18: Sparkwell insists

‘Who did you order that parcel from?’ said Charlie, standing in the bay window, surveying the street.

‘An internationally renowned online retailer, why do you ask?’

‘I thought there was something odd when I opened the door to him, barely any English, pretty scruffy. Now he’s taken-off, in a little yellow van.’

‘Interesting, the delivery notifications are only just coming through - I opened the package a good five minutes ago!’

‘What was in it?’

‘Oh, exactly what was meant to be. I reckon the usual carrier is having a busy day and has hired extra help. He may not have the right kit for real-time reporting.’

‘We’ve become a bit sad.’

‘As in desperate you mean?!’

‘Yes. I mean, with all we’ve got, yet today we’re just moping around like, I don’t know what.’

‘Waiting, worse than the dentist.’

‘How will we hear?’

‘I don’t know, people have different ways of asking for help.’

‘Does he know he needs help?’

‘Excellent question, we are becoming one.’


Julia turned-up unannounced just after lunch. I say lunch, but since we were at the apartment it was strictly Sparkwell Rules so, enough said.

‘I’ve been sent as an emissary by your Uncle.’

‘And?’

‘There is no and - just come at once!’

‘You’re here to persuaded us to come at once?’

‘He thinks you’ll do it for my sake. Whilst I know you’ll do it because ultimately your ambition is to install Charlotte as the “lady of the manor”.’

‘What!’ exclaimed Charlie.

‘Oh yes, you don’t know him well enough yet, his fantasy is you, “mistress of Checkley”.’

‘All I’ve been trying to do is get myself in a financial position whereby I could do justice to the place should Uncle decide to leave all and sundry to you - made all the more urgent by your previously stated intentions viz. your Will. And were such circumstances to come about, I hardly think our ideas about what’s Green, would involve either of us - Lording it. No disrespect intended but, did you not teach yourself how to award prizes at the village fete, precisely in order to look “lady of the manor-ish”? Putting on the old airs and graces. Not that Charlie couldn’t pull it off, were she so minded. Anyway, my point is I don’t think we can be of much help apart from being an extra pair of hands.’

‘Two extra pairs of hands.’ Charlie interjected.

‘Quite.’

‘But at least you know more about wine making than my beloved’. Asserted Julia.

‘Not much. I know enough to know I don’t know.’

‘So, come and give a gentle nudge when required.’

‘But you can’t “nudge” wine making, any of it, from harvest to when you drink it, it has to be one person dictating from start to finish, absolute rule.’

‘Why?’

‘Taste, the palette of one person, imagining a final product, which may not emerge for years!’

‘But I’ve heard you say it’s all like a laboratory or factory these days!’

'Not when all you’ve got is a couple of rows of vines out the back, next to the pissoir!’

‘So, you’re willing to be there helping your Uncle make a balls-up of it?’

‘Look, how can I put this; grapes end up fermenting into alcohol right? Well that starts when they are fat and ripe on a hot day, full of sugar and for one reason or another get a slight bruise or blemish and continues on and on - until the winemaker decides to slow it up, perhaps several times, or bring it to a halt altogether. The secret, like comedy, is timing. The modern method, the factory method, is pick fast by machine at dawn and never let them get more than a few degrees about zero until the juice is more or less air-tight in a stainless-steel vat with you controlling all future inputs and outputs.’

‘Right, okay, so anything traditional is less predictable you mean?’

‘Very unpredictable. You guess the best time to pick for ripeness, remembering that will vary a lot within a single vineyard. Pick as quickly as you can after first light, press quickly in the Cave, then; our man - and ninety percent of the time it is still our man - tastes the rough juice and everything comes to a halt until he’s made a decision. Trouble is, the pressing itself, in an enclosed space with humans present, is a major accelerant to the whole process - my worry is Uncle will make a rash decision in the heady atmosphere and promptly keel over!’

‘But you made him buy a small refrigeration tank, you knew he’d need it.’

‘Sure, but that’s the easy part, you need to be able to judge the potential of the juice for the kind of wine you want to end up with, all I’ve ever done is watched from the shadows on a few occasions. And I was only once offered a taste, it’s pretty unattractive, I wouldn’t have a clue.’

‘Charlotte?’

‘I’ve never even been there at vendange.’

A silence descended. After what seemed an age Julia said; ‘He’s been a bit down anyway, he’s grateful that you delivered him from the hands of the suits at the Club, but he’s nervous about who’s going to turn up at the next meeting of management and shareholders.’

‘Tell him, all will be well.’ I said.

‘Is that all you’re going to say,’ said Charlie a little perturbed.

‘What should he be saying?’ Julia spoke-up.

‘I know he hasn’t told you everything, I know he hasn’t told me everything.’ Then, turning to me. ‘Well?’

‘Does nobody in this family trust me to do the right thing?’

‘I can’t live with all this, if you don’t speak up I will.’

‘Well, I sort of implied that when I was approached by a solicitor about the mine changing hands, he was a stranger; truth is we go back away.’

‘You said you were going to right an ancient injustice! I only went along with it because you dressed it up like you were on the side of… what’s right, what’s natural.’

‘What’s he done?’

‘It’s all him, start to finish, but it seems for some reason all he’s actual done is taken more than a million out of the Trust, paid nothing out, got forty per cent of the club for nothing and found a way of turning it into a cash cow for himself!’

‘Well Tony, how were you going to finish it?’

‘You know all about it?’ Interrupted Charlie.

‘Well I know what Tony thinks needs putting right, its family history. But as for money matters, well that’s just him moving his own money around to make even more, surely?’

‘Look,’ I said. ‘Just draw me a line in the sand Charlie and I’ll stop. No ifs, no buts. I mean, that’s what makes us unbeatable.’

‘That’s all right Charlotte, on this occasion I know exactly where the line is.’ Turning to me she said; ‘The magazine is going through a sticky period and I’m not touching your Uncle for it right now. Write me a cheque for fifty grand.’

‘Done. Now then, where did I put the right cheque book?’