Edward’s death had really rocked him. They’d become so close over the years, those two. The crusty old judge with the heart of gold and the cocky street kid with no heart at all.
Till Jake had met Edward, that was.
Impossible to remain completely heartless around Edward. Dorothy knew that for a fact. The day she’d met her future husband, she’d been forty years old. Overweight and on the frumpy side, way past her prime. Edward had been five years younger at thirty-five, tall and handsome and beautifully dressed. He’d come to her aid when she’d been knocked over in Market Place by some lout on a skateboard. He’d taken her for a cup of coffee to settle her nerves and swiftly made her forget that she was a dried-up old spinster with a dreary office job and a bitter cynicism about men, especially the good-looking ones.
She’d fallen in love with Edward that very first day. Why he’d fallen in love with her, she had no idea. He’d claimed it was the heat in her eyes. Whatever, she’d lost those extra pounds she’d been carrying over the next few weeks. In her few spare hours, she’d also smartened herself up. Bought some decent clothes. Had her hair styled by a good hairdresser. And started always wearing the red lipstick Edward had admired.
They’d been married six months later, to predictions of doom from relatives. But their marriage had proved to be a great success, despite their not having any children.
Other men might have resented that. But not Edward. When she’d tearfully questioned him over his feelings about her infertility, he’d hugged her and said he’d married her for better or worse, and that resenting realities was a waste of time. But that was when he’d started working with charities that helped underprivileged boys, and where he’d lavished all his unused fatherly love.
Still, he hadn’t become too personally involved with any of the boys till Jake had come along. Jake, of the ice-blue eyes and serious attitude problem.
When Edward had first brought Jake home to live with them, Dorothy couldn’t stand the boy’s smart mouth and slovenly ways. But gradually, a miracle had happened. Jake had changed and maybe she had changed a bit, too, becoming more tolerant and understanding.
Whatever, they’d both ended up genuinely liking each other. No, loving each other. Like mother and son.
Dorothy knew that if she bought this winery Jake would come and visit her up there as much as he did here, in Sydney. The Hunter Valley wasn’t all that far away. A two-hour drive. It would do him good, she thought, to get out of the city occasionally. To relax and smell the flowers, so to speak. He worked way too hard. And it wasn’t as though there was any special girl to keep him here in Sydney at the weekends. He’d broken up with that last one he’d been dating. A bottle-blonde with a flashy smile and a figure to match.
Why Jake kept choosing girls for their sex appeal alone, Dorothy couldn’t fathom. When she’d complained about this side of Jake to Edward a couple of years back, he’d said not to worry. One day, Jake would meet the right girl, fall head over heels, get married and have a family.
Dorothy wasn’t so sure about that last part. She didn’t think having a family would ever be on Jake’s agenda. Damaged children often veered away from having children themselves.
No, she wasn’t holding her breath over that ever happening.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ she said gently.
Jake snapped back to reality with a dry laugh.
‘Not worth even ten cents. So when do you want to leave?’
Dorothy smiled. ‘You’re going to drive me up there?’
Jake shrugged. ‘Can’t let my best girl go careering all over the countryside by herself. Besides, I’ve been dying for an excuse to give my new car a proper spin. Can’t do that on city roads.’
‘Jake Winters! I have no intention of dying at the hands of some speed-happy fool in a yellow Ferrari.’
Jake laughed. ‘And this from the wild woman who’s planning to buy some run-down winery in the middle of nowhere! Don’t worry, I won’t go over the speed limit. And hopefully, once you see this dump for real, you’ll be happy to stay right where you are and take up pottery.’
‘Pottery! What a good idea! There’s sure to be room for a kiln at the winery. The ad says there are ten acres of land, and only five under vine.’
Jake gave up at this point. But he was sure that Dorothy would see the folly of her ways and change her mind once she saw the place, and where it was.
‘If we leave around ten,’ Dorothy said excitedly, ‘we’d get up there in time for lunch. Lots of the larger wineries have great restaurants, you know.’
Jake frowned. Mr Mastroianni had been going to build a restaurant at his winery. And guest accommodation. He’d also been going to change the name of the winery from its present unprepossessing name to something more exotic-sounding. Angelina had told him all about her papa’s grand plans, but Jake’s mind had been on other things at the time and he couldn’t remember what the new name was. Or what the old name was, for that matter. Though it hadn’t been Italian.
According to Angelina, the winery had belonged to her mother’s family. Jake did recall her telling him that her mother had been middle-aged when her father married her. She’d died having Angelina.
‘I looked up a few of the restaurants on the internet last night,’ Dorothy was rattling on. ‘There’s this really interesting-looking one on the same road as the place we’re going to inspect. It’s at a winery called the Ambrosia Estate. Isn’t that a wonderful name for a winery? The nectar of the gods.’
Jake’s mouth dropped open. That was it! Ambrosia!
‘What is it?’ Dorothy said. ‘What did I say?’
‘Did Edward ever tell you the story of how I came to be in his court?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course. You…’ She broke off, her eyes widening. ‘Good lord, you don’t mean…’
‘Yep. The scene of my crime was the Ambrosia Estate.’
‘Goodness! What an amazing coincidence!’
‘My thoughts exactly.’
Dorothy gave him a sheepish look. ‘I—er—I’ve already made us a booking at the restaurant there for twelve-thirty.’
Jake couldn’t help being amused. What a crafty woman she was. ‘You were very confident I’d drive you up there myself, weren’t you?’
‘I think I know you pretty well by now. But honestly, Jake, if you want me to change the booking to somewhere else, it’s easily done.’
‘No, don’t worry. I doubt I’d be recognised. I’ve changed somewhat since my bad-boy days, don’t you think? Though it’s just as well you made the booking. If old-boy Mastroianni knew Jake Winters was eating lunch in his restaurant, I’d be fed hemlock. Italians have long memories and a penchant for revenge. He might not know my face but I’ll bet he’d remember my name.’
Oh, yes. He’d bet the name Jake Winters was burned into Antonio Mastroianni’s brain. And whilst Jake really didn’t want another confrontation with Angelina’s father,
