Yesterday`s flower - Michelle Tarynne (fun to read TXT) 📗

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