Page 23 of Sharing Forever in Hope Creek (Hope Creek #2)

The Monday afternoon following the wedding, Jack drove along the winding country road towards Hope Creek Vineyard.

He had to consciously loosen his grip on the steering wheel and keep checking his speedometer to make sure he wasn’t driving over the speed limit.

He wanted to get this meeting over with and hopefully uncover the truth, even if it was bad news.

Ever since he’d received the anonymous text message late on Saturday night, he’d worked hard at hiding his agitation from Callie, but on a couple of occasions he’d sensed she was about to ask him if he was okay then thought better of it.

He resented that his thoughts kept straying to business when he wanted to focus on developing his relationship with her. A couple of times he’d almost confided the warning in the text message to her, but he hadn’t wanted to worry her with something that may not even be true.

On a positive note, when Phil had seen that Callie had stayed overnight after the wedding, he’d been a sport and declared he’d stay at Mitch’s pub and give them some space before he flew back to the States.

So, Callie had spent the last two nights in the cottage and it’d been pure bliss to watch her wake up beside him each morning.

Yet, even with the sublime feel of Callie’s smooth leg hooked between his hair-roughened ones and feeling the tickle of her hair beneath his chin, his mind had focused each night on the ramifications of the text message and what he’d do about it if the accusations were correct.

The image of the man he’d seen at the vineyard kept flashing through his brain and niggled at him.

He reassured himself that it had to be a ridiculous coincidence that the man resembled Marcus Covington—the former friend who’d sworn to make Jack pay for reporting him to the police.

Logic reminded Jack that he’d only sighted the guy briefly and from afar, yet there’d been something in the guy’s manner that reminded him of Covington.

If it had been Covington he’d seen, there was a good chance there was something illegal going on at the vineyard.

Jack had replayed every conversation he’d had with Thompson, trying to dismiss the man’s words and analyse his reactions and behaviour. Andrew Thompson might be playing him for a fool—possibly abetted by a man who’d sworn he’d bring Jack’s business crashing to the ground.

Now, the closer Jack got to Hope Creek Vineyard and the impending confrontation that awaited him, the more he could feel knots of tension forming across the muscles in his shoulders.

The anonymous text may be sheer malevolence.

But who would do that and what would they stand to gain?

And hadn’t both he and Callie sensed there was something off about Thompson?

Although he’d contacted a private investigator’s firm on Sunday morning, Jack was unwilling to wait for investigators to obtain facts and had decided he’d confront Thompson directly.

He’d always believed it was better to try to tackle a problem at its root and he had a reputation for being direct in his business dealings. Life was too short to pussyfoot around.

Steering the car into a parking spot near the main office, he turned off the engine.

A quick glance at his watch told him he was ten minutes earlier than their hastily arranged appointment, but he was damned if he was going to wait a second longer to have answers to the questions that were clamouring at his brain.

‘Hi, Mr Marshall.’

The twenty-something-year-old brunette with the short curly hair was packing up for the day, but she greeted him cheerfully when he entered the outer office.

He searched his memory for her name. ‘Hello, Brianna. I’m a bit early but Andrew is expecting me at four o’clock.’

‘Yes.’ She stood up from behind the reception desk. ‘He’s down in the cellar with our head winemaker but said for you to wait here if you were early or he was delayed. Can I get you a coffee or a cool drink? A glass of one of our wines, perhaps?’

‘No, thank you.’ He wasn’t going to wait. ‘I’ll go down to the cellar and find him.’

‘Oh.’ She was a little surprised but didn’t seem opposed to the idea. ‘Well, I can take you to him.’

‘No need. I know my way. Thanks.’

‘Okay. No worries.’

Following the paved pathway from the office down to the cellar, Jack gritted his teeth as he passed the beautiful function centre with its high, raked timber ceilings and large wine casks lining the perimeter of the room.

The vineyard had seemed like the perfect investment.

It ticked all the boxes because Callie would’ve been involved as well. But if what he’d been told was true …

Shit.

The second he entered the cellar, he felt the temperature drop and breathed in the rich aromas of ageing wine and the scent of fermenting grapes. Row upon row of towering oak barrels created an awesome atmosphere and were a tribute to and testimony of successful past vintages.

‘G’day,’ one of the workers called. ‘You looking for the boss?’

‘Yep. I’m Jack Marshall. He’s expecting me.’

‘He’s in the lab with Steve, our winemaker.’ The guy pointed towards the back of the cellar. ‘Door at the back in the right corner, then straight up the stairs and along the corridor. First door on the left.’

He remembered the layout from his two previous visits.

‘Thanks.’ The word was louder than he’d intended, amplified off the stone walls.

Scanning the shadowy corridors between the barrels, Jack made his way towards the lab. But, swinging the door open, he paused at the foot of the stairs as he heard the raised voices.

‘This is bloody good wine. I don’t understand why you won’t enter it at the show.’

‘Not this year.’

‘For God’s sake, Andrew. You’ve said that for the last three years.

’ The other man’s frustration was evident in every tight syllable.

‘What’s the bloody point in stockpiling all this wine in a warehouse in Melbourne when you could be selling it?

Hell! What’s the point in making the wine if you’re never going to sell it?

Our wine’s good but it’s not so sought after that it’s adding value while it’s sitting there. ’

The winemaker was right. It didn’t add up.

Except that it did.

In possession of the anonymous text, it all made perfect sense to Jack.

Now, what was he going to do about it?

‘If I didn’t know you were going to sell this place, I’d quit. I only hope the next owner is in the business of selling wine rather than stockpiling it.’

‘Listen here. I don’t give two—’

The words were bitten off and Jack guessed that Thompson heard him start up the metal stairs. He wasn’t in the habit of eavesdropping, so he didn’t bother to tread more quietly to mask his arrival.

‘Jack!’ Before Jack had taken more than a half-a -dozen steps, Thompson came into view at the top of the staircase.

The other man’s smile was a little too enthusiastic and his manner at total odds with the tone of his voice he’d used in speaking with his winemaker seconds earlier. ‘I hadn’t realised it was so late.’

Anger snaked down Jack’s spine as he realised he was dealing with a crook.

He wasn’t a green businessman. Why hadn’t he seen through Thompson’s over-friendly facade at their previous meetings?

In fairness, you did , his inner voice soothed. You knew something wasn’t right.

He just hadn’t had time to examine it properly because of all that had occupied him with the wedding, not to mention the way Callie’s news had upended his life.

And, with a baby on the way, he’d had a renewed sense of purpose, wanting to develop this vineyard with Callie—possibly, he acknowledged for the first time, as something of an inheritance for their child.

He grasped the railing.

Whoa! When did that idea take root?

‘You okay, Jack?’

Thompson’s question brought Jack back to reality with a thump. ‘Yeah. Fine. I’m a few minutes early. Have I caught you at a bad time?’

‘Not at all,’ Thompson said before he called out over his shoulder to the winemaker, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Steve.’ Then he started making his way down the stairs. ‘Did you want another look around?’

‘No. There’s a matter I want to speak to you about.’

The other man’s steps faltered for a second and his eyes narrowed as he looked critically at Jack. Perhaps he picked up on the outrage Jack was certain must be emanating off him in waves despite his concerted effort to keep his anger under control.

‘Let’s go back to the office then,’ Thompson said a little guardedly as Jack watched his gaze dart in all directions. ‘We can speak there without being interrupted.’

Oh, yeah. Jack’s gut told him Thompson was definitely hiding some dirt and, judging from his reaction, the older man had concerns that Jack had dug it up. Despite that, the owner of the vineyard proceeded to chat as if everything was fine.

Unscrupulous cheating bastard! It was hard work for Jack to respond to Thompson’s attempts at small talk in anything more than monosyllables as they made their way back to the office. All he wanted to do was pin him down and get the truth out of him.

‘Come in.’ Thompson looked around. ‘Brianna’s probably already gone. She had to leave early today but I can get you a coffee or a glass of red, if you’d prefer?’

‘That won’t be necessary.’ He ignored the other man’s gesture for him to sit down. ‘I heard Steve’s comment about you stockpiling wine in a warehouse in Melbourne, but I don’t believe that stock is listed anywhere in your business assets.’