Authors: Anya Forest
Christie frowned, wondering what had upset Blake to the extent he was so sullen, on edge. Knowing she had no alternative she waited politely for Blake’s parents, walked inside with them, wondering why Blake had raced ahead. The small schist building was set in magnificent landscaped grounds, the focus a patio with huge umbrellas sheltering outdoor tables.
Christie caught her breath as she lingered by the entrance, seeing the surrounding hills covered in rows of grapevines, vibrant green in the summer sun. She wandered around the foyer, seeing the cellar door, the rows of wine bottles on display, the uniformed staff.
This is incredible,
she thought, looking out again at the vines, looking at the vineyard map and tourist displays. She saw Blake’s family walking out onto the patio; steeling herself, she moved to join them.
“Sorry about that, Mum. I rushed from home into Arrowtown to meet you, didn’t have time to change. Anyway, happy birthday.” Christie watched in silence as Blake, now dressed in dark trousers and a fashionable shirt, leaned down, kissed his mother on the cheek.
“You know that doesn’t matter, you always cut it fine,” his mother responded, smiling up at him. “Thank you for arranging this lunch, Blake.” Her voice faltered; Christie watched alertly, remembering Blake’s grudging words to his father, demonstrating his reluctance to be here. Yet his mother seemed to think the whole lunch was Blake’s idea. Christie shook her head slightly, trying to work it out.
“Looks like we’ll have to invite Christie to lunch more often,” Blake’s father commented quietly to his wife, seeing Blake had changed into different clothes. Blake tensed as he heard his father’s quiet remark, thankful at least Christie appeared to be oblivious to what had been said.
He thought back to his terse requests of the wait staff, the cellar door attendant, wanting to steer his way through this family lunch, which had the potential to be a minefield on a number of different levels and could easily…Blake shut his mind to the potential consequences, trying to calm himself by thinking of his recent decisions, the course of action he had decided on; quickly realising this was in fact part of the problem.
All I can do is see what happens.
He had wanted to make a good impression on Christie, again regretting the casual clothes he had worn, more to irritate his parents, childishly prove a point, than because he genuinely did not have time to change. He swore savagely, silently, knowing his mother was so pleased to see him she would excuse anything, but uncomfortably aware of the way he had been raised, the values his parents had tried to instill, knowing it was this lack of respect that had disappointed his father. Then to see Christie, all at once the very person he wanted to see, hoped to run into after the texts from Lisa, but also the very last person he wanted at a lunch like this.
Christie looked at the menu, acutely conscious of the scrape of the empty chair next to her as Blake pulled it out to sit down. “Christie, what would you like to drink?” he asked politely, his voice low. “They do have pre-packaged fruit juices. Or bottled water. The orange juice is freshly squeezed though, so watch out there.” Her face flamed as she registered Blake’s reference to her caution at the pub, relieved despite herself to hear the slight teasing in his voice.
Christie realised Blake’s father had overheard, was clearly wondering what Blake meant.
Hopefully he’ll think it’s something to do with the baby,
she thought desperately, hoping he wouldn’t ask her outright. She turned to Blake, smiled at him politely, aware that both of Blake’s parents were watching them. She named a brand of juice she had seen in the fridge of the cellar door area as she walked in, then pretended to immerse herself in the menu, again unable to look at Blake for any length of time without revealing her feelings.
“I’m sure there’s something on there that’s suitable, Christie. If not, Blake can speak with the chef, get something organised.” She was conscious of Blake looking across the table at his father; his face set.
Christie blushed again, realising Blake was annoyed by his father’s suggestion, would hardly want to ask his workmates to prepare a special meal simply for her. “It looks like a great menu,” she said honestly, her heart lurching painfully as she saw one of the meals was blue cod. “What will you order?” She found herself making conversation with Blake’s father as Blake sat quietly, listening to them both.
As Christie sat in the shade of the huge sun umbrella she gradually started to relax, enjoying talking to Blake’s father and then his mother who also joined the conversation. Acutely aware of Blake and his demeanour she realised that he too was calmer, more relaxed and she again wondered why he had been so concerned about this lunch.
The kiss he had given his mother at the table only emphasised the fact he had not spoken at all to his mother in Arrowtown apart from a few desultory words by the river; had not hugged her or his sister; had not greeted his father or brother-in-law or shaken hands.
There’s obviously some family problem,
Christie thought, finding this reality hard to reconcile with the genuine warmth of Blake’s parents and their clear love for their son, even if they did not seem to have seen him for a while.
Christie looked up as the waiter arrived to take their orders. She ordered the blue cod, her mind filling with memories of the evening at the pub with Blake, guiltily acknowledging the sensible thing would have been to order the summer salad she had originally noticed on the menu, or, in fact, any other meal but the blue cod. She tensed as Blake leaned towards her, casually commented on her choice.
Christie took a deep breath, hearing the teasing note in his voice. “I’ve tried it once before,” she said, recklessly referring to their meal at the pub on the island, her heart pounding. “It’s got a beautiful flavour.” Blake grinned at her, a sudden flash of warmth, his eyes sparkling. She smiled as he ordered the same meal.
As Christie handed the menu back to the waiter she could hear Blake’s mother talking to Blake, obviously keen to find out about his time on Stewart Island, thrilled to see him. Christie listened, realising Blake must have only just started full time employment here after blocks of time on the island. She smiled to herself at his change of clothes, obviously prompted by his father’s comment. Blake’s mother turned to Christie, drawing her into the conversation.
“Blake mentioned he works out in this vineyard,” Christie replied, indicating the rows of vines. “Is it a particular block, Blake; can we see it from here?” Blake’s mother sat back, smiling slightly, glancing quickly at Blake. Frowning, Christie heard a derisive sound from Rebecca, Blake’s sister, only confirming her instinctive caution about the immaculately dressed and presented young woman.
Perhaps Rebecca is the problem,
Christie thought, unable to understand why Rebecca would look down on Blake’s employment, laugh so openly when Christie referred to it.
Without waiting for a reply, Christie turned to Rebecca, determined to be civil. “And where do you work?” she asked Rebecca pleasantly. Blake registered the steel in Christie’s tone; took a hasty gulp of wine, knowing what Christie was doing, knowing she had misinterpreted Rebecca’s reaction. Knowing he should explain and yet remaining silent.
“Work?” Rebecca’s perfectly shaped eyebrows arched as she regarded Christie. “I got married a few months ago.” She named an exclusive local resort Christie had read about.
“A winter wedding,” Christie said politely, a sudden image of her own cancelled wedding plans flashing through her mind.
“Spring, actually,” Rebecca corrected. “And we went to Australia for our honeymoon.” She named one of the islands off Queensland; Christie assumed it too was exclusive, an assumption Rebecca only confirmed as she continued to talk about the luxurious facilities and spectacular scenery.
Well, that answers my question, I suppose,
Christie thought to herself wryly.
She noticed Rebecca’s perfect manicure, the bright diamond and gold ring on Rebecca’s left hand; unconsciously, Christie’s hand curved around her stomach, thinking of her baby. Blake noticed, spoke flippantly. “Apparently, it’s hard work being married. That’s why Rebecca leaves it to the rest of us to be gainfully employed.” Christie saw Blake and his father exchange a look; she could have sworn Blake’s father was struggling not to laugh at Blake’s comment.
Blake’s mother spoke again; Christie turned to her politely, responding to her genuine interest in Christie’s own work on Stewart Island. Blake’s mother fell silent as Christie mentioned her single motherhood, the apartment she had been offered; reached for her wine abruptly. Frowning slightly as she sensed Blake’s mother’s uncertainty, Christie sipped her juice, pleased when the meal arrived.
Christie turned the conversation to the winery over lunch, keen to know more, was soon deep in conversation with Blake’s father as Blake interjected comments occasionally, holding his breath as he listened to Christie’s various questions, exhaling silently as he heard his father’s replies. Christie realised Blake’s father had started talking about an upcoming trip to Dunedin Blake had mentioned at lunch earlier. Christie smiled politely, still unnerved by Blake’s virtual silence, not contradicting Blake’s father as he assumed Christie was already aware of Blake’s plans.
“You should go to Dunedin with Blake, Christie,” Blake’s father said. “Have a look around.” Rebecca immediately started telling Christie about baby wear shops in Dunedin; Christie tensed slightly as she realised the shops Rebecca was mentioning would no doubt be exclusive boutiques. Christie responded neutrally, not wanting to enter into complicated explanations, decline a trip to Dunedin in front of Blake’s parents even though she had no intention of going to Dunedin with Blake.
And he has no intention of taking me,
she said silently to herself as Blake made absolutely no comment about his father’s suggestion.
Chapter Seven
Christie looked around, wanting to pay the bill for her meal. The food itself had been superb but seeing Blake again, unexpectedly meeting his family and sitting politely through Rebecca’s unthinking comments had quietly devastated her. She thought back over the meal, Blake’s obvious preoccupation with some family matter, the awkward playing of a part which no one had explained to her and only underscored the futility of her secret desire for Blake. And then, Blake’s smile, his warmth when she ordered blue cod, the chocolate dessert he had ordered without any reference to her and then insisted she share with him.
Politely, she made her excuses, stood up to leave, thinking she would have to ask the waiter to call a taxi for the short trip back to Arrowtown. “Blake will have to show you around the vineyard before you go,” she heard his father say. She heard Rebecca start to say something but then subside as Blake shot her a furious glance. Christie smiled at Blake’s father as he spoke to her again across the table, conscious of Blake’s mother watching her intently.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Christie walked over to the bar area, reaching for her wallet. She frowned, confused, as the waiter informed her everything was taken care of. Christie turned away, almost walking into Blake. He reached out to steady her, touched her arm briefly. Her heart ached; she quickly blinked back tears. “Blake, the waiter said everything’s taken care of. I didn’t expect—”
“It’s all sorted, don’t worry about it, Christie.”
“Well, should I thank your parents, it was a beautiful meal, I—”
“It’s fine, Christie,” Blake said firmly. “Now, have you got time to look around the vineyard, or I’ll give you a lift back to Arrowtown. You said at lunch you were meeting Lisa later, what time?” Numb, Christie replied automatically, wanting to see more of the winery, following him outside to the ute. Blake drove around the back of the schist building where it was obvious the technical part of the winery was; Christie saw the vats and empty wine barrels next to a huge shed. “Harvest in a couple of months,” Blake commented.
He continued driving up a gravel road, heading up further into the gently rolling hills around the restaurant building. “Like Dad said, I’m going to Dunedin tomorrow for work,” he said abruptly. Christie nodded. “I thought you might want to travel over with me,” he said neutrally. “You could look in those shops Rebecca mentioned.”
Christie looked over at him, her heart pounding, fighting the bitterness rising up in her. She gave a short laugh. “Yes, that’s about all I could do, Blake.”
Suddenly, he realised tears were on her cheeks; alarmed, he stopped the ute abruptly, pulling over at a vantage point over the vineyard. “What’s upset you, Christie?” Ashamed, she looked away, brushing her tears away with her hands.
“I’m fine,” she said quietly.
“You don’t look it,” he said bluntly. Christie looked down at her lap, then quickly at Blake as he took out his mobile. She realised he was calling Lisa, telling her Christie would be late, that he would drop her back to Arrowtown himself.
“I won’t be late,” she mouthed at him. Blake ignored her, finished the call to Lisa, looking out over the valley while he waited for Christie to speak. “I said I’m fine,” Christie
said mutinously. “No!” he said, his voice a whiplash. “A drive to Dunedin is not something to cry about.” She could not meet his eyes, looked out the window at the stunning view. “Christie,” he said, the tone of his voice a warning. He thought back over the lunch, what had been said, swore suddenly.