of another property.

‘I didn’t expect so many fruit trees,’ she said. ‘Everything I read about Franschhoek was about wine. That, and of course, the fact it’s supposed to be the gourmet capital of South Africa.’

‘All sorts of fruits have been grown in this valley: pears, plums, apricots, peaches and even lemons. Some of the farms only changed to wine twenty years ago,’ Max said. ‘Some farmers grow both fruit and grapes for wine. And as for the food, you ain’t seen nothing yet.’
‘Is that a promise?’ Erika asked.

Max looked at her, the shade of his hat hiding his expression. ‘If you want it to be,’ he said, then sipped from his water bo le. ‘A li le piece of trivia for you. Did you know that no ma er the colour of an Arab’s coat, all have black skin except under a white marking like Star’s? It originates from when they were desert animals needing protection from the sun.’

‘Do you always do that?’ Erika said, moving closer to him. She tipped up his hat. ‘Hide behind facts?’

‘Is that what you think?’ His eyes met hers with a directness she wasn’t expecting. And now that he was gazing at her, Erika realised she was the one who needed to look

away. She needed to, but she couldn’t. Max touched her face. Not in the possessive way Jared had, but gently. Reassuring.

‘Right now,’ Max said, ‘I don’t know where I stand with you …’ Erika’s hand felt the late-morning stubble on Max’s chin.

‘… and I’m afraid that I’m going to be the one to lose out. While I hold back, denying myself to help you heal, someone else is going to snap you up.’?

♥

They were moving again, Erika galloping ahead on Star as Max’s words echoed through her mind. His openness had touched her, but the guilt was nauseating, a bi er taste at the back of her throat. She’d wondered if he suspected something, but his words showed that he was too trusting to think ill of her. Or of Jared.

The melding of night-time bodies in the room down the passage was so far beyond his natural goodness that it hadn’t even occurred to him. Max had been thinking in the abstract, foreseeing something that might happen, not that had happened already.
If he only knew.

Erika wasn’t a wicked person, at least she didn’t believe she was. And she didn’t know Jared well enough to judge him one way or another. Wasn’t that ironic? She felt torn, and things weren’t any easier now that Max had stated his intentions. She didn’t know what to feel. And she especially didn’t know what to do. So what had she replied when Max had spoken? Nothing. She was a coward; she hadn’t said anything at all.

‘Wait up, Erika!’ Max said. ‘What mission are you on?’ ‘Sorry.’ She slowed the horse to a trot.

‘No, I’m sorry,’ Max said. ‘I shouldn’t have said what I did. No pressure. You don’t have to run away from me. I’m perfectly aware of your boundaries.’

Maybe that was the fundamental difference between Jared and Max: Jared didn’t care about boundaries.

Erika looked at Max. ‘I’m not running away,’ she said firmly. ‘But you’ll have to be patient with me, Max. I’m all mixed up. And to be honest, I’m not so sure of my own boundaries yet.’

‘Let’s forget about it for now,’ Max replied, turning up a beech-lined avenue. ‘There’s somebody I’d like you to meet.’

The entrance road they followed needed resurfacing; where the tar was worn away in places, it was inexpertly and unevenly patched. Star and Pinotage’s hoofs clip-clopped up the drive, Pinotage’s tail swishing continually.

Erika watched Star’s ears prick as a dog barked. ‘There, there,’ she said, pu ing her arms around the horse’s neck and feeling her calm under her touch.

‘Le Cadeau,’ Max announced. ‘One of the best-kept secrets in the whole of Franschhoek. Entry by special invitation only. Pieter Blignaut is what we call a “garagiste” in our circles. He only produces about two thousand bo les of wine a year, but the results are always spectacular.’
‘Has he been in the area long?’ Erika asked.

‘All his life, and mine. Pieter is well into his eighties. He may even be ninety by now. He has some great stories to tell. His mother was a De Villiers, but from Jacob’s line. That makes us relations, but only distantly. You might have to speak up when talking to him – he’s a li le hard of hearing.’

They approached a fork at the main entrance. To the left, a sign indicated ‘Wine Tastings and Tours’ and to the right, ‘Private. Trespassers will be prosecuted.’ Erika followed Max to the right, noting how the homestead had been cordoned off with a hardy green hedge, alternated with the odd cerise or white bougainvillea.
‘We’ll take the horses to the paddock first,’ said Max, leading the way.

They dismounted and tethered the horses, and were checking if there was enough water for them in the trough when a child of about five appeared from one of the nearby staff houses. She wore a torn Hello Ki y T-shirt, a bright pair of pink frilly shorts and no shoes, and a toddler trailed behind her. She grinned, so Erika could see she’d already lost her bo om two teeth. Then, thrusting the tiny tot onto her hip, the li le girl approached Pinotage.
‘Sien jy?’ she said to her sister, pu ing out her hand to the horse. ‘Mooi perdjie!’

Max smiled and spoke in a soft, even voice to the li le girl, although Erika couldn’t decipher the Afrikaans. The li le girl stared at him, then nodded, pu ing her baby sister on the ground.

‘Come, Erika,’ Max beckoned. ‘We’re going to give these li le tykes a ride on Pinotage. This is Nadia,’ he pointed at the older girl and then the toddler, ‘and this is Priscilla.’

‘Hello.’ She pointed at herself. ‘I’m Erika.’ And when she reached out to pick up Priscilla, the tiny child reached confidently for her, cuddling her like a li le monkey. ‘Oh,’ said Erika, feeling the slight hands gripping her neck, holding her so tightly she could feel the pressure of individual fingers. The li le girl smelt of baking. Of new bread. Weirdly, she also smelt of paraffin.
‘You okay?’ asked Max.
‘Of course…’ her voice faded.

Max lifted Nadia onto Pinotage, then held his arms out to Priscilla so he could put her on too. Erika felt the li le girl clutch her more firmly.
‘I think she wants you to put her on,’ said Max.

Erika lifted her towards the horse, and felt her neck being reluctantly relinquished. But as the li le girl reached upwards, their eyes met. And, very slowly, Priscilla touched Erika’s face, tracing her nose, her cheeks, her mouth. Suddenly, she beamed.
‘Pragtig!’ she said.
‘She’s right, you know,’ Max said as Priscilla se led on the horse. ‘You are beautiful.’

♥

The front door was opened by an old lady wearing a dress that could have been made from a pair of curtains. She wiped her hands on her apron, beaming when she saw who had knocked.

‘Max de Villiers! Kom binne, kom binne!’ She waved them both into the hallway. ‘Pieter! Ons het gaste.’

The shuffle of approaching feet revealed an elderly gentleman with a craggy face, piercing blue eyes and a bow-legged gait.
‘Pieter, Magda,’ Max said, ‘this is my friend Erika, from England.’

Magda clapped her hands together, almost curtseying. ‘Welkom. Welcome. You must be hungry ...’ And with that, she dashed away.

Pieter smiled at Erika. ‘I was in England once,’ he said. ‘After the War. I bet it doesn’t

look anything like it did then.’
‘Where were you?’ Erika asked.

‘What?’ the old man said, cupping his palm to his ear. ‘This blasted hearing aid. It buzzes. Can’t hear a darned thing most of the time.’
‘Where were you in England?’ Erika asked again.

‘Oh, Cornwall. King Arthur country. My grandmother on my mother’s side lived there. That was before I met the lovely Magda and put down some serious roots.’ He pointed to the vineyards, then winked at Erika. ‘In all senses of the word.’
‘You planted here yourself?’

‘Replanted, like young Jared and Max. Still got my fruit trees for Magda’s konfyt.’ Erika looked at Max, a question reaching her eyebrows. ‘Jam,’ whispered Max.

Smiling, Pieter gestured towards a room off the entrance hall. ‘Come inside. It’s always so nice to have visitors.’

Erika and Max se led down opposite Pieter on an inflated sofa covered with what resembled supersized crochet doilies. Glancing round the room, Erika saw it was dominated by a gigantic fireplace, with wood stacked in neat piles on either side of the grate. Above it was an oil landscape of a vineyard, the eye drawn in by neat lines of cultivation. It was painted with flicks of complementary paint colours, giving the scene an unusual vibrancy that Erika loved.
‘That’s a beautiful painting,’ Erika said.

‘My grandson,’ Pieter replied. ‘He’s immigrated now to New Orleans. Makes a fortune through his own gallery.’
‘Erika’s an artist too,’ Max said. ‘She’s working with me on my book.’

Pieter turned his complete focus to Erika, and his face took on a faraway look. ‘Are you really? But how wonderful! Max doesn’t often bring guests to see us, so he must think highly of you. I’m not surprised though.’ Pieter leant forward conspiratorially. ‘Beautiful and talented. Quite a combination, and I’m sure Magda won’t mind my saying so.’

Erika felt herself grow warm. There was something touching about this person si ing opposite her. His words seemed to carry an undeniable weight, and when he looked at her, it was as if he understood her perfectly.

Pieter acknowledged her with an incline of his head that said everything. When Magda scu led back into the room bearing an enormous tea tray laden with scones and other pastries Erika didn’t recognise, Pieter sat back to retrieve some handiwork from a bag next to his armchair. Arranging skeins of wool on his lap, he picked up a needle and began to thread it.

‘The devil finds work for idle hands,’ Pieter said, beginning to sew what Erika realised was a tapestry.

Max leant over to pass Erika a plate. ‘You have to try Magda’s koeksusters; the best in Franschhoek,’ he said.

As Erika bit into the dough plait, the syrup oozed into her mouth, filling it with sweetness. ‘That’s got to be fa ening it’s so delicious,’ she said.
‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ Pieter said. ‘You’re just a slip of a thing.’

The conversation was light, though sometimes a li le stilted. Magda clearly understood English, but seemed shy moving away from the comfort of her mother tongue. Max tried to draw her in but often failed, responding instead with a look towards Pieter, who filled in for her.

Erika wondered a li le why Max had brought her here. The homestead was beautiful, certainly, and the couple charming, but it was though Max was expecting something to happen. As Magda collected the teacups to return to the kitchen, he stood up with her.
‘Magda,’ he said, ‘let me help you.’

Despite her initial hesitation, Magda nodded and they both disappeared to the kitchen. Erika didn’t quite know what was expected of her, so sat quietly, her hands in her lap. She thought of asking about the tapestry. What was he going to do with it? How did Pieter start? But Pieter, humming under his breath, seemed so totally absorbed in what he was doing that she wasn’t sure he’d even noticed she was still there.

‘My first wife,’ Pieter said suddenly, looking up over spectacles that had slid down his nose. ‘That’s where my grandson gets his talent from. She could sketch a rabbit as it was hopping across the front lawn, and capture it perfectly. Like a photo.’
‘Oh,’ said Erika, not wishing to interrupt the flow of his story.

‘She was a fine woman. You remind me a li le of her. You have the same shaped face and eyes. But where she was defiant, in you I see something else. Loss, maybe? A li le sadness?’
‘You said she was defiant?’ Erika deflected the a ention from herself.

‘She died in a fire in the 1950s. Christine didn’t need to be there that day, but she thought it was all so unfair. Of course, she could have thought about how losing a mother would affect our daughter, but she didn’t think that far ahead.’
‘She was impetuous,’ said Erika.

‘Impetuous or stupid. All these years later, I still can’t decide which.’ Pieter picked up a length of cobalt blue wool and sucked the end to a point.
‘What happened?’ Erika asked, not able to contain her curiosity.

‘She had coloured friends. Both of us grew up in the area, so we all knew each other well. Some of those farm lads I’d known my whole life. When the forced removals began, she swore she was going to take a stand. If she couldn’t stop it, she was going to make a spectacle of it.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Erika said.

‘Well, the apartheid government had decided the coloured community couldn’t live in a certain section of Franschhoek any longer. Our friends and their families were booted out of their own homes, moved off to Groendal, through the Group Areas Act.’
‘My God,’ said Erika.

‘Christine decided they shouldn’t go quietly. She said they should resist. And her friend Petronella said it was alright for her. She had a home and a husband and child to go home to when she was finished fighting. Christine watched Petronella leave, then set the house on fire from inside, so nobody would see her in time and stop her. A symbol. If Petronella couldn’t live there, nobody else could.’
‘But something went wrong.’

‘Everything was already wrong. The house went up like a tinderbox. I wasn’t there at the beginning, but Petronella turned around. She could see Christina near the window, and she couldn’t understand why she didn’t try to break out. She was leaning forward, trying to unbu on her jersey.’
‘But why?’ Erika asked.

‘It must have caught alight. We’d always laughed about that jersey – pre y, but not practical. Not for an arsonist anyway. The bu ons were tiny. She tried to rip at it. Petronella called her brother. Told him to go back and help Christine. By the time he got

into the house, her whole outfit was on fire. He smashed the window with a brick, trying at least to get some oxygen to Christine, but that only fed the fire. He couldn’t get in. When the fire engine arrived, Christine had already died from smoke inhalation and third-degree burns.’

Erika’s face dropped. Though Pieter’s storytelling was unwavering in its delivery, his eyes sent a shock of pain through her. Half a century later and she could feel his suffering. But then the old man smiled, his eyes twinkling once more.

‘So,’ Pieter said. ‘She was beautiful and defiant, but that didn’t help her at all. And now I have Magda and she’s my whole world.’ He stood up, offering his arm to Erika. ‘Come, my dear. There’s something I’d like you to see.’

♥

Leaving Le Cadeau, Erika was silent. The bo le of Le Cadeau Syrah pressed on her by Pieter was packed in Max’s haversack. Pieter and Magda had walked them to the paddock, and had waved as they tro ed back down the driveway. Erika looked at Max, who looked back silently.
‘Why did we come here?’ Erika asked. ‘Did you know he would tell that story?’

‘I don’t know. The first time I met you, I thought you reminded me of someone. I was looking through some of the De Villiers photos the other day and found a wedding picture of Pieter and Christine with my grandfather.’
‘That doesn’t explain anything.’

‘You’re right,’ Max said, ‘but Pieter has always been good to me, especially when my parents died. I wanted you to meet him.’
‘And the fact that I resemble Christine?’ Erika persisted.

‘Well, I thought he’d like you. He’d approve. Seeing you would make him happy.’ Erika’s face took on a troubled expression. ‘Except that I stirred up memories that
should be left in the past. I don’t think I made him happy in the least.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong. Pieter’s had his share of suffering, but he has a good life. He’s contented. He’s accepted his past and dealt with it.’
‘Unlike me, you mean?’
Max sighed. ‘I just wanted to show you that moving on from tragedy is possible.’

‘I’m not an emotional pawn, Max.’ Erika was suddenly angry. ‘I don’t work according to some timetable, and especially not yours.’
‘I didn’t say you did. I just wanted to give you hope.’

‘Can we go back to Le Domaine now, please? I think I’ve had enough life lessons for one day.’

Chapter 11

 

“What’s it with you two?’ Jared said, helping himself to salad. ‘Lovers’ tiff?’

Max glared at Jared, then stabbed his sirloin with uncharacteristic menace. ‘Mind your own business,’ he said. ‘You really can be such a smartass if you want to be.’
‘I’m only trying to ease the mood,’ said Jared, moving his eyes to Erika’s.

She found herself looking away. She actually didn’t feel angry any longer, just raw, but making up after an argument had never been her strong point. For all his faults, Albert had always been the one to apologise, looking hangdog and suitably contrite. Of course, that was one of the first things to change; apologies that might have been forthcoming in his pre-affair days were remarkably absent once he hit the tennis circuit and discovered Rose.

The irony now was that Max’s stony face now hinted at passions she hadn’t been aware of. That easy-going Max could be so stirred up was something of a surprise, a good surprise. Though just then, with his expression hidden under the hoods of his eyes, she found him unreachable. And this was the part she didn’t like.

And then there were her old worries coming to the surface. Erika thought back to that tender moment when they’d lifted Priscilla and Nadia onto Pinotage – the first direct contact she’d had with children since her last failed IVF. Perhaps it was this memory rather than Pieter’s message of healing that had bothered her. This physical touch had made her realise, almost viscerally, that, rather than dealing with her loss, she’d simply been blocking it. When she’d felt that child’s hug, the feeling of actually being held by a child, the devastation had been almost overwhelming. How was she meant to pretend that she was whole and happy, when her life’s path was so far from what she’d wished for?

Across the table, Jared picked up a piece of cucumber in his fingers, biting into it noisily.

‘Well, I’m out tonight,’ he said. ‘Heinrich’s having a party on his farm. Trying to impress some new bird on the scene.’ Jared checked his watch. ‘Actually, I should have left ten minutes ago. I said I’d help mix cocktails.’
‘Well, don’t let us stop you,’ Max said.
Erika studied Jared, wondering if he ever included Max in his whirlwind social life.
Or if it occurred to him that she might want to join him.

Jared stood up. ‘I’ll crash at Heinrich’s place. I’ll be far too drunk to drive,’ he said in his ma er-of-fact manner. ‘Then I’m back to Cape Town about those labels – Angelique wants to show me final drafts. But thank God I’m ge ing out of here. You can cut the atmosphere in this room with a knife.’ He left with a tog bag in one hand and two bo les of sparkling wine wedged under his arm.
Erika waited for the squeal of tyres to subside before she spoke again.

‘I don’t want to fight,’ she said. ‘I hate fighting.’ She wondered if she had the courage to say sorry. Surely, in this new stage of her life, that was something she could do?
Instead, she reached out for Max’s hand, expecting him to withdraw it.
Except that he didn’t; he gripped it with unexpected ferocity.

‘I’m sorry,’ Erika said with surprising ease. ‘I guess I’m just questioning everyone’s motives … And those kids, it was just –’
‘I’m sorry too. It was supposed to be a good day. I didn’t realise being near Priscilla

and Nadia would upset you so much, or I wouldn’t have offered them a ride. And I’m not Albert, Erika. I don’t want to hurt you.’ Max was silent for a moment. ‘I’m going to say this and maybe you won’t like it. But there are other routes to motherhood, and maybe you haven’t considered them. And maybe, one day, you’ll be ready to.’

Erika sighed. ‘You say that, but what kind of prospect would that be for a future partner?’

Max shook his head. ‘Oh Erika, you can’t have looked in the mirror much lately or you would know the answer to that.’

His gaze was so intense and warm that Erika felt herself blush. Their hands were still entangled but Erika sat back in her chair, feeling overwhelmed.

Then Prudence walked into the dining room, carrying a tray. Sensing Prudie’s eyes on her, Erika a empted a smile.
‘That was delicious,’ she said. ‘The steak was cooked to perfection.’

Prudence acknowledged this with a curt nod, then took most of the remaining dishes, her retreating bo om undulating like a massive wave.

‘That Pieter Blignaut. He must have been a charmer in his day,’ Erika said, trying to reclaim the mood.
Max laughed. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’
‘How did he meet Magda?’ Erika asked.

‘Two years after Christine died, they were set up at a Christmas Eve party.’ ‘A blind date?’

‘Something like that. Anyway according to my grandmother, Magda always treated Christine’s daughter, Juliet, like her own. She and Pieter had twin boys after that.’
‘Lucky him,’ Erika said. ‘A second chance at love. And a family.’

Max seemed pensive. ‘Yes. And there’s really no such thing as a typical family anyway.’ He seemed about to say something, but then stood, picking up the last dishes. ‘Maybe it’s time to hit the sack.’

Erika folded her servie e. ‘I haven’t got very far with my sketches,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I should apply myself for a while.’
‘In that case, maybe I’ll sit with you.’

And Erika realised that she liked that idea – now that the silences between them were comfortable again.

♥

Jared didn’t return for three days, but when he did he was unshaven and a li le wild-looking, his lack of sleep evident in puffy red eyes.
‘Met someone?’ Max asked as Jared swung his tog bag onto the kitchen table.

‘What makes you think that?’ Jared returned, then beamed wickedly. ‘Had a blast. Friday, we parked all night on the beach. Bonfire, the works. Heinrich scored some pot in Groendal. Good stuff. Fucking awesome. It was like some camp out from school with all the crappy things like discipline and Reginald Esterhuizen excluded.’

‘Who was Reginald Esterhuizen?’ Erika asked, trying not to show any reaction to Jared’s arrival.

‘Headmaster,’ said Jared. ‘God that man was a tyrant. Nothing got past him.’ ‘Yes,’ agreed Max. ‘Not even Jared. And that’s saying something.’ Prudence walked into the kitchen, her eyes alighting on the prodigal son.

‘Prudie,’ Jared said, jumping up to dance her round the kitchen.

Laughing, she tried to pull his arms from her waist as he dipped and tipped her ample frame, humming some wild tune that Erika didn’t recognise. When he finally stopped, giving in to Prudence’s protestations, he did so rather majestically, spinning her under an arched arm before bringing her to a sudden halt.

‘Miss me?’ Jared asked Prudence. ‘Won’t you be an angel and run these clothes through the wash? Got to give them back to Heinrich when I see him later.’

‘You’re going out again?’ Erika said, but immediately wished she hadn’t. ‘Why not?’ Jared asked. ‘Got a be er offer?’
Max raised his head, clearly noting something in her voice.

She forced a laugh. ‘Clearly neither of us can compete with Heinrich, eh, Max?’ Max smiled, and seemed to relax. ‘I guess not.’

♥

Over the next few days, Erika was relieved that the tension between her and Max eased. But she couldn’t help wonder about Jared –? there was something about him that jarred. More than once she’d wanted to raise the subject but hadn’t thought it either the right time or the appropriate subject.

On the work front, she and Max had created a routine that seemed to work. They’d start with a morning of discussion, during which they poured through the manuscript and accompanying photographs or the family tree, which Max kept open for them to study. After lunch they worked separately, Max on his Le Domaine responsibilities and Erika on her sketching. She liked si ing outside on the porch. Max had lent her a radio, so she listened to music sometimes, or she drew while taking in the sounds of farm life around her. Sometimes they didn’t see each other again until close to four in the afternoon.

There were distractions though. The wine estate was often busy, with busloads of tourists or individuals in cars pulling in for wine tastings, or the odd estate tour. Though the tasting area was nowhere near the main house, the sounds often resounded to where Erika sat as well, and she listened for the noises of different nationalities and accents, guessing, often correctly who had just visited.

It was on one such afternoon that Erika found herself growing restless. Her hand, which was accustomed to gripping paintbrushes and pencils for hours, cramped up. And though she was often able to concentrate and maintain a pa ern of creativity for several hours at a time, her mind seemed to seize.

Erika put aside her easel, and stood up, rubbing her fingers on her plastic apron. She’d leave everything as it was for now – that is, apart from placing the lids on the tubes of Winsor & Newton. She untied her apron, leaving it to dry in the sunlight, and went to the bathroom to wash her hands. She could hear Max talking on the phone, his voice rising and falling – it seemed it was someone from the mobile bo ling unit trying to raise the prices for a small order. Deciding not to disturb him, Erika wondered away from the house in the direction of the tasting room.

Several cars and buses were parked outside, and some of the coach drivers were standing next to their vehicles, puffing on cigare es to pass the time. Erika waved vaguely, then strolled towards the sound of laughter that echoed from the stone-floored room, and slipped in via the back door.

Jared didn’t see her. Dressed impeccably in a pair of chinos and a black Le Domaine golf

shirt, he had taken full charge of the space. His smile, as irresistible as the first moment she’d met him, lit up his whole face as he charmed his audience through the history of the vineyard. And what he lost in inconsistent information and a poor memory for dates, he more than made up for in delivery.

‘You see,’ he said, ‘as any good oenologist will tell you, the soil, the vine and man (or woman!) are the pillars needed to create a good wine. A good wine will dance with your food, and I’m sure you’ll take my word for that. I’ve also been told you don’t have to finish the whole bo le in one night. But take it from me – a whole bo le is a hell of a lot more fun!’
Jared moved to a map to point out the wine areas around Cape Town.

‘So of course every region will produce a different wine. While I would obviously prefer Franschhoek wine – and with good reason, I make it! – Paarl wines are more voluptuous and rich. Stellenbosch produces New World wines – they’re upfront and bold, with a li le bit of competition between the elements. But I’ll tell you a li le secret: Franschhoek farmers really know about wine. My family has been in Franschhoek since the 1680s; we’ve had more than enough time to perfect the art. And just so you know, every time I’m forced to taste from the barrels during the process, it’s for completely philanthropic reasons ...’
The group laughed and followed Jared through to the production area.

‘… And I bet most of you would like to know how we establish that our grapes are ripe. Well, we have a family of baboons that live on the property. When they come down from the mountain, sit on the post and shake our vines, then it’s time for the harvest. A baboon knows a delicious grape when it sees one. So we really believe in science at Le Domaine – in this case – natural science.’ More laughter. ‘But seriously, folks. Nature is pre y organised. Different grape varieties never actually ripen at the same time, so we always have enough time to harvest each cultivar before the next one is ready. Harvesting starts in January and usually ends around March, depending of course on the year...’

Erika hadn’t been near the giant vats before. Giant metal containers dominated the entire area, and a strong smell she didn’t recognise tickled her nose. Perhaps she’d expected something a li le less clinical, but Jared certainly wasn’t describing a process that happened without the occasional creative insight.

‘So, once the grapes are harvested, the real work begins. It takes a ton of grapes to produce six- to seven-hundred litres of white wine. With red wines, you get a li le more because you keep the skins. Either way, you’re looking at a lot of grapes! And wine grapes don’t look anything like table grapes. They’re about the size of a pea and very juicy. We use this machine to separate the stems from the fruit, because stems are very bi er and affect the taste of the wine ...’

Erika noticed how Jared met the eyes of the people listening to him. And she was pleased to see it wasn’t only the young beautiful women – and there were quite a few of them. He bent down to acknowledge some of the kids, helped an old man on a Zimmer frame down the corridor, and manoeuvred a short woman to the front so that she could see. At first, she didn’t think Jared had noticed her hovering on the edges of the crowd, but as he described the fermentation process with cultured yeast, he looked directly at her, sending blood flowing straight to her cheeks. Their glances may have only locked for a second, but it was enough to make her wonder what on earth she was doing there.
Jared smiled, then turned.
‘Right, ladies, gentlemen and children, let’s continue on to my favourite place: the

barrel room. You’ll know that most white wines are not stored in barrels, except for chardonnay. All our barrels are imported from France, and we can only use them a maximum of three times. Hopefully that goes a long way in explaining why a bo le of wine is never too expensive ...’

As the group sipped and spat and ticked off their wine orders back upstairs, Erika turned to leave. She hadn’t seen Jared approach, so his hand at her elbow startled her. She jumped, dislodging his hand.
‘Leaving already?’ he asked, pu ing his arm around her to pull her to him.
‘I was just taking a li le break...’ she mu ered.

‘Ah Erika,’ Jared said. ‘You haven’t even had a taste. The Syrah is not to be missed.’ ‘I really should be going,’ she said. ‘I didn’t even know you’d be here.’
‘Good surprise or bad surprise?’ he asked, his eyes burning into her like a laser.
‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly.

Jared grabbed her hand, pulling her behind the bar counter, where he chose her a glass and placed it in front of her. ‘You can’t do a book about a wine family without knowing about the wine,’ he told her. ‘Here. Our Sauvignon Blanc. When we rebranded it, we called it Emily, after our mother. It’s gentle and elegant, like she was, but something determined lurks beneath the surface.’
Erika sipped. ‘I think I know what you mean,’ she said.

‘See, I’m not the Big Bad Wolf.’ Jared grinned mischievously. ‘Unless, of course, you want me to be ...’
‘Not here, Jared,’ Erika said. ‘Please.’

Jared threw his arms out, admi ing defeat, but then he caught the eye of one of his guests and went off to play host again. Erika watched him cha ing to the man, nodding vigorously as they gazed at a wine glass filtering light from the window. So unlike Max, she thought, who seemed so reserved about himself and his capabilities. In contrast, Jared seemed completely without inhibitions. He expected people to like him, and without any apparent effort of his own, they did. She was no exception.

Gradually the tourists trickled away in their li le groups, boxes of wine and souvenirs sold to them through Jared’s easy-going charm, stowed carefully in their boots and onto the coaches. Until it was just the two of them si ing alongside each other at the bar, and Jared was working through the Le Domaine repertoire of wine and anecdotes. He had a way of making her laugh despite her best intentions, a condition that worsened the more wine she tasted …

‘I was thinking about the other night,’ Jared said under his breath as he poured some dessert wine.

‘Were you?’ Erika tried not to meet his eyes, but failed as usual. She was drawn to him in a way she couldn’t explain. This, despite knowing that his every action over the last few days told her she should be wary.

Jared leant a li le towards her, his breath against her cheek. ‘It isn’t easy keeping away from you,’ he said softly.
Erika’s face must have given her away.

‘I like a bit of secrecy, but I know that’s my bag, not yours.’ ‘Max,’ Erika said.

I know there’s Max, but I can see the way you look at me.’ ‘And how is that, exactly?’ Erika challenged.
‘Hungrily,’ Jared said.

From anyone else that would have seemed arrogant, but Jared stated it like a simple
fact.
Erika sighed, looking away.

‘There’s nothing wrong with following your instincts,’ Jared said. ‘You’re sexy as hell, and I don’t think you even realise it.’ He put his hand on Erika’s thigh, and it smouldered.
‘I’m not good at this kind of talk,’ Erika whispered.

‘So, let’s not talk. Let’s just see what happens.’ Jared glanced at the tasting room’s entrance. The cars and buses had all left.
‘It’s closing time.’

Erika felt her heart tighten as Jared came closer. He lifted her onto the bar counter, started unbu oning her jeans.
‘Stop me,’ he said. ‘Any time you want ...’

♥

‘Erika? Erika?’

A male voice echoed down the path towards the tasting room. Panting, Erika felt the imprint of Jared’s body on her, inside her. She pushed him away, watching the slow curl of a smile crease his lips. Jared stood up, neatening his clothes. Then he sauntered to the back room to retrieve another bo le of Syrah.

Flushed, Erika slipped back down onto her bar stool, edging her tasting glass towards
her.

‘Erika? You there?’ Max sounded worried. ‘Max,’ she called after a pause, ‘I’m down here.’

He burst through the door. ‘Oh, good,’ he said. ‘Your car’s still here and Prudie didn’t know where you were.’
‘I tried to tell you where I was going, Max, but you were on the phone –’

‘Christ, yes. Underhand bastard has upped his fees for the mobile bo ling units. And he knows he can do it too, with Gerhard’s plant being on the blink for three weeks.’

‘Supply and demand,’ said Jared as he reappeared. ‘I might do the same in his position. He’s probably run ragged.’
‘He’s run ragged because he has lots of work. That’s where profit comes from.’

Jared sat down behind the bar. ‘So you see, Erika. Our business ethics are a li le different. Max keeps me on the straight and narrow.’

Not all the time, Erika thought. ‘Well, I agree with Max if that counts for anything,’ she said.

Jared raised his eyebrows, then laughed uproariously and pulled another glass from under the bar counter. ‘I see I’m outnumbered. We’ll have to agree to disagree. Max, are you joining us for a tipple? You can’t expect Erika to understand the De Villierses until she’s tasted all our wine.’

‘And have you?’ Max addressed Erika as Jared poured the Syrah. ‘Have I what?’
‘Tasted all the De Villiers wine?’

‘Not if I plan on walking back to the house,’ Erika said lightly. She reached out and pa ed Max’s arm. ‘So,’ she said. ‘Did you win the argument?’

Max nodded. ‘I appealed to his humanitarian side,’ he said.
‘And that worked?’ Jared said incredulously. ‘I wouldn’t have thought Mike had a

humanitarian bone in his body.’

‘Oh, he didn’t,’ Max said. ‘Until I mentioned my connection with the Wine Board.’ This only made Jared even more cheerful. ‘Max, my boy, I don’t know what we’d do
without you. So when is he coming?’

‘Tomorrow,’ Max said. ‘At nine o’clock. You did remember to order the extra bo les we needed?’

Jared downed the rest of his wine. ‘I may not be good for much, my brother. But for once I actually did remember to do that.’

Chapter 12

 

Erika thought that their afternoon interlude might have changed Jared’s mind about

going to see Heinrich, but in that she was mistaken. Jared swung out of the house shortly after six, giving Prudence a departing slap on the rear as he passed her in the kitchen. Prudence jumped and squealed, but still watched Jared’s departure with an expression of affection.
Erika was hungry at dinner, and ate quickly in between sipping sparkling water in an

a empt to dull the effects of the afternoon’s wine. But Max picked at his lasagne, forking it around his plate. Their conversation began in fits and starts, until eventually Max put down his fork, pushing his plate away.

‘I don’t think I can do this,’ he said. ‘Do what?’ Erika’s heart sank.

‘I’m not a complete dolt, Erika. I can see that Jared intrigues you. For all I know you’ve already slept with him.’
Erika looked away.

‘Being the good guy really has very li le value, it seems to me,’ Max continued. ‘Perhaps I should have tried to seduce you in Langebaan when I might have had a chance. I was a fool to bring you here – how could I possibly have thought you wouldn’t be

a racted to Jared? I should probably warn you that his a ention span is shorter than a baby’s. When he’s with you, he’s completely with you. And when he’s not, it’s as if you never existed. I can’t tell you how many of his girlfriends I’ve had to comfort while he’s nailing somebody else. And how, when I tell him that, he shrugs and says I should have taken the opportunity ... Distraught woman. Shoulder to cry on. Who knows where it could lead?’

Erika’s mouth dropped.

‘He doesn’t understand how he hurts people. Myself included. I thought there might be some sort of level of trust between brothers. Keep away from Max’s girl. It’s not like he can’t get someone to drop their knickers just by looking at them from across the room. God, I’ve seen a seduction in play. Thirty seconds and he’s left the building, with the pre iest woman at the party. Married. Engaged. But he doesn’t actually give a toss.’ Max turned his knife on the table. ‘I thought with you, maybe it might be different. I love my brother. And I know he loves me. But God, Erika, he knew how I felt about you.’

‘I do care about you, Max,’ Erika said.

‘Oh, come on, Erika. I’m no competition for my li le brother. So, let’s just keep it platonic, which is obviously what you want. But do me a favour. No sneaking. No lying. I just can’t do that. I want to do this book together. Maybe I’m a masochist, but I don’t want to see you go.’
‘I’m not in love with Jared,’ Erika said firmly.

‘No, but you will be. God, even Prudence is in love with him, and she changed his nappies!’
Erika’s eyes filled. ‘You’re giving up on me,’ she said.

‘I’m not. I’m giving you what you want. At least Jared has had the courtesy of pursuing you with a li le secrecy. I’ll tell him we’re not happening. We’re not going to

happen. I haven’t even kissed you, for Christ’s sake. Not that I haven’t wanted to a hundred times.’ Max stood up, pushing back the chair roughly. ‘No guilt, Erika. I know you’re not a cheat. Maybe it’s time for you to fall in love again. Just not with me.’

‘I’m not actually a piece of merchandise you can calmly pass on,’ Erika said. ‘And how do you know that Jared is even interested?’

‘Oh, he’s interested, all right. He hasn’t been out of the house so much in months. That’s his vague sense of conscience talking; giving us time alone,’ Max said, picking up the salad bowl to carry it to the kitchen. ‘I’m se ing you free of any obligations you might feel, Erika. The rest is up to you.’

♥

Angrily, Erika slapped acrylic on canvas, and found she was painting her first impression of Le Domaine.

Brookie lace and gables, ivy clinging determinedly up a wall. That impressive bougainvillea, and the Cyprus trees, thick and tall, planted too close to the house. She managed to capture the look of the paint peeling just under the gu er, now rusted. The weather vane she’d found so quaint as it twisted in the breeze, though it was depicted, she realised, slightly larger than it should have been.

Erika had thought of leaving. Packing her unimpressive belongings and returning to Scarborough. To England even. It was November, and she’d been in the Cape for just over four months. With a few meaningless shags to show for it, some paintings sold for much less than they would have fetched in England, and a book commission she wasn’t sure she should continue with.

And where did Max fit into all of this? Surprisingly, his a ention towards her didn’t seem to have changed, and the la e delivered as she painted suggested no hidden agenda.
‘Goodnight, then,’ Max said, placing the steaming mug on her bedside table.
Erika wanted to catch his hand but Max retreated, not even glancing at her work.
‘Goodnight, Max.’ She a empted a smile.
He’d smiled back, but with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Erika went to bed smelling of soap, her hands raw from scrubbing the paint from her fingertips. She fell asleep half-listening for Jared, and at four she thought she heard the slam of a car door, keys in the lock and the squeak of footsteps on the wooden floor. But not in the direction of her room. Down the passage the shower squealed; there was the ba ering of uneven water pressure as she became more alert. He didn’t come, and she fell asleep, head half-cocked, waiting.

When she awoke, her head ached. She felt as though she’d been crying, but she didn’t remember any tears, not even in her dreams.

She dressed quickly, pulled on a pair of trainers and slipped out the front door bearing a bo le of mineral water and an apple from the kitchen. She wasn’t much of a runner, but she liked to walk. She ended up strolling through the vineyards and up into the mountain foothills, and she didn’t return for four hours.

♥

‘Where in God’s name have you been?’ Jared’s trousers were muddied, and he’d gouged out a chunk of skin from his arm.

Less forcefully but equally dirty, Max made a move towards her, but then stopped.
‘I went for a walk,’ Erika said.

‘A walk?’ Jared asked quizzically, as though he’d never heard of such a thing. ‘But you didn’t leave a note.’

‘I’m sorry, Jared. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I needed to ... clear my head.’ ‘Are you okay?’ Max asked.

‘I’m fine. Well, apart from a bit of sunburn and an a ack by rampant fynbos of some sort.’

Erika walked past inside, making her way towards the bedroom passage. She could sense their eyes on her, a silent exchange that had passed between the brothers.

It was Jared who followed her inside. ‘Erika,’ his voice caressed her back. ‘We were worried about you. I was worried about you.’
‘I already told you I’m sorry,’ she retorted.
‘Max told me what happened last night.’
‘Well, what did happen? Perhaps you can help me out?’

She felt Jared’s hands on her shoulders as he spun her around, gazing at her with his emerald eyes. His touch was rough and insistent and when he put his lips on hers, it was all she could do not to lose her balance completely. Jared’s mouth parted slightly, his tongue touching hers. Head spinning, knees weakening, she realised she was kissing Jared back, and with a hunger she hardly recognised.

‘Well, that’s se led then.’ Jared sealed their kiss with a pout. ‘What are we going to do for the rest of the day?’

But her pleasure was interrupted by the soft entry of Max’s shoes in the hallway. Self-consciously, she stepped back a li le.

‘So,’ he said. It came out like the sound of a throat being cleared. His face was inscrutable.

‘Erika’s going to stay,’ Jared said. ‘Aren’t you, Erika?’ She nodded.

‘That’s great news.’ The cheer in his voice either real or very well enacted. ‘So we’ll finish the book.’
‘Of course,’ Erika said. ‘We were doing so well.’

‘Have you seen her drawings, Jared?’ Max asked. ‘You won’t believe how’s she’s captured Grandpa.’

Jared nodded, but Erika wondered if it was with interest or dismissal. Either way, the comment reached a dead end.

‘Well, anyway,’ Max said. ‘I was coming inside to tell you that I’ve got to go into Cape Town to see the auditors again. You’ll be okay taking the day off, I think?’

Without warning, Jared thrust Erika over his shoulder. Seemingly oblivious to her shrieks and Max’s dismay, he charged with Erika down the corridor.

‘Don’t worry about us, Brother Max,’ Jared called. ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to entertain her until you get back.’

♥

It wasn’t just the sex, although the sex was phenomenal. Jared made Erika feel like she was completely captivating. When she spoke, he lay on his stomach, leaning his head on his hands to focus entirely on her. He made her laugh and his endless energy didn’t just mean

stamina in bed, but also gave her a refreshing outlook on what life was like as an eternal optimist. While Albert had been the sort of man with a solid foot on the ground at all times, Jared seemed to be in a continual bounce. Like Tigger, Erika thought, giggling. So Albert was Eeyore.

Jared was also extremely tactile. Even out of the bedroom, he always had a point of contact with her: a hand on her thigh, a foot against hers, fingers laced. She was in a constant state of ecstasy. That afternoon they made love in the vineyards (Merlot grapes, T4577) as the sun was just beginning to set.

‘Do you always bring your girlfriends here?’ Erika asked, straightening the picnic blanket he’d brought along.
‘Every relationship is unique,’ Jared replied, evasively.

And perhaps she didn’t really want him to answer. Jared slapped away a mosquito. ‘Maybe we should get back to the house,’ he said. ‘Rustle up something to eat.’

He drove them home through the vineyards as shadows began to dance. Erika liked the speed. It gave her an excuse to push against him, feel the solid contours she was ge ing to know. The fumes from the quad bike rose from the exhaust, but somehow this was not unappealing. She knew later, this would be a smell with totally new associations.
‘Good day?’ Jared asked her as he helped her off the bike.

Erika smiled. ‘You know, despite the fact you’re digging for compliments, I’ll have you know that you’ve totally lived up to my expectations.’

‘You had expectations?’ asked Jared, grinning. ‘You could have let me know a li le sooner. Think of all the time we’ve wasted.’

Though it was meant to be light-hearted, the comment made Erika think of Max. She looked for his car as they walked past the garage. Silent and still.
I’m going to let myself be happy, Erika thought. I deserve to be happy.

As Jared slipped his hand into hers, she neither flinched nor pulled away. I deserve to be happy, she told herself, repeating it like a mantra. I deserve to be happy… I deserve …

Chapter 13

 

It had felt to Erika that Jared had curled around her for most of the night, but by the time she awoke his side of the bed was cold.

In the kitchen, all she could make out was Prudie’s solid bulk as her flapping biceps stirred something on the stove. Erika was intimidated; she couldn’t deny that. There was something about Prudence’s eyes that drilled into her, making her feel decidedly small. She turned to escape back to her bedroom, but Prudence whirled round and gave Erika an all-knowing look.

‘Mr Max said to tell you that they’re at the mobile bo ling unit.’ No ‘good morning’ then.

‘Mr Max left a pot of coffee for you. I was going to bring it to your room, but you were still asleep.’
Even that sounded accusatory.

‘Thanks, Prudence.’ Erika tried a smile on the older woman. ‘I really appreciate it.’ Prudence snorted, her back once again to Erika. Resigning herself to the glacial

treatment, Erika pulled a banana from the fruit bowl, then cut it into some muesli, adding a dollop of plain yoghurt on top. Si ing at the kitchen table, she pulled a magazine in front of her and tried to read. She wondered if she should try to make things easier between her and Prudence. The way things had turned out, Erika wasn’t planning on going anywhere soon. But the wall of uniform kept her at bay. She just didn’t have the nerve.

♥

The sound of activity drew Erika closer.

She heard bo les sha ering, following by a torrid hurl of abuse. It didn’t sound like Max, and she couldn’?t really picture it being Jared. She turned the corner as Max approached from the opposite side, his forehead crunched in a worried frown.
‘Erika!’
‘Are you okay?’ Erika replied, seeing his expression.
‘I’m just going to check the bo le stocks up in the warehouse. Simon ...’

Erika nodded. ‘I heard glass breaking. Do you want me to come with you to count?’ It was the least she could do, she reasoned.
‘Sure, but don’t you want to say good morning to Jared first?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think he’s going anywhere,’ she replied.

They walked side by side to the warehouse. Max was silent, as though their once amicable conversation had become a chore. Erika again was aware how unalike he and Jared were – even the way they walked was different. Jared took large, quick strides, ge ing everywhere as fast as possible. Max’s set his pace to match hers, and he never seemed to be in a terrible hurry – despite what she now imagined was a crisis with the bo ling.
‘Is it serious?’ Erika asked, as Max bent to unlock the warehouse door.

He bent to examine why his key wasn’t inserting smoothly into the lock. He jiggled it and twisted the handle simultaneously. The door creaked open.

‘With a small range like this, there’s a chance that bo ling on different days could make a huge difference to the taste of the wine bo led later. Not to mention the fact that we’d

 

have to get the mobile unit in again – the additional cost would be enormous. Come inside.’ Erika followed Max, who peered into the darkness, feeling for a light switch.

‘Damn it, Jared,’ he mu ered tensely. ‘I told you to order extra.’ ‘Where do the bo les come from?’ Erika asked.

‘Cape Town. I could have picked up more yesterday if I’d known. Simon doesn’t have a licence, so he only drives on Le Domaine. And they’ll never deliver today. Shit. Shit. Shit.’

Looking at Max, Erika realised that this was the first time she’d seen him in a state. He rubbed his neck, pulling slightly on his ear.

‘I could go,’ Erika said brightly. ‘You guys watch the bo ling here, and Simon could come with me and show me the way, right?’
‘You won’t fit the bo les in your car.’

‘So I’ll take yours, with a trailer if necessary. I used to pull a horse trailer when my sister was competing. As long as I don’t get lost, I’ll be fine.’
Max still seemed hesitant.

‘Look, Max. What other options do we have? It’s either that, or you go and I help Jared. It’s not like I know anything about bo ling, but I can drive a car. I’ll just go slowly.’

Max studied Erika. ‘I’m not worried about the car, Erika. I’m worried about you. That’s an awfully big responsibility to put on your shoulders.’
‘I can handle it. I’m a big girl. Besides, I want to help. ’
‘Okay,’ Max said.
‘Okay?’
‘We’d be er hitch the trailer then, and get you on the road.’

♥

Half an hour later, Erika waved goodbye to the brothers, affecting a cheerful look.

In the Land Cruiser’s rear-view mirror she saw Jared wave and then immediately turn and march back towards the bo ling plant. Max stayed watching them a li le longer. Was she imagining his hesitation? Jared hadn’t even contested her going to Cape Town, and she wondered why her feelings were hurt. He’d given her a good-morning peck when she and Max had come back from the warehouse, but he was obviously distracted. After the night they’d spent together, she found this vaguely insulting.

She’d noted the way Max’s nostrils had flared slightly, the way he’d pulled his mouth into a smile before giving Simon his instructions in Afrikaans. She hadn’t understood a word, of course, but the message had nevertheless been clear: Simon was responsible for ge ing them to the factory and back, and if the bo les didn’t match exactly, Simon would be in a world of trouble. Simon had nodded furiously, taken the sample from Max, and indicated to Erika that she should follow him to the garage. She hoped for the sake of the journey that he spoke a li le English at least.

This was not the morning she had expected, but she was rather proud of herself. She was going on a mission. They were making wine, and she was going to be part of it.

♥

By the time Erika returned, it was well after lunch time.

Though she wasn’t normally one for greasy takeaways, she and Simon had eaten burgers at a roadside Wimpy, and that had hit the spot. The trip had been pleasant: the

vineyards on either side of the road were green and luscious in the early-summer sunshine, the Winelands breathlessly still and undisturbed. There’d been carol services and Christmas fairs promoted on placards along the way, and that had felt rather odd to her: Christmas in this heat? And despite the aircon in the Land Cruiser, a trail of sweat had clung to her neck.
Max had phoned as they were passing the Spier Wine Estate.
‘You’re a lifesaver, you know that?’ She’d noted the relief in his voice.

No, she’d found herself thinking before ending the call, you’re the lifesaver around here.

It was true. Without Le Domaine, Erika would have been out on a limb. It wasn’t exactly as if she’d forgo en that her wedding anniversary was the following week, but it didn’t cause the stab of pain she’d thought it would. A winter wedding had been her idea. She’d loved the thought of fur-trimmed capes and a long, flowing winter gown. Glühwein and mince pies. In this environment, with the sun beating down and the clouds mere flecks across the blue, their ‘special’ day seemed just too distant a memory.

And now she had Jared to get back to. She pictured him shirtless and tanned in the vineyard, his total disregard for the glass of red wine knocked over on the picnic blanket, seeping pink as he moved closer to her. Even the memory of how he’d looked at her made her stomach twist. Erika’s foot pressed down heavier on the accelerator, and Simon threw her a questioning glance.

‘Max needs us to hurry,’ Erika said, and the name ‘Max’ seemed explanation enough as far as Simon was concerned.

They parked as close to the cellar area as Erika could manage. Reversing carefully, she eyed the trailer in her rear-view mirror. Max had emerged at the sound of the car, indicating with a swinging motion that she could back up even further.
When she stopped, he opened her car door.

‘Impressive,’ he commented. ‘A woman of many talents. Why don’t you come and see what all the fuss has been about.’

Inside the warehouse, Erika realised she hadn’t even had time to study the mobile bo ling unit: a truck loaded with all sorts of metal tubes and mechanical parts.

‘It’s Italian. It can bo le as many as three thousand bo les an hour …’ Max began to tell her, but Erika’s eyes had already flicked towards Jared, who bounded over and embraced her, swinging her around in his strong arms.

‘You’re back!’ he said happily, pu ing her back down on her feet and kissing her with firm yet tender lips. ‘Come, let me show you!’

Grabbing her hand, he led her to where Simon was placing the newly arrived bo les. ‘That’s the in-feed table. It can unscramble one hundred bo les at a time and feed them

into the machine. From there, each bo le is rinsed upside down with sterile water. The water is drained and the bo le is placed upright on the track ...’ Jared pointed. ‘Now, as winemakers we have a choice: to purge the bo les with carbon dioxide or nitrogen oxide. We’ve left that step out this time – Pieter did last year and the results were great.’
‘Pieter from Le Cadeau?’ Erika asked.

‘Yes.’ Jared pulled Erika towards where the bo les were revolving under individual spouts or pumps. ‘Can you see the bo les over there? Those are being filled to a height that we have pre-agreed. We call this process gravity filling for obvious reasons. It’s all completely sterile – the filling heads and header tanks are sealed to the atmosphere, but we take four control samples at the beginning, middle and end of the bo ling run, just in case there are issues later on. Max and I have to take full responsibility for the quality of the

wine, so we like to be sure. The bo ling company will take two of each of those bo les and keep them separately for quality control. That’s their “insurance policy”. We keep the others.’

Erika watched the turning machinery. ‘What about sealing the bo les?’ she asked. ‘Do you use cork?’

‘Today we are,’ Jared told her, pointing to a collection of filled bo les. ‘Stainless-steel cork jaws and dust blowers remove the dust before the corks are compressed. The machines create a vacuum in what we call the bo le headspace before the cork is pushed in – pre y nifty. Some of our wines are screw cap, though. And then of course our sparkling wine is closed with a crown seal, but we’re not tackling either of those today.’
Jared pointed to a collection of filled bo les.

‘So that’s the out-feed tray. Simon and the team will take those bo les and pack them into trays. We apply all our labels by hand, but that will only be done next week.’
‘So what happens when all the wine is bo led?’ Erika asked.

‘It depends. Some days we are bo ling more than one wine, and then we need to do a wine change – that takes about half an hour because everything would have to be cleaned out, and sterilised. Today, we’ll simply finish up and leave the plant company to use nitrogen to push the last of the wine through.’

Jared squeezed Erika’s hand. ‘So that’s it really. Max and I will be here for most of the day, but for you it might be a bit dull.’

Erika looked to the door of the cellar as Prudence arrived with a tray of sandwiches, fruit and juice. ‘Lunch!’ she said to Jared.

‘Prudie, you’re a wonder!’ He strode over and picked up a thick wholewheat sandwich, biting it with gusto. ‘Max! Grub’s up.’
Max poured himself a glass of fruit juice. ‘Want anything, Erika?’

Erika noticed there were only two plates and glasses. ‘No, no. You guys go ahead.’ The brothers perched themselves outside on a shaded wall, the sounds of the bo ling

plant clanking and whirring inside the cellar. Jared’s plate was already empty by the time Max had only eaten half of his food.

‘You need me to make you some more, Mr Jared?’ Prudence asked, but Jared simply wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his head. ‘Back to work,’ he said, giving a half-wave. ‘I’ll see you later.’
And Erika, who’d thought of watching a li le longer, realised she’d been dismissed.

Chapter 14

As December rolled in, so did the tourists. The wine-tasting tours, Jared’s chief domain,

increased to twice, sometimes three times a day. Max knuckled down meanwhile, arranging end-of-year bonuses, VAT returns and other administration. In fact, since the bo ling, neither Jared nor Max seemed to have had much free time.

Erika took to horse-riding on her own first thing in the morning. The book was progressing nicely on her side, and she revisited her artwork brief with some trepidation. There were very few images still to draw, and what would happen when she was finished? The thought worried her, and when neither brother mentioned it, she worried even more. At least if she had some time to plan ... get her head right, well, she believed she could cope with anything. Being at Le Domaine had brought both stability and uncertainty into Erika’s life ... Not unlike the De Villiers brothers themselves. Max remained constant, but Jared was his own man – untameable, even if she had been so inclined.

Unlike Max, Jared seemed incapable of spli ing his a ention. He was with her entirely, or he was somewhere else. The moments that he was with her made up for everything. Although he’d told her Max was the romantic one, he brought her flowers and surprised her with visits when she least expected them. He held her possessively, even in company, insisting that they be seated alongside each other in restaurants when they went out with his friends. The first time she’d met Heinrich, he’d nodded thoughtfully.
‘So you’re Erika,’ Heinrich had said in a way that made her flush.

Jared slipped his arm around her, drawing her in. ‘I told she was beautiful, didn’t I?’ His touch had sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

In between book illustrations, Erika was working on another painting for Madeleine, who’d still not managed to get away from the café at Scarborough.

‘I thought it’d be easy to come for the day,’ Madeleine had told her on the phone. ‘But I’m having to manage front-of-house and do all the baking ...’
‘How about ge ing a temp?’ Erika asked.

‘Oh God, I can’t face that, Erika. And I wouldn’t trust a temp with my recipes. It’s okay. I can do another few weeks of this, but I’m looking forward to when it gets a bit quieter. Thank goodness I close on Mondays, or I’d be working twenty-four seven!’

Erika cradled the receiver to her ear. ‘I could bring the paintings to you,’ she mused. ‘Oh, would you?’ Madeleine’s voice brightened. ‘I could do with a friendly face …
And you can distract me with your dirty secrets.’

Erika laughed. ‘Monday, then? I’ll finish this one before I come, then at least you have four new ones for your blank walls.’

‘And I can pay you for the ones I’ve sold. You sure you’ve only got four? They’ll be snapped up in a second.’
‘Afraid so.’
‘Be er than nothing,’ Madeleine grumped. ‘I can’t wait until Monday.’

♥

But when Jared heard of Erika’s plan, she could see he wasn’t happy. His eyes clouded and his hands, not normally still, seemed to grip at his knees as though to prevent him from

 

standing.
‘What’s wrong?’ Erika asked, fixing on his tense expression.

‘Oh, it doesn’t ma er,’ he said with a De Villiers shrug. ‘It’s just ...’ ‘Just what?’
‘I’d kind of planned an outing.’
‘What do you mean “an outing”?’

‘It was supposed to be a surprise,’ Jared pouted. ‘If I told you I’d ruin it.’ ‘Do you want me to cancel?’ Erika said, wondering what else to do.

‘Postpone it a week, or even a few days,’ Jared replied, running his hand along her leg. ‘I’ll make it worth your while. I promise.’

And that’s what she did, even though she could hear the disappointment in Madeleine’s voice.
‘I’ll come on Wednesday,’ Erika promised.
‘I’m working on Wednesday.’

‘I can help you out at the café. Take some of the burden off you.’ ‘That sounds nice,’ Madeleine said, with forced cheer. ‘I am sorry, Mad.’
‘I know you are. I know.’

♥

Erika sometimes wondered what Jared did all night.

He’d put her to bed in the most delicious of ways, but she could count on one hand the number of times they’d actually woken up together. She’d never known someone to sleep so li le. When she woke, Jared had always conjured up some of the most grandiose and unrealistic of plans – for the vineyard, for them, for future holidays.
She spoke to Max about it, but he was dismissive.

‘It’s just hot air, Erika. Jared has always had a vivid imagination. As a li le boy, he could never just be himself, so he was always Man-cub, or Willy Wonka or Peter the Pan.’
‘Peter the Pan?’
‘That’s what he called him.’
‘It sounds like he was, well, a li le ...’
‘Hyper? Frenzied?’
‘Well, yes, both of those.’
‘That’s just Jared. Don’t worry about it.’
And Erika nodded, her mind temporarily eased.

On the Monday of her failed arrangement with Madeleine, Jared enthusiastically slipped his hand up her nightie before she was even awake.
‘Thanks for the wake-up call,’ Erika murmured as he slipped naked into her bed.
Through the slightly open curtains the sun had barely peeped over the mountains.
‘What time is it?’ Erika asked.

‘Just before six,’ Jared replied. ‘Too early?’ A rueful smile crossed his face. ‘It is quite early ...’
‘Time for another round, then …’
By seven they were on their way.

‘What’s happening with the wine tours?’ Erika thought to ask as they pulled out the car port.

‘Max or Henrie e.’
‘The labelling?’
‘Simon,’ said Jared.
‘Despatch?’ Erika asked further.

‘Max will do it.’ Jared thumped the steering wheel with both hands. ‘For Christ’s sake, Erika. Do you want me to turn around and go back to work? What the fuck’s the problem?’
Erika blanched.

‘No problem,’ she said quickly, pa ing Jared’s knee. ‘I just don’t want to be the reason you fall behind.’
‘Well, I won’t fall behind. I’ve taken care of it. Now chill a bit, okay?’

Erika tried to laugh. ‘You’re the boss,’ she said, trying to keep the edge out her voice. ‘That’s right,’ Jared replied. ‘So if I want to take a day of leave, I don’t have to report to
anybody.’

It took a li le while before Erika felt comfortable enough to venture any conversation, and Jared, his knuckles white at the steering wheel, shoulders tense, didn’t seem so inclined either. She wondered what she’d done to anger him. She was about to ask about the day’s activities when Jared’s fingers loosened, one hand raking through his hair.

He looked across at her, and smiled. ‘Sorry I snapped, Erika,’ he said. ‘No excuse really.’
‘It’s okay.’

Jared moved his hand, resting it lightly on her thigh. The air conditioner was on full thro le. It almost felt like the wind through her hair.

♥

They were an easy walk to Camp’s Bay beach from the family apartment.

Erika had guessed at the De Villiers wealth but ‘the flat’, as Jared referred to it, suggested money she could only have dreamt of. It was on several levels with marble staircases and kitchen tops. Each light fi ing was a work of art; one that particularly caught her a ention seemed to be made of paper mâché. It was shaped like a buffalo’s head and as far as she could tell was life-sized. The cupboards were cherry wood or something similar (hard wood, not veneer), and huge stacking doors opened on three levels to balconies with the most spectacular views of the ocean she had ever seen. They even beat the views at Scarborough, which Erika had barely thought possible.

On the beach, Jared set up an umbrella and arranged two deckchairs under it. And Erika felt the sun seeping into her skin.

‘This isn’t the Med. You’re going to burn without sun block,’ Jared commented. ‘Turn over, let me help you.’

His hands massaged above and below her bikini, along her back, the lengths of her legs, around her bo om. It felt so wonderful she realised that she might just fall asleep.
‘Roll over,’ Jared said softly, his lips at her ear.

She did, and when he kissed her, it was though they were melting into each other. ‘If we carry on like this,’ she murmured, ‘we might just have to get a room.’

‘I have a room,’ Jared said. ‘Luckily enough.’ But he pulled away slightly to pour out some more sun cream, his hands gentle over her stomach, thighs and the curve of her cleavage.

‘Now you,’ Erika said, as she rubbed the lotion over his chest, feeling the hardness of his muscles and the smooth curvatures of his shoulder blades, the bumps of his spine, and the narrowness of his tanned hips.

The caramel tones of his skin made Erika wonder how much of the time he was in ‘meetings’ might have involved sun, sand and a laptop locked up where he couldn’t see it. She recognised also that Max would have been stuck behind his desk managing the admin and making up for Jared’s absence ... The thought was disloyal and Erika tried to push it away. It wasn’t her business anyway.

Erika stretched out next to Jared, who was on his stomach. He’d balanced his sunglasses just above his fringe and was lying with his head on his hands in a sunlit stupor. She picked up the paperback thriller she’d found on a bookshelf in the flat, and tried to read, not really warm enough yet to brave the Atlantic. She thought back to her first swim on these shores, and how different she’d felt then. She’d been so consumed by the hurt she’d felt for Albert, and now here she was beginning to feel something more than just lust for the man lying next to her.
Leaning over, she kissed Jared softly on his exposed cheek.
‘What’s that for?’ he asked.
‘Happiness,’ she said.

Jared turned his head slightly. His face had taken on a look of tenderness – and vulnerability – that she hadn’t noticed with him before.

‘You’re ge ing under my skin, Erika,’ he said. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you. I know I should feel guilty about Max, but I don’t, not completely. No one could get this lucky without ...’
‘Without hurting someone along the way?’ Erika finished for him.
Jared sat up, taking her hands in his.

‘I can’t help it,’ he said. ‘I love Max. He’s the only real family I have left. But that day I saw you coming up the drive ... I can’t really describe it. I know I can be hard to live with … but if you decide to stick around, my God, you’d make me happy.’
‘The book’s nearly finished,’ Erika said.

‘Don’t you think I know that? That’s why I’m asking you. Stay anyway. Work on another book. More paintings. I … I could set you up in a gallery in Franschhoek.’
‘But do you even want to know how I feel?’ Erika asked.

‘About the gallery? Of course I do! We could dream it up together. We could –’ Erika pulled her hands back. ‘I mean about you.’

Jared caught her hands again, kissing each finger with such passion that it almost felt as though he was making love to her. ‘Darling Erika, I don’t think even you know that. So why rush things? We’ll have great sex. A great partnership. One day, when you let yourself go, you might even fall in love with me.’
She was, Erika realised, well on her way to doing just that.

♥

Like Erika, Jared was a good swimmer, matching her even strokes with his own. When she’d suggested they get in the water, he’?d seemed to expect her to dip in a toe. It certainly didn’t seem to have crossed his mind that she might actually swim. He followed as Erika dived through the waves, until they were both in deep water, treading as they caught their breath.

‘That’s what I love about you,’ Jared said, as Erika curled her legs around him.
Not quite I love you, but it still made Erika’s heart skip.
‘What’s that?’ she asked.

‘No half measures. I can’t tell you how many girlfriends I’ve had who wouldn’t venture past calf height.’
‘And how many girlfriends have you had?’

But he was evasive as ever. ‘Doesn’t ma er. What ma ers is where you learnt to swim like that.’ he said. ‘For a Pom, you really aren’t bad at all – this water isn’t exactly warm.’

‘Bracing,’ Erika said. ‘I was on the swimming team at school. And you’re not too bad yourself.’

‘Waterpolo,’ Jared said. ‘Vicious sport. We used to grow our toenails so we could scratch our opponents underwater without being caught.’
‘Lovely.’

‘I tore the cartilage in my knee during a match. Not enough for surgery, but it made me wary.’
Erika smiled. ‘Not for very long if I know you, Mr De Villiers.’

Jared laughed. ‘Race you back to land, Ms Shaw. You may not find this water cold, but my bits are beginning to freeze up.’

By lunchtime the sun was baking, and despite a slight breeze the sand was almost impossible to stand on without sandals. They’d thrown a Frisbee in the shallows and a empted a few rounds of beach bats, but both of them were thirsty and eager for something other than another ice-cream lolly. Swinging the umbrella over his shoulder, and nodding for the release of the rental deckchairs, Jared walked ahead to the showers. Erika watched him rinsing off, the water trickling down his back as he moved his hands through his hair. A li le like a leopard preening.

Stepping from the shower, Jared rubbed himself down, then wrapped his towel around his waist, extracting his swimming trunks from underneath the makeshift skirt. He pulled his jocks and shorts up under the towel and slipped on a T-shirt. It had only taken a few seconds for Jared to get dry and fully clothed.

‘Come on, Erika,’ Jared said. ‘I’m starving. Just dump your stuff over here while you rinse off.’

Erika showered and slipped a sundress over her bikini, which immediately left watermarks over her breasts and bu ocks.
‘Sushi,’ Jared announced.

By three o’clock they’d shared a bo le of wine and enough California rolls and fashion sandwiches to lull them into comfortable oblivion. They strolled the few steps back to ‘the flat’, and fell asleep on the enormous bed, their arms around each other, the sounds of the sea mixing with the cha er of passers-by beneath the veranda on the street leading down to the beach.

♥

As always, Jared was already out of bed when Erika woke up. She could hear him outside on his phone. Slipping on her sandals, she found him standing facing the ocean.

Positioned behind Jared, she put her arms around him, listening to the tail-end of his conversation. He jumped, finishing it off quickly.

‘Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. That’s not at all what I meant, but it’s up to you ...

No, I won’t be back this evening, not till late anyway ... I told you, I’m at the flat ... Fine. Why don’t you call when you’re ready? Bye.’ He turned, pocketing his mobile phone. He kissed Erika, just a peck.
‘Hello, gorgeous.’
‘What was that all about?’ Erika asked.

‘I shouldn’t have phoned her,’ Jared replied. ‘Never do business when you’ve taken the day off.’
‘Is everything okay?’

‘Brilliant,’ Jared said, cupping her bo om. ‘Because I have the sexiest woman in the world wearing nothing but a T-shirt standing right in front of me. What could possibly be wrong?’
‘If you say so.’

Jared checked his watch. ‘Although, unfortunately, we have to leave in ten minutes ...’ ‘Where are we going?’
‘Well, if you think this view is beautiful, wait until you see the next one.’

♥

They skipped all the queues for the cableway. Erika didn’t ask Jared how he’d managed it and he didn’?t tell her, but she suspected this was not the first time he’d bent the rules, nor would it be the last. Jared positioned them so that they were at the closest edge to the city. It wasn’t dark yet, but the streets below were just beginning to flicker with evening lights.

The cablecar lifted, and the city bowl swept out below them. Then the harbour, the V&A Waterfront, and the ocean beyond. Soon the cablecar began to rotate, offering them a 360-degree view all the way up. Over a thousand metres, but it was ten short minutes and the ride was over. Jared held Erika’s hand as they were buffeted by the other departing passengers.
‘This way,’ he said, leading her to a rocky outcrop just off the pathway.

Just next to them, li le rabbit-like creatures bounded away to just beyond their reach. ‘Dassies,’ Jared said. ‘You should see them in the middle of the day; they simply stretch
out and absorb the sunlight.’
‘Do people feed them?’
‘I guess so, but we’re not really supposed to.’

Si ing next to each other on a flat rock, both of them fell silent, their words stolen by the majestic colours of the changing sky and the city life below. Jared picked up his cooler bag and pulled out two glasses and a bo le of Le Domaine sparkling wine. The cork popped, and Jared poured generously.
‘Cheers,’ he said.
Erika shifted closer to kiss him. ‘This is magical,’ she said.
‘No, ’ Jared replied. ‘You are,’ and he kissed her back.

Chapter 15

 

Erika didn’t know how to broach the subject. Jared seemed unconcerned as to Max’s

 

opinion and though she’d asked Jared several times, he’d made no effort to chat to Max on her behalf. She realised finally that she’d have to do it herself. Knocking on Max’s study door, she waited for him to wave her in. Max nodded for her to take a seat while he finished his phone call.

‘What’s up?’ he asked, plugging his mobile phone in to charge.

 

Erika handed Max a file. To protect them, she’d placed every illustration in a plastic, punched folder. They were all in order, tracing a three-hundred-year history in a mix of media, sizes and styles, a deviation from her normal mode. Usually, she stuck to one style throughout a book, but there was something about Le Domaine that had inspired more creativity than she’d ever thought possible.

‘I think I’m done,’ she said.

 

Max took the file from her. Though he’d seen many of the illustrations before, he hadn’t seen them presented like this. As he flapped through, his expression was unreadable and Erika felt her stomach twisting. She knew she’d already let Max down once; she didn’t want to do it again.

Max got to the last page, then closed the file.

‘They’re fabulous,’ he said. ‘Well done.’

 

Erika studied Max, and though his words were the right ones, his eyes said something she couldn’t quite hear.

‘Are you sure?’ Erika said. ‘Are you happy?’

 

‘They’re great. Really.’ Max turned his back to Erika as he fiddled in a drawer behind him.

‘You don’t need me to change anything?’ Erika prompted.

 

‘No,’ he said without turning around. ‘I think we’ve covered it. Of course, my publisher will have an opinion, but I doubt there’ll be much more to do.’

Erika couldn’t stand it. She slipped behind Max’s desk, forcing him to turn and face

her.

‘Max,’ she said, ‘what’s going on?’

‘Nothing, nothing,’ he said gruffly.

 

But then his hand lifted to trace her face, his fingers raking gently through her hair, his touch as tender as a feather passing. Erika didn’t move. Max stepped closer to her, touching his lips to her hairline, then traced her forehead with kisses. A surge of emotion passed between them.

‘I’m sorry I’ve hurt you,’ Erika said.

 

Max remained silent, kissing the bridge of her nose, then her cheeks, her eyes, as though he was worshipping her, memorising every inch of her face. He didn’t have to say anything for Erika to know how he still felt about her.

 

To stay here with Jared was cruel. The gallery they’d found in town had a li le apartment above it that Jared was planning to rent out. But rather than staying here and torturing Max, she should move in there. Her question was answered: it was impossible to talk to Max about staying on at Le Domaine. She couldn’t even a empt it.

Max kissed her once softly on the lips, then let her go.

 

‘I’ll miss you, Erika,’ he said.

And Erika smiled, then stroked his cheek. ‘And I you,’ she said.

 

♥

 

Jared stood by the bed watching Erika pack.

 

‘I don’t get it,’ he said. ‘You want me to trek into town to come see you? What’s wrong with staying here?’

‘It’s five minutes’ drive, Jared. And you can stay over any time you like.’

 

‘Well, I don’t like it, actually. Max is a selfish git and I don’t see why we have to run our lives according to his timetable.’

 

‘Max doesn’t even know,’ Erika said, trying to put her arms around Jared to pacify him.

 

‘Well, fuck it, Erika, maybe I should march into his office and tell him what he’s doing. Moping around like some love-struck teenager. He made the decision, and don’t you forget it.’

 

‘I don’t think Max felt he had any choice,’ Erika said. ‘He already knew how I felt about you.’

 

‘So now you’re moving into that cramped apartment because of him?’ Jared’s eyes blazed.

 

‘No, I’m moving there for you. I’m not going to be the cause of strife between you, and I’m certainly not going to rub Max’s feelings in the dirt. We need to give him time. Having me in his kitchen every morning isn’t helping things.’ Erika put the last of her things into her suitcase.

‘What about the co age?’ Jared asked. ‘You could move in there?’

 

‘I really don’t think Max needs to see me for while,’ Erika said. ‘The co age is in his back garden.’

‘It’s also my back garden,’ said Jared.

 

‘I’m sorry,’ Erika said. ‘We just need to give him a few months.’ ‘Meanwhile, I’m schlepping out every time I want a shag.’ Erika’s heart went cold. ‘Is that all this is about?’

 

‘It’s not all it’s about,’ Jared said. ‘You know I want to spend time with you ... preferably when you’re naked.’ He laughed, and even though Erika laughed too, she didn’t think it was all that funny.

 

‘Five minutes,’ Erika reminded Jared. ‘I promise you it will be worth the effort.’ Prudence emerged from the kitchen as Jared lifted Erika’s suitcase into her car, a smile

 

across her usually broody face. She was carrying a basket containing a few bo les of pickles that she’d made, some chicken sandwiches and a litre of home-made lemonade.

 

‘In case you get hungry,’ Prudence said, not unkindly. ‘There’s also a spare ke le, a few teabags, milk, sugar ...’

 

‘Thanks, Prudie. And thank you for taking care of me so well.’ Erika looked towards the house. ‘Have you seen Max?’ she asked.

Prudence shook her head. ‘Not since this morning. He went out riding.’

 

‘But he knew I was leaving this morning,’ Erika said, trying to keep the hurt out her voice. ‘Can you at least tell him I said goodbye?’

Prudence nodded.

‘I think that’s about it,’ Jared said as he loaded the last of her canvases onto her back

seat. ‘I’ll meet you there, Erika. Park under the shade cloth – I’ll just park at the pub and walk across.’ He smiled at Prudie. ‘Guess it’s just the three of us again tonight,’ he said. ‘Any chance you could whip up some oxtail? Tell Max I’ll be back around seven.’

‘Okay, Mr Jared.’

 

Erika felt a twinge – of what? Jealousy? Nervousness? Regret? She hadn’t even left and Jared was making plans. Starting up the engine, she resolved to ignore any feelings she wasn’t entitled to: this was her choice, after all.

 

As she drove down the avenue, she glanced towards the stables where she’d spent so much time over the last few weeks. Her heart shifted as she saw Max, still mounted on Pinotage. Their eyes locked. A nod from Max. There was just so much Erika still wanted to say to him, and she almost stopped the car to run back.

But she didn’t.

 

♥

 

They’d rented the apartment furnished. It wasn’t at all to Erika’s tastes or, judging by his grimace, Jared’?s. Nevertheless it was convenient, and the gallery area down below was spectacular. Well lit. A clever use of space, and huge windows offering a backdrop of the Wemmershoek mountains.

Jared yanked her bags up the staircase.

 

‘You’re going to lock this off, right?’ he said. ‘When you’re downstairs in the gallery, make sure no one can get in here.’

Erika was touched by his protectiveness. ‘If you think that’s necessary.’

 

Jared dumped the bags in the si ing room upstairs. ‘It’s necessary,’ he said. ‘Trust me.’ And she took him at his word, writing down ‘locksmith’ on her long list of to-dos. Erika hadn’t originally planned to open the gallery to the public until the beginning of

 

January; she didn’t have enough paintings yet. But Madeleine, hearing of her plans, was immediately supportive.

 

‘Your own gallery, wow,’ she’d said. ‘Would you like to fetch the ones from the café? And maybe you could use the one in Donald’s house. You wouldn’t have to sell it, but it would make an impressive backdrop ...’

 

‘What about the new paintings I’ve done for you, Madeleine? I was going to bring them through –’

‘Keep them there, honey. I’ll get by.’

 

Erika was amazed by the kindness she encountered. The florist across the road brought her a huge bunch of streli ias to brighten the starkness of almost-empty walls. On her second day, her neighbour from the Huguenot coffee shop brought a la e and a muffin as she was scraping old flyers from the gallery windows. Jared organised a rush job on signage for the shopfront, and Gladys, Prudence’s granddaughter, offered to come and help clean the day before Erika opened her doors.

But there was no real razzmatazz when she did.

 

No champagne and canapés. The whole of Franschhoek was a festival of Christmas fairs and company parties, and anything she might have a empted would have paled in comparison.

 

‘We can do something official in February or March,’ Erika said, and Jared agreed. ‘You’ll need to get business cards at the very least,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure who prints

ours. I’ll have to ask Max.’

 

Max.

 

It had been a week, and she’d neither seen him nor heard from him. Despite herself, she missed the way he’d so often offered to make her coffee, sliding it over without pulling her out of her creative zone. She missed his explanations of life on Le Domaine, filled with anecdotes and wry humour that kept her entranced for hours. She longed for the way he looked at her when she was talking, as though what she was saying was so valuable and interesting. However she felt about Jared, she missed Max.

 

And it wasn’t as if Jared wasn’t a star. He was tireless, and had done everything in his power to speed things along. When Erika was about to collapse from exhaustion, he’d scoot her upstairs so he could hang yet more of her paintings.

 

‘I’m keeping you from Le Domaine,’ Erika said. ‘Le Domaine’s been there for generations. It can wait.’

 

That wasn’t exactly what she meant and Jared probably knew it. But she was mindful not to remind him of his responsibilities, remembering what had happened the last time she’d done that. And in some ways, Jared was bringing Le Domaine to her. He’d stocked the fridge with white wine, the cupboards with red, and had replaced the odd plastic furniture with more tasteful items.

 

Most of the crockery in the apartment had been fine, but Erika had missed a few essentials: a potato peeler, a grater, a decent bread knife. When she and Albert had first got married, they’d started completely from scratch, so they’d chosen every item together. Albert had never been one of those men who were only interested in drills, saws and a new set of screwdrivers; he’d fancied himself as a bit of a chef. So se ing up here was a li le different – she could chose a pink colander simply because it was something Albert would have loathed. The thought gave her a childish thrill.

 

And so the opening of the gallery was nothing more than an unlocking of doors, turning the ‘Closed’ sign to ‘Open’, and se ing up an easel and paints near the back of the room. Jared had set up credit-card facilities … Well, she suspected Max had.

 

And Madeleine had been right about Donald’s painting: it was the perfect backdrop, and by the end of day one, she’d already had three offers on it, all of which she’d refused. She had, however, sold two other paintings to an American tourist who’d recently bought a holiday home near Llandudno in Cape Town.

 

Until she could afford to get someone to come in and help her, Erika was going to have to sit in the gallery all day, between few brief forays upstairs for tea or coffee or a sandwich. She didn’t mind; she was going to have to paint fast and with great dedication if she was going to keep up. She’d spoken to Ashton about couriering the paintings she’d put in storage when she’d left for South Africa. The mood and style were different, but therein lay their value: she didn’t want to be stereotyped, fearing the kiss of death if she was only valued for one type of landscape.

 

And through it all, Christmas remained at the back of her mind. Erika was a family girl, and now she’d placed herself at the other side of the world; she realised this was going to be a holiday she was going to spend if not alone, then close to it.

 

Christmas was only a few days away, and Jared hadn’t brought up the subject of where he’d be spending it. And because he didn’t, Erika was afraid to. Madeleine had invited Erika to spend Christmas with her family in Scarborough, and Erika was tempted. She didn’t want to be one of those people who kept others in reserve until a be er offer came along, but it seemed that was what she’d been reduced to. If Jared hadn’t brought up the subject by the end of the day, she decided, she would go to Madeleine’s.

Chapter 16

 

Driving to Scarborough, Erika replayed the previous night’s conversation, trying not to

feel hurt.

‘It’ll just be awkward,’ she’d said.

 

‘Where’s your Christmas spirit, Erika? You can’t expect me to choose between Max and you?’

 

‘Well, I had to,’ she’d replied, trying to contain the resentment in her voice. ‘If I just go to Madeleine’s, then no one has to feel uncomfortable.’

 

Erika recalled the way Jared stood up, picking up the Audi keys. He’d tossed them from one hand to another, then marched towards the open gallery door.

‘Well, you seem to have made up your mind, so who am I to stop you?’ he said.

 

And that’s what the entire debate had amounted to: Jared leaving the apartment without so much as a goodbye.

 

Erika didn’t really understand Jared’s moods. One moment he was high as a kite, truly invincible, and the next, it seemed as though he could hardly build up enough energy to speak, especially when it came to subjects he was uncomfortable with. She’d wanted so often to talk to Max about it, but nowadays that was impossible.

 

But where did Jared’s sadness come from? Sometimes she wondered if he avoided reality – which was why he’d left it to her to have the discussion with Max. And things had only got more complicated with the gallery. She’d loved the idea that he supported her art, but she didn’t want to be beholden to him, which was why she insisted on paying at least half the rental. But judging by his reaction to Christmas, he didn’t actually like it when she made her own decisions.

 

Erika parked outside Donald’s house, this time carrying a bag just big enough for three days’ clothing, and a small shopping bag of presents. She unlocked the front door, feeling the sense of familiarity and calm of her uncle’s house. Looking across at the blank wall in the lounge, she realised how right Donald had been: the room needed that painting, just like she needed Jared.

 

Erika sighed. If she’d made a mistake in coming here for Christmas, it was too late now.

 

She walked into the kitchen. She’d die for a cup of tea, but she’d forgo en to pick up some milk en route. She wondered if she might have left some in the freezer ... As she opened the freezer door, there were footsteps outside. A loud knock.

‘Open up, Erika! It’s me.’

Erika’s heart bounced as she ran to the door, flinging it open.

‘I didn’t say goodbye,’ Jared said, ‘and I missed you.’

He kissed her with such passion that her blood seemed to evaporate.

‘It’s only been a few hours,’ Erika said, trying to hide her relief.

‘A few hours too many. I’m not good at saying sorry,’ Jared said.

‘Is that what you’re doing?’

He nodded. ‘Am I forgiven?’

 

And Erika led him inside, closing the door firmly behind them. She began to unbu on his shirt.

‘You might have to try a li le harder than that ...’ she said.

 

 

 

♥

 

It was a Christmas Eve unlike anything Erika had ever experienced before. For one thing, the sun was so harsh and hot that they dried within minutes of ge ing out the sea early that morning. The Christmas trees and lights seemed incongruous to her; the fake snow decorating shop windows made her want to laugh. Who would want snow when you had weather like this?

 

Although Jared hadn’t said as much, she had a feeling he’d only stay until Christmas morning. And with a few extra hours together, she wasn’t going to complain. They motored along Chapman’s Peak Drive, only recently reopened after a treacherous rock fall, and with the wind through her hair, Erika felt like Grace Kelly. Jared drove too fast, but the exhilaration overcame her sense of fear. They zipped around corners and screeched perilously close to the turquoise depths with its billowing foam below, and she experienced a feeling of immortality.

 

Jared was so confident at the wheel, that she didn’t think to doubt or caution him. Besides, with his hands at the wheel, and the smile of triumph glowing in every part of his face, he was so sexy she couldn’t concentrate on much else.

 

For lunch, they ate calamari in Hout Bay. Jared ordered beer shandies, which they gulped down, needing another round almost immediately. Though Erika would have been content to sit and watch the world go by from their table, Jared couldn’t sit still enough to have dessert.

‘I’ll have you for dessert later,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s walk.’

 

They kicked off their shoes, dipping their feet into the hot sand as people passed by with their dogs or chasing after children. Jared took Erika’s hand and they walked into the water so that their feet wouldn’t burn.

‘Are you glad I came?’ Jared asked.

 

‘Of course I am,’ Erika replied, amazed that he needed to ask. ‘I didn’t want to leave you. I just thought it would be best –’

‘Let’s not have that conversation again.’

Erika nodded, noticing how the mood had suddenly changed.

 

‘Perhaps we should get going,’ Jared said. ‘Didn’t Madeleine say we should be there at four?’

 

♥

 

Madeleine’s festivities were to begin with Christmas Eve drinks, before the main event the next day. Erika had never been to Madeleine’s home: apart from that time at Donald’?s place, they’d really only seen each other at the coffee shop. From the outside, her home was fairly typical of Scarborough – clapboard, with a corrugated iron roof and shu ers in a rich, cheerful blue. Unlike many of the other houses though, it was well kept, with none of the deterioration of a seldom-used holiday home. Signs of everyday life pointed to permanent occupation: a bicycle lay toppled in the front yard, a dustbin waited for collection and a half-repaired boat stood on blocks under a carport.

 

‘You made it!’ Madeleine said, accepting a bo le of wine from Erika. ‘And you must be Jared.’

Erika was grateful for Madeleine’s quick summing up of their situation: that Jared was

 

 

in town despite what she’d relayed on the phone.

 

‘Come on in.’ Madeleine waved them past her towards a patio. ‘Colin’s just bringing the Weber round from the garage. You’re staying for something to eat?’

‘I thought you were feeding me tomorrow!’ said Erika.

 

‘What can I say? I can’t have hungry people on my watch,’ Madeleine laughed. ‘Sanchia’s popping over later.’ Madeleine looked at Jared. ‘Shall we lay a place for you tomorrow as well?’ she asked.

Jared smiled. ‘Thanks for the offer, but my brother’s on his own.’

 

‘Fair enough,’ Madeleine said, moving the subject quickly along. ‘Let’s crack open some of these bo les. Sure that’s something you’ll be able to help with, hey, Jared?’

 

Erika watched the easy way Jared integrated with the group. Having opened and poured some wine, he helped Colin set up the barbecue. When she looked again, they were engrossed in conversation with a few other men, loading charcoal from five-kilogram bags.

‘What happened?’ Madeleine asked when he was out of earshot.

‘What can I say? He can’t resist me,’ Erika laughed.

 

But Madeleine detected a note of concern in her voice. ‘Are you okay, love?’ ‘He apologised. We’ve moved on. It’s not that big a deal.’ ‘But?’

 

‘But nothing. We’re fine. Other than the fact that I’m worried about Max. I haven’t seen him since I moved into town.’

‘What did you expect, Erika? Isn’t that what you wanted?’

 

Erika bit her lip. ‘I didn’t expect to miss him so much,’ she admi ed. ‘And my feelings are hurt, I suppose.’

 

Madeleine motioned Erika towards the kitchen. ‘God, you’re a complicated being, Erika,’ Madeleine said, extracting tomatoes and le uce from the fridge. ‘You’re just as confused as the men in your life. Colin may be a li le predictable at times, but at least he’s mine.’

‘Jared’s mine,’ Erika said.

‘You think so?’ Madeleine replied.

‘Actually, I don’t know what to think.’

 

Madeleine handed Erika a cucumber and a few avocados, then pulled a bo le of olives off a shelf. They moved to the sink, where Madeleine had placed a few chopping boards and a big wooden bowl for the salad. Without any discussion, they washed and cut the vegetables. Madeleine fetched a container of feta cheese, cu ing hefty white blocks and dropping them into the bowl. She looked at Erika.

‘Does Jared love you?’ Madeleine asked.

 

‘I don’t know. He’s not so much a man of words as of action.’ ‘Do you love him?’

 

‘What’s with the twenty questions?’ Erika asked, the pitch of her voice rising. ‘I’ll take that as a no.’

 

Madeleine’s son, Kyle, ran into the room, still wet from the swimming pool. ‘Mom, Dad wants to know if the firelighters are finished.’

 

‘Look in the cupboard in the scullery,’ Madeleine said. ‘I bought some yesterday. And how many times have I asked you to dry yourself before you come inside?’

Kyle rolled his eyes. ‘Only a thousand, Mom. I’m just helping Dad out.’

 

Erika watched Kyle vanish. ‘I’m scared to fall in love, Mad. Think what happened last time. That doesn’t mean I’m not crazy about him. What’s not to like?’

 

 

 

Grinning, Madeleine looked out the window to the back garden. ‘You’re right of course, Erika. He’s sex on legs, that one.’

Erika laughed. ‘Madeleine,’ she said, ‘you don’t know the half of it!’

 

As the sun dipped towards the ocean, couples stood outside cha ing. The older kids had walked down to the beach, and the li lies were already fed and seated in front of a cartoon in the lounge. A baby cried, and a mother to whom Erika had been introduced but whose name she’d forgo en got up, glaring at her husband, who was on his third beer and had seemingly acquired a hearing defect. Erika looked at Jared and he gave her a lascivious grin. He walked over, placing his arms around her, and kissed her gently.

‘Can I get you another drink?’ he asked Erika. ‘What about you, Madeleine?’

 

As they both sipped their G&T’s, the smell of the braai billowed into the house and Jared went outside to play pool cricket with the children, who’d returned from the beach. Dancing around him, the kids yelped when Jared bowled, diving in all directions as Kyle swung the bat, hi ing the ball with a solid thud.

‘He seems like a nice man,’ Madeleine commented.

‘He makes me feel whole again.’

‘And that,’ Madeleine said, ‘is nothing to sniff at.’

 

♥

 

They returned to Donald’s house just before midnight, and Jared looked at his watch with a dramatic flourish.

‘Have you been a good girl this year?’ he asked.

‘Well, if I haven’t been good, then at least I hope I’ve been good at it.’

 

Jared smiled. ‘I’ll vouch for you,’ he said, ‘when Father Christmas comes down the chimney.’

‘Don’t you think you’ll be asleep by then?’

 

‘Asleep? I’m completely wired Erika. I don’t think I’m much in the mood for a sleep.’ Erika shook her head. ‘I just don’t know how you manage.’

 

‘Pure luck, I suppose,’ Jared replied. ‘Come on, tiger. Let’s go and sit outside on the patio. I want to give you your present.’

 

‘What about tomorr–’ Erika stopped herself. Go with the flow, Erika. ‘I can’t believe the nights in this place,’ she said instead. ‘Who’d have thought I could be outside on Christmas Eve?’

‘Christmas, actually,’ Jared said, tapping his watch. ‘Happy, happy.’

 

He handed her a cylindrical parcel wrapped in red tissue paper and tied with silver ribbon.

She shook it, smelt it, then held it to her ear. ‘Any hints?’ she asked.

‘It might have something to do with your new venture.’

‘A paintbrush?’ said Erika.

‘Not quite.’

 

Erika pulled off the paper, pulling out a tube that resembled the one that once contained her Fine Arts degree. Popping off the lid, she extracted a sheaf of papers, her forehead crinkling in confusion. She moved closer to the light to read it, and as understanding dawned, she felt a warm glow seeping through her.

‘A whole hotel?’ she said.

‘I took Lars to the gallery when you were out last week. He was bowled over. With any

 

 

 

luck, you’ve got enough work to support yourself for the next six months. And that doesn’t even include anything you might sell in the gallery.’

‘You knew about this and you didn’t tell me?’

 

Jared pulled her closer. ‘Don’t you think I wanted to? With all this work, you’re going to have to hire yourself an assistant. And the great thing is, Lars has given you free reign. Obviously he wants you to look at the hotel and the interior design storyboards to get an idea, but pre y much the whole project is entirely up to you.’

 

Erika couldn’t believe her luck. No financial worries, and a man who cared enough to back her the way Jared just had.

 

‘And that’s not all,’ Jared said, pulling out another wrapped box. The necklace was a shower of sapphires and tourmalines, more exquisite than anything Erika had ever seen. Jared fastened the catch at her nape, kissing her as he did so. ‘Gorgeous,’ he said. ‘Like you.’

 

Erika looked at Jared, feeling tears of surprise and joy beginning to well. ‘Thank you, Jared,’ she said, embracing him.

‘You’re more than welcome.’

 

She stood up from the lounger where they’d been si ing, holding out her hand to him.

‘And since we’re exchanging gifts, mine for you is in the bedroom,’ she said.

 

Jared raised an eyebrow. ‘Darling Erika,’ he said, a naughty look on his face. ‘I thought you’?d never ask.’

 

♥

 

It didn’t ma er that she woke just after five, the darkness still present but edging silently away as the sun began to lift.

 

Jared was gone. She knew it before she’d even rolled over to switch on the bedside lamp. Erika tried to block her disappointment, but it gnawed at her. She was still wearing her necklace and not much else, and though she’d felt sensuous and sexy last night, now she just felt abandoned. What was wrong with her? Jared hadn’t said he’d leave so early, but she knew his habits by now. For all she knew he could have driven back to Franschhoek at three, crossing Cape Town at its most secretive and seductive.

 

Jared’s holdall was gone; Jared was gone. But the painting she’d given him last night was still next to the bed, where he’d left it after thanking her. He didn’t like it, she thought. How humiliating. Erika got out of bed and stretched. Subconsciously, she’d probably hoped to wake before Jared left, but she was not actually an early bird. Lunch with Madeleine and Colin was only at twelve thirty. She had a whole morning to kill on her own, but strangely enough, she didn’t feel like sleeping any longer. Especially on Christmas Day, which was all about being with people you love.

 

As she passed the bedroom mirror, she looked at herself, studying her new necklace. So he’d left early. What did it ma er? She’d stay in Scarborough just for today – she wasn’t about to let Madeleine down, and she’d be lonelier spending Christmas in Franschhoek without either of the De Villiers brothers.

 

Resorting to what she always did to fill the void, Erika pulled out her paints to soothe her negative thoughts, and when her phone rang at eight, she was completely engrossed in depicting a stream where she and Max had stopped with the horses.

‘Hello?’ she asked, her fingers leaving brown streaks on her mobile.

‘Good morning, sleepyhead; happy Christmas!’

 

 

 

‘Jared!’

 

‘I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. I couldn’t sleep.’ ‘That’s okay. I missed you when I woke up though.’

 

‘Well, I’ve had almost all night to think about you. So I might just have missed you more.’

 

Erika could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Please come back to Franschhoek tonight, Erika. I know you’ll be with Madeleine today, but I need to be with you.’

‘Okay,’ Erika said immediately.

 

‘Okay?’ Jared sounded relieved. ‘And Erika, please bring my present with you? I didn’t want to move it last night because I didn’t want to rustle the wrapping paper – I thought it’d wake you up. Then when I was driving home, I realised how that might have seemed.’

‘I’m not that precious,’ Erika lied.

 

‘Well, please bring it. I’m counting down the hours. Let me know when you’re on your way and I’ll meet you at your flat.’

 

And Erika’s spirits lifted: this could still turn out to be the best Christmas she’d experienced in a long, long time.

Chapter 17

Jared left for Hong Kong towards the end of January.

 

In some ways, Erika was relieved. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t miss him – over the last few weeks they’d spent so much time together that when she wasn’t with him, she felt unfinished. It was rather that she was behind on her deadlines and, if she was honest, completely exhausted. Jared kept a pace she wouldn’t have thought she was capable of – certainly not since she was a teenager. A social animal, he wasn’t content kicking back in front of the telly, or listening to music for an entire evening. When they spent an evening in just each other’s company, there was always an event planned afterwards: Heinrich’s having some mates over to play 30 Seconds; do you think we’ll make it by ten? or I promised we’d drive into Cape Town tonight; Susana says there’s a really hip salsa bar opening this week.

 

Erika had probably seen and experienced more in the last month than she normally would have in a year. But with this came a sensory overload: music pounded in her ears for days after an all-night dance session, her eyes hurt in the sunshine after too much to drink, and though she wasn’t a prude, she wasn’t sure she liked the casual a itude to drugs that characterised Jared’s circle. Like the fact that 30 Seconds wasn’t entertaining enough without a spliff or a sniff of something. Jared never pressured her into anything, but she knew very well what her choice was – either she went with him, or he went alone. And she preferred driving him home safely than le ing him find his way wound up, inebriated or high. She tried a few new things, but not everything about this high-rolling lifestyle suited her.

 

Erika knew her work was suffering. She was grown up enough to view her painting critically, and the truth was that some of the canvases she’d produced recently lacked depth and warmth. Lars, the hotelier, had popped in yesterday to see how she was progressing, and had rejected two of her paintings outright.

 

‘They’re just not the same quality, Erika,’ Lars had said. ‘I can’t quite put my finger on

it.’

 

‘Maybe if I change the skyline …’ Erika had suggested. ‘There’s something about it that doesn’t work, does it?’

 

Lars had looked at her. ‘Are you alright, Erika?’ he asked. ‘I don’t want to be personal or anything, but you’re looking tired.’

Erika sighed.

‘I’m fine, Lars. Thank you for asking.’

‘Jared away?’

‘He left this morning.’

‘Well, don’t be too sad. It’s only three weeks.’

 

Erika smiled. ‘I’m a big girl, Lars, I think I’ll manage,’ she said, remembering the last time that she’?d used that phrase, she’d been talking to Max about fetching the bo les.

 

♥

 

She decided to catch up on her sleep: to be in bed by nine every night while Jared was away, despite a few invites from his crowd. On the fifth or so refusal, the invitations

 

 

 

 

stopped, not that it worried her. She was on a full detox. No alcohol. No coffee … Okay, one in the morning, that was all. Lots of fresh fruit. Painting all day. A bike ride every evening up and down a few hills, past the Huguenot Monument usually. Sometimes she took her easel with her like she’d done in Langebaan, stopping at a scene that played with her imagination.

She rode past Le Domaine often, but hadn’t stopped to see Max.

 

And Erika was surprised that she didn’t feel lonely. Not at all. A week passed, and she felt fulfilled. Jared phoned or texted her every day: the sales trip was going well, he was lining up some opportunities and thought he might go to Florida for a wine fair in October. Maybe she could come with him. Boy, did they know how to party in Hong Kong. He didn’t have to sleep if he didn’t need to. The dim sum was to die for. Seriously. And he was going on a junk with some wine buyers and hoteliers. Did Erika like silk scarves? He’d seen some stunning ones. There was a stack of South Africans living there just dying for some decent SA wine. Wasn’t that great?

 

Erika barely got a word in edgewise, but it didn’t ma er. She didn’t have all that much to say, except that she missed him. Love you, he said casually as he signed off. He’d never said that to her face so she wondered if he meant it. Two weeks and he’d be back and she’d be able to tell for certain.

 

On Monday morning, she stayed at the gallery. Her assistant, Sally, had called in sick with flu, but Erika was happy to stay in and watch the tourists pass. She was surprised to see the bent figure of Pieter Blignaut peering in through the shop window.

Erika opened the door for him. ‘Hello, Pieter.’

 

‘Well, there you are young lady. I never see you here. Just stopped in to buy some droëwors at the biltong shop. You know what it is to have a craving ...’ Pieter bit into the sausage, and sucked on it with loud slurping noises. ‘Ekskuus, I don’t have all my teeth.’

‘Where’s Magda?’ Erika asked, looking down the street.

 

‘Ag, shopping at Pick n Pay. I told her the chutney she makes is much be er, but she says she’s not a preserve factory. Tired, jy weet? We’re ge ing on, and she hates all that chopping.’

 

‘Maybe I could help her some time?’ Erika offered. ‘But I don’t know how to make chutney.’

 

‘Well, there’s a solution. Magda tires so easily these days. Can I sit down, Erika, skat?’ Erika gestured for Pieter to come inside and he followed her willingly. She indicated a couch at the back of the gallery, and went upstairs to fetch him a glass of juice. He took it

with a tired smiled, and sipped thirstily.

‘What’s happened to Max these days?’ Pieter asked Erika.

 

Erika shrugged. ‘We don’t see each other much, Pieter. You know, with Jared ...’ Pieter nodded, obviously not expecting any further elucidation. ‘He seemed so happy

 

with you at Le Cadeau. I was pleased for him. He’s had a lot of responsibility since the passing of his parents. It’s not easy being an orphan, especially not with the family business to run. Not to mention Jared’s difficulties.’

 

‘I don’t really know what you mean, Pieter.’ Erika looked at him, an uncomfortable prickling rising from the back of her neck.

 

‘Nothing to worry about, Erika. I have a groot bek, and Magda says I should learn when to keep my mouth shut. It’s none of my business. And you should choose for yourself. Nothing I have to say on this subject is of any consequence.’ Pieter stood up and strolled around the gallery. He stopped at a landscape she’d painted of a vineyard in full

 

 

 

blossom.

 

‘Beautiful,’ Pieter said. ‘Max was right about your talent. Perhaps one day you’ll come and paint at Le Cadeau. Jared’s in the East, I understand. Magda makes a lekker snoek pie.’ The invitation came out a li le jumbled, as though Pieter was out of practice and Erika smiled, appreciating the man’s hospitality.

‘I’d love to,’ she said.

 

‘You would? Well, that would be very fine. You come tomorrow. Nine o’clock, so you’ve some time to paint. And you’re welcome any day. I’ll tell Magda to expect you.’?

 

♥

 

Erika woke the next morning to a sense of anticipation, as though she was about to embark on some sort of cultural adventure. At seven thirty, she heard Sally let herself in downstairs, her heels clicking on the laminate floor, then the sweep-sweep of a broom. Erika got dressed, checking her phone for any messages that may have come in overnight from Jared – nothing other than his standard goodnight, but it made her smile.

 

In her eagerness to paint at Le Cadeau, Erika arrived at eight forty-five, but Magda, who was si ing crocheting on the porch, got up immediately to welcome her.

 

‘Welkom. We are so pleased you decided to come,’ Magda said formally. ‘Pieter has been talking about nothing else.’

Erika smiled. ‘I’m fla ered.’

 

‘He’s even been around the farm this morning, finding places for you to paint.’ ‘Really?’ Erika said. ‘He didn’t need to do that.’

 

‘Oh, it’s an excuse for him to see the farm with a new eye. It’s lekker to see him so opgewonde.’

Erika picked up the tone, if not the exact meaning of her words.

 

‘He’s just on the telephone,’ Magda continued. ‘He’ll be out soon. Let me get you some tea. Rooibos okay?’

 

‘Thank you,’ Erika said, although she hadn’t yet got used to red bush tea, and actually didn’t like it much – she wasn’t keen on the smell. Nevertheless, when the tea arrived on a tray covered in an embroidered cloth with a hand-kni ed tea cosy in the shape of an English country co age, she took her cup and sipped gamely. She rather hoped, however, that Pieter might finish his call and rescue her from being plied with any more.

‘Have a soetkoekie?’ Magda held out a plate of biscuits.

 

So much for the detox. One couldn’t hurt. And actually the sweetness of it masked the bi erness of the tea.

 

When Pieter arrived, he lost no time in taking Erika out in an old beige pickup with a dent down the left side, a broken headlight and a passenger door that could only be opened from the outside, and then with extreme force. Magda had thoughtfully packed Erika a small flask of lemonade and some fruit to tide her over until Pieter picked her up for lunch. He showed Erika one or two scenic spots that she thought too panoramic to capture well enough on the canvas; the view that spoke to her looked down on the farmhouse, giving a bird’s eye glimpse of the dense thatch and high gables of the main building. Though Pieter’s hearing loss had prevented them from talking much during their drive, now that the old diesel truck’s drone had quietened they maintained a companiable silence, with Pieter nodding thoughtfully, his forefinger and thumb stroking his chin. Erika wasn’t sure whether to set up her easel or to stand contemplating with Pieter, but then he turned to her

 

 

 

and beamed.

‘I think this is the place, ja?’

 

Erika nodded taking in the old slave bell that would have summoned the workers from the three-aisled barnlike building to the left. The main house – built in the shape of a double-H, with a gallery linking the two sections – was flanked by an orchard. Erika asked what sort of fruit might grow there.

 

‘Figs, almonds, chestnuts and peaches,’ Pieter said. ‘I’ll take you there after lunch. Some of the trees outdate the buildings by a few years. My first wife used to draw there. She found the silence comforting.’

‘Christine?’ Erika said, remembering.

‘That’s right.’

 

Erika walked to the vehicle, pulling her hat and other belongings from the seat. Pieter had loaded a plastic chair onto the back of the pickup, and he hauled it off for her. Then he slammed the doors shut, waving cheerily, and told her he’d return at twelve thirty, unless she called him earlier.

 

The time passed quickly, with Erika sketching different views and impressions in her pad, not yet decided on what to paint first. There were so many angles she could chose: as a series, enough for several representations. Yet somehow the vision of Christine si ing alone in the orchard awoke something in Erika, and that is what began to form on the canvas: a woman not unlike herself, lying on a blanket with her legs kicked up behind her, a look of concentration on her face as a rabbit hopped past. The main building lined the right-hand side of the painting, and a younger version of Pieter stood in a doorway, his hands cupping a pipe that he was trying to light. Something about his expression showed he was watching the woman, but though tempted to approach her was holding back. Instead he was angled toward a li le girl of about three, who was digging in the herb garden with a small trowel.

 

As Erika painted, she was so absorbed in the scene that it didn’t occur to her to think what Magda or Pieter might say about what she was creating. It didn’t until Pieter drove up, and taking one glimpse at it, gulped, turning pale. Just how insensitive could she be? Flipping the canvas over, Erika showed Pieter some of her other sketches, but he was not to be distracted.

 

‘You’ve got her exactly right. Untouchable. I always thought Jared was a bit like that, but you’ve proved me wrong.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Erika said. ‘She’s caught my imagination.’

 

‘I can’t really blame you, my dear,’ Pieter said. ‘Christine had a habit of doing that. Now let’s go down to lunch. But if you don’t mind, Erika, I’d rather you didn’t show Magda. I don’t want to upset her.’

 

♥

 

Erika didn’t make the mistake of working on Christine’s painting, as she started to think of it, at Le Cadeau. She did, however, stop at the Huguenot Museum to see if she could find a photo of her. And surprisingly enough, there she found the image Max had mentioned: Christine and Pieter’s wedding photo, with Max’s grandfather Adam de Villiers.

 

And Max had been right: she did resemble Christine surprisingly closely. Dressed in Dior’s ‘new look’ with a full skirt, rounded soft shoulders, almost pinched waist and pointed bust, and crowned with a sophisticated beaded veil, Erika could easily have passed for Christine. But that was until she looked at Christine’s eyes, which were guarded,

 

 

despite the obvious joy of the wedding. And it was this look that made them different. Erika sat flapping through the wedding album looking for more images of Christine,

other expressions she could echo in the painting.

 

‘Do you see now what I meant?’ a voice said behind her, and Erika jumped, slamming the album closed with a thud.

‘Max!’ she said, turning to look at him.

 

Erika realised her heart was pounding. It had been easier to keep Max out of the top of her mind having not seen him for a while, but now that he was standing right in front of her, she recognised she hadn’t forgo en anything about him. As he looked back at her, his hooded hazel eyes were impenetrable. He smelt vaguely of the Le Domaine tasting room and the memories came flooding back.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked finally, as their eyes locked.

 

‘Fact checking for the book. My proofreader asked a few questions about spelling discrepancies.’

‘Ah,’ Erika said, ‘the book.’

‘Our book,’ Max said, reminding her gently.

Erika looked away.

 

‘How’ve you been keeping?’ Max asked. ‘I heard from Jared that your gallery’s doing amazingly. Is that so, or is that just a Jared-ism?’

Erika noted a trace of bi erness. ‘I’ve been lucky,’ she said.

 

‘Glad to hear it. Sometimes you just don’t know ... Jared doesn’t always portray things accurately, especially when it comes to ...’ Max’s sentence drifted away.

 

When it comes to you? When it comes to women? When it comes to how things actually are? ‘Has he been in touch?’ Erika said with a brightness she didn’t feel.

 

‘Once in a while. Usually when he needs something. You know Jared – the best delegator ever. Hopefully my workload will be considerably reduced when he gets back.’

 

Erika smiled, realising that Max was right. Jared had already emailed her several times with instructions: buy two birthday gifts (one for somebody she hadn’t even met); follow up on missing post; pay an outstanding mobile phone account before he was cut off.

Max glanced at the wedding album, then Erika’s open sketchbook.

‘Those are great. Really great,’ he said, stepping as if to move away.

‘How’s Prudence?’ Erika asked quickly to draw him back.

 

Max stopped. ‘She’s clucking over me like a mother hen, waiting for her other chick to come home to roost. She’s keeping busy making Jared’s favourite dishes and freezing them.’

‘Lucky Jared,’ Erika said, trying to keep the irony out her voice.

 

‘Oh, don’t let her get to you. She does her best to chase every woman away. Prudie doesn’t like to share her boys.’

‘So I gathered.’ Erika sighed. ‘I bet she couldn’t wait to see the back of me.’

 

With that Max pulled out the chair next to Erika, and sat down quickly. ‘That may be true, but I’ve missed you, Erika Shaw,’ Max said with an intensity that made Erika reel. ‘I thought it would get easier if I avoided you, but I don’t think it has.’ He leant forward, and his proximity made Erika feel immediately warmer, safer. ‘I know you’re with Jared, but maybe we can still meet up once in a while.’

‘As friends?’ Erika said cautiously.

‘Why not? Keep each other company till Jared gets back.’

And Erika smiled, holding out her hand. ‘It’s a deal, Max. I can’t think of anything I’d

 

 

 

like more.’

 

♥

 

Except that with each time they met up, there was something lurking below the surface. Uncomfortable pre-kiss silences that would have led to something had they let them. More than casual glances. Hellos and goodbyes tinged with longing, and which Erika realised were not one-sided.

 

But they didn’t cross any lines. They drank coffee at Calypso’s, went riding, cycled to neighbouring villages and ate lunch in Stellenbosch, watching clusters of newly arrived students accompanied by bulging suitcases and nervous-looking parents.

 

When Max fetched Erika from her painting spot at Le Cadeau, Pieter and Magda remained tactfully silent, offering them a lunch of frikkadels with mashed potato and tomato-and-onion sauce, or tuna sandwiches with Roquefort salad. And on some afternoons they all sat on the porch, idling the afternoon away with talk of the ‘Swallows’ in from Europe who, occupying their summer homes, set to out-party each other with drunken debauchery fuelled by generous quantities of local wine.

 

‘Have you been to one of their parties?’ Erika asked, thinking they sounded a lot like those hosted by Jared’s crowd.

‘Once or twice,’ Max answered. ‘Not really my scene.’

 

And Pieter, who’d missed the question, pa ed his ears. ‘I just thank the good Lord for my deafness. I used to hear music right across the valley, but now I’m lucky if I can hear the conversation at the dinner table.’

His comment made them all laugh, and Pieter beamed appreciatively.

 

Erika always arrived on her own at Le Cadeau, but after Max arrived on three consecutive days, she started to anticipate him. He never stayed much longer than an hour or two, and often brought gifts for the older couple to add to the lunch table. Onion marmalade. A milk tart made by Prudie. Potato salad with thick mayonnaise, chunks of egg and chopped parsley. He kissed Erika lightly on the cheek as he left, embracing Magda in the same way.

 

And she watched him go, trying to keep her emotions in check, trying to remain impassive to the void he left. Jared had been away too long, she decided. Soon he’d be back, filling up her life in a way Max couldn’t. Besides, she and Max always met on neutral territory: he’d never even been inside the gallery, and she couldn’t go back to Le Domaine – certainly not with Prudence keeping guard. So how could she even compare her feelings for these brothers?

 

♥

 

Later, when she returned home after her evening exercise, she didn’t expect to see Max. But there he was si ing on her front step, next to a window with a spotlight on her most recent work of a labourer sleeping under a Le Cadeau camphor tree. Erika pushed her bicycle closer, pulling off her helmet.

‘Hello there,’ Erika said.

‘Long ride?’

 

‘Long enough. My legs and bu are so sore, I might just have ruined any chances of any exercise tomorrow.’

 

 

‘You probably just need a hot bath, soothe those muscles,’ said Max.

‘I’m sure you’re right ...’

 

Max pulled himself up from the step, moving aside so she could unlock the gallery. She checked the bicycles’ tyres for mud, then pushed the bike into the storeroom under the stairs, leaning it against an old heater that had been left in the upstairs apartment. Erika pulled off her muddy shoes, leaving them on a floor mat. Then having hung her helmet on a nail she’d hammered into the wall for that purpose, she turned to Max.

 

‘Do you want to come in?’ she asked. ‘You could take a look around while I bath.’ Max nodded, following her inside. ‘I guess you’re wondering why I’m here,’ he said. ‘Not really,’ Erika said, then blushed. ‘Well, maybe just a li le.’ ‘I thought you might like to come swimming.’

‘Now? At night?’ Erika asked, a bemused look crossing her face.

 

‘It’s full moon. And I know I told you I’m not really a water baby, but a night swim in Africa – well, that’s something special.’

‘Well, I –’

 

Max put up his arms, as though admi ing defeat. ‘Just a thought,’ he said. ‘No pressure.’

 

‘Oh, but you misunderstand me,’ Erika said. ‘I’d love to come. It’s just that I’m ravenous. I’ll have to make dinner first, or I won’t be able to think of anything else.’

 

Half an hour later, when Erika came barefooted from her bedroom in a pair of jeans and a cerise halterneck, Max had poured her a glass of wine. He was si ing in her lounge with the television on mute, but switched it off abruptly.

 

‘Feeling be er?’ he asked, and Erika nodded, taking the glass. ‘The furniture looks great here. Nice to see it being used properly.’

 

‘Oh, that was mostly Jared,’ Erika said. ‘He has an eye for décor that amazed me.’ ‘Did he now?’ An unreadable expression crossed Max’s face. ‘Well, that’s our Jared,

 

surprising us at every turn. Did he tell you where that sideboard comes from?’ ‘No, he didn’t.’

 

‘My maternal great-grandmother brought it into the family as part of her trousseau. It was made for her by her younger brother. Feel here, under the edge of this door.’ Max took Erika’s fingers in his, tracing the initials and date that were carved there. ‘My mother used to let us trace that with pencils and paper, although Jared never really showed an interest. I have an old exercise book of the pa erns and initials I traced as a child. I can’t actually remember any longer where they all came from.’

 

Erika sipped her wine. ‘But doesn’t it bother you that this stuff is here, then? I thought I was borrowing cast-offs, not family history,’ she said.

 

‘Of course not,’ Max said. ‘Why should it? At least you’re enjoying it. That sideboard’s been under an old sheet in one of the barns for at least twenty years.’

‘Oh,’ said Erika. ‘Jared said he took it out of the co age.’

 

‘Did he? I guess I must be mistaken then, although...’ Max retrieved his glass. ‘What about some music while you’re cooking?’ he asked, changing the subject. ‘That is, if you still want to cook.’

‘My iPod dock’s over there.’ Erika indicated some speakers on a shelf.

‘Anything in particular?’

 

‘You choose,’ said Erika. ‘Linguine carbonara okay?’ ‘Delicious.’

Max chose Louis Armstrong, whose voice crooned like gravel across the small

 

 

 

 

apartment, alternating with the imaginative twists and turns of his trumpet.

‘Good choice,’ Erika said.

 

‘Satchmo always said, “If you have to ask what jazz is, you’ll never know.”’ ‘You like jazz?’ Erika asked as she cracked the eggs.

 

‘I like Big Band. One day I should take you to a concert at Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens. It’s the most breath-taking se ing, almost like si ing in an arena, but you’re on the grass with your picnic, overlooking Cape Town.’

‘Sounds wonderful.’

 

Max pulled up a kitchen stool, seating himself on the other side of the counter where Erika was cooking. She’d pulled out some le uce, tomatoes and green peppers, and without any discussion, he began to cut up some of the salad stuff, turning the chopping board at an angle to slide it in. As What a Wonderful World filled the room, Erika found that they were both singing along, and where Albert might have sounded like he was barking, Max’s voice was pure velvet. She looked across at him and smiled, pouring more wine into his empty glass.

 

By the time their dinner was over, they were on their second bo le, with Erika having knocked back a great deal more than Max. She was happy; they’d danced around the room, laughing as they bumped and turned in the tiny space. And later Max would be taking her to the swimming pool of a friend whose house he was si ing in town. Erika opened a bar of chocolate, snapping off a few blocks, which she slipped into Max’s mouth before popping some into her own. She hadn’t meant to be provocative, but the expression on Max’s face changed. It was a kind of hunger that she recognised. And as his feelings burnt into her, she felt an internal jolt in response.

‘So, how about that swim?’ she said carefully, stepping back.

Taking her cue, Max nodded.

 

♥

 

They’d thrown their stuff into the boot of the Land Cruiser, but as Max was reversing he suddenly stopped.

 

‘Actually, are you okay to walk? Not too stiff? It’s only a few roads down, but parking can be tight. And I shouldn’t really be driving.’

‘Sure,’ Erika said. ‘Why not?’

 

Erika steadied herself against Max as they strolled. Dogs growled on their approach, their yelps only fading again as they moved on. There were no street lights, so the roads were dark, the only illumination coming from the moon and the houses, where lamps gli ered beyond half-closed curtains. Some of the homes had televisions blaring, in others they could hear the sounds of raised, angry voices, a baby crying. Beyond a hedge two cats hissed and spat. The darkened streets smelt of just-cooked dinners – curries, roast chicken, and fried fish that reminded her of the corner shop near her home in Dulwich. To Erika, the atmosphere was both eerie and seductive, a raw slice of life. Another avenue and then Max released her, extracting a set of keys from his pocket.

Inside the dark house, she felt the flicker of fur against her ankles and squealed.

 

‘It’s only Tammy.’ Max laughed softly as a silver-dipped Burmese made figure of eights between her legs. ‘Xssss, xssss,’ Max clicked, and the cat followed him to the kitchen, where he filled one bowl with Whiskas and a second with water.

Another Burmese with large expressive eyes, descended on them, talking to Max in a

 

 

 

soft sweet voice that made him pull out and fill another bowl. ‘Come outside,’ Max said to Erika, swinging open the back door to a reveal a swimming pool surrounded by a po ed garden of hanging plants, ferns and palms, all decked out in fairylights.

 

There was a heady collision of scents: something floral, bu ery, then lime, jasmine and frangipani.

 

‘It’s exquisite,’ Erika murmured, conscious that the air was still turgid with the day’s heat.

‘I thought you might like it.’

 

Max disappeared inside, returning moments later with two glasses of Amarula on ice.

‘We left our bathing suits in the boot,’ she said, her eyes meeting Max’s.

 

He looked back at her with an almost guilty stare. ‘Do you want me to go get them?’ Erika shook her head. ‘Turn around.’

 

She lifted the halterneck and unclipped her bra. In the silent garden, they could both hear the sound of her jeans unzip, the flu er of material falling. And then she was standing outside under the moonlight, the air caressing her naked skin.

 

With his back to her, Max’s T-shirt was soon tossed aside, then his shoes, his jeans ... And Erika, who’d promised herself she’d look away, took in the figure in front of her. Max’s shoulders were wider than Jared’s, his bu ocks more square and his well-proportioned legs covered in a blond down.

 

‘Can I turn around now?’ Max asked, and Erika realised that she wanted him to. When he did, she could see that he was already aroused. He stood there making no

a empt to cover himself.

‘Just no touching,’ she whispered.

‘You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,’ Max said.

‘You imagined?’ Erika teased.

‘From the first moment I met you.’

‘I thought you were admiring my sketches ...’

 

‘Your sketches are fantastic, but they don’t compare ...’ Max moved slightly forward. ‘No touching?’ he said. ‘Are you sure about that?’ ‘Your brother –’ Erika reminded him.

Max groaned. ‘I know, I know. I think I’d be er get in the water then, cool off.’

 

Erika watched him walk to the pool and dive neatly into the deep end, making hardly a splash.

 

‘Are you coming in?’ he asked re-emerging. ‘Or are you just going to stand there making me horny?’

 

Erika laughed, then slid gently into the shallows. The water against her skin was like silk, and warmer than the icy Atlantic. Not bathwater warm, but warm enough not to chill her immediately. An underwater light gave the water a blue, almost electric quality, broken only by the movement of their shadows as Erika flipped onto her back, floating like a snow angel in powder. The moon shimmered above them, and in the sky, as Max had once taught her, she could make out the Southern Cross. The memory of that night made her tingle.

How had things turned out like this?

 

Even here, with nothing between them but sheets of water, she was keeping her distance. But Max was swimming towards her – she could sense his approach through the ripple of the water.

Erika opened her eyes, to find Max’s face within breathing space of hers.

 

 

 

‘This is not a good idea,’ she said.

‘We’re just swimming,’ Max reminded her.

 

And Erika closed her eyes, trying to picture Jared’s face, Jared’s voice, Jared’s body. They were all there in her mind, but fuzzy and overlaid by Max’s face, Max’s voice, Max’s body.

 

‘I’m crazy about you, Erika,’ Max said, his slow strokes lap-lapping against her. ‘I think you know that. I’d care for you in a way Jared never will.’

 

And in the soft stillness of the water, she could hear his unspoken words. Choose me, Erika. Choose me.

‘I’m sorry, Max. I don’t know what ... I’m just so ...’

 

Erika dipped down and swam for the shallow end, feeling the heaviness as she lifted herself out, as if the water was trying to suck her back in.

‘You’re leaving?’ Max asked.

‘I have to go.’

She used her halterneck to dry herself as much as possible, then dressed, shivering.

Max had followed her out the pool, but made no effort to put on his clothes.

 

‘I’ll walk you back,’ Max offered, and Erika wished she could read his eyes in the darkness.

 

‘I’ll be fine, Max. It’s not far. I’ll text you when I get home.’ ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I can’t help how I feel.’

 

‘I know you can’t, and I don’t know how I feel,’ Erika said, wishing she could take Max in her arms, but knowing that they’d both be lost.

‘Can I call you tomorrow?’ Max asked.

 

‘Let’s just not,’ Erika said. ‘For now. I need to think. Just give me some time, okay?’ And Erika walked away, leaving Max standing with his arms folded against his chest,

lost and forlorn like a small boy, his teeth cha ering from the cold.

 

Chapter 18

Jared was flying in on a direct flight to Cape Town from Singapore, arriving just after

 

seven thirty in the morning. He’d told Erika he’d catch a taxi, but she couldn’t wait, especially after what had happened with Max.

 

Erika stood anxiously outside the arrivals hall. With the airport still under partial reconstruction, she’d arrived early, worrying about parking. And now, pacing up and down as passengers rolled suitcases through the automatic glass doors, she wondered if she should have dashed to the loo. Too late, she thought. She couldn’t risk missing Jared, especially since he wasn’t expecting her.

 

By the time he finally emerged, wearing a pair of Levis and a plain black v-necked shirt, she’d coaxed herself into a frenzy. What if he wasn’t glad to see her? What if this wasn’t a happy surprise? What if he noticed something different about her, even if she wasn’t sure that there was? He strode forward casually, carrying his laptop bag easily over his shoulder. His hair was shorter, spikier, and streaked with blonde highlights, his skin darker than when he’d left. And he looked relaxed. Actually, he looked sensational.

‘Jared!’ She noticed how her body shook at his sheer proximity.

 

‘Erika.’ He smiled, dropping his bags, and picked her up and kissed her with his soft, insistent lips. ‘Hello, tiger,’ he said gruffly. ‘You smell wonderful. And you’re much sexier than a taxi driver.’

 

‘I couldn’t wait to see you,’ Erika said. ‘I hardly slept last night thinking about you.’ ‘Now that was silly,’ Jared replied, kissing her fingers, ‘especially since I’m not

planning on le ing you sleep tonight.’

 

Erika led Jared out the building, paid for parking at the automatic machine. Are you happy for me to drive?’

 

‘Sure,’ Jared said. He lifted the luggage into the Opel, shu ing the boot with a thud. ‘As long as you go fast.’

 

He pushed back the passenger seat so he could stretch out his legs. Before long, they were racing back onto the highway while Jared cha ed away.

 

‘Singapore’s a bit characterless,’ he said. ‘Overpriced and plastic, despite the government’s a empts at tourism. Raffles has a bit of history. Joseph Conrad, Noel Coward, Rudyard Kipling ...’

‘So you were in good company, then,’ said Erika.

 

‘Not,’ Jared said, ‘as good company as I am now. But I really preferred Thailand. Bangkok is raw. Real. Just a few days there and you know it’ll take a lifetime to penetrate the Thai psyche. Which makes it so much more exciting.’

‘And what about sales?’

 

‘Oh, brilliant response. The Dusit Group, Baan Krating Resorts, Imperial, Amari ... We should expect some hefty orders from those who haven’t yet signed on the do ed line. I had a translator, thank God. Being a farang.’

‘Farang?’

 

‘Foreigner. It’s all about etique e, respect. I would have got it so wrong.’ Erika glanced across at him. Despite the distance, he didn’t look jetlagged. ‘Are you tired?’ she asked, touching his thigh.

‘Not too tired,’ Jared said, pulling her hand between his legs. ‘I missed you more than I

 

 

 

expected. Visions of Erika Shaw kept popping into my head. ’

 

‘I’m glad,’ said Erika, trying to concentrate on the road as he stirred under her fingers. ‘Are you now?’

 

‘Especially as we’ll be able to do something about it the moment we get back.’ ‘Promises, promises,’ Jared said. ‘And we’d be er be ruthless about it. I told Heinrich

we’d meet the crowd for lunch. I hope that Sally woman is guarding the fort.’

 

‘Lunch today?’ Erika asked, hoping the disappointment wasn’t noticeable in her voice. ‘No time like the present. Now, don’t be selfish, Erika,’ Jared chided. ‘I promised you

my a ention all night, but we still have to eat. And I’m dying for a decent steak.’

 

♥

 

Wedged in between Heinrich and Susana, Erika wondered why she’d even bothered to come. Jared had insisted on si ing opposite her, but the table was wide, and the conversation had splintered into li le groups.

‘You’ve been quiet, Erika,’ Heinrich said.

 

‘I’ve had all those commissions to work on,’ Erika replied. ‘The only way I could catch up was by keeping my nose to the grindstone while Jared was away.’

‘And did you?’ Heinrich asked.

‘Did I what?’

‘Catch up?’

‘Oh, yes. Just about.’

 

‘Good, because you know how Jared is. Not sure how he’d feel trapped in that li le flat of yours. The man’s a prowler. He needs his space.’

 

Erika felt her hackles rise. ‘Jared has space,’ Erika retorted. ‘He’s just been away for three weeks!’

 

Across the lunch table, Jared’s eyebrows rose and Heinrich, blocking his face with his hands, pretended to ward off her blows.

‘Please don’t hurt me,’ Heinrich whined, sending Susana into fits of giggles.

 

‘Ha, ha, very funny,’ replied Erika, trying to curb her irritation with a deep slug of wine.

‘Relax,’ Heinrich said. ‘I’m only messing with you. You guys’re coming tonight, right?’

Erika’s heart sank. ‘Tonight?’

‘You didn’t tell her, bru?’

‘Tell her what?’ Jared asked.

‘Texas hold ’em, high stakes – just the way you like it.’

Erika looked across at Jared, hoping he’d catch the appeal in her eyes.

‘I was going to broach it, Heinrich. Give me a break, okay? I’ve just got back.’

 

‘Too many ladyboys over there, hey, Jared? Not sure who should be wearing the pants?’

 

‘Don’t be a prick, Heinrich,’ Susana said. ‘Jared’s probably tired.’ ‘Ja right. Like, when was the last time that happened?’

 

Erika looked at Jared, trying to gauge his reaction, but he simply stood up, opened his arms theatrically and bowed.

 

‘Good to know you missed me, guys, but there’s more than enough of me to go around. And for the record, Heinrich, there were a lot more ladies, than ladyboys in Thailand.’

‘Thank God. You’re acting like you’re considering a gender reassignment.’

 

 

 ‘Whatever.’ Jared sat down, smiled at Erika, then stabbed a final bloody piece of meat with his fork, and dipped it into his mushroom sauce. After he’d swallowed it, he opened his wallet, tossing a generous wad of cash at Heinrich.

‘Come on, gorgeous Erika.’ He pushed his chair back. ‘I want to go walk in my vines.’

 

♥

 

Their difficulties with Max seemed to have slipped Jared’s mind completely, and in some ways, Erika was glad. She’?d missed Le Domaine, and this would be her first time back in over a month.

 

As they pulled into the drive, she was struck once more by the beauty of the place. And Jared, normally garrulous, was surprisingly silent. He wound down the windows and sniffed loudly.

‘It’s so good to be home.’

 

They bumped into Prudence as they walked together towards the main house, her face alight with excitement.

 

‘Mr Jared!’ she cried, taking him in an effusive hug. ‘Mr Max,’ she called, ‘your brother’s back.’

 

‘Hello Prudence,’ Erika said, as the older woman studied her, then nodded at Erika in a not altogether unfriendly way. ‘Erika, we haven’t seen you for ages,’ she said.

And then the front door swung open and there was Max.

 

‘Big Brother Max,’ Jared said, slapping him on the shoulder. ‘Miss me?’ ‘Oh,’ Max said, ‘I cried myself to sleep every night.’

 

Max reached over and kissed Erika on the cheek, the touch of his lips as delicate as a bu erfly’s wing. She moved her face, and their noses bumped, making them both laugh.

‘Hello Erika,’ Max said. ‘You’re looking well.’

 

‘Of course she is,’ Jared said. ‘I’m back, aren’t I?’ He grinned and put his arms around the two of them as Prudence fussed with his bags. ‘After all those crowds, I need some space. Fancy a ride out to Elephant Rock?’

 

♥

 

They took two quad bikes, with Erika riding behind Jared like she had the first day she arrived at Le Domaine. It felt a li le awkward, the three of them together, but Erika decided to give in to Jared’s infectious enthusiasm, just as Max seemed to have done. Still, she turned once or twice at they rode, to see if Max was alright.

 

When they reached the viewpoint, Jared pulled the vehicle to a sudden halt, lurching them both forward, then flung himself off and sprinted between the rows of grapes.

‘We’re going to have a spectacular season!’ he called. ‘I can feel it in my bones!’

Max parked just behind them, watching his brother’s antics with a tolerant expression.

‘Does he always do this?’ asked Erika.

‘Often enough. Listen, Erika –’

Erika lifted up her hands. ‘I care about you, Max. I really do. But I’m not a cheat ...

however tempted I may have been.’

 

Max’s face remained blank, then his eyes crinkled as he smiled. ‘Well, at least you were tempted. Anyway, I’ve said what I needed to say. I don’t want to hurt you. Or Jared. And I’ll keep my feelings close to my chest. You don’t have to worry – I won’t mess things up for

 

 

 

you.’

‘Thank you.’

 

‘And, Erika, another thing. The book proofs have come. I was going to phone you to see if you wanted to have a look.’

‘Of course I would! I wouldn’t miss that for anything.’

 

Jared popped his head around one of the poles. ‘What’s the delay? Are you coming for a walk or aren’t you?’

 

And so they set off, the three of them. They walked up and down, and under and through, with Jared and Max examining leaves and fruit, palming handfuls of dirt that they filtered through their fingers as if they were panning for gold. They discussed nitrogen content and wheat growth and soil moisture, comparing mental notes on past seasons and previous harvests.

 

‘The whites will be a bit later this year,’ Jared commented. ‘Mid-Feb, don’t you think?’ Max nodded. ‘I’ll speak to Fanie about ge ing the labourers he rounded up last year.

 

I’m not going with that machine again. Hand-picking’s the answer; we can’t risk losing any product. I think we’ll need at least thirty extra people on site.’

 

Jared bent down to snap off a bunch of tiny grapes, tossing it under the vine. ‘There are a lot of bunches that are going to have to come off,’ he said.

 

‘Why?’ Erika asked, and Jared looked up at her from where he had crouched as though he’d forgo en she was there.

 

‘Oh, we don’t want the plant expending energy on the grapes we can’t use. In the last month we only keep the best bunches.’

And Erika found herself wondering how one could tell which were the best.

 

♥

 

They arrived back at the house grubbier and thirstier than when they’d left. But Prudence, clearly anticipating this, had placed a jug of her lemonade, some glasses, and an ice bucket outside on a tray, all covered with a net to keep the flies away.

Max poured three glasses.

 

‘At the harvest, can I help you pick?’ Erika voiced a sudden desire to get her hands dirty.

‘Sure,’ said Jared, ‘if you want to kill your knees. I, for one, am over that.’

‘Yes,’ Max agreed, ‘Jared’s much be er at prancing up and down the rows shouting.’

 

‘I do not prance. And I definitely do not shout,’ Jared said to Max, glaring. ‘Well, not unless it’s absolutely necessary … Though, now that I think about it, is most of the time.’ The revelation made Jared laugh. ‘See why we keep him, Erika? Max – our voice of reason.’

‘Oh, he’s more than that,’ Erika replied.

 

‘Good, good. So we’re all friends now?’ Jared unlaced his shoes and kicked them off under the table, then stripped off his shirt. ‘I need to shower and change.’ And within a minute he had disappeared inside, whistling cheerfully.

 

‘If you want to pick grapes,’ Max said, his eyes following Erika’s admiring glance, ‘then you really are welcome to. But you might prefer to sketch some of the action.’

‘Maybe I can do a bit of both.’

 

‘I don’t see why not,’ Max said. ‘Maybe I’ll join you. It’s been a few years since Jared or I did the really hard labour. We might even be able to convince Jared. Burn off some of

 

 

 

his excess energy.’

 

‘You’d be lucky there,’ said Erika. ‘That man has more energy than a nuclear power plant.’

 

‘Don’t worry. He exhausts everybody,’ Max replied. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody quite able to keep up with him.’

 

And Erika, who hadn’t told Max how Jared exhausted her, wondered what she’d said by saying nothing at all.

Chapter 19

As they neared harvest time, Erika woke each morning with an increasing sense of

 

anticipation. Jared’s excited texts usually beeped at five or six am, and she never had the heart to tell him she was still asleep. When it came to Le Domaine, Jared was like a li le boy in a toy shop, and in many ways Erika envied his ability to experience things as if for the first time. She wasn’t going to put him off – Jared happy made her happy.

 

Since his return, she and Jared had se led into the relationship in a way that made her interactions with Max so much easier. Anybody could see she and Jared were beso ed with each other. Inseparable. And though her friendship with Max could not be described as easy – it was too complicated for that – she knew they both took pleasure in each other’s company. The memory of their night at the pool began to fade, and Erika didn’t for a moment regret what hadn’t happened. Though she knew how Max felt, she wasn’t going to broach it any further. There wasn’t any point.

 

On the first day of the harvest, Erika woke up early and was out of bed in moments, pulling on a pair of shorts, a T-shirt and a hat. She lathered herself with sun cream, knowing how hot it would be outside. Over the last few days, temperatures had soared to the mid-thirties, and she wasn’t sure she’d last more than an hour in the vineyards. Yet if her life was going to be entangled with the winery, as she suspected it was, she wanted to experience the harvest first-hand.

 

At Le Domaine, Max and Jared stood outside one of the workshops, a crowd of labourers gathered around them. Erika recognised some of the faces from her walks and horse-rides through the vines, but most of the people were strangers. Dressed in blue overalls, some wearing scarves tied on their heads, and others wearing FIFA World Cup 2010 or African National Congress caps, the men and woman began to queue up. Simon was standing behind a table allocating each person some newly oiled picking shears and a red plastic stackable tray. Erika waved at the brothers, and joined the queue.

 

‘Morning,’ Jared said, his arms around her waist as he kissed her neck. ‘You don’t have to stand in line. I’m sure I can give you exactly what you need ...’

Max rolled his eyes. ‘God, Jared, isn’t it a bit early for that talk?’

 

Jared tucked his neck over Erika’s shoulder. ‘It’s never too early …’ he retorted. ‘But I was actually talking about the shears.’

‘Of course you were.’

 

‘Now, now, boys.’ Erika pulled away from Jared. ‘I’m happy to queue just like everybody else, just as long as I get a private demonstration of what on earth I’m supposed to be doing.’

 

‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ Max said, nodding towards Jared. ‘But if he doesn’t explain himself well enough, Erika, come and find me.’

‘Where are you going?’ Jared asked. ‘I thought you promised Erika you’d join us.’

 

‘I know your a ention span,’ Max said. ‘I’ll be back in an hour when Erika is dying for some scintillating and infinitely superior conversation.’

‘Bite me,’ said Jared.

 

‘Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather bite Erika,’ said Max with a shrug as he sauntered back up to the house.

 

♥

 

 

 

 

Erika realised soon enough what Jared had meant about the knees, and she knew she’d be hurting the next day. She watched as Jared cupped a bunch of grapes in his hand, pulling the cluster away from the vine. With the other hand, he clipped at the stem using the shears.

 

‘So you pull gently,’ Jared said, ‘and make sure you keep some of the stem – it’ll make them easier to handle. When we put them in the machines, the stems will be separated from the berries. Do you want to give it a go?’

 

Erika held the shears she’d been given. They were a li le smaller than Jared’s but she could see immediately as she held them to the vine that they were sharp.

 

‘Careful, now,’ Jared said. ‘You don’t want to drop them or cut yourself. Now place the bunch on the harvest tray. When the tray’s full, you’ll tip the grapes into the trough, and then they’ll be fed into the machines.’

 

A li le way away, the trough was set under a large oak tree out of the sun. As Erika wished she was. God, it was hot.

‘Got it?’ Jared said, misreading her expression.

 

‘Well, it’s not exactly rocket science,’ she said. ‘I think I can probably work it out.’ ‘It’s not brains you need for this job, Erika – it’s stamina.’ ‘And shade,’ she grumbled.

 

Jared stood up and stretched. ‘Maybe you should wear one of my shirts,’ he suggested. ‘Your arms are going to get fried out here as it gets ho er. And I’ll get Prudie to pack us some drinks.’

 

Erika nodded, snipping her first bunch with the clippers. She eventually found a rhythm humming to herself; she aimed to fill a tray before Jared got back. And despite thinking that she might manage only an hour or so, Erika realised she found the picking rather therapeutic. It didn’t involve all that much thought-processing, but the rhythm of her movements made her almost meditative. As the vineyards grew ho er, the sounds of insects grew louder. Bees. The odd fly. Cicadas. A few rows across, two pickers sang as they worked. She had no idea what they were singing about, but they sounded beautiful, catching melodies as they filled their trays. Erika realised she was content.

 

And Max had predicted correctly. At some point Jared returned with supplies, and a loose co on shirt for her to cover herself with, but grew bored within forty-five minutes. He was faster than she was, and had filled and dumped a tray before he seemed to get restless.

 

‘You don’t have to stay with me, Jared. After all, you’re the boss,’ she teased him. ‘I can’t just abandon you. Some might accuse me of using slave labour.’

 

‘Slave to love, what can I say?’ Erika laughed. ‘Anyway, I’ll expect payment later in beer shandies and lunch.’

When she next looked up, Jared was already walking away.

 

‘Well, you don’t have to be a martyr; you can come back up to the house whenever you want,’ he called back to her.

‘Max will be down soon to entertain me,’ Erika reminded him.

 

‘Speak of the devil,’ Jared said, as he noticed Max walking nonchalantly down the drive.

 

♥

 

Erika sat on the porch, waving a Farmer’s Weekly like a fan.

 

 

 

‘I don’t know how they do it,’ she said, looking towards the vineyards.

 

‘No work, no pay,’ Max said. ‘This is peak season; they need to take advantage of the busy times, so they move from farm to farm.’

‘Well, I’m in awe.’

 

‘You’re also very sweaty and dusty, and deserving of a nice cold drink,’ Jared said, as he appeared around the corner with two shandies.

‘Where’ve you been all morning?’ Erika asked.

 

‘I had some very important business to a end to. No, seriously Max,’ Jared said, noticing the doubt crossing Max’s face. ‘One of the pumps on the tanks blew. I asked Heinrich to bring some parts over so I can fix it before we transfer the wine.’ Jared gave Erika a shandy and a quick kiss, then gulped down his drink in a few seconds.

‘What about me?’ Max asked a li le grumpily.

 

‘Well, I’ll kiss you if you like,’ Jared said, plopping himself into a chair, ‘but I didn’t think you were into that sort of thing.’

‘I guess I’ll get myself a drink.’ Max stood up.

 

‘Well, seeing as you’re up,’ Jared said innocently. ‘No harm in another. What about you, Erika? Still thirsty?’?

 

♥

 

The tanks stood side by side like squat metallic wrestlers. In a way, Erika was a li le disappointed. From the outside of the building, she was expecting something a li le less like a factory, and more like a French cave. Something romantic and dominated by a central half-barrel, where she could take off her shoes, clean off her feet and jump up and down as the juice pushed luxuriously through her toes.

‘Christ, Erika,’ Jared said, ‘We’re not in the Middle Ages.’

 

‘And it’s not all it’s cracked up to being,’ Max said a li le more kindly. ‘Not nearly as hygienic either.’

 

Erika nodded, then moved forward. The high-ceilinged room smelt like fermentation, even though none had begun yet; she guessed the years of wine-making had embedded themselves into the stone walls. And at least it was cool. One of the troughs from the vineyard was already lined up next to an oval-shaped machine on wheels.

‘It works on inflation and deflation,’ Max explained. ‘See that hatch?’

 

Erika looked at the opening on top of the machine, which reminded her of a submarine.

 

‘We put the grapes in through there once the stems have been shaken off. We call that destemming. There’s a contraption inside the crusher that basically blows up like a balloon, and then pushes against the berries, causing them to burst. It’ll take a few hours, but eventually all the juice will be extracted. Skin and seeds float to the top, but the bo om three-quarters will be liquids.’

 

‘With red wine, though,’ Jared added, ‘we keep the skins. And for rosé, we expose the juice to the skins for about an hour – for the colour.’

 

‘For red wines,’ Max continued, ‘we do what we call “pump overs” about three times a day for a week. It’s pre y much a circular flow-through of the liquids, and we remove the skins on the last press.’

‘It all sounds so complicated,’ Erika commented.

 

‘Not really,’ said Jared. ‘It’s fairly logical if we just follow the system. That’s probably

 

 

 

enough of a tour for now, don’t you think?’

 

But Erika, who was not quite finished learning about the processing of the magical nectar, asked Jared, ‘Where does the wine go next?’

 

‘Into the tanks over there. We’ve got 5 100- to 15 000-litre tanks, depending on the cultivar and the harvest. We’ll use cultured yeast, and the natural sugars will be converted into alcohol. For whites, it takes from a few weeks to a few months until all the yeast is used up. It’s all temperature controlled.’

 

‘It’s really about ge ing the wines to the point where they’re stable,’ added Max. ‘We check the acidity, and the wines only stay in the tank until they’ve se led. We have to wait for the fizz to die out.’

 

Chapter 20

 

And then Jared’s mood changed. It was as if at one specific moment, a switch had been

 

turned off in his brain. Erika could scarcely understand it. While the harvesting of the white grapes had swept him into a frenzy, the red-grape harvest was heralded with a vague nod of recognition, and a slump back under the covers.

‘He won’t get up,’ Erika told Max on the phone. ‘He says you’ll manage.’

 

‘Of course he does,’ replied Max, not bothering to hide the frustration in his voice. ‘He drives me crazy sometimes, you know. One moment full of inspiration and plans that he starts to implement and never finish, and the next he’s lost the will to live.’

 

‘Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly,’ Erika replied, remembering his relentless drinking the night before at the Elephant and Barrel. Perhaps he was just hung over. She didn’t, however, think this was worth mentioning to Max. It would only antagonise him further.

 

‘I’d love to come over there and give him a piece of my mind,’ Max growled, the anger in his voice was unmistakable.

 

‘This is Jared you’re talking about,’ Erika said. ‘Do you think that would even help?’ ‘Believe me if I did, I’d be there now.’ Max sighed. ‘I guess I’ll have to cancel my

meetings.’

‘I’m sorry, Max. He just won’t move.’

‘I know. It’s not like this is a first for us.’

 

She wasn’t really sure what that meant, but it certainly didn’t sound promising. ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I think I should go. I’ll call you later with an update.’

 

When she’d put down the receiver, Erika went back to the bedside. ‘Jared?’ she said softly. ‘Jared?’

 

He groaned, and rolled over. ‘Leave me alone, for fuck’s sake,’ he said, pulling a pillow over his head. And then he slept.

 

He slept all day, leaving his tea to grow cold and his lunch, a tuna-mayo sandwich, to go grow dry and crusty at the side of bed. Erika checked on him every half hour, but he never moved. After a few times, she wondered if she should check his breathing. She leant in close, listening.

 

‘Go away,’ Jared mu ered, not even bothering to open his eyes. ‘Just go away, okay?’ Startled, she jumped away from him. For the first time since they’d met, Erika wished

 

Jared apart from her. What was wrong with him? Erika tried to keep her temper in check. There must be a rational explanations for his behaviour. Jared clearly wasn’t well. He was exhausted or maybe he was simply burnt out. But seeing as he wasn’t going anywhere, she’d be the one to take a breather.

 

‘I’m going out, Sally,’ she said, picking up her handbag and car keys. ‘I need to go to Paarl to buy some acrylic glaze. Call me if you need me.’ She was too embarrassed to mention Jared’s inert body upstairs, the sheets souring with his body heat. And now that she recalled, he hadn’t even showered last night. If he surprised Sally downstairs, then so be it. She could handle it. ‘Cheerio,’ she said, with a brightness she did not feel.

 

♥

 

But in Paarl, Erika couldn’t focus on art supplies.

Seeing a computer shop, she ducked in and, under the guise of testing out a laptop,

 

 

 

typed a few keywords into Google: mood changes; sadness; insomnia; recklessness. The

first result was a website on depression: How to recognise depression and get effective help.

 

• bit of Jared, but not him exactly. She flipped back to the previous screen, her eyes scanning the other options. And the same words starting repeating themselves, over and over again.

 

Bipolar disorder. Manic depression.

 

She opened each page, and realised she recognised her boyfriend in almost every one. Her heart thumped. What had she got herself into? And why had nobody told her the

truth?

 

‘Excuse me, ma’am?’ said a young salesman after she’d monopolised the laptop for close to half an hour.

‘Yes?’ she snapped.

 

‘I just wanted to warn you. My manager’s going to be back in five minutes and he doesn’t really allow research on the machines.’

‘He’s really ill,’ she said, her voice fading.

 

‘My manager?’ he said in confusion. ‘Listen, I’m sorry, ma’am, it’s just, um … Oh, I see. Can I get you a glass of water?’

‘I’ve had to work it out myself because nobody told me.’

 

The youngster looked vaguely nauseous. He flicked his fringe in the direction of a woman behind the counter, who taking the cue, left her perch and flu ered towards them.

Erika stood up. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t get you into trouble. I’m leaving.’

 

Driving towards Le Domaine, Erika realised that she was not just muddled. She was furious. She’d thought that of all people, Max would have been honest with her. Was perfect Big Brother Max really capable of subterfuge? And for what? It certainly hadn’t worked out in his favour.

 

When she got out the car, she found him with the horses. He was sponging sweaty marks from Star’s saddle, crooning to her softly.

‘You’ve been out ,’ Erika said.

 

‘I needed to think,’ Max said, dropping the sponge into a bucket and beginning to rub Star’s back with a towel. ‘Things on my mind. And from the look on your face, you have too.’

 

‘It’s Jared. Why didn’t you tell me?’ she said.

 

‘Tell you what? I’ve always said Jared gets sad sometimes. That’s never been a secret.’ ‘But it’s more than that, Max. It’s much more, and you know it.’

 

Max glanced at Erika, then handed her a rubber curry. ‘You could do Pinotage. She followed us into the fields; managed to get mud caked on her neck, how I’ve no idea.’ Max stroked the body brush along Star’s back and the patches he was working began to shine.

 

Erika took the brush, dropping her handbag and keys onto a patch of grass next to them.

 

‘Hello, girl,’ she said. ‘I’ve missed you.’ She began to brush along the horse’s neck, clumps of mud falling to the ground. Her hands shook slightly and she wondered if it was from nerves or anger.

 

Max cut through the silence. ‘Perhaps I need to tell you a bit about our upbringing,’ Max said, not looking at her. ‘My parents had this thing – a circle of trust, if you like – so that anything within the family was exactly that, within the family.’

 

Erika remained silent.

‘When  Jared  started  showing  symptoms  of  bipolar  disorder,  my  parents  were

 

 

 

concerned people would treat him differently. Badly. And hiding his illness became a way of life. A habit. When he acted out or became depressed, we protected him. Everyone in a family has a role – the nurturer, the bully, the prima donna, the martyr. I was always the protector, even more so when I lost my parents. I’m still Jared’s protector, even if it means it has hurt you. Though that was never my intention.’

‘But I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you tell me when –’

 

‘When it would have been be er for me if you knew? Come on, Erika. What kind of person demeans someone else to get what he wants? You’re a bright person and you’ve worked it out on your own. Besides, you wouldn’t have respected me for telling you then – it would have seemed too convenient. I don’t think you would have listened to me, even if I had.’

Erika sighed. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

‘I am.’

 

‘But what happens next? Right now he’s probably still comatose in bed. When I tried to talk to him, he just about bit my head off.’

 

Max half-smiled. ‘Oh, yes, the sleeping lion. That’s what my mother used to call him. He’s probably gone off his meds again. He does that sometimes when he’s manic – he feels so invincible he thinks he doesn’t need them. We’ll have to get him back on lithium or he’ll get worse.’

 

Later Erika returned to the flat to find an unmade bed and Jared’s clothes from the previous night dumped unceremoniously on her rocking chair in front of the window. No note. But no other sign of him either.

 

She began to strip off the bedclothes, trying to not to worry about where he’d gone and if he was in a state to drive. Picking up her phone, she dialled his number. Answer, damn it. Answer. Answer. Trying to be optimistic, she wondered if he was feeling a li le be er after a good day’s rest. Maybe this was just a momentary lapse and they were already over it. When the phone went to voicemail she tossed it back into her handbag.

Where was he?

 

She walked to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. But the tannins did not sit well on her unse led stomach. So much for English Breakfast in a crisis, she thought. She stood at the window, staring out towards the Groot Drakenstein Mountains.

Just after six, Erika’s mobile rang loudly in the bedroom.

‘Max!’

‘Erika, he just got back.’

‘Oh, thank God. Where’s he been?’

‘I don’t know. He’s not talking. I’ve called the doc. Are you okay?’

 

She was not. She was confused and anxious. But she said, ‘I’m fine, Max, really. I’m just glad he’s safe and sound. Maybe he can call me later if he’s up to it.’ The unsaid se led between them and Erika could hear Max exhaling. ‘So...’ she tried, ‘I didn’t even ask you earlier about the harvest? How did it go? It must have been running smoothly if you went for a ride?’

 

♥

 

In Jared’s absence over the next few days, and then weeks, Erika took to dropping in at the Blignauts.

She kept her conversation neutral, emotionless, and focused instead on the portrait she

 

 

was doing of Pieter. His face was what one might call ‘lived in’; with every groove came an interplay of light and shade that fascinated her. Pieter seemed unconcerned by her study of him, picking up his tapestry and working on it as though she wasn’t there. Sometimes he’d chat to her, but the conversation was largely one-sided. It didn’t ma er to her; it saved her the effort of being entertaining.

 

She reserved all her energy for her visits to Le Domaine, where she pretended she was full of beans. Max would open the door with a nod or a shake of his head, and with this, she would know. Today was a good day. Today was bad.

 

Though intellectually Erika could take in what was happening, on an emotional level she seemed unable to grasp how Jared could have changed so radically. In under a month, he’d lost more than four kilograms. Over nine pounds! He didn’t want to eat, and much as she’d feared Prudence, Erika now admired her. With a tenacity Erika could scarcely credit, she watched Prudie cook up everything she knew Jared liked and then, with equal determination, sit next to him, trying to tempt it into his mouth. Most days Prudence came away disappointed.

 

‘It’ll pass,’ Max said. ‘It always does. The meds need to kick in.’ The ‘De Villiers blues’ now seemed rather an understatement.

 

‘I’m sorry, Erika,’ Jared said one late morning from the depths of his bed. ‘I’m just all out of happiness right now.’

 

It wasn’t as if Jared was completely unresponsive. He was tired, incredibly so, but on some days she could see a glimmer of his old self. A drive on the quad bikes to Elephant Rock one afternoon brought a smile to his face, and Erika realised that Le Domaine was Jared’s saving grace: the more time he spent outside walking the vineyards, the be er his mood seemed to be.

 

‘I love this place, Erika,’ Jared told her. ‘I may be a useless son of a bitch, but Le Domaine gives me purpose.’

 

‘You’re not useless,’ Erika replied automatically, trying to push the thought away that they hadn’t made love in a month. Perhaps that was the most difficult thing. Not the sex so much as the lack of contact. Jared used to be so tactile, but now he’d withdrawn like a hermit crab into a shell.

 

Yet it wasn’t his fault he was ill. And Max said his doctors were already seeing an improvement.

‘We’ll hang in there, Erika,’ he’d said. ‘And wait for the sunshine to come back.’

 

♥

 

Despite everything, Max remained amazingly calm. How he was managing both Jared’s workload and his own while still supporting his younger brother was beyond Erika. And he never complained. Not once. Well, not about the current situation.

 

One night when she arrived at Le Domaine after the gallery had closed, she found Max in his study, head in his hands. And he wasn’t quick enough to mask the worry in his eyes when she opened the door.

‘What is it?’ Erika asked.

‘Hm?’

‘Come on, I’m not an idiot, Max. What’s going on?’

 

Max sighed, pushing away the pile of post on his desk. ‘Bills, bills and more bills,’ he commented. ‘Sometimes, I don’t know if I can handle Jared be er when he is high on life

 

 

 

or when he is digging his way out of misery.’

Erika took the bank statement from Max, gasping at the totals.

‘I had no idea,’ she said. ‘I always thought he was generous, but –’

 

‘But this is just stupid,’ Max finished for her. ‘Funny how we haven’t seen much of his crowd over the last month. They couldn’t stay away in January.’

 

‘To be fair, Max, it’s not as if Jared’s exactly been welcoming. I’m not sure if he even wants to see me.’

 

‘Of course he wants to see you, Erika. He’d be crazy …’ Max looked away, embarrassed.

 

Erika touched his arm. ‘Listen, Max, if you think it would help for me to chat to Heinrich, I will. Maybe he could bring some of Jared’s friends over for a meal or something. It might lift Jared’s spirits.’

And the rallying of friends seemed to work, if only as a temporary cure.

 

Erika pulled out all the stops, hiring a spit roast to cook a Karoo lamb, which she’d heard would be terribly well received. She filled troughs with beer and ice, displayed bo les of wine and, with Prudie’s help, made abundant salads to cater for the vegetarians. There was pap, roasted bu ernut and corn on the cob. However unreliable Jared’s friends seemed to her or Max, they made Jared happy. And for that reason alone she was not going to let her poor planning discourage them from coming.

 

She watched him as he stood outside near the fire, where mealies wrapped in tin foil were cooking in the coals. He was nursing a beer, an intense look of concentration on his face as Heinrich explained something to him. Though he looked gaunt, Jared seemed engaged rather than his recent distant self. He sensed her glance, acknowledging her with a bright smile.

 

Later in the evening, as the sun began to set, Erika felt Jared’s arms around her. ‘I’m going to pull myself right again,’ he promised her.

 

And though she nodded and kissed him, she wondered if it was as simple as he made it sound.

 

♥

 

Jared starting ge ing be er, but remained unpredictable.

 

Erika had grown used to his moodiness – it had always come with the territory – but she was now aware of the extreme melancholy of which he was capable, and she felt as if she were walking across a suspension bridge, with a very long way to fall if she slipped. Would anything she could do or say trigger the depression again? Drinking coffee with Max at Calypso’s, she wondered if she would be able to confide in him. But Max seemed to guess without her saying anything at all.

 

‘You can’t blame yourself,’ he told her. ‘Jared’s responsible for his own emotional life. As long as you love him with everything you can muster, the rest is really up to him.’

 

Erika wondered how hard that was for Max to say. Yet as he sat back in his chair, she noticed he’d adopted a way of talking about her and Jared’s relationship with an incredible objectivity.

 

‘You really are too good to me, Max,’ Erika said. ‘I’m not sure how I would have managed all of this without you.’

 

‘Of course you would have. You’re a tough cookie.’ Max cut a piece of omele e, scooping up the cheese that was glued on the side of the plate. ‘How’s Pieter’s portrait

 

 

 

coming along?’

 

‘Almost done,’ Erika said. ‘I’m tempted to give it to him, but I don’t think he’ll let me. It hasn’t been like some of my other paintings this year. For some reason, I can almost trace my own emotions in his face.’

 

‘Transference,’ Max said. ‘You had to put your feelings somewhere. You’re lucky to have an outlet like that. I’ve tried my hand at fiction once or twice, but I guess I’m just not imaginative enough.’

 

‘Have you thought about what you’ll do now the book is put to bed?’ Erika asked. Max smiled. ‘Well, it’s not as if I can write a sequel. I think I’ll just contribute to the

 

Wine Magazine SA and the Franschhoek Tatler. Try my hand at a wine blog or something.’ ‘When Jared is back on track you’ll have more time for yourself again. Maybe go on

holiday somewhere …?’

‘Trying to get rid of me?’ Max asked.

Erika blushed. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

 

‘Are you going to eat that cucumber?’ Max asked. ‘It’s been si ing there lonely on the side of your plate, and I don’t think you’re giving it the a ention it deserves.’

Erika laughed, handing Max her plate. ‘I hate cucumber,’ she said.

‘I know,’ Max said, smiling at her. ‘I’ve noticed.’

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 04.03.2017

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