that ad in the Herald this morning, it jumped right out at me. But it’s not just the winery. I simply love the look of the house.’
Jake glanced down at the photograph of the house. ‘It just looks old to me.’
‘It’s beautiful. I love old Australian farmhouses. Look at those gorgeous wraparound verandas. First thing I’d buy would be a swing seat. I’d sit there every afternoon with a gin and tonic and watch the sunsets. I’ve never had a house, you know. I’ve always lived in apartments. I’ve never had a garden, either.’
‘They’re a lot of work, houses and gardens,’ Jake pointed out. ‘Wineries, too,’ he added, suddenly thinking of another time and another winery.
It, too, had been in the Hunter Valley. But not one of the boutique varieties. A reasonably large winery with acres under vine, producing tons of grapes each season that the anti-machinery Italian owner always had picked by hand.
Which was where he had come in.
Jake hadn’t thought about that place, or that time in his life, for ages. He’d trained himself over the years not to dwell on past miseries, or past mistakes.
But now that he had, the memories came swarming back. The heat that summer. The back-breaking work. And the utter boredom.
No wonder his eyes had kept going to the girl.
She’d been the only child of the Italian owner. Angelina, her name was. Angelina Mastroianni. Lush and lovely, with olive skin, jet-black hair, big brown eyes and a body that had looked fabulous in the short shorts and tight tank tops she lived in.
But it was her come-hither glances which he’d noticed the most.
As a randy and rebellious seventeen-year-old, Jake had been no stranger to sex. No stranger to having girls come on to him, either.
Yet it had taken him all summer to talk Angelina into meeting him alone. He’d thought she was playing hard to get, a conclusion seemingly backed up by the way she’d acted as soon as he’d drawn her into his arms. She hadn’t been able to get enough of his kisses, or his hands. He hadn’t discovered till after the big event, and her father was beating him to a pulp, that she’d only been fifteen, and a virgin to boot.
Within the hour, he’d been bundled off back to the teenage refuge in Sydney from whence he’d come. The subsequent charge of carnal knowledge had brought him up in front of the very man who’d sent him on the ‘character-building’ work programme at the winery in the first place.
Judge Edward Landsdale.
Jake had been scared stiff of actually being convicted and sentenced, something he’d miraculously managed to avoid during his rocky young life so far. But he’d felt his luck had run out on this occasion and the prospect of a stint in an adult jail loomed large in his mind, given that he was almost eighteen.
Fear had made him extra-belligerent, and even more loud-mouthed than usual. Judge Landsdale had seen right through him, and also seen something else. God bless him. Somehow, Edward had had the charges dropped, and then he’d done something else, something truly remarkable. He’d brought Jake home to live with him and his wife.
That had been the beginning of Jake’s new life, a life where he realised there were some good people in this world, and that you could make something of yourself, if someone had faith in you and gave you very real, hands-on support.
Angelina had lingered in Jake’s thoughts for a long time after that fateful night. In the end, however, he’d forced her out of his mind and moved on, filling his life with his studies and, yes, other girls.
Now that he came to think of it, however, none of his girlfriends so far had ever made him feel what Angelina had made him feel that long-ago summer.
Who knew why that was? Up till their rendezvous in the barn, they’d only talked. Perhaps it had been the long, frustrating wait which had made even kissing her seem so fabulous. The sex had hardly been memorable. She’d panicked at the last moment and he’d had to promise to pull out. Then, when she’d been so tight, he hadn’t twigged why—young fool that he was. His only excuse was that he’d been totally carried away at the time.
Really, the whole thing had been nothing short of a fiasco, with her father finding them together in the winery only seconds after Jake had done the dastardly deed. He’d barely had time to zip his jeans up before the first blow connected with his nose, breaking it and spurting blood all over one highly hysterical Angelina.
Jake reached up to slowly rub the bridge of his nose.
It wasn’t crooked any longer. Neither were his front teeth still broken. He didn’t have any tattoos left, either. Dorothy had taken him to the best Macquarie Street cosmetic surgeons and dentists within weeks of his coming to live with her, beginning his transformation from Jake Winters, dead-beat street kid and born loser, to Jake Winters, top litigator and sure winner.
He wondered what had happened to Angelina in the intervening years. No doubt that hotheaded father of hers would have kept a closer eye on his precious daughter after that night. He’d had big dreams for his winery, had Antonio Mastroianni. Big dreams for his lovely Angelina as well.
With the wisdom of hindsight, Jake could now well understand the Italian’s reaction to discovering them together. The last male on earth any father would have wanted his daughter to get tangled up with was the likes of himself. He’d been a bad boy back then. A very bad boy.
Not to Judge Edward Landsdale, though. When Edward had first met Jake, he hadn’t seen the long hair, the tattoos or the countless body piercings. All he’d seen was a good boy crying to get out, a boy worth helping.
Aah, Edward. You were right, and wrong at the same time. Yes, I have made something of myself, thanks to you and Dorothy. But beneath my sophisticated and successful veneer, I’m still that same street kid. Tough and hard and self-centred in the way you had to become on Sydney’s meaner streets to survive. Basically, a loner. Such programming is deep-seated, and possibly the reason why my personal life is not as great as my professional life.
A top trial lawyer might benefit from being on the cold-blooded side, from never letting emotion get in the way of his thinking. But how many of my girlfriends have complained of my lack of sensitivity? My selfishness? My inability to truly care about them, let alone commit?
I might be able to argue great cases and win verdicts, along with massive compensation payments for my clients, but I can’t keep a woman in my life for longer than a couple of months.
And do I care?
Not enough.
The truth is I like living alone, especially now, in my fantastic harbourside apartment. I like being responsible for no one but myself.
Dorothy, of course, was a responsibility of sorts. But Dorothy was different. He loved Dorothy as much as he had loved Edward. That was why he visited her every Friday night, and why he sometimes stayed the night. To make sure she was all right. Edward would have wanted him to look after Dorothy, and he aimed to do just that.
Not an easy task, Jake reminded himself, if she was living way out in the country.
He really had to talk her out of the ridiculously romantic idea of buying this winery.
But talking Dorothy out of something
