Rose's Vintage Read Free

to get out there instead of burying yourself half-alive here.’
    â€˜Given that I’m skint and virtually homeless – oh, and broken-hearted, in case you’d forgotten – I’d say that kind of limits my options.’
    He waved her concerns away, ‘Details, darling, details.’
    Rose marvelled at her brother’s ability to see the bright side of every situation.
    â€˜As your caring but incredibly interfering older brother,’ he said, then paused. ‘I’ve got a proposition for you. Call it a favour if you like. I want you to do some digging for me and report back. It’s a bit of a way away, but as it happens, there’s a job on offer at a vineyard I’m interested in. A mate of mine over there mentioned it, when I was telling him how miserable you were. They’re after someone who can cook a bit, so I thought you might be able to manage that.’
    She threw the box of tissues at him.
    Having grown up with Henry, and remembering him as a gangly, pimpled teenager, Rose often forgot that her brother was now considered a bit of a big shot in certain circles. He’d started his career as a wine merchant with Berry Bros. & Rudd, and now, thanks in part to an old schoolmate, had interests in a number of vineyards in Argentina and Spain. He’d always been ambitious, even when they were kids. He was the one who’d convinced their dad to drive him to Iceland one scorching summer (the frozen foods store, not the country: he wasn’t that crazy) and bulk-buy ice-creams to sell on to their school friends for a tidy profit.
    Henry had always known exactly where he was going and had wasted no time getting there. Recently, after a discreet tip-off, he’d bought a couple of struggling Spanish wineries on the cheap and put in new management to turn them around, using his connections to shift the inventory into the UK. If what Rose heard was true, he was doing rather well out of it. So when Henry said ‘digging’, she knew he wasn’t talking about the kind that involved spades and soil.
    As Henry outlined his plan, Rose’s first thought was that he was off his head. Australia was the other side of the world, a gazillion miles away, and she’d never even heard of the Shingle Valley.
    â€˜Here’s the number of the au pair agency that’s dealing with the job,’ he said, thrusting a slip of paper at her. ‘Call them. They’ll love you, I know it. If nothing else, it’ll take your mind off that little twerp.’
    â€˜Hey, that’s my ex-boyfriend you’re referring to, if you don’t mind! I thought you liked him.’
    â€˜I revised my opinion when he was such a shit to you.’
    Henry had been insistent. He could sell sand in the Sahara, even to someone who knew his wiles as well as Rose did, and so Rose had found herself agreeing to his plan. ‘Against my better judgment, let it be noted,’ she had protested.
    She’d been on a plane before she’d had time to properly think it through.
    Thump!
    Rose was startled out of her reverie by the return of Luisa, who had thrust a sodden, grimy lump of what had possibly once been a pink velour rabbit at her.
    â€˜Ugh,’ she said, recoiling before she could help herself.
    â€˜Bunny!’ exclaimed Luisa, undaunted.
    Rose looked up to see Astrid laughing at her.
    Oh Christ. What had she let herself in for?

CHAPTER 2

    T he welcome from Astrid had been as cool as the air temperature, but Rose decided not to dwell on it. She wrapped her hands around the mug, wincing as the feeling returned to her extremities. At least the tea was hot.
    â€˜So when do I start?’
    â€˜Now, of course,’ said Astrid sternly. ‘How did you get here? Do you have a car?’
    â€˜Um, yes, I’m parked around by the cellar door. I wasn’t sure where to leave it.’
    â€˜No problem. I’ll show you where to drop your stuff. There’s