Yesterday`s flower by Michelle Tarynne (uplifting book club books .txt) 📕

The irony now was that Max’s stony face now hinted at passions she hadn’t been aware of. That easy-going Max could be so stirred up was something of a surprise, a good surprise. Though just then, with his expression hidden under the hoods of his eyes, she found him unreachable. And this was the part she didn’t like.

And then there were her old worries coming to the surface. Erika thought back to that tender moment when they’d lifted Priscilla and Nadia onto Pinotage – the first direct contact she’d had with children since her last failed IVF. Perhaps it was this memory rather than Pieter’s message of healing that had bothered her. This physical touch had made her realise, almost viscerally, that, rather than dealing with her loss, she’d simply been blocking it. When she’d felt that child’s hug, the feeling of actually being held by a child, the devastation had been almost overwhelming. How was she meant to pretend that she was whole and happy, when her life’s path was so far from what she’d wished for?

Across the table, Jared picked up a piece of cucumber in his fingers, biting into it noisily.

‘Well, I’m out tonight,’ he said. ‘Heinrich’s having a party on his farm. Trying to impress some new bird on the scene.’ Jared checked his watch. ‘Actually, I should have left ten minutes ago. I said I’d help mix cocktails.’
‘Well, don’t let us stop you,’ Max said.
Erika studied Jared, wondering if he ever included Max in his whirlwind social life.
Or if it occurred to him that she might want to join him.

Jared stood up. ‘I’ll crash at Heinrich’s place. I’ll be far too drunk to drive,’ he said in his ma er-of-fact manner. ‘Then I’m back to Cape Town about those labels – Angelique wants to show me final drafts. But thank God I’m ge ing out of here. You can cut the atmosphere in this room with a knife.’ He left with a tog bag in one hand and two bo les of sparkling wine wedged under his arm.
Erika waited for the squeal of tyres to subside before she spoke again.

‘I don’t want to fight,’ she said. ‘I hate fighting.’ She wondered if she had the courage to say sorry. Surely, in this new stage of her life, that was something she could do?
Instead, she reached out for Max’s hand, expecting him to withdraw it.
Except that he didn’t; he gripped it with unexpected ferocity.

‘I’m sorry,’ Erika said with surprising ease. ‘I guess I’m just questioning everyone’s motives … And those kids, it was just –’
‘I’m sorry too. It was supposed to be a good day. I didn’t realise being near Priscilla

and Nadia would upset you so much, or I wouldn’t have offered them a ride. And I’m not Albert, Erika. I don’t want to hurt you.’ Max was silent for a moment. ‘I’m going to say this and maybe you won’t like it. But there are other routes to motherhood, and maybe you haven’t considered them. And maybe, one day, you’ll be ready to.’

Erika sighed. ‘You say that, but what kind of prospect would that be for a future partner?’

Max shook his head. ‘Oh Erika, you can’t have looked in the mirror much lately or you would know the answer to that.’

His gaze was so intense and warm that Erika felt herself blush. Their hands were still entangled but Erika sat back in her chair, feeling overwhelmed.

Then Prudence walked into the dining room, carrying a tray. Sensing Prudie’s eyes on her, Erika a empted a smile.
‘That was delicious,’ she said. ‘The steak was cooked to perfection.’

Prudence acknowledged this with a curt nod, then took most of the remaining dishes, her retreating bo om undulating like a massive wave.

‘That Pieter Blignaut. He must have been a charmer in his day,’ Erika said, trying to reclaim the mood.
Max laughed. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’
‘How did he meet Magda?’ Erika asked.

‘Two years after Christine died, they were set up at a Christmas Eve party.’ ‘A blind date?’

‘Something like that. Anyway according to my grandmother, Magda always treated Christine’s daughter, Juliet, like her own. She and Pieter had twin boys after that.’
‘Lucky him,’ Erika said. ‘A second chance at love. And a family.’

Max seemed pensive. ‘Yes. And there’s really no such thing as a typical family anyway.’ He seemed about to say something, but then stood, picking up the last dishes. ‘Maybe it’s time to hit the sack.’

Erika folded her servie e. ‘I haven’t got very far with my sketches,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I should apply myself for a while.’
‘In that case, maybe I’ll sit with you.’

And Erika realised that she liked that idea – now that the silences between them were comfortable again.

♥

Jared didn’t return for three days, but when he did he was unshaven and a li le wild-looking, his lack of sleep evident in puffy red eyes.
‘Met someone?’ Max asked as Jared swung his tog bag onto the kitchen table.

‘What makes you think that?’ Jared returned, then beamed wickedly. ‘Had a blast. Friday, we parked all night on the beach. Bonfire, the works. Heinrich scored some pot in Groendal. Good stuff. Fucking awesome. It was like some camp out from school with all the crappy things like discipline and Reginald Esterhuizen excluded.’

‘Who was Reginald Esterhuizen?’ Erika asked, trying not to show any reaction to Jared’s arrival.

‘Headmaster,’ said Jared. ‘God that man was a tyrant. Nothing got past him.’ ‘Yes,’ agreed Max. ‘Not even Jared. And that’s saying something.’ Prudence walked into the kitchen, her eyes alighting on the prodigal son.

‘Prudie,’ Jared said, jumping up to dance her round the kitchen.

Laughing, she tried to pull his arms from her waist as he dipped and tipped her ample frame, humming some wild tune that Erika didn’t recognise. When he finally stopped, giving in to Prudence’s protestations, he did so rather majestically, spinning her under an arched arm before bringing her to a sudden halt.

‘Miss me?’ Jared asked Prudence. ‘Won’t you be an angel and run these clothes through the wash? Got to give them back to Heinrich when I see him later.’

‘You’re going out again?’ Erika said, but immediately wished she hadn’t. ‘Why not?’ Jared asked. ‘Got a be er offer?’
Max raised his head, clearly noting something in her voice.

She forced a laugh. ‘Clearly neither of us can compete with Heinrich, eh, Max?’ Max smiled, and seemed to relax. ‘I guess not.’

♥

Over the next few days, Erika was relieved that the tension between her and Max eased. But she couldn’t help wonder about Jared –? there was something about him that jarred. More than once she’d wanted to raise the subject but hadn’t thought it either the right time or the appropriate subject.

On the work front, she and Max had created a routine that seemed to work. They’d start with a morning of discussion, during which they poured through the manuscript and accompanying photographs or the family tree, which Max kept open for them to study. After lunch they worked separately, Max on his Le Domaine responsibilities and Erika on her sketching. She liked si ing outside on the porch. Max had lent her a radio, so she listened to music sometimes, or she drew while taking in the sounds of farm life around her. Sometimes they didn’t see each other again until close to four in the afternoon.

There were distractions though. The wine estate was often busy, with busloads of tourists or individuals in cars pulling in for wine tastings, or the odd estate tour. Though the tasting area was nowhere near the main house, the sounds often resounded to where Erika sat as well, and she listened for the noises of different nationalities and accents, guessing, often correctly who had just visited.

It was on one such afternoon that Erika found herself growing restless. Her hand, which was accustomed to gripping paintbrushes and pencils for hours, cramped up. And though she was often able to concentrate and maintain a pa ern of creativity for several hours at a time, her mind seemed to seize.

Erika put aside her easel, and stood up, rubbing her fingers on her plastic apron. She’d leave everything as it was for now – that is, apart from placing the lids on the tubes of Winsor & Newton. She untied her apron, leaving it to dry in the sunlight, and went to the bathroom to wash her hands. She could hear Max talking on the phone, his voice rising and falling – it seemed it was someone from the mobile bo ling unit trying to raise the prices for a small order. Deciding not to disturb him, Erika wondered away from the house in the direction of the tasting room.

Several cars and buses were parked outside, and some of the coach drivers were standing next to their vehicles, puffing on cigare es to pass the time. Erika waved vaguely, then strolled towards the sound of laughter that echoed from the stone-floored room, and slipped in via the back door.

Jared didn’t see her. Dressed impeccably in a pair of chinos and a black Le Domaine golf

shirt, he had taken full charge of the space. His smile, as irresistible as the first moment she’d met him, lit up his whole face as he charmed his audience through the history of the vineyard. And what he lost in inconsistent information and a poor memory for dates, he more than made up for in delivery.

‘You see,’ he said, ‘as any good oenologist will tell you, the soil, the vine and man (or woman!) are the pillars needed to create a good wine. A good wine will dance with your food, and I’m sure you’ll take my word for that. I’ve also been told you don’t have to finish the whole bo le in one night. But take it from me – a whole bo le is a hell of a lot more fun!’
Jared moved to a map to point out the wine areas around Cape Town.

‘So of course every region will produce a different wine. While I would obviously prefer Franschhoek wine – and with good reason, I make it! – Paarl wines are more voluptuous and rich. Stellenbosch produces New World wines – they’re upfront and bold, with a li le bit of competition between the elements. But I’ll tell you a li le secret: Franschhoek farmers really know about wine. My family has been in Franschhoek since the 1680s; we’ve had more than enough time to perfect the art. And just so you know, every time I’m forced to taste from the barrels during the process, it’s for completely philanthropic reasons ...’
The group laughed and followed Jared through to the production area.

‘… And I bet most of you would like to know how we establish that our grapes are ripe. Well, we have a family of baboons that live on the property. When they come down from the mountain, sit on the post and shake our vines, then it’s time for the harvest. A baboon knows a delicious grape when it sees one. So we really believe in science at Le Domaine – in this case – natural science.’ More laughter. ‘But seriously, folks. Nature is pre y organised. Different grape varieties never actually ripen at the same time, so we always have enough time to harvest each cultivar before the next one is ready. Harvesting starts in January and usually ends around March, depending of course on the year...’

Erika hadn’t been near the giant vats before. Giant metal containers dominated the entire area, and a strong smell she didn’t recognise tickled her nose. Perhaps she’d expected something a li le less clinical, but Jared certainly wasn’t describing a process that happened without the occasional creative